OHANA
follows "Renewal"

Chapter 7

               ***May 8, 2024*** [continued]

Bobby restrained himself from whooping like a boy. "A job? What–"

"It's a position on an advisory board," Alex explained, "that brainstorms ideas for peaceful solutions rather than violent confrontation: having psychological consultants to deal with mental health offenders, offering more mediation, practical psych classes for officers on the street so they can identify potential problems- The other slots on the board are full: mediators, mental health professionals, minority advisors, therapists—but they also wanted someone who's been out on the streets, who knows what it's like for the officers who respond to anything from "man with a gun" to "officer down," not knowing whether they'll be facing a dedicated career criminal or a jihadist with a bomb, or just some desperate person who stopped taking their meds. Liv and Fin both recommended me. Ms. Masondo said I might have to go into the city one, at the most two days a month, but the bulk of the work will be done via Zoom." She gasped as he bounced from his seat, grabbed her under the arms, and pulled her out of her chair, spinning her around once. "Bobby! Stop it!"

He did, lowering her to the floor, breathless and jubilant. "Alex! It's what you worked for!"

"You don't mind?"

Bobby's bright face sobered. "Why would I mind?"

She bit her lip. "We were going to relax more, take more trips–"

"But that was before we h-had a child with five more years of schooling to complete. Besides...when have either of us been content with relaxing for more than a few days? Don't think I haven't n-noticed that fundraising isn't keeping you satisfied. And, no offense, Alex...but you're not the type of person who bakes cupcakes for the PTA."

She gave a small, skeptical laugh. "What if this isn't what I need, either?"

"Then give it...six months? A year? By then, you'll kn-know and will have given them warning so they can find a replacement–" He regarded her gently. "Or...is this not what you want? That's fine, too. The decision is yours. I will never hold you back, Alex. I promise."

"I'm not held by any leash," she told him. "Only by love."

"I might as well tell you," he said, looking sheepish, "that...um...Marc texted me early this morning and asked if I'd be interested in some consultation work."

Alex looked at him sideways, and then chuckled. "We're going to die in harness, aren't we? Like a couple of old horses."

Bobby put his arm around her. "So long as we're pulling in tandem, I don't mind at all."

               ***May 10, 2024***

"Papa," Olivia said in a small voice, "can't you and Mama speak to Mrs. Diaz again? Ana says her abuela isn't having any luck finding a good apartment here that she can afford. She's talking about moving to Ohio!"

Bobby perched at the side of her bed, Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm closed on his lap. "It's where her son and his wife live, Min...and Carlos and Ana's cousins. Your mother and I were willing to move to protect you if your a-adoption fell through. Can you deny Mrs. Diaz the same chance to protect her grandchildren?"

Olivia sighed. "I know, Papa. But- But why can't they rent our house? We could let them have it for less money, couldn't we?"

"We could, but h-how do you think that would make Mrs. Diaz feel? What...what if I told you...um...that I'd decided that you wouldn't be allowed to pick out books for yourself any longer, that you...could read only the ones I picked out for you, and only at your age and vocabulary levels, because you're only t-ten years old and not competent to do so? Do you want Mrs. Diaz to think that we believe she's not...competent to raise her grandchildren? That we know what's best, not her?"

"I'd be...angry if you told me I wasn't competent," she admitted, and Bobby rumpled her hair.

"Wherever they go, we'll visit them. We'll...we'll buy Ana and Carlos a Chromebook as a farewell gift and hope that you can chat with them online. I know Mrs. Diaz exchanges e-mails with her son. And you and Ana can write letters, or send postcards, or c-call each other. You'll always be friends." He leaned closer to her. "I know it's cold comfort, Olivia...but it's all I have."

"Yes, sir," she said listlessly.

"'Yes, sir?'" Bobby sighed. "Somehow I would have preferred 'Shut up, Papa, you don't understand.'"

She turned on her left side and patted his arm. "I'm sorry, Papa. It isn't your fault. Or Mrs. Diaz's fault, either."

Alex slipped into the room. "Time for bed, sweetie."

When Olivia's bedtime ritual was complete, they returned to the living room, where Alex picked up their copy of Bruno's will from the end table. "I was re-reading this before I filed it in the safe. You haven't even touched this, have you, Bobby? That's not like you."

