Crimson Footprints II: New Beginnings (4 page)

C
HAPTER NINE

Tak took Deena and Tony to the place on Eighth and Biscayne and spoke with Chuck, who yelled as Allison predicted. But when Tak waited him out with a bored expression, and then reminded him of the favor he owed her, Chuck gave in with a dramatic sigh.

Sunday morning, Deena rose and went to work on breakfast. She took eggs, bacon, and sweet maple sausages from the fridge, dug out onion, bell pepper, and fresh mushrooms, and began to whip the eggs for scrambling. At the edges of her mind was the conversation she’d been forced to have with Tony before bed, the one where she told him that she’d have to call the police to come get him, that he couldn’t stay; that he’d have to go. Worst of all was the stoic expression with which he absorbed it all, leaving her to flee in tears as though she were the child.

Deena slid back the lid on a wooden box and pulled out the raisin bread for toast. She made oatmeal, and grabbed blueberries and brown sugar for it, because she didn’t know which, if either, Tony would like. The bacon sizzled on the stove in the same pan as the sausage, while Deena chopped onions and mushrooms. There was cheddar in the fridge, shredded, and she added that to her egg omelet mixture. She remembered the lone box of blueberry muffin mix in the cabinet and dug it out, never needing the instructions for Mia’s oft-requested favorite.

Bacon, sausage, toast, oatmeal, and muffins done, Deena scanned her spread with a critical eye. French-toast-or-pancakes, French-toast-or-pancakes, it felt monumental. She stood back, hands clasped at her mouth, eyes watering with indecision, when Tak slipped a hand on her shoulder.

“Baby, you have to call them,” he said to her ear.

Deena turned.

“Pancakes or French toast, Tak?”

“You’ll see him again, Dee. I promise.”

She turned back to the breakfast. “I want him to have a decent meal before he goes. He’s so thin. And I don’t know . . . when he’ll get another.”

He turned her, forcing her to face him. “If he’s ours, we’ll get him back. I promise.”

Deena nodded and closed her eyes, more tears threatening to spill.

Tak kissed her forehead with a smack. “Make the French toast. I’ll wake him,” he said and disappeared.

Deena made the French toast and the pancakes, placing a stack of both on the table with her other offerings. When Tony made his way into the kitchen, he was freshly scrubbed and in Tak’s T-shirt, the golden UCLA one with the purple collar. His hair sat fat and damp, pulled into a ponytail with a single office rubber band.

“Wow. You cooked a lot,” he said, pulling out the chair Mia usually sat in.

Deena stood over him. “I didn’t know what you liked. And I wanted you to—to have a good meal, before—before—”

He stared at her, waiting, patient, daring her to admit that she was calling the police on him. But Deena couldn’t so much as meet those eyes, let alone say it, so she turned and headed back to the kitchen. Hands busy, working without her, desperate for something to do. She wiped a clean counter and stove, swept the floor, and emptied out the fridge as Tak and Tony ate in silence. Despite all the food, she couldn’t possibly think of eating it, couldn’t think of much but Tony and the phone call she had to make.

Breakfast done, Tak appeared at her side and placed a hand on her elbow. “How about I call?” he said. “You and Tony could just chat.”

Deena shot him a grateful look.

“Tell him about the fun things we’ll be doing in a few days. And afterward, when we adopt him.”

Deena shrieked, a surprise to both of them, and nearly toppled him with the force of her hug. She hadn’t known. They hadn’t talked about more children. In fact, he’d complained that life as a husband and father had somehow changed his art. Deena shook her head. So many years later, and still, Tak was her biggest blessing. 

C
HAPTER TEN

The police removed Anthony Hammond Jr. from the Tanaka home at eight twenty in the morning. A courier arrived at a quarter to ten with a plain manila envelope, sealed and addressed to Deena. She tore it open for the crisp, single sheet of paper inside; and on it, what she’d known all along.

