But Dingo was as congenial as ever, even if he was starting to take on a definite too-many-days-without-a-shower funk, and he’d immediately agreed to drive by the beach, to see if GAH—Great-Aunt Hiroko—was awake.
“It’s a little weird that we were planning to come out here today,” he said now, as instead of passing the house again, he stopped at the side of the road, “and then, boom, your da sends that story. We should be ready to bounce—I mean, since he knows her, he might’ve told her you’ve gone walkabout….That is, if you still even want to stop.”
Maddie nodded. “Yeah, I do. But we’ll take precautions.”
Before reading the story, she hadn’t realized that “Dad” knew GAH. It was entirely possible he’d called the old lady and asked her to keep an eye out for Maddie. Now, she took out her phone and scrolled through her contacts to Dingo’s cell number.
“You can do a pretty good American accent,” she said as she backspaced over everything but the D, and then added an A and a D. “If she says anything about you sounding different, tell her you have a cold. And if she asks you anything that you can’t answer, sign off fast. Pretend that you’ve got another call coming in from your whatchamacallit. CO or XO or whatever.”
Dingo wasn’t happy. “Aaah, love, you’re asking for trouble. What if they talk regularly?”
“If they’re still that close, then why haven’t we visited her since I’ve moved out here?” Maddie argued as she hit the button that would call Dingo’s phone. The old woman in the garden had noticed the stopped car and had pulled herself up to her feet, holding up a hand to further shade her eyes as she looked out at them. “I’m going in, pretending that I’m already on the phone with ‘Dad.’ I’ll put you on speaker so you can say hi—and that’ll distort your voice even more. Remember, he’s a Navy SEAL. He talks in short sentences, with lots of stupid Navy code: SpecGrooFifty-Eight. XO, CO, SEAL Team Four Hundred. NavPacOpIntel, DefConFifteen. Channel Tom Clancy.”
Dingo looked both worried and skeptical as his pants pocket started to ring, but Maddie got out of the car, closing the door with a slam, her own phone to her ear.
“Hello, this is your father,” Dingo said into her ear, his vowels ridiculously flat as she waved gaily to GAH.
“Yes, Dad,” she said loud enough to be overheard as she walked up the path. “Yup, we’re here, the address you had was right—and she’s home.” She raised her voice even more. “Aunt Hiroko? I’m Maddie. Your great-niece. Lisa’s daughter?”
“I know who you are.” The elderly woman had already taken off her work gloves and now she unlatched the gate. “I was sorry to hear about your mother. I wish someone had called me.”
For once, Maddie didn’t try to hide the rush of tears that sprang to her eyes. Still, she forced what she hoped was a brave smile. “I’m sorry—it was…It’s been hard,” she admitted. “And Dad and I are still feeling our way—working on figuring things out. Right, Dad?” She spoke into the phone, directly over Dingo, who was muttering, “Self-help book much?”
“Ten-four roger that!” he said, again with the flat vowels.
“I’m going to put you on speaker in a minute, Dad,” she told him, “after I explain why we’re here.” Shit, she’d said we and Hiroko’s gaze flickered over to Dingo’s car, where his shadowy shape was sitting behind the steering wheel. But he was watching, and he hunkered down a bit so the old lady wouldn’t be able to see that he, too, was talking on his phone.
Hiroko, meanwhile, had returned her impatient gaze to Maddie. In books and movies, old people’s eyes were always filled with patience and wisdom and warmth, but Hiroko’s were both cool and broadcasting a very clear tick tock.
“We’re doing a project in school,” Maddie lied, “in history class, on the way Japanese people were put in camps here in California during World War Two.” Lisa had told her that Hiroko had been obsessed with that historical era.
And sure enough, the old woman took the bait. Her chin came up. “They weren’t camps, they were prisons,” she said. “It was mass internment of an entire group of people—and many of us weren’t Japanese, we were Americans. Japanese Americans, yes, but Americans. I was born here. I should have been a citizen—but until 1952 there were laws that restricted Americans like me from doing things like owning property.”
“Seriously?” Maddie couldn’t help herself. “I mean, yeah, wow, that’s great information. Thanks. Dad thought you’d be a good source, since you know so much about it.” She spoke into the phone. “Good call, Dad.”
“I don’t just know it—I lived it, in Manzanar, a prison camp about four hundred miles north of here,” Hiroko said with a fierceness that would’ve been fascinating to explore—if Maddie had had the time to hang out without worrying that the idiot-asshole drug dealer who was actively hunting her down wasn’t about to find and end her.
“You were right,” Maddie said into her phone. “I think Aunt Hiroko can help me with this project.” She smiled at GAH. “We’re supposed to find primary source material, particularly artifacts. I don’t have a lot of time right now—school starts soon—but I’d love for my group to interview you and—” She cut herself off as if she’d been interrupted on the phone, then added, “Yeah, yeah, Dad, I know, I know.” Back to GAH as she punched the speaker button and held out the phone. The screen clearly read Dad. “He has to get going to work—you know, over at the Navy base—but he wanted to say hello. Dad, you’re on speaker! Say hello!”
“Hello!” Dingo’s voice came out of the phone distorted but definitely male. “Thank you so much for helping my little Maddie-kins!”
Oh, ugh, Dingo, really?
“I haven’t yet said that I would,” Hiroko pointed out, and everyone froze. Well, everyone being Maddie and Dingo. Hiroko calmly bent down and picked up a glove that she’d dropped.
“Oh, well,” Dingo started to say, and Maddie quickly turned off the speaker before he could start stammering and blow this worse than she’d already apparently blown it.
“Thanks, Dad,” she said, “I know you need to go. I’ll talk to you later. Love you, mwah.” She cut the connection and slipped her phone into her back pocket, and then met GAH’s unwavering cool gaze. Clearly, she’d done this wrong, coming in all happy and shit. Now, she tried to match the old woman’s quiet dignity. “I apologize for assuming—”
Hiroko cut her off. “Who’s your friend in the car?”
“Oh,” Maddie said. “He’s just, um…a friend. Who sometimes gives me a ride when I need one.”
“I’m making breakfast. Scrambled eggs. Call him—use your phone—and invite him in,” the old woman said.
If she did that, he’d come up as a very visible Dad on her screen. “Oh,” Maddie said. “No, I’ll just…” She shouted. “Dingo! Hey, Ding! Want breakfast?”