Ink and Ashes (2 page)

I READ THE
names on the paper again, slower this time, to make sure. But it was definitely my father’s handwriting, which I recognized from his journal. And, thanks to snooping in Mom’s drawer and stumbling onto old love notes she had kept hidden, I knew he signed the
H
of his first name as if it were written in one stroke.

Thoughts whirled in my head, unearthing questions that would only grow louder unless they were answered. Why wouldn’t my parents have said something earlier? Mom must have known they were acquainted.

Unable to read Japanese, I’d have to go to the source and do some probing.

I slid the letter into my back pocket, put the empty envelope and notebook back into the box, and put it away. A faint nervousness hummed under my skin as I walked down the stairs and into Dad’s study.

I slumped into a leather chair in front of the man who had been my new dad almost since mine had passed away. Without glancing up, Dad folded the papers he held and shoved them into a file folder, which he placed in a drawer of the cherrywood credenza behind him. He closed it and took a key from his pocket to lock the drawer.

“What was that?” I said.

Dad shifted in his chair. The scent of his cologne, a mixture of wood and cool winter air, crossed the room. “Don’t worry. It’s not for your birthday.”

“Good,” I said. “Because you know how I hate celebrating my birthday.”

Right after my father died, Mom forgot about my birthday. Parker’s too. Since then, birthdays for me and Parker had become a muted affair that neither of us wanted to celebrate. Avery, however, had no problem making sure Mom pulled out all the stops for his birthday a month later.

I eyed the locked drawer. If he was hiding something, it wouldn’t be for long. The whirlwind of thoughts was already in full force. Whether it was a surprise for my birthday or something else, I had to know what was in there, or the spinning would never stop—even though it was most likely insignificant. Even though I shouldn’t.

Dad nodded and gave me his full attention. “So how are you doing, princess?”

I shrugged and compelled my mind to focus. If he really knew my father but hadn’t said anything, I would have to be very careful in my approach to determine whether not telling us was an oversight or on purpose. Depending on how he answered, I’d have to decide if I wanted to show him the letter I’d found.

“I’m fine,” I said, “considering what day it is.”

He combed his fingers through his dark hair. “It’s still hard, isn’t it?” His voice fell at the end as if it was more of a statement than a question.

My heart fluttered faster. I stared at the grain in the dark wood of his desk. “It’s been ten years. A long time since it happened. I’m fine.”

He nodded.

“I mean, I don’t even think about him anymore,” I said. “Not much. But I think you really would have liked him.” I glanced up to get a good read of his expression.

“I know I would have.” Dad’s voice was soft, his face unchanged.

“He was such a good person.” I kept my eyes trained on his.

He cleared his throat. “I’ve heard he was one of the best.”

“And seriously I’m fine, but you know, every now and then I miss him,” I said. “A lot.”

Dad nodded and removed his glasses, rubbing both eyes as if tired, then placed them back on the bridge of his nose.

I hadn’t sensed anything unusual yet from his body language, so I decided to push further. “Did you happen to know my father?” I asked. “I mean, since you were both in Hawaii?”

Dad shrugged, but I couldn’t detect any discomfort or surprise cross his face. Not even the tiny wrinkles at the corners of his eyes or the small sunspot above his left brow shifted.

“I did know of him,” he said, “but a lot of people knew who your father was because he was a judge.” He folded his arms, and his leather chair creaked as he leaned back. “I’m sure if he were here, he would love watching you play soccer. You have a big game this week, don’t you?”

I smiled. “Yeah. We’re playing Haven High. They beat us last year.”

He brought his chair forward and rested his elbows on the desk. “I know you’ve been practicing hard, and the team is looking pretty strong. If I were Haven, I’d be nervous.”

My team had been practicing hard, and I had to admit we looked good on the field. “Yeah,” I said. “Haven should definitely be scared.”

“I know it’s been a tough morning, but I have to run some errands.” He jumped to his feet. “Do you need me to pick up some more energy bars while I’m out, or do you have enough?”

“I’m good.”

Before he dashed out the door, he kissed my forehead.

