Crimson Footprints II: New Beginnings (25 page)

CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

Winter was but a suggestion in Miami. Where those just three hours north pulled on coats lined with fur and deep boots to guard against the chill, Dade County fretted over finding a decent two-piece in November.

When Kenji and Lizzie weren’t fretting over GED books, they were now out on the town, either by themselves, or with his buddies—all of which had taken to calling her “Liz-boo” as a mockery of her and Kenji’s relationship. But there was little Sweets, Zach, and Cody could do to make Lizzie angry, or rather, stay angry. After all, it was only with their arrival that she realized two things—she’d never had friends before, real friends, and she didn’t want to go back to that again.

They now spent Sundays at the batting cage, together. First Lizzie, then Kenji’s former teammates, pestered him on giving baseball a second go. Brandon told stories of broken records in high school, Cody of scouts from the major leagues in college. Even Zach, never one to be outdone, admitted that Kenji was so fierce at bat that if you pitched a newborn baby to him, he’d knock it out the park without thought. Whenever these conversations came about, Kenji grew irritated, pointing to a torn rotator cuff as the source of his downfall, one that had long since healed, apparently. As if to irritate him further, Zachariah began to make offhand announcements about open tryouts for various teams. Kenji would always go deaf at these times.

Miami Dolphins and Heat games with and without the gang, concerts, spontaneous drives up the coast, rented sailboats, comedy clubs, and dinner at five-star restaurants were now all regular appointments on Lizzie’s itinerary of life. For her birthday, Kenji rented a gondola on the bay. Under the light of a full moon they had sparking apple cider, strawberries dipped in white chocolate she loved, and a dinner of orange duck. Once back at the house, he pampered her, making love in slow and torturous fashion, alternating it with kisses, caresses, and whispers of love.

They couldn’t go back to before if they wanted to. 

CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

When Deena told Tak that his father had invited her to Sydney, he gave her a “good for you” that meant he already knew. Despite a departure she figured would put a strain on the house, the Tanaka brood behaved in quite the opposite fashion. Tony, who’d taken to planning his “Men Only” birthday outing with vigor, was beginning to show improvement, both in grades and attitude according to his teachers. Even Mr. Keplar remarked that Tony had raised his hand once to read in class. Tak and Deena credited the extra hours tutoring for that. Tak also pointed to the drum and guitar lessons, which he felt were beginning to give Tony a bit of confidence.

Shortly before Deena’s departure, Mrs. Jimenez startled them by indicating her mother was ill and that she needed to return to Mexico. Tak purchased an open-ended ticket to Mexico City, giving her the option to return when she thought best. But the prospect of Mrs. Jimenez’s departure sent the family into an uproar—much more so than Deena’s did.

“If she’s in Mexico and you’re in Sydney, what’ll we eat?” Tony cried.

Apparently, Bismarck seemed a long way off.

“C’mon,” Tak said, “there’s plenty of Spam in the cabinet. And I know tons of recipes. Spam sushi, Spam and eggs, Spam and rice. I’ve even got a friend in Hawaii that can make Spam eggrolls. I can call him for the recipe. It’ll be great.”

Tony gagged.

“I’m going to stay with Uncle John!” Mia cried, eyes pooling.

Tony shot her a look. “I think I will, too.”

In the end, Grandma Emma volunteered to come over. When Deena expressed concern about her ailing health, the elderly woman recited a list of daily activities she took on that included cooking three meals a day, cleaning, and spanking children among them, going on until her granddaughter gave in, admitting that her résumé was formidable. After hanging up, she made a mental note to have a talk with Caroline about allowing the woman who’d been in need of round-the-clock nurse care, according to her own description, to do so much on a day-to-day basis.

~*~

Tony rose early Sunday morning, but he was too late to see Deena off. A five
a.m
. flight to Sydney meant arriving at Miami International by three, which, according to Deena’s logic, included leaving the house by one. Under the guise of seeing her off, Tony’s plan had been to stay up late. He could play his new
Pirates The Series
game, maybe even catch a glimpse of some late-night stuff. As if reading his mind, however, Tak told him his services wouldn’t be needed.

Padding from his bedroom to the kitchen, Tony’s mouth smacked sleepily with the thought of Cocoa Pebbles in milk. He stopped at the sight of an old and mountainous black woman.

“Well, good morning,” she said, sounding surly.

He blinked.

“Who are you?”