Probability of relationship: Anthony Hammond Jr. to Deena Tanaka > 99%.

Deena stared, even as the paper slipped from her hand, even as Tak stood behind her, asking what it was, even as Tak grabbed the fallen sheet and read it for himself, even as Deena stood, door still slightly ajar.

Even with the gold-flecked eyes and frizzy brown hair, she’d doubted, just a little. But with this, there was no doubt left. None.

Tak returned, though she hadn’t seen him leave.

“I just talked to Allison,” he said. “She got her copy twenty minutes ago and is already on her way to file for temporary guardianship. We’re supposed to meet her at the courthouse.”

~*~

They dressed in subdued suits, Deena a charcoal and tailor-made skirt, Tak in a black Armani once forgotten in the back of his closet. He chose a red tie because he read once that politicians use them to give an air of command and control.

They were in court on a Sunday morning after some pleading and posturing on Allison’s behalf. In hand were copies of their bank statements, two character statements—one from Allison’s husband John, the other from Tak’s father, Daichi. Allison had gathered them without either Tak or Deena’s knowledge. She’d also made contact with Tony’s court-appointed advocate in Bismarck, who, after extensive talks, was now in favor of the proceedings.

The judge was a salt-and-pepper haired Cuban man with deep creases in his face and a permanent scowl, made harsh by hanging jowls. He turned watery eyes on Deena and surveyed her frankly, as if trying to uncover the hidden lie in her posture.

“You knew nothing of this boy until he showed up at your house?” he demanded.

“That’s right, Your Honor,” she insisted.

The judge turned on Tony, seated on a side bench next to a pitch-black woman with a small, sheen-laden afro. 

“That true? You’ve never spoke to these people before?”

“Never, sir.”

The judge leaned forward on elbows, attention on the papers before him. Silence stretched on, interrupted only occasionally by the turning of a page.

“I can see from your bank statement that you have ample means to support him. But what are your plans for him? For his overall well-being?”

Deena opened her mouth to speak, only to have Tak place a hand over hers.

“As soon as we have the proper paperwork we’re going to enroll him in a private school. Edinburgh Academy, where our daughter Mia already attends. We want to make sure he has all the resources he needs, in case there’s some catching up to do. We’ll take him to the family doctor and dentist to make sure everything’s up-to-date and as soon as we’re settled in, we’ll do some family counseling to ensure that the four of us bond.”

The judge gave a muted, small smile of approval. “Sounds good, Mr. Tanaka. I see no reason why we can’t proceed in that direction.”

Deena gasped.

“Is that really all there is to it?” Tak looked from Allison to the judge, waiting, waiting for the “more,” whatever that was.

“I see no reason to keep a family apart. So, yes, that’s all.” The judge grinned. “Oh, and before I forget, could you please remind your father, Daichi, that he owes me a round of golf?”

Tak grinned, still grinning as the judge disappeared into his chambers. The sheen-laden social worker approached them. Huddled together, she and Allison began to bombard them with information, requests for documents, and various forms they needed to fill out and have notarized.

C
HAPTER ELEVEN

Tony ran a hand over butter-cream leather and inhaled what could only be that new-car smell. He had his own cup holder, and there, in the back, was a television in the headrest. It wasn’t on, and though he wanted to check it out, he didn’t know how to ask. So, he rode in silence. 

In the trunk were more pairs of pants and shoes, shirts and pajamas than he’d ever seen outside a store. And they were all for him. At first, when they stood inside Nordstrom’s, Tony didn’t move when Deena told him to pick what he wanted. Then, when Tak nudged him, he grabbed a shirt—a black graphic tee with a skater, midflip, on the front. He held it out to Tak, who laughed, and asked him if he planned on making it part of a uniform. Tak tossed it in the cart and waited.

