Crimson Footprints (31 page)

When she arrived at the
estate, she was met by Tak. Her face lit up when he answered the
door. At this point, he’d been in Encinitas for four days, and
therefore, away from her.

He squeezed her quickly
before releasing her and glancing over his shoulder. He took her
hand and led her inside.

“
Where’s your family?” she
whispered.

He shot her a sneaky smile
and brought a finger to his lips. They left the luggage in the
foyer and made their way down the hall. Past the reading room, past
the den, and past the dining room before he pushed her in a closet
and closed the door behind them.

“
Tak! Your
father—”

“
Quiet, Dee. I’m
busy.”

He smothered her words with
a kiss. She pulled him closer, instantly emboldened by the notion
of a tryst in the closet, enveloped in darkness.

He returned to her mouth,
pulling away clothes in his haste.

“
You should’ve come
sooner,” he said, mouth at her throat and a teasing hand on her
breast.

Deena uttered something that
even she couldn’t understand.

“
Uh huh,” Tak mumbled
distractedly. He snatched her skirt upwards, fumbled and slipped
into her with practiced ease.

Deena bit down on his
shoulder and let loose a stifled moan. Somewhere in between, were
thoughts of him and his father. Was he on his way? Pulling into the
drive? Or already there?

Tak slowed as if reading her
mind. She thumped him on the back.

“
God, no, Tak. Don’t stop,
just—just
hurry
.”

When Tak and Deena parted a
half hour later, they veered in different directions, making it
only a few steps before hearing Daichi’s voice.

“
Deena!”

With a hand on the stair’s
railing, she froze, sweat from his son coupling with a now fresh
sheen of her own.

She turned to face
him.

“
I contemplated forming a
search party for you. No one seemed to have seen you
arrive.”

Daichi folded his arms as he
stood at the foot of the staircase. “Now how did you ever manage
that?”

Tak stood back, near enough
to intervene, yet seemingly struggling with the
decision.

“
I uh—wasn’t feeling well.
The flight. Air sickness,” Deena said.

“
And are you better
now?”

“
I think so.”

“
Good,” with a clap of the
hands Daichi turned to Tak. “Then I’d like you to meet my son,
Takumi. Takumi, this is Deena Hammond, a colleague from the
firm.”

Tak watched Deena descend
the staircase. Would she really stand there, moments after having
him inside of her, after whimpering her love for him—after all
that, could she really stomach pretending they were
strangers?

She could.

As Deena extended a hand to
him, nausea washed over Tak. He thought about ending the charade,
blurting what they were, what they’d done, and would have, were he
not certain she’d leave him looking the fool.

“
Takumi,” she said softly,
the smile on her lips not bothering to reach her eyes.

She sensed it too, the
insanity of it all, of two adults pretending to be nothing to each
other.

“
Deena,” he said
cooly.

Tak clasped her hand,
fingers stroking the palm and brushing her fingertips as she
withdrew from him. He met her gaze, challenging, daring her to do
something about the intimacy of his touch. She did
nothing.

CHAPTER
FORTY-SEVEN

Daichi grabbed Deena’s
luggage from the foyer and showed her to her bedroom. Once inside,
he cleared his throat as if uncomfortable with the intimate
quarters of his own guestroom. His gaze swept the confines in
subdued appraisal before returning to Deena.

“
And how do you find your
accommodations, Ms. Hammond?”

Her first reaction to the
room had been awe.

“
It’s beautiful, Daichi.
Everything you make is just so beautiful.” She thought of his son
and blushed. “I mean—architecture, of course.”

“
Of course.”

“
There are so many little
touches.”

She scanned the room
indulgently. “The stretched ceilings for example are
amazing.”

They were polished white and
cast a gleaming reflection of the room. The four walls alternated
between ecru and a rectangular maple wood grain. A four paneled
eggshell room divider mirrored the queen sized platform bed and its
pristine white linen. All of it was accented by bamboo stalks on
either side of the bed that reached to the ceiling.

“
And the wood grain
paneling is wonderful. The geometric patterns give dramatic play to
the lights and shadows.”

Daichi stared at her.
“Dinner’s being served in a moment. I’m not sure how familiar you
are with Japanese fare, but you’ll find that the Japanese American
family is the originator of so-called fusion food.” He flashed a
smile.

“
There’ll be some sushi,”
he continued. “Which I know you enjoy, probably some teriyaki and
tempura, and always a great deal of seafood. As an aside, you’ll
find that our vernacular vacillates between English and Japanese.
We make every attempt not to do this with guests, but occasionally
we err. I feel obliged to apologize in advance.” Daichi paused.
“Perhaps I should brief you on etiquette.”

“
I’ll be fine, Daichi.
You’re not the first Japanese American I’ve
encountered.”

Daichi’s lips curled into a
smile. He offered a curt nod and then opened the door. As they
descended the stairs, Deena spotted Kenji at the bottom. Back to
her, he faced a diminutive man with broad frames and an even
broader grin. Deena placed him at 30.

Kenji turned at the creak of
the stairs, face aglow at the sight of Deena.

“
Hey, Deena!”

Two steps ahead of Daichi in
her descent, she froze. Cringing, Kenji looked from Deena to his
father, realizing his error.

“
You’ve met?” Daichi
said.

Kenji’s mouth opened and
closed, furious with the work, but still, no sound
emerged.

Deena turned to Daichi, her
smile desperate. “We met earlier. Briefly. Probably when you were
wondering how I managed to be so stealth.”

Daichi frowned. “And have
you met my nephew Michael, as well?”

He gestured to the slight
and awkward creature beside Kenji.

She shook her
head.

