“I can discipline my own keiki,” Winnie said, and pushed the glasses to the center of the table. She scowled at the children. “Don’t waste food.”

“They so kolohe!” May called out. “Oh, da pretty.”

At that, the children darted under the table—Sharkey felt them bumping his feet. He looked to May for relief, but she was hugging her father, nuzzling his neck.

Wallis said, “Wendy was a late baby. Kind of a caboose. My mother hapai when she was late-forty-something. Eh, Ma?”

Hearing her name, the old woman looked up and seemed to see Sharkey for the first time. “You from mainland?”

“I came here when I was little. My dad was military.”

The word seemed to cast a blight upon the table, killing conversation, and no one had a response.

“He died,” Sharkey said.

And that was worse, a darkening that was palpable. May’s mother frowned, Wallis grasped her hair and gagged a little, Winnie looked for refuge in her pager, studying its green light. But it was not a silence, only a pause that was filled by the howl and racket of the restaurant. They looked at the television sets, where a dark figure speeding down a ski jump took flight.

Winston solemnly unfastened the flap of his briefcase and brought out large squares of red paper stamped with gold Chinese characters. He handed one to the old man and said, “Long life, Pop.”

May’s father plucked a chewed chicken foot out of his mouth. He said, “No. It say, ‘Good Fortune.’”

“Same thing to me,” Winston said.

“Chinese Man of the Year,” May said, and Sharkey could not tell whether she was mocking her brother or praising him. But he didn’t respond, he was still handing his father lengths of gold-printed red paper.

“This one is ‘Fa’—Make money,” he said. “This one ‘Double Happiness.’”

One of May’s arms was around her father, the other around her brother’s shoulder. “This my double happiness,” she said. “My ohana.”

“He no like bitter melon,” May’s mother said.

Sharkey looked at his bowl, green blobs afloat in their own viscous juice, where Winnie had dropped them.

“These fun noodles,” the mother said. And tapping the rim of dishes at the center of the table, she said, “Teriyaki chicken. Lomi salmon. That macaroni. Potstickers. Plenty poi. No more chicken feet left!”

“I’m good with this,” Sharkey said, and prodded the goop in his bowl.

May said, “Joe was a lifeguard at Ali‘i—Waimea too. Monster waves there keep him busy.”

“What kine money they make?” Winnie asked, still staring at her beeper.

Winston sniffed and said, “That fricken haole guy was so bummed out when I told him we don’t need him, or his wahine. He so ignorant of the culture rules. Take your money somewhere else, I said.”

Wallis said, “Eh. You could be one yakuza gangsta man with all them tattoos.”