It's a stressful and lengthy drive to Big Uncle's bakery, which is only a ten-minute walk from our house. Nobody said anything as Ma, Third Uncle, and I squished up in the back seat.
Big Uncle's Bakery is located in the Valley, just a few blocks from Ranch 99, a large supermarket. It's ideally located between a beauty salon owned by Second Uncle and a florist owned by Ma.
We spill out of the car as he parks at the back of the bakery. I take deep breaths, relieved to be free of the car's suffocating, thick silence.
There are no cars on the road, and no one is visible at this hour. It's as if the entire world has fallen asleep, and this terrible, black moment is ours alone, permanently etched in my mind as the worst night of my life.
I'm very thankful to have my family at my side. It's an odd idea to have as we pull Jackson from Big Uncle's trunk and struggle to get him across the parking lot and through the bakery's rear door. The lights are turned on and the door is locked behind us by Big Uncle. The kitchen is bathed in dazzling white light.
"Alamak! Turn off the lights! Someone will see!" Ma cries.
"Nobody will see, got no windows back here," Big Uncle says. "Put him down there—no, not there, too close to my flour. Yes, there, okay. Make sure he not touch anything."
He dashes over to the massive industrial-sized refrigerator with it. With some difficulty, he pulls the handle and opens the heavy door. We form a ring around him and—
"Wah," Ma says. "Very beautiful."
I'm speechless as I look at the enormous piece of art that sits in refrigerated glory before me.
It's stunning: eight layers of perfectly round cake coated in immaculate buttercream, each layer designed to resemble poured marble in various colours of twilight pink and grey. Peonies, hydrangeas, and roses decorate it in a softly weaving cascade, all created with loving hands out of sugar paste, their petals as delicate as tissue paper.
It's beautiful.
Of course, I've seen Big Uncle's wedding cakes before, but he's excelled himself this time. He's always done an excellent job, but this isn't just a cake; it's a work of art.
"It's amazing, Big Uncle," I breathe. "It's perfect."
"This is your best yet," Third Uncle says.
Big Uncle is far too traditional to be pleased when he receives compliments, "Aniyo. Is nothing." He mutters as he dismisses our praises. But there's just the slightest crease in the corners of his lips, indicating that he's fighting a huge smile.
"Is not bad," Second Uncle grunts, and the quirk leaves Big Uncle's mouth.
Big Uncle's expression hardens. "Anyway, no room in the fridge for the body. Then how?"
"Just move cake out," Second Uncle says. "Is covered in fondant, it can last forever outside the refrigerator."
"Is not fondant," Big Uncle says, smirking triumphantly. "I know maybe you think is fondant because the surface is so smooth, right? But is buttercream. Bride says no fondant, I say no problem, I can do buttercream. Customer always first—"
"I can't believe it's not fondant," I cut in. There's no telling how long Big Uncle's speech would go on for, left unchecked. "Big Uncle's right, we can't risk the cake spoiling. Maybe we could put the body in one of the coolers until morning, and then once the cake's out, we can transfer the body into the fridge."
Big Uncle chews on his lower lip as he mulls over the idea. "Can. Tomorrow Adora and mover man come over at seven-thirty, move cake into van, then you all can come and help move body into fridge."
I shudder at the thought of Adora, a lively young pastry chef who Big Uncle had recruited as his assistant, being in the same room as the body. We'll have to keep an eye on her and the mover to make sure they don't end up near the wrong cooler.
Big Uncle sighs. "Dead body in my fridge, so unhygiene."
A crushing wave of guilt nearly knocks me off my feet at the trouble I'm causing everyone. "I'm so sorry, Big Uncle. I'll buy you a new fridge, or pay for this one to be professionally cleaned afterwards."
"Aigoo, don't so silly, is okay." Big Uncle walks up to the shelves, where three massive coolers and a slew of boxes are neatly placed. He motions us over to the largest cooler and asks if we can assist move it out.
It's a gigantic thing, obviously big enough for Jackson if we can tuck his legs up, which is a nightmare to contemplate, yet here we are. We exchange nods and exchange glances.
That's it.
