Bridge of Scarlet Leaves (5 page)

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Authors: Kristina McMorris

BOOK: Bridge of Scarlet Leaves
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7
“K
ern!” Coach Barry’s voice shot over the departing spectators at Griffith Park. “Need a word with you, son.”
TJ fought a scowl as he zipped up his sports bag. Since being pulled for the last two innings, he’d been counting down the minutes to leave. Their closing pitcher had held on for a 7–5 victory, but TJ wasn’t in the mood to celebrate.
He slung his bag over his left shoulder and hid his purpling bruises by dangling his right hand behind him. Thankfully, only a muted yellow tinted his cheek.
Coach Barry strolled toward the outfield, a signal for TJ to join him. A private talk. Not a good thing, considering TJ’s mediocre showing today. The solid, dark Irishman carried a thoughtful look, hands in the pockets of his baseball jacket. A taunting wind blew past them. It flapped a lock of the man’s slicked hair, receding from the effects of close-call games and concern for his players.
As they passed the pitcher’s mound, TJ mined his brain for arguments to defend himself. He wasn’t about to surrender all hope of regaining his slot in the starting rotation for USC’s upcoming season. When his game had gone to hell last year, a compassionate demotion landed him in the bullpen. Now he wanted out. He was a prisoner who knew what it was like on the other side of the fence, and could feel his cell closing in on him. Telling the coach about a new pitch he was honing might aid his cause. A “slurve,” they called it. The slider-curve combo could break wide enough to raise some brows.
He was about to volunteer as much when Coach Barry asked, “So how’s your father been?”
Your father.
Swell. Was there anything TJ wanted to talk about less?
“The same,” he answered. Which meant mute in a convalescent home, nearly too depressed to function.
Coach Barry nodded pensively. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
TJ squeezed the strap on his bag. Redirecting, he said, “My sister, Maddie, though—she’s doing great. Her violin teacher says she’s a shoo-in for Juilliard this year, if her audition goes well. Just gotta keep her on track till then.”
“That’s good, that’s good.” Coach Barry smiled. “I’m sure you’ve done a fine job looking out for her.”
TJ shrugged, despite feeling as though caring for Maddie was the one thing he was still doing right.
“What about you, son? How you doing these days?”
“I’m gettin’ by.” The reply was so reflexive, he didn’t consider the bleakness of the phrase until it was too late to reel the words back in. “’Course, if you’re talking about baseball, I can assure you, my pitches are coming back more and more every day. You just wait and see. By spring practice—”
Coach Barry held up his hand, bringing them to a stop. “Look,” he sighed. “I’m gonna cut to the chase. Your professor, Dr. Nelson, paid a visit to my office last week. It’s about your grades.”
The path of the conversation, in an instant, became clear. A detour TJ resented. He didn’t need their sympathy, or to be ganged up on. That woman had no business stirring up trouble on the field.
“It was a couple lousy tests,” he burst out. “I’ve told her that. Got plenty of time to make it up.”
“And the rest of your classes?” The challenge indicated Coach Barry was well informed of the situation. That his former-ace pitcher was barely skimming by, tiptoeing on the fence of a scholarship lost.
TJ clenched his jaw. He wrestled down his anger, to prevent it from seizing control.
Coach Barry rested a hand on TJ’s shoulder, causing a slight flinch. “I know you’ve been through a lot, son. But you’ve got less than a year left, and I, for one, don’t want to see you throw it all away. Now, if you need a tutor, you just say so. Or if you need more time for studying, we can certainly see about cutting back your delivery hours... .”
Less time dedicated to his on-campus job was a nice thought, particularly on days of lugging cadavers from Norwalk State Hospital for the Science Department. Yet a nice thought was all it was. Besides school expenses, TJ needed all the dough he could get for house bills and Maddie’s lessons and everything else in the goddamned world that chomped its way through a pocketbook.
“I’ll be fine, Coach,” he broke in. He repeated himself, taking care to stress his gratitude. “Really, I’ll be fine.” If it hadn’t been for the guy’s encouragement, TJ would have dropped out of college long before now.
Coach Barry rubbed the cleft in his chin before he heaved a resigning breath. “All right, then. You know where to find me.”
TJ obliged with a nod. He remained on the faded lines of the diamond as his coach walked away and disappeared from sight. At that moment, in the wide vacancy of the ball field, TJ suddenly realized why he had always been a pitcher.
Because alone on the mound, he depended only on himself.
8
M
addie stood on the Pier, searching, searching. Though unbuttoned, her long russet coat hoarded heat from her anxious rush across town. A current of strangers split around her like a river evading a rock. An ordinary rock, medium in size, nearly invisible. And Maddie preferred it that way. Only when channeling another’s composition through her bow did she now find comfort in the spotlight.
Scanning faces, she hunted for Lane’s distinct features, his sister’s pint-sized frame. Outside the Hippodrome was where he had asked Maddie to meet them. But they weren’t there, and she didn’t have the luxury of time to wait patiently. It was a quarter after noon. She had but fifteen minutes to spare. He couldn’t have left early; she’d told him she would be here as soon as she could. She needed to find him, before he left, before his train.
