Ink and Ashes (5 page)

THE GARAGE DOOR
clattered open, making my bedroom floor vibrate. I wasn’t sure where Dad had been all day, but I was happy he hadn’t been there when Mom discovered I’d stolen the letter back. I knew Mom had started cooking dinner when the smell of steamed rice and marinated beef swept up the stairs and into my room.

“I think we should go downstairs,” Forrest said and patted his stomach.

A million thoughts raged in my head on our way down the stairs. I slid the bead on my necklace back and forth along the chain.

Dad walked through the door from the garage and smiled when he saw me at the bottom of the stairs. At just under six feet, he was taller than most Japanese men. Parker and Avery often wished they had gotten his genes for height rather than the ones they inherited from our biological father.

I crossed the short hallway and met him in the kitchen. “How’s my princess?” Dad asked. He put his hands on my shoulders and kissed my forehead. “Better?”

My heart softened. How many fatherless kids like me only longed to have a stepdad like mine? I let go some of the anger from the secrets that had been kept and wrapped my arms around his waist.

“Great.” If I was going to confront my parents, I would need to find more information on my father.

Forrest joined Mom at the stove and helped her stir meat and vegetables in a wok.

“Are you serious?” Nicholas shouted at a video game on the TV in the family room. I looked over and saw a race car with a crumpled hood, crashed into a concrete barrier.

Parker thundered down the stairs and was about to pass us, but Dad held out his hand to stop him.

“Did you get everything done?” Dad asked.

Parker pushed up his glasses and looked at the ground. “Uh, not really.”

Dad folded his arms. “Parker, you can’t actually go to college if you don’t put in the work to get accepted. I want a spreadsheet of all the colleges you plan to apply to, along with application due dates, the number of teacher recommendations requested, which test scores they accept, and the reason you think it’s a good fit. By tomorrow morning.”

Parker grunted.

Dad gave him a look.

“I’ll have it on your desk by tomorrow morning,” Parker groaned. He wandered into the family room, startling Nicholas when he threw himself on the couch.

Nicholas glanced up and, realizing Dad was home, hopped to his feet. Dad opened the fridge and took out a bottle of Coke. I could never taste the difference, but he insisted his drink had to be from a glass bottle, not a can. He uncapped his bottle and took a sip.

Dad called over to Forrest. “You boys staying for dinner?” He loosened his top shirt button.

Nicholas edged next to Dad and gave him a one-armed hug. “If you insist.”

My brothers and I liked to joke that Nicholas was my dad’s favorite son. In Nicholas’s eyes, my dad could do no wrong. Nicholas was always the first to volunteer if my dad needed anything. He took my dad’s side no matter what.

Most of the time it was endearing, except when it involved me. Dad always told Parker he needed to watch out for his little sister, and Nicholas acted as if a direct order had been given to him instead.

Forrest held his nose only inches from the pan of frying meat on the stove, breathing in the savory, curling steam. “We’re definitely staying,” he said. “I’ll help Claire set the table.” He reached into the cupboard and grabbed some plates.

I went to the cabinet to get drinking glasses and met Forrest at the table.

“I assume your application is ready to go,” Dad said to Nicholas.

“Yep,” Nicholas said. “I put everything on your desk earlier this afternoon, so it’s ready for you to review.” Ever since Nicholas and Fed’s father had walked out on them, Dad helped their mom out with stuff like this because she was always working.

“Good.” Dad clapped Nicholas on the shoulder.

Mom nudged them to the side so she could get what she needed from the fridge. She rinsed some lettuce at the sink and tore off leaves to make a salad. Forrest and I circled the table, arranging dishes, cups, and utensils at each seat.

“You could at least try to make yourself useful, Parker,” Mom said with a sharp edge in her voice. Parker moaned and got off the couch.

She finished the salad with some cherry tomatoes and placed it on the table harder than necessary, the plates and glasses rattling.

Everyone stopped moving.

“And if you’re not going to help, at least tell your brother to come down for dinner,” she said. “I assume Fed’s here too, so get both of them.”

Parker stepped backward a couple of yards, his feet light as if walking on eggshells.

When he returned with Avery and Fed, we all took our seats around the table.

“Itadakimasu.” Dad clasped his hands together and did a slight bow.

“Itadakimasu,” the rest of us said and bowed.

The guys piled their plates high, their food almost spilling over the edge. Avery passed some meat with his chopsticks to Parker’s chopsticks, and Mom slapped Parker’s hand. The meat dropped to the table.

“Bad manners,” she said.

And now, we all knew why. I caught a smirk flash across Avery’s lips. Avoiding Mom’s gaze, Dad asked all of us how the week had gone at school. The rest of the guys answered without much prodding, but my brothers and I shared some glances, not sure what to make of everything we’d discovered today.