He shrugged. "It's...still too soon. It's like Olivia's reason for not w-wanting to be called 'Mignon.' Every time I start to read it, I hear Bruno's voice."

She smiled at him with a sideways glance. "Well, I understand now why Mike said, 'Everything's gonna be okay, man,' to you at the funeral. Check out the two people who witnessed the will." She handed him the document with the pertinent page on top. "There's a handwritten signature: Viola Perrino, of course. And an electronic one–"

"Michael Logan," Bobby finished. "Surprise."

Alex reclaimed the document and paged backward. "There's a passage I don't understand, though." Following the statement bequeathing the storage locker contents to Bobby, she tapped a fingernail on the phrase: "'...as well as papers I will have entrusted to him.' What papers?"

"I thought that was odd when Em read it, too. I don't remember Bruno having given me any 'papers.' The shock about the house...and the car...drove it out of my brain. Bruno's given me gifts p-previously, but nothing that I would classify as 'papers' or 'documents.'"

Alex shrugged. "Maybe he forgot?"

Bobby took the will from her. "I'll put it away."

He loped easily up the stairs, and she heard the creak of a floorboard as he turned right toward the safe. She stepped beside Bandit's cage, and the budgie hopped to the bars to cock his head as she talked nonsense to him. Then there was a slight thud from the upper story, Bobby muttering "Shit!"—and then silence.

A moment later, Bobby returned with the copier paper box. "I stand corrected."

"Your postcards?"

"Bruno mentioned he was...interested in seeing them on Tuesday, and Olivia brought the box to him. He read them all that day—and night, possibly, and...um...had them ready to hand back on Wednesday morning. We talked so long that I was late for my appointment with Dr. Chaudry, so I just grabbed the box, carried it back upstairs, and d-dumped it next to the chimney. I haven't looked at it since—until I kicked it just now. Here, feel."

She hefted it in her arms. "It's...heavier."

"It is." He set the box on his recliner, then handed out the bundles of postcards and their sheaf of notes.

Underneath his items were an aged account book, its thick, dense cardboard covers a marbled green, interior pages tinted pale green, as well as a vintage "Big Chief" school tablet with yellowing sheets of lined paper and the bright red cover with its traditional illustration of a Native American tribal leader. He handed her the tablet and examined the account book, stamped "E. L. Freeman Company, Providence, 1, R.I." on the rear. From the ragged shreds of paper remaining on the strings that laced together the account book's folios, Bobby could tell at least a half-dozen sheets had been torn away. The fresh page that opened the book was dated "August 7, 1950, Ft. Leonard Wood," written in fountain pen ink.

"This isn't for accounts," Bobby said in a low voice after reading several pages. "It looks like it was discarded. Bruno used it as a journal."

"From the war," Alex replied, looking at the entry he showed her. "The writing tablet has notes on the diary," and she paged through the sheets to show him. The first pages, written in ballpoint in the same hand as in the journal, were neater but not as firm as the diary entries; the writing on the final few sheets were shaky and crabbed.

"Min and I found him asleep on the p-porch Wednesday morning when we brought him breakfast," Bobby recalled. "He told us it was because he stayed up all night...um...reading the postcards, but...he must have been finishing these annotations." He tapped a note scrawled on a Post-It note stuck on the inside front cover of the account book: "Bobby, I kept this journal in Korea. I hoped Jack or Enzo would want it someday, but it's yours now. The tablet has some additional things I wrote about the war—stuff that didn't make it into the journal, for the boys back when they were in college, so they'd know what it was like. I added some updates at the end after reading your postcards. I'm sorry I won't be around for your book. You have some real interesting stuff there. Regards, Bruno."

"Not as interesting as what I've found here," Bobby said, paging through the grimy account book. "You know...maybe my problem is that I've been trying to tell the wrong story." He cocked his head. "Do you think it's too late to call Zes?"

Alex's smile made the corners of her eyes crinkle as she saw the old joy return to his face. "I don't think so."

When he finished his call, he padded downstairs with Sam at his side, and she looked up, startled, from where she was working on her laptop. "Alex–"

"Yes?"

"There's only one solution. 'Rule 2,' as Olivia would say.

"'Be truthful'?"