Before she lost her nerve.
“Lane, where are you?” At the very moment she whispered the words, she spotted the back of his familiar form blinking between passersby. His golden skin peeked out between his short black hair and the collar of his coat.
She prepared herself while striding over the wooden planks to reach him. “I’m so glad you’re still here,” she said, touching his arm. He turned toward her, revealing the face of a man with sharp Italian features. Mustard stained his large lips.
“Pardon me,” Maddie said. “I thought you were somebody else.” Then she streamed into the mass, head down. Blending.
The smell of onions from a hot-dog stand caused her stomach to growl. In her haste, she’d left the lunch Bea had insisted she take for the bus ride over. Macaroni salad and a baked-bean sandwich. Maddie had grown to love both as a child, long before she could comprehend which meals were served solely to survive the shop’s less-profitable months.
But she couldn’t think about any of that now. She had ten minutes to find—
“Maddie . ..”
She focused on the vague call of her name, filtering out the crowd’s chatter. Notes of “In the Mood,” from the band on a nearby stage, took greater effort to block; music dominated her hearing above all else.
“Maddie!” At last, the soprano voice guided her to Emma’s china-doll face. The girl was scurrying toward her with a smile that made perfect little balls of her rosy cheeks. Maddie used to secretly babysit her when Lane was in high school. Naturally, he had preferred outings with TJ over watching his pesky little sister. He’d been adamant about paying by the hour, though Maddie would have done it for free. And one look at the youngster reminded her why.
“Hiya, pretty girl.”
Emma leapt into her outstretched arms. Adoration seemed to flow from the child’s every pore. It filled Maddie’s heart so quickly she had to giggle to prevent her eyes from tearing up.
As their arms released, she noted a substance on Emma’s hands. “Ooh, you’re sticky. Let me guess, cotton candy?”
“
And
a caramel apple,” Emma boasted. Then her smile dropped. “Don’t tell my mom, okay?”
“My lips are sealed.” An easy promise to make. Running into the woman, unreadable in her stoicism, had always occurred by mere chance, and Maddie’s talk with Lane would do anything but change that. “Say, Emma, where’s your brother?”
Emma twisted to her side and pointed. There was Lane, weaving around a family ordering ice-cream cones. He wore a trench coat and sunglasses. A bright red balloon floated on a string clutched in his hand. When Maddie caught his attention, he flashed a smile, the breathtaking one that seemed crafted just for her. She felt a warm glow rise within her.
“I was getting worried,” he said, once they were close.
“Sorry it took so long. We had customers, so I couldn’t leave until Bea showed up.”
Emma tugged her brother’s sleeve, looking troubled. “I thought you were gonna get yellow?”
Lane glanced at the inflatable swaying overhead, as though he’d forgotten it was there. He squatted to her level. “Turns out they were out, kiddo. But since Sarah Mae’s favorite color is red, I was hoping this would do.”
Emma contemplated that, and nodded. “Good idea. Sarah Mae loves balloons.”
Maddie smiled at the reference to the girl’s doll, equally ragged and beloved, while Lane tied the string around his sister’s wrist.
“
On
san,
can we go down to the sand?” Emma asked him. “I didn’t get to collect shells yet.”
The Japanese term for “brother” was one of the few things Maddie understood about Lane’s foreign culture.
He checked his watch. “I guess we can. We only have a few minutes, though, so don’t go far. And don’t wade too deep into the water.”
“Okay, okay.”
“You promise?” he pressed.
Emma sighed, her pinkie drawing an
x
over her chest. “Cross my heart,” she said, and rolled her eyes, not in rebellious defiance, but in a gentle manner. As if at the age of eight, she could already see his barriers for what they were. An expression of caring. It wasn’t so different, Maddie supposed, from the strict guidelines TJ had instilled after assuming their father’s role.
Except that she herself wasn’t eight.
Side by side, Lane and Maddie walked toward the beach. Strangers with rolled-up pants and buckets and shovels speckled the sandy canvas. A choir of seagulls cawed as they circled yachts in the harbor, muting the hollers of a teenage boy chasing a scampering black puppy. The dog was yipping toward a pair of brilliant kites dancing in the air. With attentive eyes, Lane watched his sister sprinting like the pup, bobbing beneath her flag of a red balloon.
The picture of him as a father hit Maddie with a swell of emotion she swiftly shoved into a box, stored away for the future.
“How’s your eye?” she asked.
He shrugged, half a smile on his lips. “It’s still there.”
“Could I see?” Noting his reluctance, she added, “I’m sure it’s not as bad as you think.”
Slowly, he reached for the glasses and slid them free. In the swollen bruising she discovered an irony of beauty she didn’t expect. He’d always projected such certainty in her uncertain world that strangely she found the sight comforting, proof of his vulnerable side. A symbol of commonality she could actually touch.
“Does it hurt?” Her fingertips brushed his skin before she could remind herself to keep her distance.
“It’ll heal.”