Mom remained silent, barely touching her dinner. Every now and then I caught Dad asking questions with his eyes, but she would only lower her head and pretend to eat again. After several helpings, the guys thanked Mom for the meal and excused themselves to go home and do homework. I suspected they were really excusing themselves from the forced conversations and awkward glances across the table.

“Call me if you need anything,” Forrest said, before he said good-bye.

My brothers and I helped clear the table. As much as possible, we tried not to cross paths with Mom. We finished without either parent saying anything to us, and I prodded them back into my room.

Parker sat on top of my desk and couldn’t stop smiling.

“What’s with you?” Avery asked. He dropped to the carpet in his usual spot and stretched out.

“Mom forgot to give us a punishment,” Parker said, swinging his legs in the air.

Though it seemed as if we had gotten off scot-free, I wasn’t ready to celebrate yet. I’d expected the letter to give us answers, but it only raised more questions.

At 1:36
A.M.
, I crawled into bed and stared at Forrest’s bedroom window, located directly across the yard from mine. His curtains were still open, but the lights were out. For him, sleep trumped pretty much anything, so he had gone to bed hours ago.

Outside, the night was still. The cool air had probably chased all the chirruping crickets away. Only a small part of my parents’ room was below mine, but I could hear them arguing as parts of their muffled words drifted through a shared vent.

How could you not tell me about the letter?
Mom sounded hurt.

I didn’t know about it. I have no idea where it came from.
Dad’s voice was soft.

What are we going to tell the kids? Now they know you knew Henry.
Worry had trickled into Mom’s voice.

You should consider telling them the truth. I think they’re old enough.

I’m not ready.
Her voice trembled.

I slid out of bed and pressed my ear to the vent.

Are we safe here? Maybe we should have moved somewhere farther like Alaska or Maine.

I’ll make sure nothing ever happens to our family.

My stomach lurched. Why wouldn’t we be safe? I leaped back in bed, curling my knees to my chest. Their voices quieted almost immediately, but I couldn’t relax long enough to fall asleep.

If I could figure out what they were hiding, maybe I could find a way to keep us safe.

To calm my mind, I reached into my pillowcase, took out my father’s old sweatshirt, and set it next to me on the bed. It was one of only two connections to him that were solely mine—the sweatshirt and his journal.

Mom was alone in the living room the next morning when I found her. She patted fresh rice into a metal cup with her small hands and set it in front of the butsudan, barely stirring when I moved next to her. The urns I saw on TV always looked like a vase, but my father’s urn was a specially crafted wooden box that sat on top of the shrine.

I wanted to ask her what Dad thought we were old enough to know, but I didn’t want to confirm I had overheard them and prevent future discussions they might have.

She tilted her head toward me. Her face was exhausted and puffy.

“Does it get any easier?” I asked. “Missing him?”

Her eyes sagged into an even more tired expression. “A little. I still miss him so much it hurts, but fortunately I have your dad. He’s saved me and our family in so many ways. I don’t know what I’d do without him.”

I nodded. “Is there . . . is there any way our father knew he was going to die?”

She hugged her chest as if cold. “How could he have possibly known that?”

I picked at a hangnail. “Then how did he really die?”

“Huh?” Mom’s eyes glanced to my dad’s study. She hesitated. “You already know he died of a heart attack.”

“Really?” I asked, my voice wavering.

“Really,” she said and left before I could ask any more questions.

“But he was only forty-five,” I said to an empty room.

Dear Otochan,

I was sent to the principal’s office today. It’s the first time I’ve ever gotten into trouble at school, but I don’t regret it.

Last week, Nicholas found out Chase Phillips had started a bet to see how far he could get with me. Chase got some guys to pool money together, and at the end of the month, he would get a certain percentage of the pot depending on what base he got to. A couple of days later, Nicholas took Parker and Forrest to go deal with him. They won’t tell me what they did or what they said to Chase, but Nicholas told me they made sure Chase won’t bother me again.

On the one hand, I’m grateful they were watching out for me. But I was mad because they made it look like I need them to fight my battles, which I don’t. Ever since then, Chase has been glaring at me every time we pass each other in the hallway. People started spreading rumors about me and Chase, and even if he wasn’t the one who started them (which he probably was) it’s still his fault. It makes me want to move to Canada. Everyone I’ve met from there is nice.

Anyway, at the end of fifth period today, I confronted him, and he started calling me all these names. Honestly, I don’t even know what some of the words meant. But they sounded bad. So I punched him right in the eye. For a second I thought he was going to cry. And then I thought I was going to cry because I thought I’d broken my hand. But there was no way I was going to give him that satisfaction.

Mom says I have to apologize, but I’m not going to. Dad says he agrees with Mom, but I could tell by looking at Dad’s face that he’s actually proud of me. And, he didn’t ground me. What’s the purpose of Dad teaching me how to defend myself if I’m not going to use it? Practicing on a punching bag doesn’t hurt half as much as the real thing, so technically I’ve already been punished enough.

Love,

Claire, age 16