Ink and Ashes (20 page)

I
COULD TELL
the days were growing shorter because it was dark outside even though it was still early evening. Once Forrest and the Russo boys had gone home, Dad called the family together and had my brothers form a half circle with the loveseat and chairs at my hospital bedside. If there was ever anything my parents felt was important enough to say to the whole family, Dad called a meeting.

Sometimes I could get Dad to give up information if I cornered him, but only rarely did my parents volunteer anything unless it was in this setting. I wouldn’t have been surprised if that’s where Parker and Nicholas had gotten the inspiration for the Axis Powers Meetings. I was anxious to hear what they would say and worried about what they wouldn’t say.

Mom and Dad sat on the loveseat, and my brothers sat in the chairs. I adjusted the bed so I was more upright.

“Those potted plants have to go,” Mom said in a quiet voice. “They’re bad luck.”

I could tell from my brothers’ expressions that none of us had any idea what she was talking about.

Dad released a soft sigh. “
Netsuku
means to take root, but it’s also a homophone for the verb meaning to be laid up, like with an illness. Some people believe if you bring a potted plant to someone in the hospital, he might take root and stay for a long time.”

“Now that you’ve seen them, we can get them out of here,” Mom said to me.

Parker rolled his eyes. “I’ll take them home when we leave.”

“Thank you, Parker.” Dad clasped his hands together and bent forward, resting his elbows on his thighs. “I’ve talked to your mom, and we think it’s time you knew some things. So far, the recent events have seemingly targeted Claire, but that doesn’t mean the rest of us won’t be next.” He furrowed his brows. “I’ve reviewed these occurrences many times, and while I’d hoped it wasn’t the case, I’m concerned all of this might be connected to your father’s past.”

He glanced in my direction. “Claire, I don’t know why this happened to you, and I’m not saying for sure the yakuza is behind this, but we do need to consider the possibility. I promise I will do everything in my power to protect you. All of you.” He looked at my brothers. “You’ve known for a while your father was in the yakuza, and given that, I think it’s only fair to him that you understand what brought him there in the first place and also why he left.”

He patted Mom’s knee, and she took a deep breath, closing her eyes before speaking. “I’m sure you have a lot of questions. But I hope you understand why I wouldn’t want you to know your father was involved in some very terrible things before I met him. His father was very abusive and left your grandmother when your father was only eight.”

She must have thought about this explanation a million times, but the sentences refused to flow easily. “Times were very hard in Japan for single mothers, and your grandmother worked tirelessly to take care of your father. When your father was sixteen, she died unexpectedly of a brain aneurysm, and he had nowhere to turn. A local businessman took him under his wing, but in doing so, introduced him to a life of crime.”

She danced around the word that hadn’t left my mind since I saw the autopsy report: yakuza.

“At first it was everything he had dreamed of,” she said in a soft tone. “He’d heard rumors the businessman was the oyabun of a large clan, but all that mattered to him at the time was he finally had a father figure in his life. As an orphan and having come from poverty, he was easily lured into the idea of family, and having more money at his fingertips than he had ever imagined possible. There were many things he did that he was not proud of, but acceptance into the lifestyle meant a promise of unquestioning loyalty and obedience to the oyabun.”

The idea of unquestioning obedience and why someone would voluntarily commit to that was something I’d never been able to wrap my head around. But he was my age when his mother died, and he was left with nothing. Excluding recent events, my life seemed pretty easy in comparison, and I had no idea what I would have done if I were in his position.

Avery leaned back in his chair and put his hands on the armrests. “So what kinds of things did he do?”

My brothers and I had seen enough yakuza movies to know the kinds of things my father must have done, but Avery couldn’t seem to help himself when it came to pushing buttons. Parker and I glared at him.

“What?” he asked, feigning innocence.

Mom didn’t bite. “Things that weighed heavily on his conscience and made him struggle with the oath he’d made. The last task he completed finally broke him, and he vowed he would never go back.” She stared at her lap and shook her head. “But because of his high rank, staying in Japan was not an option if he wanted to remain alive. While he had money, it still wasn’t enough to get out safely, so he used everything he had, and his friend made up for the shortage and helped him escape to America. It was possible they would still find him, but it was worth the risk.”