Jackson is unwrapped from the blankets and carried to the cooler. He eventually gets in after a few tries, a lot of arguing from my uncles and mom, and a lot of curse words. We were able to fold all of Jackson's limbs easily enough because it's such a warm night, but we did have to remove his shoes.
We neatly fold the blankets and place them on top of him to cover him, and then Big Uncle has us pile all sorts of baking materials on top of the blankets to conceal them. We're all sweating by the time we're done, and the cooler looks like it's full of flour and confectioners' sugar.
Big Uncle writes out:
CAN NOT OPEN
...on a Post-it and sticks it to the top of the cooler.
"If you write 'Can Not Open,' people will surely open," Second Uncle comments.
Big Uncle gives him a warm smile. "Maybe you are one of those people opening things not theirs, but most people are better than that."
Second Uncle sighs and reaches for the pen. He scribbles:
BAKING SUPPLIES, NO OPENING, MUST BE COLD
...on a new Post-it note and slaps it on top of Big Uncle's original note.
"That's probably fine," I say, quickly. "Thank you, Big Uncle. Oesamchon gamsahabnida," I say in English and Korean.
They assisted me in moving a man I killed; the least I can do is express my gratitude in their preferred languages. I extend my gratitude to Third Uncle and Ma as well.
"Aigoo, thank us for what, we did nothing," Big Uncle says as he waves me off.
"You literally just helped me move a dead body."
I don't know how to express how I'm feeling, so I give him a big hug with tears in my eyes. My family isn't known for being great huggers, but Big Uncle accepts the hug wholeheartedly, his strong arms securely enveloping me.
"Thank you," I whisper.
"Munje eopseoyo," he says, patting the back of my head.
We let go and push the cooler back next to the other coolers, and then pile sacks of flour on top of it. By the time we're through, it appears like the world's most innocent cooler, not one that holds a dead human inside.
"Tomorrow we come back here at seven forty-five. Adora will be finishing up with the move, and then we move the body into the fridge and I lock it," Big Uncle says. He mutters to himself, "Must bring a lock."
Even Second Uncle nods in agreement without snarking at Big Uncle. By this point, we're all so weary that we're wobbling a little on our feet. The bed has never seemed so good to me.
It's a good thing that we all live on the same street.
Big Uncle drives us home, dropping us off at our respective homes, and Ma and I stumble into the house like zombies. Before crawling into my bedroom, I barely manage to pull off my wet clothing and take a scalding hot shower.
I'll have to deal with the clothes tomorrow. Burn them or something. Same with my car. Clean it, burn it, whatever it is, I don't have the energy to clean it, burn it, or deal with whatever it is right now.
My muscles turn to water at the sight of my lovely, warm bed, and I sink face-first into the pile of pillows. It isn't until then that I realise we haven't looked for Jackson's phone.
Shit.
I make a mental note to go back and get it first thing the next morning. We still have time. We'll have plenty of time to find his phone if it's on him when we move the body from the chiller to the freezer. I got through it, is the last thought I had before I pass out from exhaustion.
Nothing could possibly go wrong tonight. The worst has passed.
"—ly! Tily!" Ma's voice slices through the room, shattering my sleep.
"Wha—?" I murmur under my breath, squinting and grimacing in the harsh glare. Is it already morning? I feel like I could sleep for a week if I wanted to. "What time it is?"
"Time to go. You get up now. We need to move body and then go to the pier."
Last night's events resurface in a dizzying, terrible rush. Jackson, the car accident, the body—oh my heaven, the body. I bury my face in my hands.
It wasn't a dream.
It really did happen.
My family assisted me in moving the body after I killed a man.
Ma rushes in and offers me a glass of juice. "I make herbal tea for you. Wake you up. Lekas, minum."
I do as she says, too tired and dazed to argue, and I hate to admit it, but she's right. Whatever she's put in the TKM drink perks me up a little, sliding down my throat hot and bitter.
I finish it and shower, and by the time I'm dressed in my all-black photography outfit, I feel more or less human and prepared to tackle the horrible task that lies before of us.
To make sure Jungkook, my second photographer, is ready for the day, I send him a brief text. He's scheduled to arrive an hour after me at the resort to photograph the groomsmen while I handle the bridal party. Kook replies with a thumbs-up emoji. I load my gear into the car, before Ma and I drive to Big Uncle's bakery.