“
Then Michael, this is
Deena Hammond, an employ at my firm, Deena, Michael. He’s a systems
analyst with IBM. Attended your alma mater, in fact.”

Michael’s eyes lit up. “A
fellow Beaver? What class?”

“
03. And you?” Deena
extended a hand.

“
2000. The brass rat says
it all.”

With their hands clasped,
Michael turned his hand clockwise, giving Deena a view of a gold
class ring. The bezel held the M.I.T. mascot, a beaver, the
school’s shield and the year of graduation. “Never leave home
without it.”

Deena smiled politely. She
was not so fond of her days at M.I.T. She found the winters harsh
and the people impersonal. She took away no mentors and no friends,
though she suspected that much of it was due to a protective shell
made long before collegiate days.

“
Do you have your class
ring? I’d like to compare the designs.”

She hadn’t been able to
afford a class ring, but she wouldn’t tell him that, even if he did
look like a shrunken and unsightly version of Tak.

“
Those rings are far too
bulky for me, I’m afraid.”

Michael grinned a grin with
too much gums. “You know, William Wang once said that there are
three recognizable rings in the world. The Brass Rat, the West
Point’s, and the Super Bowl ring.”

Daichi scowled. “I don’t
bring guests here for you to berate them down with worthless
trivia, Michael. Now, we are weary and famished. Has your
obachan
finished
dinner?’

Michael nodded and jabbed
the bridge of his glasses with an index finger. “She’s been waiting
for you.”

“
And yet you detain
us?”

Daichi pushed past his
nephew and led Deena through the foyer and into the dining
room.

Like the rest of the villa,
the dining room was decorated in simple, subdued earth tones. Warm
cream and soft browns came together in a streamlined, sophisticated
homage to the Orient. The dining room table took a sleek and
minimalist design, made of dark birch wood. Long and narrow, it
held seating enough for fourteen. Beneath the table lay a splash of
bright, in the form a cream tatami mat that offset the dark table
and ebony wood paneled walls splendidly. Rice screen doors with
dark wood trim folded back to reveal broad glass doors, and beyond
that, a panoramic view of the Pacific.

“
I can see that this room
meets your approval,” Daichi said with a teasing smile.

Deena returned it. “If I
didn’t know you so well I’d ask who you hired to
decorate.”

Daichi rolled his eyes. “Now
you simply flatter.”

The Tanaka brood watched
them. Tak sat on one side, sandwiched between John and Kenji. There
were two middle-aged men—one that would’ve been striking if not for
his widow’s peak and another, with a pudgy face, comb-over and
too-thick eyebrows. Deena knew which was Daichi’s brother, John’s
father.

“
Deena, might you do a
fellow Beaver the honor of breaking bread together?”

Michael appeared at her
side, slender arm already extended. He donned a Dodger blue
t-shirt, bare save for the stylized arrowhead just over his heart.
A Master’s degree and five years amongst the geeks at M.I.T. told
her it was a Star Trek tee. On this evening, he’d paired it with
some snug jeans.

Deena glanced at Tak, who
made a point of looking away.

“
Well? What do you
say?”

She turned back to Mike.
“I—I guess so.”

“
Great!” Mike led her to a
seat across from John and took one across from Tak.

Deena lowered herself into
her chair and gave John a sheepish smile. He responded with a short
wave that was more fingers than hand. John turned to Tak and
whispered something. Tak whispered back. When John turned back to
Deena, he was all smiles.

He stood abruptly and
offered a hand across the table. “John. John Tanaka. Pleased to
meet you.”

His gaze was steady, as
challenging as Tak’s handshake.

Deena stood, aware of the
attention of the entire Tanaka family.

“
Deena Hammond,” she said
quietly.

“
If Michael can reign in
his unadulterated eagerness I will in fact, offer formal
introductions to all,” Daichi said, taking a seat at Deena’s left
hand, his variation of an apology to John for supposed
rudeness..

A blush colored Deena’s
cheeks as Michael mumbled ‘sorry.’ With Tak, John and Kenji across
from her, she felt as though under a firing squad

Daichi glared at Mike a
moment longer, as if to ensure his silence, and then turned his
attention to the elderly woman at the head of the table.

“
Deena, this is my mother
Yukiko Tanaka.
Okasan
, this is Deena Hammond, a colleague of mine.”

She was a regal figure,
short and wraith-like, with bone-straight, glossy black hair
running the length of her back, bronzed skin and wide, expectant
eyes. When she spoke, her voice was no surprise—silken and aged,
soothing.

Yukiko rose, her diminutive
stature leaning over the table, and offered Deena a tiny hand.
Deena stood and took it. Here was Daichi’s mother, Tak’s
grandmother. It seemed to Deena that everything she now was, was
somehow because of this stranger.

“
It’s a great honor, Mrs.
Tanaka.”

She lowered her
gaze.

“
Likewise, I am
sure.”

The old woman found her seat
again, careful not to sit on her silken locks. Daichi turned to the
fat man with the comb-over at the left hand of his mother. “And
this is my brother, Yoshiaki.”

Deena stood, attempting to
stifle astonishment. It was this man, with the beer belly and the
greasy comb-over, that was John’s father, Daichi’s brother—not the
man at the other end in peak physical condition.

Yoshiaki offered a hand. His
mouth was stuffed with what appeared to be rice, though no one else
was eating. He glanced at his palm, spotted grease, and wiped it on
his pants. When he offered it again, Deena took it
reluctantly.

Across from him, Daichi
glared.

Deena met Yoshiaki’s wife
next, John’s mother June. A wide-eyed and angular woman with
stringy brown hair and a smidgeon of freckles, she had a wide mouth
with pink lips and a caddy laugh that she reacted to everything
with. She was white.