Prints in the Sand: My Journey with Nanea

Sinking onto the steps next to Nanea, I tell them we solved the mystery, but a real crime sits underneath it. Anzu’s father got shipped away simply for being Japanese, which hardly makes him a spy. Lily wonders how we could help. Remembering that Audrey spent that same morning gathering books and magazines for wounded soldiers—other girls’ fathers—gives me an idea. Maybe we could send something to her father, too. Like books or food. Nanea says they delivered cookies to Mr. Suda when he was taken away. We rush inside to ask Mrs. Suda.

Mrs. Suda says she can’t promise the guards at Sand Island will let Mr. Sato keep a package, but says it’s a kind idea worth trying. We could hand the package to Audrey and her mother and hope for the best.

So we set about assembling a box. Nanea adds some old magazines belonging to her brother David, reasoning he won’t miss them now that he has shipped out with the army. I can tell by the way Nanea is handling the magazines that she misses her brother dearly, the same way I miss Dad. Softly, I tell her that she’s right. Helping others makes me feel better, even when I miss Dad. She gives me a small smile and a big hug.

Nanea adds a couple more magazines, and Lily tucks in a few books donated by her father, then tops it off with cookies wrapped in wax paper. We have barely finished when the doorbell rings.

Audrey and her mother speak quietly with Mrs. Suda on the porch. After a couple minutes, Audrey comes inside to see what we have. When she asks if the box is for her, Nanea gently shakes her head and says it’s for her dad. Tears well in Audrey’s eyes the instant she sees the box’s contents. She says her father loves mochi. Nanea says there’s Portuguese malasadas, Chinese crack seed, and guava bread as well. Lots of different treats and flavors, just like all the different kind of people in Hawaii.

Lily likens it to our cookie giveaway, and I pipe up that it reminds me of miso soup, all those flavors blending into one bowl. The others laugh. Nanea nods, agreeing everyone in Hawaii comes from somewhere different, yet shares plenty in common. We all love this island we call home. And, I add, hoping to coax a smile from Audrey, we all love a good Nancy Drew mystery, too.

Just before sealing the box, Audrey hesitates and asks to borrow a pen. She digs the photograph of herself and her father out of her pocket, lays it facedown on the table, and scrawls something across the back that I can’t fully make out. What I do catch, though, is how she signs it, in bold, looping letters that spell out “Anzu.”

Once Audrey and her mother head home, Mr. Suda offers to drive me back to my home, too. I tell him I live near the beach, so the three of us squeeze into the backseat of the car. When Nanea asks what’s on my mind, I tell her honestly that I miss my dad, but I’m sure it feels worse for Anzu, whose father is being treated like a criminal. Nanea points out that we at least tried to help him today, and Lily quietly reminds me of everything else the Honolulu Helpers managed this weekend, from rolling bandages to gathering books.

All of it gets me thinking about the Acts of Kindness project I launched with my friend Kayla back in California. I wonder if I could I start that again here. It won’t be the same without Kayla, but maybe I’ll meet new friends. The first project practically picks itself: care packages for soldiers stationed far from home, exactly like Dad. For the rest of the drive, I turn over what I would tuck into his box—snapshots of me and my brothers, certainly, plus a batch of Mom’s chocolate chip cookies.

Mr. Suda drops me at Waikiki Beach, where saying goodbye to my new friends proves harder than expected, though I’m buzzing to get home. I rush the barbed-wire fence, ease off the puka shell necklace, and cross my fingers that everyone is still exactly where I left them. Auntie Oli is the first person I spot, bracing a sand castle against the incoming waves while my brothers pack cup after cup of sand into its walls to build it taller.

I dash toward Auntie Oli with a question burning to get out. Could we bake some of her guava bread to mail to Dad? Her smile is instant and warm as she promises we can make a fresh batch later today. Right on its heels comes another question: does she happen to know how to make Japanese mochi? Surprise flashes across her face before she admits it’s one of her favorites. Perfect, I think, grinning back at her. Mine, too.