"Yes. What if...we could make Mrs. Diaz understand this would be a partnership? That her contribution would be as great as ours? Because..." and he gazed soberly at the cozy living room of the little house that had provided a refuge for the whole family down to the big collie at his feet and the small white-and-grey budgie preening in his cage. "Because it would be."

Alex nodded. "We can try. How about inviting them to dinner next Wednesday night?"

               ***May 15, 2024***

Alex asked gravely, "Would you like some chai, Mrs. Diaz?"

Seated at the Gorens' kitchen table after a pot roast dinner the two families had shared, Abbi Diaz cocked an appraising eye toward her, and Alex flashed a tentative grin as she heated the water. "Yes, please, Alejandra." Outside rain was falling steadily as it had been most of the day, but the room was filled with the savory smells of beef, potatoes, carrots, and the sweet and spicy arroz con leche Mrs. Diaz had contributed as dessert.

Bobby nodded at her. "We'd like to talk, Mrs. Diaz. We were hoping you could help us."

Despite being told to stay with Ana and Carlos, Olivia was peering around the archway of the living room. How formal they all sounded! On Wednesdays at Big Brothers and during other gatherings, the conversation was always friendly, teasing, and filled with laughter.

"We are friends," Mrs. Diaz responded, slightly puzzled. "Of course, I will do anything to help."

"It's been a pleasure," Alex said, bringing the cup and spoon to the table. Bobby slid the sugar bowl closer to her. "Like we talked about last week, we're fond of all the children at Big Brothers, but Ana and Carlos are the closest to us."

Mrs. Diaz added some sugar to her tea and then stirred it. "Let us please...what is it? 'Cut to the chase,' I think Viola would say. You are afraid to talk to me?"

Olivia sighed to herself. Finally!

"It's just that–" Bobby fidgeted with his hands, then moved on. "You know that once...um...we have the painting done, the floors taken care of, and a few other r-repairs, we'll be moving into Bruno's old house," he began.

"Yes, of course," Mrs. Diaz said as she sipped at the chai. "We are all on the moving detail, remember?"

"Yes," Alex said, sliding into her chair. "We intended to use movers for the entire house this time, but Shard came up with the idea, and we couldn't talk him out of it. I can't imagine why everyone would want to move all our things a second time, but you're all generous for offering. We're hiring movers for the larger things, though. I put my foot down about that."

"We will always help you," Mrs. Diaz said firmly, "the way you have helped us. Now, please continue–"

"We–" Bobby considered, then, as simply as possible, recounted the conversation he and Alex shared in the basement the day he'd found her crying. Mrs. Diaz reached out to pat Alex's hand as he spoke solemnly about their feelings for the house where they had fallen in love, where they had nurtured Carlos and Ana for four days, where they had made a home for Olivia. Next, he talked about Olivia's tearful reaction the morning they discussed selling the house; he repeated word-for-word her tearful revelation about how she had felt when she came to live there. "This...house is close to our hearts. Our refuge. We don't want to sell it; we want a suitable caretaker for it. It would be...like a p-partnership—and at the same time, we would like to have people we consider family next door." He paused. "We were hoping...you and the children would be our c-caretakers."

Mrs. Diaz looked puzzled. "You would like me, and Carlito and Ana, to live here?"

"Yes, Mrs. Diaz," Bobby said soberly.

Her eyes roved the cozy kitchen with its pretty evergreen-shaded vintage light fixture resembling an oil lamp, the new stove and refrigerator, her face wistful.

"We know how difficult your apartment management has become," Alex added tentatively, "and we know you're looking for another place to live. Now that you've found out how Ana has been harassed by Mateo, it's a necessity. Bobby and I wish...that we could make it safe for all the children at Big Brothers, but it's fiscally impossible...but if we could help in a small way, get Ana and Carlos off to a good start...it would make us very happy."

"It's very tempting," Mrs. Diaz said at last, and Olivia winced, knowing what was coming next. She looked back disconsolately at Ana and Carlos, frozen in the archway behind her. "But I know what the rent would be, on even such a casita as this and we could not afford it."

"That's why I've used the word 'caretaker,'" Bobby said gently. "You wouldn't only be tenants. Your presence would be beneficial to us. We talked about this at Big Brothers...you and the children, Mrs. Diaz...you're nuestra familia. You have been for a long time...just like Bruno adopted us as his family. It would be a reciprocal relationship."