Something is clearly wrong as soon as we walk in via the back door. Big Uncle and Second Uncle are already there, and they're arguing in Korean at each other, so engrossed in their argument that they don't even glance up as we come in.
"Oi!" Ma has to shout above their voices. "Sudah! Done, stop! Berhenti bertengkar, what is it?"
Second Uncle scoffs and laughs, although it sounds more like a cough sob. He glares at Big Uncle and says, "You tell them. You tell them what happened."
Dread is like a hard, jagged stone lodged deep within my stomach. I attempt to swallow, but my mouth feels like it's on fire.
Whatever Big Uncle's about to say, I don't want to hear it.
Big Uncle's voice comes out hushed, trembling. "Adora and the mover came early. And—"
I've never heard Big Uncle's voice tremble before, but now it does.
"And they took the cooler!" Second Uncle crows. "You should've come earlier so you could supervise, but you didn't." His eyes are bright with triumph as he turns to us and says, "He overslept."
"I was so exhausted after last night that I slept through my alarm," Big Uncle mumbles, without meeting our gaze.
Ma and I look in disbelief at the spot where we'd pushed the cooler last night, and it's empty, all three coolers gone. It seems to me that this is horrible news for all of us, including Second Uncle, but not even such bad news can keep him from shoving Big Uncle's nose in it on a rare occasion. "So irresponsible," Second Uncle says.
Big Uncle bristles visibly. "I'm irresponsible?" he hisses.
Ma jumps in between her and Second Uncle. "Okay, berhenti, cukup." She flaps her hands for a bit. "You better call Adora now, quickly!"
"I already did. She said the coolers have all been loaded up to the yacht." Big Uncle sighs. "She sounded so happy and proud to have done everything without my help. Aigoo, macam mana ni?"
"We'll go to the pier now! Maybe the yacht hasn't left yet!" Ma cries.
It has left.
We're informed of this after rushing from the parking lot and arriving at the dock sweaty and out of breath.
"But hey, no worries," replies the hotel—what is the proper title here, yacht organiser? "In approximately five minutes, another one will arrive. You have arrived early, ladies and gentlemen. Wasn't the one that departed fifteen minutes ago only for cargo?" He checks his iPad and adds, "You're not scheduled to travel for another half-hour."
"We like to play it safe, get places early," I wheeze. "So, um, what happens to the cargo once it gets to the island?"
"What cargo you got?"
I exchange a glance with Big Uncle. "Um, cakes, mostly. There's the giant wedding cake and, um, a bunch of other desserts."
"Okay, that stuff will go straight to the kitchen. We've got orders to put them in the walk-in fridge. Sounds good to you?"
I nod weakly. "Perfect."
"How does everything go?" Big Uncle says. "Go okay?"
The yacht organizer smiles brightly. "Yeah, everything's going great."
"Great."
"Great."
We trudge a few paces away from the guy and go into a huddle. "They not know Jackson is, you know—" Big Uncle mimes a cutting motion across his neck.
"Big Uncle!" I hiss. "Be more subtle, please." Just to play it safe, I switch to Malaysian. "Okay," I say. "Kita kena uh...fikir...a plan." Wow, my Malaysian sucks. I try switching to Korean. "Ulineun...um...gyehoeg-i...a plan."
Ma sighs. "I spent so much money on Korean class for you, all wasted."
I give her a sheepish smile. "Um, so, a plan?"
"Aigooo, it's simple," Second Uncle says in Korean. "As soon as we get there, we'll find the cooler and one of us can take it back here. See? Easy."
"Easy," Big Uncle sniffs, shaking his head. "I don't think it'll be that easy."
"Why not?" Second Uncle says, raising his chin.
Big Uncle shrugs. "Because it's never easy. Otherwise people would get away with murder all the time."
I wince at the word "murder," even though he said it in Korean. And even though I want to have faith in Second Uncle's simple plan of "get there, find cooler, bring cooler back," I have a feeling that Big Uncle is right.