She nodded and withdrew her hand. Her gaze shifted to the distant figure of Emma, whose raised arms couldn’t reach her fleeing balloon. Already twenty feet up, it zigzagged a path toward the ceiling of clouds, away from the chaos, the worries of life. Maddie had the sudden desire to be tethered to its string.
“I don’t have much time,” he said. “But we need to talk.... It’s about us.”
That phrase again.
He gestured to a thick, weather-beaten log. “Why don’t we sit down?”
She didn’t reply, simply led them to perch on the bumpy seat. Waves before them lapped the sand, weakening the shore layer by layer. She clasped her hands on her skirted lap. So close to Lane now, she could almost taste the fragrance of his skin. It smelled of citrus and cinnamon and leaves. At the Pico Drive-in, where they’d spent numerous dates necking through double features, Maddie would inhale that lovely mixture. Afterward, she’d sleep in the cardigan she had worn, to savor his scent until it faded.
Would their memories together just as surely disappear?
She banished the thought. She needed to concentrate, to review the practical reasons to loosen their ties. Their usual outings, for one: hidden from crowds, cloaked in darkness. Lookout points and desolate parks. Only on occasion would they venture to the openness of a bowling alley or skating rink, requiring them to refrain from acts of affection.
Just like now.
Lane hooked his glasses in the V of his royal-blue sweater. He stared straight ahead as he continued. “Last spring, you told me you thought it was best if we didn’t tell anyone about our dating, and I went along with it. I lied when I said I agreed.” He wet his lips, took a breath. “But the truth is, you were right. It was better that we didn’t say anything. My family wouldn’t have understood, what with our ... differences. God knows, they wouldn’t have taken us seriously. They might have even thought I went steady with you to make a point.”
Their racial diversity had, before now, seemed an off-limit topic. An issue to deny through tiptoeing and silence. But more striking than this new candidness was his usage of the past tense.
Went steady with you.Wouldn’t have taken us seriously.
He wasn’t asking for her opinion. To him, the relationship was already over.
“I’m tired of sneaking around,” he said. “I don’t want to lie anymore. I don’t want
you
to lie anymore. Especially to TJ. He’s more than a friend, he’s like a brother to me.”
She couldn’t argue. None of this had been fair, to any of them.
“Maddie ...” Lane’s mouth opened slightly and held. He seemed to be awaiting the arrival of a rehearsed conclusion, a finale to their courtship. He angled toward her with a graveness that wrenched her heart. “There’s something you don’t know. Something I should’ve told you before, but I wasn’t sure how.”
Maddie blinked. What was he talking about? What had he been keeping from her?
“It’s my parents,” he said. “They’ve arranged a marriage for me.”
The word
marriage
entered her ears with a calmness that, in seconds, gained the piercing shock of a siren. “To whom?” she found herself asking.
He scrunched his forehead, a revelation playing over his face. “I’m not sure, actually. The
baishakunin—
the matchmaker—found her in Japan. Tokyo, I think they said. Anyway, her family is supposed to be a good fit.”
“I ... didn’t realize ... they still did that.” The response was ridiculous, trite. Yet the blow was too great to formulate anything better.
“The custom is crazy, I know. But as their oldest son, their only son, it’s my responsibility to do what’s best for the family.” Annoyance projected in the timbre of his voice. He shook his head. “It’s no more than a business negotiation. Same as my parents were. And they want to bring her over right away.”
A scrapbook materialized in Maddie’s mind: a portrait of Lane in a tuxedo, beside him a wife as exotic as her wedding garb; their children waving to the procession of a Chinese New Year parade; a snapshot of the family at Sunday supper, a foursome with identical almond eyes.
“All of this,” he said finally, “is why I needed to see you.” He laid his hand on hers, a sympathetic gesture. “I’ve given it a lot of thought, and there’s only one thing that makes sense for us.”
The breeze blew a lock of her hair that caught in her eyelashes, a shield to hide her welling tears. She lowered her lids and waited for the words:
to break up.
She’d been foolish, so foolish to believe she could walk away unscathed.
“Maddie,” she heard him say. “Will you marry me?”
Once the question fully soaked in, her eyes shot open.
“What?”
He smiled. “Marry me.”
She couldn’t answer. Her thoughts were a jumble of fragments. An orchestra of musicians, each playing a different piece.
Lane brushed the strands from her face and tucked them behind her ear. He tipped his chin down, peering into her eyes. “The only way they’ll ever accept us is to not give them an option. Maddie, I love you. I want to see you every morning when I wake up, and fall asleep every night next to you. I want us to raise a family and spend our whole lives together. And if you feel the same”—he tenderly tightened his grasp on her hand—“then marry me.”
Logic. She grappled for any shred of logic. “We can’t though. It’s—not even legal here.” A fact she’d known yet never liked to dwell upon.
“Just the wedding isn’t. The marriage would be perfectly valid. A college friend of mine is from Seattle. He says interracial couples get married there every day.”
“Seattle?”
“That’s right,” he said. Then his smile faded into something tentative. “But sweetheart ... we have to do it next weekend.”

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