Scenes from an old movie Mom made us watch,
The Sound of Music
, popped into my head as I tried to imagine what it would be like to escape a country. Maybe his escape hadn’t been as dramatic, but it had to have been scary.

She paused to wipe a stray tear. “I met your father when I was only fourteen. He was eighteen and could have easily taken advantage of his friend’s money, but he didn’t want any beyond what was absolutely necessary to get him set up in America. My parents gave him a job at our diner as a dishwasher, which he happily accepted because he said it was his first real step toward the new life he wanted to build.”

This part of the story rang more familiar. Grandpa had run the little diner in Hawaii until the day he died, and Grandma moved to Japan soon after.

“I had never known anyone with so much determination and tenacity,” she said. “After his shift, I would work with him on his English, and within a year he was able to get his GED. The local community college was the only school that would accept him, but he was so thrilled at the opportunity.” Her eyes lifted, and her gaze went past me as if she could see the scenes playing on the wall behind me.

I had heard parts of the story from my grandfather and dad, but Mom had never shared any of this before. A faint grin lit her face. “I couldn’t help but fall in love with his appreciation for life. My love for him grew every day I was with him, and I felt like the luckiest girl in the world when he made it known he felt the same way about me.”

This description sounded more like the man—the father—I had once known. Avery acted like he was kissing someone. Parker shuddered.

Mom ignored them and slouched forward, letting her hands wring in her lap. “I still remember the day he got his acceptance letter to law school. He was the first person in his family to go to college, and when he got the letter it was like his every dream had been realized. We got married the summer before he started, he became a US citizen, and we moved to the mainland together. I was only eighteen at the time, and life was an adventure.” Her head turned to Parker. “We had been married more than ten years before Parker was born, so we had a lot of time by ourselves, getting to know each other.”

For years, I had wanted to know more about my father, but she would shut me out every time I asked questions. My chest tightened.

Her voice started to tremble. “Your father did a lot of things he regretted, but he was one of the best men I have ever known. Please remember that. He spent the rest of his life trying to make up for his mistakes. That’s why he wanted to become a judge. He believed upholding justice was one way he could begin to repair everything he had done wrong. I don’t know the man—the
boy
—your father was before I met him, but I know the man he became, and it was an honor to spend that part of my life with him.” A steady stream of tears trickled down her cheeks.

“I don’t understand,” I said, fighting to still the tremors in my voice. “Even if I don’t agree with how you guys hid his criminal past from us, I understand why you did it. But I don’t understand why you hid everything else. Do you know how long I’ve wanted to know what he was like when you met? Or what he had to do to become a judge? It’s not like I haven’t asked questions. You didn’t have to keep that from us.” When I stopped speaking, I realized how loud my volume had gotten.

Parker and Avery stared at me with dropped jaws. Mom was silent. She trained her eyes on her hands in her lap.

Dad put a hand on my shoulder. “Claire,” Dad said in a hushed voice. “I’m sure you can imagine how painful and difficult it might have been for your mom to talk about this.”

I whipped my head so my eyes could meet his. “We loved him too. It wasn’t easy for us either. We lost our
father
, and for
ten years
we’ve had no one to talk to.”

For years my questions had been blown off or deflected, and every time that happened, I took whatever pain or hurt I had and pushed it deep inside. I did what I was taught. Gaman. Endure with dignity and grace. Accept the pain and don’t complain. But maybe I hadn’t done it the right way because those pains never disappeared, and the space where I had shoved everything was so full it was about to burst.

I shifted my gaze to Mom. “Everyone keeps saying what a good man he was, and we’re expected to believe it, but no one’s told us the stories that made him good! We don’t talk about anything truly important because it might be painful or considered complaining and that’s not helpful to anyone. Shikata ga nai. It can’t be helped, right?” The words tumbled out before I could catch them, each trembling as they hung in the air. “We’re taught that our ability to suffer in silence is a good thing. But it sucks. Can I imagine how painful this was for you to talk about? Yes. I think I can.”

A tear escaped, rolled down my cheek, and landed in my lap. Then another. And then something broke, and my chest heaved with each angry sob. I clasped my hands together to keep them from shaking, and stared through the slats of the blinds into the inky black sky.

No one said anything. Parker and Avery hung their heads.