It's never easy to conceal a dead body—a fact I'm quickly learning from the previous night. We grab our things from the trunk and wait for the yacht to arrive. We wait in silence while the yacht roars back to life and sails away from the mainland.
Third Uncle, being the entertainment won't be due at the island until this evening, so Big Uncle instructs me to keep him up to date via our family WhatsApp. I can't say anything incriminating on WhatsApp, so I type something cryptic:
Hi, Third Uncle. There's been a bit of a hiccup. We're headed to the island early. Call me when you get this.
Ma sighs loudly as she reads over my shoulder. "He won't see until he wakes up in the afternoon, that lazy bum."
Even though it is technically not Third Uncle's fault, Ma will never forgive him for it because he gets to sleep in during the wedding season and receives the most recognition for his work.
And Third Uncle enjoys shoving that in Ma's face.
I think it's like Big Uncle vs. Second Uncle, a long-running feud that predates me and my cousins by decades.
It's a typical spring day in Southern California: bright and hot, with wisps of white. The beautiful blue sky is dotted with clouds.
I gaze out across the vast ocean, a faraway sliver of land that I can't believe is the mainland. It appears to be rather tiny from this distance. I almost feel better for a while, escaping from everything that's transpired back home, but as the island of Santa Lucia comes into view, reality crashes back in.
I'm not going to forget about my problems.
They're waiting for me right here.
And, for all I know, Adora, the well-trained assistant, might unpack everything. The image of her doing it is so vivid in my mind. I can almost hear her doing it as she opens the cooler, humming. She'll bend down and remove all of the sugar packets and knickknacks we've put on top of the blankets until she reaches the blankets. Maybe she'll pause with a puzzled expression—why is there a blanket here?—and then pull the blanket up, and—
I spring up as if I've been electrified when I hear a loud horn. "Welcome to Santa Lucia, ladies and gentlemen. We hope you have a pleasant stay at the Ayana Lucia."
I pull Ma and the uncles to their feet while gathering my hefty camera bag. On the yacht, they're all a little shaky and clutch to my arms as we make our way off.
We make our way across the bridge, stumbling. Another hotel manager greets us at the pier, holding a tablet. "The Kims, I gather?" he says, eyeing my camera bag.
"Yes."
He gives my family a once-over, then points to Big Aunt. "Cake and pastries?"
My heart bursts into a gallop.
Oh god. This is it.
He'll tell us they've discovered the corpse, and then the police will leap out from behind the pier's columns, and then—Big Uncle must be thinking the same thing as me, because he's frozen, with a frightened expression of doubt on his face.
"Hello, cake and pastries?" he repeats. He turns to me, wearing an expression that says: Help me out here?
"Um, is there a problem with the cake and pastries?" I say.
He frowns. "No. Why would there be?" he says snidely.
We all visibly sag with relief. "Yeah, he's the baker," I say.
"Good. That wasn't so hard, was it?" he snorts, then hands Big Uncle an ID with his name and the word BAKER on it. "Wear this at all times." He turns to Ma. "And who are you?"
"Flowers," she says.
"Florist," I add.
"Okay, here's your ID, and you would be the hair and makeup?" he says, turning to Second Uncle, who nods quickly.
The manager gives Second Uncle an ID and then the last one to me. I flip it over in my hands, amazed at how precisely this wedding has been arranged. I don't believe I've ever been to a wedding where we had to wear our ID cards on a lanyard.
"I have a question," Second Uncle says.
The guy visibly sighs. "Yes?"
"Erm, your boss—he okay? He very fierce? He is in a bad mood today?"
The manager has the world's grumpiest grimace on his face as he looks at Second Uncle. "I mean, I don't know, it's not like we're besties or anything."
Second Uncle leans closer. "So you do not see him today?"
"Ugh, I don't know. I'm a busy guy. I don't keep track of everyone who comes on and off the yachts."
"Isn't that literally your job? Keeping track of who comes on and off the yacht?" I say.
He shoots me a glowering look and says, "Anyway, here's your buggy. You guys should go now. Toodles!"
We cram ourselves into the buggy, exchanging anxious glances. It's still unclear whether the hotel is aware that Jackson will not be coming today. It occurs to me that I have no idea if they are expecting him. He informed me last night that this is his seventh resort, so he's not expected to show up at every function held at one of his properties.
