“How’s the bathroom?”
“I don’t know. I’ve been holding it since last night. If it’s anything like the roof, I might find a tree outside.”
“Can’t be that bad, can it?” Ana asked.
“I shouldn’t make fun. It’s free and it’s being remodeled by professionals. Apparently, they have some sort of long-range plan for the estate that includes the house. Not very big, though. It’s about the same size at the Russo’s place.”
“Which Russo? Johnny or Frankie?”
“Frankie.”
“Oh, yeah, that’s small. How about I send Joey to work on it?”
“Funny. Apparently, this place is getting its first upgrade since the Tanizawas came here from Japan. What’s now forest in a giant ravine used to be a big vegetable patch. That’s a part of what they want to get going again, along with display gardens of native plants and trees.”
“That’s a big job,” Ana said. “How do you get started with something like that?”
“I have no idea. It was so dark when we got here last night that I couldn’t much.”
“Well, big sister, you wanted to make a change. Good luck with it.”
“That’s what Millie said last night, right before she left me alone in the woods.” Gina couldn’t put off starting her day any longer, or her first trip to the bathroom. “Hey, be nice to Mom for me, okay? Keep telling her how much I miss her.”
“Tell her yourself. And you’d better make it a long, sappy letter and not just a greeting card.”
“The longest thing I’ve ever written to Mom was in a birthday card.”
“You’ll think of something. Right now, you have your adventure to get started!”
All Gina had unpacked the night before were her flannel pajamas, which she wore to the bathroom. Even though the house had three bedrooms, there was only one bathroom.
“With three bedrooms and only one pot for everybody, they would’ve had contentious mornings,” she mumbled as she sat. “Someone left me a roll of TP anyway.”
She’d brought the in-flight airline magazine with her and studied the advertisements for showy clothes and flashy jewelry available at a mall somewhere in Honolulu. Setting that aside, she checked the fixtures a little more closely. Faucets and tap handles were stainless steel, with rust on some of the edges, and the porcelain had seen shinier days. Still, everything was clean, the water came on, and the mirror wasn’t broken.
The acid test came when she flushed the toilet. It wasn’t so much of a flush as it was a gentle trickle of water. Trying a second time only seemed to fill the pot. When she lifted the tank lid off, she didn’t know what she expected to see inside. Not only did she know nothing about plumbing, but even her father had to call a plumber whenever a faucet dripped. Santoros knew more about handcuffs, night sticks, and pistols than they ever could about pipes, electric wires, or roofing material. What she found were grimy pipes and fittings, and a ball on a stick. Deciding it was best left alone until after she’d had her morning coffee, she fit the lid back in place.
Even though she’d left the light off and the room was dim, she knew she saw something move on the floor. Flicking on the light, she looked more closely at the space behind the toilet. What she saw gave her a shudder.
“Ugh. Were you there the whole time?”
When the cockroach began to scurry away, Gina got the magazine, rolled it into a bat, and took a swing at the little black creature. That only seemed to piss it off, as it scurried ever faster.
Gina saw what it was headed for, a gap between the baseboard and the floor. Taking another swing, she stunned it. Seeing its legs continue to move, she gave it a few more whacks until it burst. Cringing, she used a wad of toilet paper to pick it up.
“What’s with the yellow stuff inside of you guys, anyway?” she said, dropping the tissue in the pot. She tried flushing again, but that made the water level rise even more. Watching to make sure it didn’t overflow onto the dull linoleum floor, she left the scene behind. “Okay, that goes on the list. Bad news in the bathroom.”
The condition of the kitchen wasn’t much better than the bathroom, but at least everything worked. Water flowed from the tap and drained from the sink. The refrigerator and stove were the same type that her father had replaced in their home when she was a kid. Three out of four of the burners got warm, and the fridge was cold inside. She ignored the groaning noise when the cooling element kicked in.
Just like Millie had promised, there were the basics of food in the fridge: a glass bottle of milk, a cube of butter in a saucer, a bowl of brown eggs, jars of mustard and mayonnaise, and a block of cheese. She read the labels on several unopened jars of condiments. Most were jams of tropical fruit. The last one was nearly black, and was labeled as though it was homemade.
“Pomegranate?” She took the lid off, gave it a sniff, and put it away again. “Whatever.”
The last thing she found was a plastic tub with Japanese writing on it. The contents sloshed around inside. Looking closely, she found the English spelling of the contents.
“Tofu?” She put that away next to the pomegranate jam. “Not in Little Italy anymore.”
Continuing her tour, Gina found a bowl of fruit, with an orange, two lemons, and some other things that smelled sweet but she only seen in the market back home.
She knew that if there was jam and butter, there must’ve been bread. Going through a small pantry, she found a loaf of bread and some canned vegetables. None of the brands were familiar, no national brands at all, but had unusual Japanese, Hawaiian, or Filipino brand names. Taking the loaf of bread to the counter, she dropped two slices into a toaster that