“I’m sorry,” Mom whispered.

The darkness held my gaze. I waited for her to say more, but she didn’t. If I could string together every story, every little thing she had mentioned about my father since we moved here, the sum probably wouldn’t have added up to what she’d shared in this short time. Maybe she had used up all her words. Guilt crept in. My intent hadn’t been to hurt anyone or be disrespectful. I only wanted things to be different.

“I’m sorry too,” I said.

“Claire,” Dad said in a gentle tone.

I turned to face him. His expression was smooth, comforting. It occurred to me that hearing my mom’s expression of love for another man must have been painful.

“We’re not perfect. But we try,” Dad said. “And there’s always room for improvement.”

Avery parted his narrow lips. “So what’s the plan?”

Dad lifted his glasses with a finger and rubbed his eye. “I don’t know. On the surface, it seems like a hit and run. When the police examined our van, they found the only damage done by the other car was a dent on the back bumper. There’s not enough evidence to suggest it was an attempted homicide, unless you add everything together. They’ve assured me they will be taking this very seriously, and pursuing it keeping everything in mind, but they’ve also asked we exercise patience and not take matters into our own hands.”

Dad pushed off the arm of the loveseat and rose to his feet to stand next to me. “But I’m not very good at being patient.” He put his hand over mine. “And I plan to find out who did this to you, and I will make sure he doesn’t come near you or the boys
ever
again. In the meantime, I think we just need to take care of each other like we always have, and I believe the best thing we can do is live our lives with caution, but not fear.” He pointed his finger in the air. “Use your ingenuity, kids.”

“I think we would be much safer not going to school anymore,” Parker said.

“Nice try,” Dad said. His expression silenced Parker’s snickering. “Unfortunately, I need to go to New York for the next few days. I know the timing couldn’t be worse, but this is pretty important. I want Claire to stay home the rest of this week so she can heal, but you boys aren’t going to be so lucky. I should be back by the time she returns to school, but Parker, I want you to get the guys together, and let them know I want everyone watching out for her like a hawk. We should be careful, but go on with our normal lives. People can do some very ugly, desperate things when they think you’re on to them.”

My instinct was to argue my ability to take care of myself and voice my need for independence, but it seemed inappropriate. And someone had tried to kill me. Knowing everyone was keeping an eye out for trouble was a good thing. I’m sure Dad knew as well as I did there was nothing the guys could do if someone was after me, but I had also never seen him frozen in worry for so long.

THREE DAYS PASSED
before the hospital allowed me to go home. I was ready to be discharged after two days, but Mom made them run almost every test again with the exception of the CT scan and MRI. But I knew Mom better than that, and I’m sure the real reason for the delay was that the day I would have been released was on a “bad luck day” according to the Japanese lunar calendar. I’m sure the doctor could have refused Mom’s request, but to my dismay, he placated her, and I was subjected to more tests on my vision and balance and memory and reflexes and concentration.

The doctor said I should resume activities slowly, returning to school after a week of rest. He then informed us I shouldn’t return to the soccer field for at least a couple of weeks, but he’d want to see how I was doing at that time before he felt comfortable giving me clearance to play. Based on my test results, I would most likely be able to play after a week, but a longer absence from soccer meant a lesser chance of reinjury, and if it were his child, he’d probably keep them away from a contact sport for a full two months.

Once Mom heard that, I knew I would be out for the rest of the soccer season. I think I would have been more upset if I didn’t have so many other pressing things to occupy my mind.

Dad helped me out of the car and inside the house. I didn’t think I’d needed the help, but he insisted. The muscles in my neck and back ached, and the bruises all over my body screamed if I moved the wrong way.

Mom was skirting around the kitchen in her pink tracksuit when we walked in from the garage. She closed the door to the pantry. “I’ve got the family room all prepared for you,” she said.

I hesitated. “Thanks, but I think I need to be in my own room.”

She placed a hand on her hip. “We’ll be able to keep an eye on you better if you’re on the main floor, but fine.”

Dad shrugged. “I’ll help her up.”

Every step up the stairs required more effort than I expected, but once I was in my room, my sanctuary, a feeling of relief washed over me. Dad left my bag by the closet and helped me into my bed.