Tony had seen the cost of that shirt—thirty-seven dollars—and felt sure he could have nothing else from the store. Secretly, he wondered if a city like Miami wouldn’t have a Walmart. Why go to a place that charged thirty-seven for a thin tee? Despite the absurdity of it all, Deena picked up a pair of blue jeans, faded in all the right places, and asked Tony if he liked them. He nodded. She verified his size, which he wasn’t altogether sure of, and threw them in the cart, too.

“Fill it up, Tony. That’s your job.” She poked a finger in the empty basket. “Don’t look at the tags. Just get what you like.”

She’d said it as if wasting money gave her joy, so, Tony shrugged and went at it. Starting first with jeans in every shade, from the darkest rinse to the palest blue, torn and untorn, he threw them in the cart and waited. When he looked at Tak and Deena and saw that they were still unsatisfied, he moved on to khakis and repeated the process. Cargo. Army fatigue. Something weathered-looking. After a while he stopped examining the designs and just focused on finding his size, otherwise they’d never leave the joint. Anyway, he was certain they’d be putting some stuff back once they made it to the counter, like his mom always had to do. 

“You need shirts,” Deena announced and disappeared, only to return with an armful. By the time they left, he had twenty-five pairs of pants, forty-seven shirts, thirteen pairs of pajamas, and seven pairs of shoes. He counted at the counter, unwilling to look at the digital readout of the register. Still, the cashier saw fit to announce it: $4,779. Tony’s tummy grumbled in response. And Tak, not even slowing the flow of conversation, pulled out a slim black card and handed it over, all the while describing a massive roller coaster at Disney to Tony. Afterward, they’d piled everything into the trunk of a pearl white Benz with butter-cream interior.

Eyes on the back of Tak’s glossy black hair, Tony blinked with a latent realization. “So, are you guys, like, rich?”

Tak glanced at him in the rearview mirror. “We’re doing okay.”

His mother used to say that when she worried about money. “We’re doing okay, Tony.” Somehow, someway, someone was getting it wrong.

Deena made a list with the pencil and pad from her purse as Tak drove. They would need paperwork from the Bismarck school system, new furniture for the spare room that would become Tony’s, and a record of all his shots. Monday, she would put in calls to Mia’s dentist and doctor to see if each could squeeze Tony in ASAP. No doubt, his nutrition was poor. She would call Allison and be sure they were okay with keeping their goddaughter until school on Monday.

She needed a list of known allergies, but could probably get that from him. He seemed old enough. And they should’ve measured him before rushing out and buying all those clothes. They would probably have to take them back. And as for—

“Hey. Here’s an idea. How about we head to Disney World?” Tak said.

“Disney World!” Tony cried.

“Disney World?” Deena echoed uncertainly, gaze skimming her list.

“Yeah. Disney World. We could grab Mia, pack a few things, and hit the road. Three hours in the car.”

“Disney World!” Tony exclaimed.

Tak grinned at him in the rearview mirror. “Heard of it, huh?”

Just as he pulled up to a red light amid four lanes of traffic, Deena scowled at him. He was always doing this. Up and running, with nary a thought about what he’d shirked with his impulsivity.

“There are things we need to do. A million of them,” she said.

“All of which can wait.”

He straightened his rearview mirror.

“We need to get him in school. Get him caught up if he’s behind.”

Tak glanced at Tony in the mirror.

“You promise to work hard when you’re back in school? Do your homework, brush your teeth, eat your broccoli?”

Tony grinned. “Yeah, I promise.”

Tak looked at Deena. “See? He promised.”

She rolled her eyes.

“We’ll get him a tutor if he needs it. Or two or three. But for now, let’s have fun. Or better yet, let him decide. Disney or school, kiddo?”

“Disney World!” Tony cried. “You guys are awesome!”

Tak looked at Deena. “See? We’re awesome.” He followed it with a squeeze of her knee.

“You’re bribing him,” Deena said.

Tak grinned. “Worked on you,” he said and let the top down on his Benz.

Tony hooted in approval, fists reaching for the heavens as they sped down the interstate.