Olivia was poised to speak, then closed her mouth when Alex, who saw the children in the archway but had not given them away, gave her a pointed look. Ana, however, had no such compunction. "Abi-Abi–"

Mrs. Diaz wheeled in her chair to find three pairs of brown eyes fixed on her. "You ninos should be in the other room playing your game."

"I'm fifteen," Carlos said abruptly. "If I was a boy twenty years ago, I might be out working like my Papa was at fifteen, just like mi abuelo was at fifteen. I think Ana and I should have votes in this decision. At least I should."

"Both of us," Ana said, indignant, straightening.

"And I do my best so that you don't have to go out to work at fourteen, as your abuelo did," his grandmother scolded. "You will go to school and finish. And now you both have a chance to get a better education with Mr. Volpe's money."

"Please listen to Mr. G, Abi-Abi," Ana pleaded. "Please hear him out. We want to stay here with our friends," and her voice grew plaintive, "at our school, and our friends at Big Brothers—Mr. J and even Rafe who acts like he wants to be the next el jefe. And I know you don't want to leave Mrs. Perrino. She's your best friend. I've seen you crying about it." She put one hand on Olivia's shoulder. "I want to stay here with my little sister. This is our home."

A brief moment of indecision flickered in the woman's eyes. Ana almost whispered, "We love Tio Javier and Tia Camila, but we would be so crowded in their apartment- And Ohio winters are always awful, like the one we had this year, so much snow, and...there are tornadoes..."

"We will get by on our own," Mrs. Diaz said firmly. "We do not need charity."

"Neither of us thinks of it that way," Alex interjected softly, "just what family does for one another."

Olivia piped up, throwing her oft-defended self-sufficiency to the wind, "Now that both Papa and Mama will be working, there might be some times when they're both busy. I can come home on the bus from St. Greg's, but who'll look after me? I'm not old enough to stay alone. But I would trust you and Carlos and Ana, Mrs. Diaz, because you're family. What if there's an emergency? We know Sam and Bandit would be safe with you. Sharon's thinking about going back to university. She told me so, so she might not be able to care for them anymore."

"What Olivia's saying would be a great deal of help," Alex admitted. "I'm not sure how much time my new advisory job will take. But that's not why–" She sighed. "It's as Bobby said. We think of you as our family now—no, we have for a long time—and it would be our pleasure to have you as our neighbors."

"Mrs. Diaz...Abbi...the three of you staying here means more to us...than anything else," Bobby concluded. "It would be a haven for you, and you already know...all the neighbors and Viola will still come by. You'll never want for company, or have to worry about care for the children in an emergency. You'll be able to visit Mrs. Vargas and your friends at Pequot Hills at any time."

Abbi Diaz looked from three hopeful children to two hopeful adults. "The money I could manage," she repeated, faltering slightly in her protest, "would not cover the rent...and there is no way I can save on the electric and the gas to add to it."

Carlos whispered something to her, and she cocked her head up at him; he whispered more. Ana threw Olivia a hopeful little smile, which made Olivia bite her lip. Ana had always told her that her grandmother was partial to Carlos because he looked like his late mother. Ana crossed her fingers on both hands.

"Will you give me a moment to talk about this with the ninos?" Mrs. Diaz asked.

"Of course," Bobby said, and was on his feet in a flash to pull out her chair. "Take as much time as you need."

"I will need a piece of paper and a pen," the other woman stated in a dignified manner.

"Yes, Mrs. Diaz!" and Olivia bolted into her bedroom and emerged with a college-ruled writing tablet and her very best pen, the cartridge pen her aunt Liz had given her for Christmas, in one hand, clutching Captain, her stuffed fox, in the other. She curtsied before handing pen and paper to Mrs. Diaz, only to be greeted by Ana rolling her eyes.

"Gracias, Olivia," Mrs. Diaz said gravely, and she and her grandchildren disappeared into the living room.

Bobby looked at her fondly. "I think you nearly overplayed your hand there, Min."

Olivia, clutching the fox tightly, sounded like a ten-year-old again. "Oh, Papa, they must–"

"They'll do what is comfortable for them, sweetie," Alex said gently. "We'll have to accept their decision."