Before long, my mind was at work again, still trying to put all the pieces together because I hadn’t made any progress in the hospital. It made sense that my parents felt the recent events had been related to my father, but I wasn’t able to figure out what that meant.

Parker brought a TV into my room to make my existence a little more tolerable.

“Thanks.” I slumped in despair. “But day after day of watching television—twenty-four/seven? That may be your lifelong goal of achievement, but certainly not mine.”

“I have goals.” Parker set down the TV. “I just don’t share them with you because they’d blow your mind.” His expression turned serious. He plugged the TV into the socket and turned it on. “There you go—your entertainment for the week.”

He left and came back with an armful of string and pulleys.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Trust me,” he said. “You’ll love it.”

Even if I didn’t trust him, I had learned I couldn’t stop him once his mind was set on a tinkering project. By the time he finished, I had two strings hanging over my bed. They ran along the ceiling and down the wall to the light switch.

“Pull the string on your right when you want to turn the light off,” Parker said. “And pull the other one when you want to turn it on.”

The string on my right moved along pulleys on the ceiling and down the wall and tied around the toggle light switch from the bottom. I gave it a tug, and the string pulled the toggle switch down. The light turned off. I pulled the string on my left, and it moved along its own pulley system and pulled the toggle switch up. The light came back on.

“That’s pretty cool,” I said. “Thank you.” I appreciated the sentiment and didn’t mention how I was actually feeling pretty good, probably didn’t need to miss a week of school to heal, and was perfectly capable of walking over to the switch myself. My brother would never do anything nice for me again if I did.

“I knew you would like it,” he said.

“Hey, if you don’t have a date for the dance, I was thinking you should consider asking Mika.”

“Because?”

“She thinks you’re cute and funny.”

He nodded. “Smart girl.”

I looked through the window and found Forrest waiting at his window. I motioned for him to join us.

In no time, Nicholas entered carrying pillows and blankets. “Party in Claire’s room.” He lunged at the bed as if to pounce on me.

I narrowed my eyes and signaled for him to stop. “Don’t even think about it.”

“Aw, I’m just playing with you, Kiki,” Nicholas said and kissed the top of my head. “I’m on direct orders from your father to protect you, so I’ll pulverize you another time.”

“Bring it on,” I said.

For a brief instant everything felt . . . normal—almost. The guys piled everywhere. Reality shows were on TV. Fed and Avery arm-wrestled on the floor.

Before long, everyone was out cold except for Forrest. He leaned against the wall with an unfocused stare. “You okay?”

Muscles and bruises groaned as I rolled over and faced him. I’d just taken my night pain med dose, hoping it might help me sleep, but it hadn’t kicked in yet. “Everything hurts, mostly my neck and back, but I’ll heal.”

“But are
you
okay?”

“Go to sleep. I’m fine.”

“You’re a horrible liar,” he said, making himself comfortable on the floor.

“I know.” If this was related to my father’s past, I couldn’t help but wonder why everything was happening now. The only thing I knew for sure was it had all started with finding the note from my father to my dad. No one had sent me gross threatening packages or followed me in a black car before that. Chase had never done more than make fun of me in class.

“Forrest,” I said, my eyelids finally getting heavy. “Do you think I might have called someone in the yakuza when I called that phone number?”

Silence hung between us awhile before he answered. “It seems possible. Or it could have been the autopsy report like you said before. Or it could be because they’d been looking for your family for a long time, and they’ve finally found you. Maybe they don’t know your father’s dead.”

What if my father had done something they wanted revenge for? What if the story he’d told my parents was a lie and there was another reason he needed to escape? What if . . . ?

Eventually the pain medication began to take over, quieting my aching body, and my eyelids grew heavy.

After almost a week of rest, the pain had died down, but not completely. I could open my left eye again, but it was black and blue and looked like I had lost a boxing match. Sometimes I couldn’t remember new things that had happened since being home. The doctor said that was normal and would hopefully be temporary, but to me it was only another reminder of the nightmare I was living.

I sat on my bed and stared through the window at the formless shapes in the darkness. The moon crept higher but hid with the stars behind a sky full of clouds.

Physically, I had healed enough to go back to school, but whenever I thought about my return the next day, my chest grew tight.

