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belief in supporting native plant landscaping, I was secretly relieved that we wouldn’t be staying in the middle of a brown field. “You can’t always believe what you see or read on the Internet, but this looks postcard perfect.”
    “Check out the golf course,” Tom said. “Eighteen holes, and the golf club is supposed to have one of the island’s top Japanese restaurants.”
    “Top Japanese restaurants are expensive,” my father said. “Rei will be happy to cook; why, she’s been cooking for me this last month and I’ve lost five pounds.”
    “That’s not much of an argument for my cooking,” I said, thinking that what had seemed like an act of love, feeding my father, might feel a little different if I was doing it non-stop for three men. “I just hope the kitchen has some pots and pans.”
    “The kitchen is quite luxurious, I think. Would you care to see the photographs?” Tom started rummaging in his carry-on bag.
    “Not now, thanks. Security’s ready to talk to us,” I said, because the cars ahead of us had all been cleared and now it was my turn to introduce myself at Kainani’s gatehouse.
    After I’d given our name and the street address of the house we were renting, a handsome young man in a green-and-gold aloha shirt and trim khaki shorts handed me directions and an envelope with keys to our house on Plumeria Place. Plumeria was the name of the particular flower in the parking attendant’s hair, I remembered. Hawaii was coming back to me, fast.
    I drove a half-mile farther, passing the Kainani Inn, a sprawling modern hotel on the beach side of the road. On the left was the fabled golf course, where a cluster of golfers had gathered to watch someone swing.
    “Michelle Wie!” Uncle Hiroshi started thumping on his window, as if the star teenage golfer might wave. She didn’t notice, so I was forced to stop the car in order that Tom and Uncle Hiroshi could run to the golf course with a digital camera.
    After ten minutes Hiroshi and Tom returned to the minivan, full of bubbly excitement over the young star. Finally we turned left at the small road cutting through the golf course that led to an elaborate iron gate with fancy pineapple designs and the name of the housing area, Pineapple Plantation. As the Aloha team member who’d given me the key had instructed, I waved the house key over a sensor and the gates parted to reveal a neighborhood of simple gray clapboard houses, each with a wraparound white wooden porch called a lanai. Another gorgeous word that had returned to my memory. Despite my intentions, I was really getting excited about being in Hawaii.
    “Well done, Rei-chan!” Tom said, practically jumping out of the car when I’d pulled into the driveway. I slowly got out of the car, still studying the house. It was clearly part of a mass development, but its simple, well-balanced design was architecturally pleasing, albeit American. The only factor that made these homes feel Polynesian was the landscaping: vigorous shrubs like ginger, breadfruit trees, and several species of palm. Thick banks of orange-spotted lauae ferns lined the walkway to the house, not quite covering the sprinkler heads set into the ground. I smelled plumeria everywhere, its dainty white blooms on small trees that looked as if they’d been planted only recently.
    Inside, the house plan was modern. The heart of the home was a high-ceilinged kitchen with granite counters and stainless appliances including a professional-looking juicer. As my father exclaimed over it, I looked past the pot rack hanging with anodized aluminum pans and across the neutrally furnished living room to huge windows showing views of the beautiful green lawns. So this is what you could get on the Leeward Side of Oahu for four thousand dollars a month—not bad, if you compared it to the cost of a Waikiki double.
    Two bedrooms and baths were upstairs, one of which would be for Hiroshi and my father, and the other for Tom. I would sleep