She got up as if the question were beneath her. Often, Tony had heard people say that someone could look at them and make them feel naked. And while he’d never experienced that, he would’ve welcomed it instead of this woman’s look, as if trying to determine his worth.

“Sit down. You ain’t eatin’ no cereal. I’ll get to breakfast.”

Tony took her in, a hand on the back of a dining-room chair. She wasn’t all that tall really, not more than average height, with big grandma tits that sagged. Thick black brows made a “V” of scorn, her mouth a little “O” of meanness. She reminded him of the lunch ladies at the group home, mealy mouthed but cruel, telling him to eat but slapping his hand when he took too much.

A yawn from behind made Tony jump.

“How’d you get in here?” Tak demanded easily.

“Don’t worry ’bout how I got here! I got here one goddamned step at a time, that’s how.”

Tak burst into laughter and rounded the dining-room table into the kitchen, where he wrapped arms around the old lady, even as she pretended to bat him away. 

“You crazy ol’ tomcat,” she said. “Get away from me, is what you oughtta do.” Even as she said it, she laughed, obviously enamored with his attention.

“Sit down,” she commanded, “so I can get this breakfast going. Half the thangs in that fridge look crazy, but I’ll do the best I can.”

Tak grabbed a chair next to Tony.

“This is gonna be great,” Tak said. “Wait till you see how she cooks. All the old stuff, eggs, bacon, possum—”

“Possum!” Tony cried.

“Boy, get away from round here telling lies! I ain’t never fed you no possum!”

“Dad though,” Tak said.

“Yo’ daddy a surly man. He needed some to humble him.”

Tak laughed.

“They go back and forth with this bizarre foods thing they do. Trying to figure out who’s the toughest. Only rule is, it has to be from your culture.”

“Possums from her culture?” Tony cried in disbelief.

Skillet in hand, Grandma Emma turned a hard look on Tony, who shrunk instinctively.

“It’s part of
your
culture, boy, and don’t you forget it.”

And as the old woman cooked, she shared the story of necessity, of slaves who made do with what they had—discarded portions of meat and vegetables, and game like possum, squirrel, and raccoon for survival.

What she put before them for breakfast was a spread more magnificent than any Tony thought possible. Giant pieces of fried catfish, fat and sweating sausages cooked so they split down the middle, salmon croquettes, cheese grits, hoecakes, and biscuits with gravy.

“Is it always so much?” Tony said.

“Try everything and see what you like. Old Tak here like everything so no matter what you leave behind he’ll get to it ’fore the day out.” 

Tak grinned, back curved with the eagerness of eating. He licked fingers, grease-laden fingers, and returned to the catfish.

Tony didn’t think he could eat with her staring so intently. Where was her plate?

“Eat,” she barked.

Tony picked up his spoon and tried the grits. Though there’d been no grits in Bismarck, he’d lived in Louisville and Tulsa, where there’d been no shortage. After adding butter, salt, and a sprinkle of cheddar, he found they were as good as he remembered. They ate in silence.

“Boy, I tell ya, it’s like holding a mirror up to yo’ daddy, you favors him so much.”

Tony sighed. He had but one picture of his dad, the one from the news clipping. It got him to thinking about how much he wanted to look like a murderer and drug dealer. Not much was the answer.

“Yeah, I know,” he said.

Again, she gave him the frank look. “Yo daddy was a handsome boy, just as you are. I ’spect the long face then is cause he disappoints you.”

Tak froze, fork to mouth. He looked from one to the other . . . waiting.

“I guess.”

“No sense in saying you ‘guess’ when you know,” she spat.

Tony tossed the fork.

“Jeez! You cook all this food, and then you won’t let me eat! I don’t know my dad! I’m never gonna know him! Okay?”

“Tony,” Tak warned.

But the old woman held up a hand. “Now ain’t nobody keeping that fork from your mouth but you. But maybe what you mean is that the conversation don’t agree with you. And that’s fine. But you gonna eat anyway since I went to the trouble of cooking.”

She waited, glaring at Tony till he picked up the fork again.

“Now you listen here,” she said. “Your parents is your parents. They makes you, but they not you. You decides who you gon’ be and what you gon’ be worth. Don’t matter what you look like. But a handsome face like yours helps.”

“Here, here,” Tak said and shoved catfish in his mouth.