CHAPTER TWELVE

When Kenji Tanaka entered the Tanaka firm Monday morning, he waved to Carlos the security guard and headed for the elevator. It was kind of late, he guessed, and his sister-in-law Deena would probably be mad. It was his hope that the arrival of Tony over the weekend had held her up, though he doubted anything could make her late.

Kenji decided to skip the morning visit to her office and head straight for his own instead. That way, when she did turn up looking for him, he could at least pretend he’d been there for hours.

Kenji’s office was on the seventh floor, same as Deena’s, implying a seniority he didn’t have. He rode the gold-toned elevator up while whistling a catchy hook from a Wild Thugz concert the night before. Best hip-hop band, hands-down.

The elevator stopped with a jerk and Kenji peeked out before stepping off. Right, then left, and no sign of Deena. He stepped off and dug in his pocket for keys as he walked. Not only would she hammer him for being late, if discovered, but she’d hardly approve of the absence of a briefcase, as well. No briefcase meant no work over the weekend, and for Deena Tanaka, the thought was obscene. Kenji rolled his eyes at his sister-in-law and self-appointed mentor.

He stopped at the last door on the right, hardwood, gold plaque, brass knob. His father had put his name on the door the day he passed his ARE, or Architect Registration Exam, so happy was he to have another architect in the family. With a sigh, Kenji stepped inside.

He had a base salary, small but bigger than most around there, and a commission, like all the other architects, though it wasn’t enough money to notice. His trust fund was more than most guys there made in a lifetime, and he was content to never design anything, if left alone. Still, every once in a while, he made noise upstairs and told them to send something his way, just to keep the old man happy. Every once in a while he did that, but not too often.

Kenji dug his briefcase out of the closet, set it on his desk, and powered on the PC. Last night he’d been at the concert, so that meant missing the Dolphins game. Time to log onto ESPN for highlights.

A final score of 27–0 ensured Kenji that he’d made the right decision in going to the Wild Thugz concert with the pretty accountant downstairs. He ignored the internal memos, checked his e-mails, and only answered the one from Brandon Sweets, his best bud since high school. He wanted a recap of the concert. Kenji happily obliged. Afterward, he staked out his favorite message boards. Miami fans were the craziest, and he could count on them to get him laughing in the
a.m.
DolphinManJamiaca976 said that he knew a blind golfer back in Montego Bay who had a better arm than the Dolphins QB. BallerBoyMIA said that it would take two dozen first-draft picks, a new coaching staff, and all the voodoo of a priestess in Little Haiti to fix their beloved Dolphins. Kenji snickered. It looked like a good day, so far. He’d make himself a cup of coffee and settle in, maybe check out a movie on Netflix, too. 

Kenji went to the sixth-floor break room and saw they only had decaf. A visit to the second-floor one turned up no coffee at all. Time for the Starbucks on South Miami, he figured.

It took an hour to get that cup of coffee, an hour made up of a short chat with Carlos the security guard, a walk two blocks, and another especially long chat with a sassy black barista with almond eyes. He was getting into black girls lately, especially their curves, but hadn’t worked up the nerve to get one’s number. So, he left this one alone.

Kenji headed back for the gleaming monument that was the Tanaka firm, wedged between towering banks and hotels. He stopped for a talk with the old black man they paid seven dollars an hour to park cars whose drivers got charged fifty for valet. It turned out the old guy played lotto seven days a week and was getting the hell out of there the second his numbers came in. Kenji gave him a dollar and told him to play for him, too. The old man laughed and tucked the bill in his front shirt pocket.

“Boy, ain’t that your name at the top of that building?” he pointed one crooked finger at the gold letters bearing the Tanaka logo.

Kenji smiled. “Something like that.”