But this is his most ambitious endeavour to come first serve basis owns an entire island—and this is the resort's first wedding, with the bride's parents being close friends, so he'd be expected to come up and make sure everything works perfectly.
This means that at some point, someone will go, "Where's Jackson? Why isn't he here yet?" and then someone else will be asked to ring his cell, and—
Holy. Shit.
His cell!
I completely forgot about it this morning, amidst the confusion and panic. I leap to my feet and nearly fall off the moving buggy. Ma and Second Uncle yell and grab my hand, as the buggy abruptly comes to a halt, throwing us back into our seats.
"What happened?" the driver says. "You okay? Did you drop something?"
I can only shake my head and wave a weak hand at him, indicating that he should continue. Once I catch my breath, I say, "Kita lupa handphone dia."
"Handphone siapa—oh," Ma gasps, her hand flying to cover her mouth. "Ada dekat mana handphone dia?"
I don't know where it is.
I shake my head.
"Mesti dalam pocket seluar dia," Second Uncle says.
His pants pocket.
That's a valid assumption, and I only checked one.
How loud is its ringtone? Is it possible for others to hear it ring inside the cooler?
If they haven't already, they will most likely start phoning him shortly.
As the buggy comes to a halt at the resort's entrance, the driver remarks, "Here we are." We scramble out and come to a halt in front of the big entrance.
The hotel's lobby is built on a hill.
The terms "majestic" and "hallowed" spring to mind when I think of this place. The resort was built in the style of old Southeast Asian architecture, with ornately carved decorations adorning the massive columns. The foyer is open on two sides and provides a spectacular view of the resort and the ocean below. The lobby is surrounded by a calm pond with beautiful orange koi and floating candles, and the ceiling is so high that I have to tilt my head all the way back to see the top.
Despite the beautiful setting, my chest feels stiff and my stomach is painfully twisted. Ma, Big Uncle, and Second Uncle all have tense expressions on their faces.
A receptionist greets us and attempts to guide us to where we need to go, but Big Uncle interrupts her.
"No, they must come with me first," Big Uncle says.
The receptionist falters. "Um, but the rooms are in the opposite direction of the kitchen. It's a big resort. Hair and makeup are expected at the bridal suite soon. If you go to the kitchen first, you might be late—"
"Is okay, we will be very fast," Big Uncle says, rising to full authoritative mode.
"But—" The harried receptionist spots someone and her entire demeanour shifts, she smiles and flutters her eyelids and angles her face in a charming way. "There's the owner. He should be able to assist you with your request."
The Owner?
My family and I stop for a split second, exchanging panicked glances.
"How are things going, Mauren?" A smooth, deep rich voice that can only be described as molten chocolate says.
"Good morning, sir," replies Mauren. "I was merely directing the wedding vendors where to go." She flutters her eyelids at him once more.
My family turns around to introduce themselves to him, but I remain frozen.
I can tell who it is even if I don't turn around.
I hear his voice in my dreams.
I can still feel his touch on me, his strong, gentle hands on my skin.
"And you must be the photographer?" he inquires.
Taking a deep breath to attempt to calm down myself down, I gracefully spin around to face him—the one that got away. The one who took a huge chunk of my heart, my soul, with him. "I am," I say in a hoarse voice as I watch the smile freezes on his face, and I see years of history flash across his mind, "Hi, Yoongi. It's been a while."
The words in italics are in Korean, while the words in italics and bold are in Malay.
Munje eopseoyo – no problem
Oesamchon gamsahabnida - Thank you, Uncle
ulineun gyehoeg-i pil-yohae – we need a plan
Lekas- Quick <a noun to describe movement, time, event, etc.>
Minum - Drink
Berhenti bertengkar - Stop arguing
Sudah - Enough
Macam mana ni? - How to do this?
Kita kena - We need
Fikir - Think
Kita lupa handphone dia - We forgot his cell phone
Handphone siapa - Whose cell phone
Ada dekat mana handphone dia? - Where is his cell phone at?
Mesti dalam pocket seluar dia - Must be in his pants pocket
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