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I WISHED I COULD SEND Emma a telepathic message: Don’t come over here. Stay right there at the bar. Better yet, leave now and take Sherry with you before anyone sees her.
“Is that right, Molly?” Donnie asked. “Are you afraid of scorpions? You know, they’re pretty rare in Hawaii.”
“What?” I tried to bring myself back to the conversation. “Scorpions? They’re disgusting. I hate them.”
Emma was climbing down from the bar stool and heading over to our table.
No, Emma! Go back!
“Those bugs do have a nasty bite,” Donnie agreed. “You have to be careful when you handle them.”
Davison leaned back in his chair, tucked his fists behind his biceps, and smirked at me.
“That’s right, Aunty. Careful how you handle.”
“Davison,” I asked pleasantly, “when do you leave?” I glanced over at Donnie and added, “I mean, when does your school term start?”
“Gotta go back pretty soon.” He held eye contact with me far longer than necessary. “Better enjoy me while you can, Aunty.”
I glared back, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of having stared me down.
“He’s flying out Saturday night,” Donnie said. “The flights were better from this side of the island. Davison, I’m glad you could get away from your girlfriend and spare a little time for your family while you’re here.”
“Eh, Sherry was fun,” Davison declared, “but we’re done.”
Emma pulled up just as Davison uttered these words. She probably hadn’t recognized the back of his head when she was approaching our table. Now she cast a panicked look back at the bar, where her crew members had settled in.
I had cringed when Davison mentioned Sherry’s name, but Donnie didn’t seem to connect the dots. Also, “Sherry was fun but we’re done?” Yuck.
Sherry was still seated at the bar, her back to us. There was no mistaking her distinctive cloud of hair.
“Oh, your mystery woman has a name now?” Donnie noticed I was looking over his shoulder and turned around to see Emma standing there. “Emma, would you like to join us? We have another seat.”
Davison turned an ingratiating smile on Emma. “Good evening, Professor Nakamura! Are you here for the Labor Day Race?” Emma glanced down at her outfit. She had been out on the water earlier and was still wearing her board shorts and acid yellow paddling jersey. To her credit, she refrained from sarcasm and said, simply, “Hi, Donnie. Davison, what a surprise to see you. Molly, I just wanted to come over and say hi. Well, have a nice—”
“Professor Nakamura,” Davison interrupted, “You, uh, here by yourself or what? Where’s your crew?” He looked past her, back toward the bar where Sherry was sitting.
“They’re resting up for tomorrow.” Emma deftly stepped to the side to block Davison’s view. He leaned the other way, and she stepped again.
The waitress arrived with the salads, and Emma took advantage of the distraction to excuse herself. As Donnie and Davison dug in, I watched Emma speed over to the bar and urge her crew members off their bar stools. There was some initial resistance, judging from the indignant arm-waving, but Emma managed to hustle them away from the bar and shoo them offstage, to another section of the hotel. I relaxed and started to eat. I saw Davison sneak a look behind him, but by this time the bar stools were occupied by large men in leather biker vests.
Davison wiped up the last of his salad dressing with a piece of bread, popped it in his mouth, and licked his fingers. When he was finished with that, he clasped his hands behind his head, flexing his latissimi dorsi and treating me to a panoramic view of his armpits.
“Sherry was cool,” he declared. “She taught me a lot.” He grinned at me. “Older women, yah?”
Oh, for crying out loud. I fixed my gaze on my lap and rearranged my napkin so Donnie wouldn’t see me rolling my eyes.
“So what exactly did she teach you? That you’re able to discuss in mixed company?” Donnie’s indulgent tone infuriated me.
“She knows a lot about computers,” Davison said. “She showed me this thing online where you can search for someone by clicking on their face. You don’t hafta know their name even.”
Well good for Sherry, remembering what we talked about in class.
“Did you search for pictures of yourself?” I asked.
“Nah,” Davison laughed. “Not me. I’m not that egotistical.”
He turned to his father.
“But, ya know, Aunty Molly?”
Now what? I stared at my place setting. I wasn’t feeling particularly hungry, but I was hoping the server would come by and interrupt the conversation with our entrees. What was taking so long?
“You could go to the college website and find her picture, yah?” Davison continued. “You click it to get the address, and take it to one other website with software that looks at the picture and reads her face, and it goes and looks online and it can find other pictures of her.”
He paused, and I looked up, just in time for him to say:
“Even if she was using a different name.”
Davison winked at me. Donnie didn’t see it.
I had no appetite at all by the time the entrees arrived. I forced down a couple of bites of fibrous, overcooked ahi and pushed the remaining food around on my plate. When I thought we were finally finished with dinner, Davison prolonged my ordeal by ordering dessert, a precariously tall grotesquerie of chocolate cake and coffee ice cream, loaded with spray-on whipped cream. Donnie had a few bites. I declined, even (especially) after Davison insisted (“come on Aunty, you know you want some”). Finally, Donnie signed the tab. He invited me to join him and Davison to go and watch the manta rays. I made my excuses, muttering something about having to get up early to watch Emma’s race.