“She’s Japanese, but she spent some time in Hawaii as a cook. She taught me everything I know about cooking.”
“This rice is incredible. Did she teach you that?” Sasha, the silver-haired doctor, closed her eyes as she savored his rice and beans.
“I got that recipe from my favorite restaurant in LA,” he admitted. “I ate there every day for a month until they gave in and shared it with me.”
Mathilda was the only one who showed no visible reaction to his culinary efforts. Sitting next to him, she seemed lost in thought. But she did eat everything on her plate, he noticed. He’d have to be satisfied with that.
“Any chance you want to stay on here as a cook?” Diane asked hopefully. She was a slender woman with deep brown skin and beaded cornrows, and the only one in the group who wasn’t there for science. She was an artist who had made an arrangement to live at the camp in exchange for helping anyone with anything that required an artistic hand. Apparently, according to Robert, she’d worked with Mathilda on very precise renditions of various bird species.
Currently, she was working with Felicia, an archeologist who was studying an ancient Hawaiian village in the next valley over. A tsunami had wiped it out, but there were still traces of that lost community. Diane was creating artistic renderings of the village based on Felicia’s findings.
As he listened to them talk, he found himself forgetting his troubles. It was a relief not to worry about Lincoln for a bit. Instead of investment talk, he got to eavesdrop on discussions of taro patches and Hawaiian deities.
He found the little group fascinating.
Apart from their individual projects, they all did their best to support their fellow scientists. They coordinated as much as possible to minimize time alone in the jungle. They divvied up tasks around the camp; there was a lot of trading and negotiating around that, depending on what each researcher had going on.
No one stayed for long, he learned. They came out here for specific purposes, completed their research, then went back to their various universities, which could be anywhere in the world, though most were from Hilo. Cody, for instance, was affiliated with a volcanology program in Iceland.
Another tidbit he picked up while listening to them chatter over Spam sushi—Mathilda was soon to leave the Nahele Research Camp. Even after the conversation moved on, he couldn’t let go of that piece of information. Maybe it was because she’d rescued him and Lincoln, or maybe because he’d rescued her from the drone—or maybe he just found her attractive.
Whatever the reason, he didn’t want her to leave.
“When’s your last day here?” he asked her as soon as there was a break in the flow of conversation. She’d combed her hair out, and it hung in a shiny waterfall down her back, lit by the cozy lantern that sat in the middle of the table.
“I’m not sure. I haven’t given up on Hector yet. There’s another part of the valley where he might be. Bjorn just found a patch of ho’awa there and that’s the ‘alala’s favorite plant.”
“Pittosporum confertiflorum,” explained Bjorn the botanist, who clearly had a crush on Mathilda. Clearly to Rory, anyway. Mathilda seemed to be oblivious.
“Yes, the ‘alala love it.” Mathilda’s eyes lit up. “They crack open the seed pods, which are bright orange inside, and gobble up the seeds. They’re one of the only species capable of splitting those pods. Then they fly elsewhere in the forest and poop them out. Or they used to, before their population dropped.”
“Seed dispersal,” Bjorn explained, his gaze still on Mathilda. “The ‘alala and the ho’awa are the perfect match.”
Rory decided he didn’t really care for Bjorn the botanist.
“Yes, which means that the pittosporum is now endangered too, because no one else fills that particular ecological niche. Anyway, I want to check out the patch Bjorn found before I head back to Hilo.” She ate another mouthful of rice and beans, and shot him an appreciative look. “This is really delicious. The next time you see your grandmother, thank her from all of us.”
“I will. She’ll probably want to make you her special noodle soup when she hears how you rescued us.”
They smiled at each other, until that happy moment was interrupted by Bjorn leaning across the table. “I thought your father was Korean, not Japanese.”
Oops. He really needed to be more careful. “You know my family?”
“I know of them. I grew up near Savannah. Everyone knows the Kerr family there. My mother could probably name every branch of your family tree, birth dates, second cousins once removed, all of that. She used to study the gossip pages like the Bible.”
Which was a lot more than he could do. He knew Lincoln’s mother’s family was upper crust, but Lincoln never talked about them and always avoided family gatherings. Rory figured that was at least partly because of the scandal surrounding his birth.
Rory smiled uncomfortably and decided to stick close to the truth. “She probably knows more than I do about all that. I don’t focus on that family history. I always wanted to make my own way.”
“Sure, but it’s a lot easier to make your own way when your dad signs over half his company to you after a divorce. Well done, you.” Bjorn gave him a little mock salute. “Too bad about your sister, though. Half-sister,” he corrected himself.
Rory blanked. Sister? Who was Lincoln’s half-sister? Was something wrong with her? Try as he might, he couldn’t remember any recent reference to Lincoln’s sister. Kendall, was that her name? Or Maureen? There were at least two. “Yeah, that’s…unfortunate.”
“Man, you’re so calm about it. If my sister was suing me, I’d rethink a few things in my life.”
Suing?
“Well, lawyers, you know, I’m not allowed to talk about it while the litigation is ongoing.”