“Though I worries ’cause good looks and money goes to some folks’ head.” She nodded indiscreetly toward Tak. “Just don’t let it go to yours.”

Tony grinned. “I’ll try.”

Just then, the sound of silverware clattering noisily to plate filled the room. Somehow, Tak had finished a meal made for two, possibly three. He looked innocently from Tony to Grandma Emma, before getting up in search of more.

CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

Deena settled in for a twenty-four hour flight with a single connection at LAX. Her father-in-law, seated next to her in subdued Armani grays, immediately took out his briefcase and retrieved his laptop and an assortment of papers. Deena looked down at her novel and blushed. She should’ve known better. On their flight to Shanghai, Daichi had scribbled and typed and scowled for most of the seventeen-hour flight. Later, he attributed it to an inability to sleep midair. Still, it made Deena ever conscious of her constant snoozing and leisure reading.

As usual, he was all business on departure. He declined the morning cocktail the stewardess offered and frowned at Deena’s choice of a Mimosa with her breakfast.

“When you’ve finished vacationing, I’ve something for you to look over,” Daichi said.

Even as she insisted she hadn’t a coherent thought before breakfast, Daichi pulled out a bound stack of sheets. He handed them to her.

Theorizing Architecture,
by Daichi Tanaka
.

Deena flipped to the table of contents.

“My thoughts on a variety of subjects. Aesthetics. Theory. Urbanism. Ecology. Reactions to varying philosophies. Even a philosophy of my own, I suppose.”

Deena gaped. A flip to the end showed better than six hundred pages.

“This is tremendous. I can’t imagine when you would’ve done it all.”

He shrugged—as if capable of being bashful.

“Years ago, when I worked without ceasing—I did a great deal of it. Afterward, I contributed to it when life permitted.”

“You’ll publish it,” Deena said. “And it’ll become standard text in every classroom in the country.”

“I’d like you to review it,” he said.

“You mean read it.”

“I’ve a fair command of the English language, Deena.”

She blushed. “I can’t imagine what I’d contribute.”

“You’ve contributed more than you know, already. Still, I’d like your input. Read it at your leisure.”

Breakfast arrived and with it, Deena’s Mimosa. She drank only a little before queasiness set in, causing her to send it back. For that much, at least, Daichi seemed pleased.

On arrival in Sydney, a driver transported them to the Four Seasons near Sydney Cove. After dinner at the hotel and some rest, they rose, still off-kilter from crossing the International Date Line, and took a trip to the temporary site for the new firm, a series of rented floors within a fifty-story bank in the central business district.

Anyone who traveled with Daichi soon found that every matter, no matter how small, was related to business. Dinner was taken with deans from the University of Melbourne, Sydney, lunch with prospects at competing firms. There were presentations at universities, talks of internships, and always, always, the offer of a visiting professor position or emeritus, should Daichi decide to retire.

They rose early, respecting neither time nor fatigue, and worked till Deena’s back ached and her head pounded. Seven days at a stretch they went, and still unable to accept every invitation extended. Even with her daunting schedule, Deena made sure she spoke to Tak, Tony, and Mia each morning before she did anything else. Her seven
a.m
. phone call from Sydney translated into a five
p.m
. version back home. All talk was about Tony’s birthday and a Laser Tag party that Mia hadn’t been invited to. When Tak jumped on the line, it was to tell her about all the Spam dishes he’d made that no one else had wanted.

Deena was grateful for the trip’s end, despite her ambitions, so anxious was she to get back to her family. When the time came for her to return, Daichi surprised her by taking the flight with her.

“I’ll return in a few days,” was all he’d give for explanation.

Just as their departure from Miami had been early, the one from Sydney departed at six. On the return, Deena ordered a Mimosa with her breakfast.

“That’s not going to agree with you,” Daichi predicted.

Sure enough, two sips later, nausea caused her stomach to lurch in contempt. She sent it away.

“You’ve been doing quite a bit of that lately,” Daichi remarked.

Deena shrugged. “Australian food disagrees with me. While I’m glad to say that I’ve tried barramundi, I don’t think I’ll be revisiting that adventure again.”

“There were other things that disagreed with you, too,” Daichi said. “I shouldn’t think French fries too exotic for your palate.”

Deena scowled. But even as she did so, realization dawned. Vomiting she attributed to foreign food. Fatigue from jet lag. Backaches from standing. But there was one thing she couldn’t blame on Australia.

Her period was overdue.