Back in the building, he stopped again to see what Carlos was doing. One of the many tabloid talk shows was on, and this time, a too-skinny white girl with greasy brown hair didn’t know who in the hell her baby daddy was. Kenji leaned against the counter for a better view. Carlos insisted it was the guy who worked part-time at the gas station, so naturally, Kenji went the other way, with the black guy who said he’d never even slept with her. Both Kenji and Carlos put a dollar on the counter to seal the deal.

“We should double this,” Kenji said, staring in disbelief as a third girl stepped out with as many teeth in her mouth as he had in his pocket at the moment. “I smell victory.”

“What you smell, my friend, is—”

Carlos looked up, froze, and blinked once.

Kenji turned to see Deena, if she were ten years younger and a whore. He cursed and peeled the jacket from his suit, hurrying to throw it over his near-naked sister-in-law.

“What the fuck?” he hissed and threw a glance over his shoulder. While doing so, he caught the eye of Carlos, who was grinning.

“This your friend, Kenji?” Carlos said, consonants disappearing the way of his thick accent.

“No! I mean,” he turned back to Lizzie. “What are you doing here?”

And didn’t she know better than to show up at someone’s job looking like a whore? Sequin mini, gold, glittering, and doing little to cover her ass. She’d paired it with a tube top of the same fabric, fabric that could hardly be expected to keep breasts so big in check.

“Deena,” Lizzie said. She looked past Kenji to the elevator. “Which office is hers again?”

“She not in, Mami,” Carlos said, eyeing Lizzie with distinct interest. He leaned over on the counter. “Eh . . . How old are you, anyway?”

Lizzie popped bubble gum and eyed the middle-aged Latino man with boredom. She leaned in, so close that they could’ve kissed without shifting. “As old as you need me to be.”

Next to Carlos, the television screamed with news of a verdict. One man leapt and cartwheeled, while the other thrust his hips emphatically. Carlos didn’t notice.

Kenji yanked Lizzie to him by the arm and buttoned up the tan Calvin Klein jacket he’d draped over her torso, ignoring the roll of her eyes. Naked legs the color of butter peeked out from underneath the coat.

“Deena in?” Kenji asked, glancing surreptitiously around the lobby.

“Didn’t show today,” Carlos said. “Listen, Mami, I’ve got fifteen minutes and a twenty in my pocket.”

Kenji snatched Lizzie by the wrist and swept her to the elevator. Grateful when it opened immediately, he yanked her inside and held his breath till it swallowed them whole.

~*~

“Why would you show up dressed like that?” Kenji shouted as the door to his office closed behind them.

Lizzie shrugged and plopped into the plush armchair facing his desk. Her eyes locked with his as he lowered himself into his chair, scowling.

“What happened with the kid?” she said. “Did they tell you?”

“Why don’t you call and ask?”

“Don’t play games, Kenji. You know damned well Deena can’t stand to see or talk to me.”

“Well, I can see you came here today to make a strong argument against that.”

“One more time. What happened with the kid,
Kanji
?”

He waited.

“
Kenji.
Please. Can you tell me whether he’s my nephew or not?”

“He is. Ninety-nine percent certainty.”

She stared, eyes growing wide, and then suddenly damp. He looked away. He shouldn’t have been the one to tell her.

Lizzie cleared her throat. “So, what you do here?” she said loudly.

When he didn’t answer, she sauntered around his desk, catching him by surprise. “Other than read about sports?”

Kenji’s cheeks flashed hot. He hurriedly punched off the monitor. “It’s a slow day. That’s all.”

“Mhm, I bet.” She returned to her seat with a smile. “Bet my sister never has slow days.”

“Yeah. You’d, uh, win that bet.”

She smiled, folded her arms. “But you . . . Rich daddy. Nice office. Nicer bank account. You have a lot of ’em is my guess.”

Lizzie shoved aside Kenji’s briefcase, a black leather Prada that hit the floor with a thud. “I bet you pretty much do whatever you want around here.”

She let his jacket fall away, revealing a body too naked for Kenji’s comfort. He got up and went to the window.