Outside of our family and the guys, the only thing anyone else would know is I had been in a hit-and-run car accident. No one would know it was completely intentional. Dad said the less information the public had, the better chance we’d have of catching the person who did this. We hadn’t been informed there were any leads on the case. I didn’t expect them to find the culprit overnight, but my experience with Officer Schwartz had me worried nothing was being done, and I hoped they would prove me wrong.

I hadn’t seen the black SUV since the day it chased me home, and I could only assume the white car had somehow been linked. I tried to focus on the father I knew, the one I loved. But everything that had happened to me, every horrible experience in the past few weeks seemed to lead back to him. What other explanation could there be for the crow’s eyes, representing bad luck; given in a set of four, which means death; my name written in red ink the way it is on Japanese gravestones; and the Japanese music? I guess I couldn’t complain I hadn’t been warned. Someone wanted me dead.

I reached underneath the mattress and retrieved my diary. The thoughts of all the bad things my father could have done while in the yakuza clouded my mind as I leafed through each page. If his rank in the clan was as high as Dad had suggested, it was a guarantee my father had done some pretty awful things. Most girls began their entries with “Dear Diary,” but all of mine began with “Dear Otochan.”

The first page was from my first day of middle school. I removed it delicately. But every rip after that became more and more careless until shreds of paper surrounded me. I only stopped when Forrest knocked on the door.

He entered and, without saying a word, bent down to help me clean up the pieces of paper, scattered like confetti. Then I slammed the diary shell into the garbage can.

I sat back on the bed.

Forrest sat down beside me. “Are you ready to go back tomorrow?” he asked.

“Not really.” I sighed.

“You and Mumps seemed to be getting along well,” he said.

“I guess. He’s funnier than I thought he’d be.” Talking about Mumps seemed a little random.

The back of his hand brushed across my cheek, then slid down my arm until his fingers intertwined with mine on the bed. His expression was somber.

Something whirred inside of me, soft and barely noticeable.

“Forrest?” I said.

His mind wandered somewhere else, and I wondered if he had even heard me. He stared at our hands, still together, and said, “Claire, I’ve known you since the second grade. And I don’t even know at what point you became my best friend—”

“Middle school,” I said. “All of you guys had been invited to a party Brooke was throwing, but she didn’t invite me. You pulled me off the couch and said, ‘Everyone knows I don’t want to go anywhere without you. Get in the car because your mom’s gonna leave us.’ You were so bossy back then.”

He moved his thumb back and forth along my finger. “Yeah, I guess that sounds about right. I mean the becoming best friends part. Not the bossiness.” He sighed and wriggled closer.

“I don’t even know where she goes to school now,” I said, “but I guess I owe her.”

“Do you think we’ll always be best friends?” he asked.

“Of course. Why would you even ask me that?”

The way he held my hand, the strain on his face, and the torment in his eyes made the weight of what he was really saying start to register.

“I don’t know if . . .” His forehead crinkled for a brief moment. “I don’t want you to pick Mumps,” he said in a soft voice.

I finally understood. Forrest was answering the question I never dared to ask him. He opened his lips to say more, but I put my finger to them.

“Why now?” I tried to slow my breathing as I lifted my finger from his lips.

“Because I was so scared. When I first saw you after the accident, your eye was swollen and you had bruises everywhere, and I kept thinking,
What if something had happened to her, and I never told her?
”

His words spilled out so quickly that I could barely keep up with him. He continued, “But even before that, I saw you laughing with Mumps, and I thought I was going to explode.” His eyes were wide and I think his breaths were coming as fast as my own. “I literally thought I might rip him off that bench and beat him up. And I didn’t understand how you could pick him over me. What does he have that I don’t? I have been here this whole time, Claire.” He took an exasperated breath. “Pick me.”

I didn’t know what to say.

“Pick me,” he said louder.

There had been times I had wondered if he wanted something deeper than friendship. There were times I’d even wondered if
I
wanted something more. But I’d never considered what I would do if I knew for sure. I hadn’t let myself hope. It was too much of a risk. What if it didn’t work out?

I shook my head. “Mumps doesn’t have anything over you.” I looked away, gathering my thoughts. “How long have you known?” I asked softly.

“Since the second grade,” he said. “Pretty much right after we moved next door.” He raked his fingers through his hair. “I wanted to kiss you so badly.”