Island Of Sweet Pies And Soldiers: A powerful story of loss and love. Sara Ackerman

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       Prologue

      Mr. Macadangdang showed up with a truck full of coconuts this morning. The way his back fender scraped across the road, you’d think he was transporting barrels of lead. He knows that Mama and Jean are suckers for coconut pie, and he’s been extra helpful since Papa disappeared.

      There’s only one problem with a mountain of coconuts in your front yard—someone has to husk them all. He taught me how once, using a cane knife that could have hacked off my hand with one slip. First you hold the coconut in your hand like a baseball. Then you crack it in half with one big hit. When the water pours out, you hold it above your head and swallow it down.

      Mama put an end to that. “Macadangdang! What are you doing? Teach me, not Ella,” she said.

      It’s been almost three years now since Pearl Harbor, one year since Papa vanished. Everyone else measures time from the moment those Japanese planes shot their torpedoes into our ships. I measure it from the last time I saw Papa. People say things get easier as time passes but not in my case. Even though we get special treatment, as Jean calls it, that doesn’t make up for being fatherless in the middle of a war.

      Mama and Jean are plotting to sell pies to the new soldiers in town. Mama says we need the money, Jean needs a distraction, and I’ll get to eat the leftovers. So it works out for all of us.

      But back to my papa disappearing. I was there. Mama thinks I was playing in the Codys’ yard. That’s not true. Don’t ask me to tell because I’m sworn to secrecy. Lives depend on it.

      There are days when I feel like the secret is growing inside of me, and wonder if I might explode like a popped balloon. But I have to keep Mama safe, and not let the words out. Words that could ruin everything and put us all in danger. At first all I wanted to do was run to her, screaming, to paint the story in giant red letters across the wall. But it was a year ago, and writing didn’t come easily. I still got the b and the d mixed up.

      Nowadays, I keep the cane knife close. But not for the coconuts.