Ana came out five minutes later with Bandit on her finger. "Can you take him? He's shredding the paper, and Abi-Abi wants it perfect."

"What is it you're doing, Ana?" Bobby inquired as Alex took the bird from her.

Ana started to speak, then drew herself up indignantly. "Mr. G, that's not nice. It was a pinky swear!" She grinned at Olivia and vanished.

"If I were a praying person," Olivia said crossly, "I'd pray."

Alex patted her. "Take a cookie and have some milk or juice."

So Olivia slumped over the table, sipping milk and moodily munching chocolate chip cookies directly from the bag, an indulgence not usually allowed. Alex sat to one side of her, pecking out notes on her laptop as Bobby leaned back in his chair, his fingers soundlessly tapping the tabletop and his knees keeping time. Occasionally, he glanced down at Bandit, who had made himself at home under Bobby's chin, gnawing on his beard. Sam wandered out of the living room after ten minutes, evidently ignored by the occupants, and, sensing everyone's mood, laid his head on Alex's lap.

The electric clock ticked and ticked, then ticked more. After twenty minutes, Bobby strolled toward the bathroom, averting his glance from the living room. He briefly saw Ana and Carlos' dark heads and their grandmother's silver-threaded one bent over one of the tray tables. Ana, who had the neatest handwriting, appeared to be taking notes. He sighed as he shut the door.

He returned from the bathroom with one of the trivia books always stacked on the toilet tank. Olivia had slipped into her bedroom and returned with a book as well.

Thirty-seven minutes later, Mrs. Diaz and the children returned to the hallway, and the former cleared her throat. Olivia leaped from her chair like a jack-in-the-box and said, "Please sit down, Mrs. Diaz," before either adult could react. The three faces looking at her were very solemn and stern.

And I figured I shouldn't play poker with Tony, Alex thought. Never play poker with Abbi Diaz!

Mrs. Diaz smiled at Olivia. "Gracias," then claimed the chair. Olivia scooted sideways until she stood between her parents, and Ana and Carlos stood behind their grandmother like twin sentinels. Mrs. Diaz laid the pen and paper on the table with the latter turned face down, then lifted her oval-shaped face to regard them quietly.

"Roberto. Alejandra," she began in a dignified tone, "the ninos and I have discussed this, and we have decided..." Bobby smiled to himself when he felt Olivia raise herself on her toes and grip his arm nervously, "...that we will accept your offer..."

"Oh!" Olivia burst out.

Mrs. Diaz looked at her sternly until she settled back on her heels. "...so long as all our–" Then she looked up at Carlos.

"Conditions," Carlos offered soberly. "So long as all our conditions are met."

"Gracias, Carlito," she said.

"We're prepared to discuss conditions," Alex said, laying her hands flat on the table and lifting her chin.

"First, we must make clear what is to be done," Mrs. Diaz said firmly. "You wish my family, myself, my Ana, and my Carlos, to live in your little house, to be its caretakers, and we will pay you rent."

"Yes, Mrs. Diaz," said Bobby, his eyes grave.

"In that case, we will accept. We will pay you for rent what we now pay at Pequot Hills. That amount is written down on this paper."

Alex reached for the sheet of paper, but Carlos said, "Not yet, Ms. Alex. There are other conditions," and Alex nodded, sitting back.

Mrs. Diaz paused for more than a few seconds. "I was wrong," she began regretfully. "When I first came here to take care of my ninos, I was still very shy, after so many years still a little farm girl. I made friends with only a few people in the apartment building, older women like me, all mostly Spanish-speaking. I should have talked to all—to everyone. I should have- Been with people? I am not sure of the word–"

"Socialized?" Bobby prompted hesitantly.

"Yes, that one," she agreed. "When I made friends with Viola, I see...saw what I missed. She improved my English, I taught her Spanish. We socialized together. I talked to Bruno and Bess, even Lena with her trees. We played bingo at St. Rose's. The children helped me by speaking more English at home. I see now that there are...opp- Oppo–" She looked as if the word had escaped her.

"Opportunities?" Alex ventured.

"Yes. Carlito tells me there are two different businesses on Main Street asking for...small-time...no, part-time, that is the word. Part-time help, someone who knows Spanish. If we will live here, I will apply, and any extra money I receive as a salary—this is a...rule?..."

