Coincidence?

The restaurant was suppose to be in Naalehu. Dad and I arrived in the two-horse town just ahead of a tour bus. The bus burped its passengers at the curb and they scurried into the shade faster than cockroaches caught in a midnight raid of the refrigerator. The swarm clogged the restrooms and nearby bakery.

The bakery, America’s most southerly located, fronted as an information booth and turtle center. While inquiring about the location of the Lunch Box, I had to lean over the éclairs, chocolate-choked cream puffs and monstrous muffins. All at very reasonable prices. Good marketing.

“Hey, Val, you want to split one of those?” Dad pointed to a fat éclair. I hadn't seen one so scrumptous since I left Bastonge.

“Later, Dad.”

The young Hawaiian girl had never heard of my Uncle Pep’s son in law’s little restaurant, the Lunch Box. She thought it might be in Hilo. But there was no way I would confuse Naalehu with the Hilo. But maybe Pep did. However, I might have misunderstood the last name of a cousin I had never met. “Are you sure the name is Paul Nahoe? I know a Paul Hahoe. He owns the Lunch Shop, across the street in the park.”

I considered this a possibility. Sounded close. I was sure I had the right name, but you know that Hawaiian stuff. With names like Kamakawiwo'ole and Kahakahakea I could make a mistake. You say Paul Hanoe, I say Paul Nahoe.

Lunch Box? Lunch Shop? Maybe my unlce had the name confused. I was in the right tiny town. Maybe.

We went across the street. I awkwardly introduce myself at the window of the bright yellow shanty. I explained, "I’m looking for Paul who married my Oregon cousin. Last name Perez." Strangely, the local claimed she indeed had a brother named Paul who married a girl from Oregon, but not the last name Perez.

She asked me if I wanted to buy any fish. I went back across the street and got a cream puff.