“You’d bet wrong,” he said, the darkness of shade engulfing his room as he closed the blinds.

That wasn’t good either.

Lizzie’s eyes followed him.

“When my sister went to work for your daddy she didn’t have shit. He stuck her in a cubicle with a bunch of other nobodies on the first floor. She was here seven years before she got a window. By then, she was fucking your brother, which probably helped.”

She had most of that right, except the implication that Deena’s relationship with Tak had somehow helped her early on. He could remember at least some of those seven years, but was surprised she knew anything about them. Back then, Lizzie was a strung-out teenager intent on selling her body and snorting coke. Now, she was a strung-out woman intent on selling her body and snorting coke.

“I didn’t think you kept up with Deena like that,” Kenji said, back pressed to the window.

Lizzie eyed him suspiciously. “I don’t.”

Deftly, Kenji returned to his seat. He managed to turn on his monitor for the sole purpose of looking busy.

She went back to hovering over his desk, shifting thighs so that soft smooth flesh would catch his attention, breasts perked like an avalanche waiting to happen. Finally, Kenji met her gaze.

“You can stop now. Nothing’s gonna come from it.”

“Well, shit.” She stomped over to her chair with exaggerated frustration and collapsed. When she caught him staring wide-eyed, she dissolved into laughter. “You’re really not interested, are you?”

“Nope.”

“You don’t like me? You don’t think I’m sexy at all?”

Kenji searched for a shred of work on his desk. There was none. Finally, he looked up. “I think you’re beautiful,” he said. “I’m just not into paying money for sex.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Yeah, right, what?”

“Yeah, right, you. On your high and mighty. You don’t pay money for sex. All guys pay money for sex.”

Kenji sighed. “You’re misinformed, Lizzie.”

“Am I? Aren’t you paying for sex every time you take a girl out for dinner and a movie or some other bullshit? Aren’t you just waiting for the goods at the end of the night?”

Kenji chuckled. “The goods?”

“Oh, don’t play! You guys are all alike. There’s one thing on your mind, all the time, even now.”

Kenji returned to his monitor. An internal memo appeared, something about signing a congratulations card in Human Resources for the new addition to Deena’s family. He dismissed it like the others.

“You think too highly of yourself,” he said. “You think that because you show everything you’re the sexiest girl in the place. Some guys like a surprise, you know. And even more, like to know that everyone else hasn’t had a sample first.”

Lizzie’s gaze narrowed. “You just think that’s what you want. But I promise you, when it’s going down, you won’t be thinking of that.”

“Well, you won’t have to worry about it ‘going down.’” 

He turned to his computer, a Fandango ad brandishing the screen. Having given up the guise of finding work, Kenji bit his lip with a thought.

“There’s a new
Spiderman
out. Have you seen it?”

Lizzie raised a brow. “What?”

“
Spiderman
.” He looked up in impatience. “You’ve heard of him, haven’t you?”

Lizzie sputtered. “Of course, I’ve heard of him.”

“Well, do you wanna go or what? It’s supposed to be good.”

She blinked her confusion.

Kenji clicked the advertisement. 

“Say ‘no’ if you want. We can see something else, if that’s not your thing. I don’t do chick flicks, though.”

“You—want me to go to a movie with you?”

“Sure, why not?” He scrolled down for times. “There’s one at seven. That should be fun.” He shot her a look. “I’m not paying you, by the way.”

“Seven tonight?”

“That’s what I said.”

“But I thought you didn’t want to—”

“Do you not know how to be a normal person? People go to the movies together. They pay admission, sit down, enjoy the show. That’s all I’m talking about. You in or not?” He swiveled away from his desk, stood, and stretched. Ten minutes in an office left him with a caged-in feeling.

“You could meet me here and we’ll go down to the theatre on Lincoln in South Beach. Maybe get something to eat, too,” he suggested.

“Why?”

“’Cause I thought it’d be fun. But fuck it, if you’re gonna act like that.”