"Stipulation," suggested Bobby, nodding, and Mrs. Diaz concurred. "It is a stipulation that this extra money will go to the rent. That is understood. Ana has written it down."

"Yes, Mrs. Diaz," Bobby said obediently.

"Unless the children need something that month," she added, hesitant. "These two...they grow so fast."

"Understood, Mrs. Diaz." Alex nodded.

"Then," the older woman added sternly, "since you both are now working, I will come to clean house for you twice a week."

Alex looked startled, while Bobby flushed. "N-No, Mrs. Diaz—we aren't asking you...um...to live next door so you can be our cleaning lady–"

Mrs. Diaz interrupted sternly, "I know that. And I know also that there is no shame in being a 'cleaning lady.' This is what mi madre did, and mi abuela before that. It is a respectable–"

"N-No, Mrs. Diaz," and Bobby was upset at her possibly having misunderstood. "I-I didn't m-mean it...um...that way, please."

"I know you did not," she returned imperiously, "but it is part of the...stipulations. It will be like...at the market when I was a girl, we did it this way: a dozen brown eggs for a kilo of butter. Or fresh tomatoes for fresh bread. It will be like that. So...twice a week. Sweeping, dusting—your room full of books, Roberto, is your responsibility! I won't touch it—cleaning the bathrooms, mopping the kitchen floor, maybe the stove. It will only take a few hours. You are clean people, and," she tilted her head up with a smile, "I am very good at my job."

Alex flicked her eyes at him. Bobby grinned back. "Yes, Mrs. Diaz," they said in unison.

Mrs. Diaz smiled, too, and Olivia giggled because Ana and Carlos were trying to remain sober.

"Carlos will help you with any outdoor work," she continued, counting items on her fingers. "I know Señor O'Leary cuts your lawn, but Carlos will help you rake leaves, shovel snow, clean windows, wash your cars, perhaps tend to el perro, the brushing or bathing. That is correct, Carlito?"

"Si, Abi-Abi."

"Ana will also help you with outdoor work or the dog, or any errands in Milbury, or small chores."

Ana echoed, "Si, Abi-Abi."

"If you are late or need to be somewhere you did not know of, we will look after Olivia until you return."

"And you will behave," Alex added, leveling her eyes at her daughter.

"Si, Mama," Olivia answered seriously, echoing her friends.

"If the three of you wish to go away without–" and with a little smile, Mrs. Diaz pointed at Bandit, who was asleep on Bobby's shoulder. "–without your little zoo, we will care for them. Oh, and on Sunday nights and Wednesday nights, unless you have other plans or there is other work I can do, I will cook for you...Puerto Rican dishes, American dishes, the spaghetti...whatever." She saw Bobby open his mouth, and she crossed her arms. "It is a stipulation."

"Yes, Mrs. Diaz," Alex said in surrender.

"Then I think we are almost finished," was the dignified response. "What we have talked about is on this sheet of paper. You will initial each line and then sign at the bottom, and I will have Viola witness it tomorrow. It will be legal—like Bruno's will."

"Yes, Mrs. Diaz." Bobby did not hide his smile.

"Wait! There is one more stipulation!" She took the pen, flipped over the sheet of paper, and very firmly wrote a few words at the bottom. Ana, who was reading over her grandmother's shoulder, clapped her hands over her mouth to keep from laughing aloud.

"The last stipulation," Abril Diaz said sternly, "is that you will call me 'Abbi' from now on! I am not that much older than you, Roberto, and am tired of sounding like someone's bisabuela."

Olivia giggled. Carlos snorted, Ana laughed, and then they were all laughing, waking Bandit, who made a startled circuit of the room before landing on Carlos' head. "Little Bandit—¿pobre periquito, te asustamos?"

Ana squeezed around the refrigerator to stand behind Olivia, laying hands on her shoulders. "See? Now you officially have an abuela! Hermanas por siempre, Olivia?"

"Sœurs pour toujours, Ana," replied Olivia, then held up her little finger with a grin. "Pinky swear."

Bobby glanced up from carefully initialing each line of the list of stipulations. "What about the rest of us? Aren't we part of the deal?"

Abbi raised her almost empty cup from the table. "I will make it official then," she said with a smile, and clinked the cup against Alex's mug. "Salud! To all of us. To ohana."