Uneasiness thrummed through me. I tapped my fingers on the arm of the chair and tried to replay our discussion. I wasn’t sure if I had any more answers than when I first sat down, and I realized I’d never seen my dad in such a hurry on a weekend.

At some point, Dad had read an article on how one of the best ways to prevents sports injuries was by cross-training. We had all played soccer from a young age and didn’t have a lot of time to fit in another sport, so Dad came up with the idea of spending some time on Saturdays learning martial arts and self-defense from him, since he’d grown up practicing karate and jujitsu.

Even if he had other things to do, he always made sure we practiced for an hour or two. But today, he seemed to have completely forgotten. Why would he have offered to pick up energy bars when Mom was at the grocery store anyway?

Outside, the wind howled, the high-pitched whistle sending a flutter down my spine, but I stayed seated, waiting to hear the finality of the garage door rumbling closed. If my phone hadn’t vibrated, I would’ve already been rummaging through Dad’s desk. I had a text from my best friend, Forrest Langford.

Forrest:
Hey, I remembered what day it was. Are you ok?

Me:
I’m fine.

Forrest:
Really?

Me:
Would I lie to you?

Forrest:
Yes. I’ll be there soon.

I smiled and returned the phone to my pocket. Then I eyed the corner of a crumpled piece of paper, sticking out of the side of the drawer he had just locked. Without hesitation, I grabbed two paper clips and went to work behind his desk.

Over the past few years I had taught myself how to pick any lock that wasn’t electronic. In the sixth grade, Parker locked me out of my own bathroom so I would be late for school. Out of frustration, I shoved a metal skewer in the little round hole, and the door popped open. The euphoria of besting him motivated me to learn how to pick all kinds of locks with all kinds of tools. I had even made my own tension wrench by grinding down an Allen wrench in shop class. Learning the art wasn’t easy, and it took a lot of practice to get a feel for tension range and the different pressure that needed to be applied, but the more I practiced, the more I found interesting information no one wanted me to know, so I kept at it.

I shaped the paper clips, placed them in the lock, and started to turn. I’d practiced on this lock many times when I was first starting to learn—all I had to do was apply enough tension and listen for the pins. The lock turned, and I was in. The folder Dad had been holding only minutes earlier stood up a bit from the rest. In my previous searches, I’d never come across it before. I yanked it out, placed it on the desk, and plopped in his high-backed chair.

Even though I’d done this many times, I worked to slow my pulse. Dad had caught me going through some papers on his desk a few years ago, looking for a consent form for a biology field trip to Red Butte Gardens. He told me I should have asked and anything in his office was none of my business. The consent form was a legitimate excuse. Dad would kill me if he knew I was snooping again, this time in a locked drawer.

But if he never found out, it wouldn’t hurt him. I opened the file, expecting to find the receipt for a birthday gift he had ordered online or the guest list for a surprise party.

All I found was an envelope with Funeral written across the front, containing several photographs. I pulled them out and stared at the picture on top. I didn’t know how to make any sense of seeing the two men together, but it was my father, Henry, and my stepdad, George, both of them much younger.

I looked closer at the picture. I replayed the conversation I’d just had with my dad and studied the picture again, but it was both of them, side by side, arms around each other. Dad’s face was fuller, his muscles more toned.

My fathers seemed to have known each other a long time, which meant keeping this information from us couldn’t have been an oversight. I tried to quiet the sting pinching at my heart, but I still felt like I had been slapped. As the title on the envelope suggested, the next picture was from my father’s funeral. Parker and Avery stood at the Buddhist temple doors in their little black suits. I spread the small stack of photos on the floor and took a quick picture of each with my phone. Then I shoved the photos back into the envelope and placed it in the folder, making sure everything appeared as Dad had left it, before relocking the drawer behind me.

After I tidied up, I broke into a sprint up the stairs, passing Avery’s room first. “Get into Parker’s room,” I said. “I need to show you guys something.”

DESPITE A FEW
grunts, Avery hiked up his soccer shorts, hanging below his boxers, and followed me down the hall. He tightened a bandana around his head before he sprawled on Parker’s bed, his wiry body spread-eagle.

Parker stopped tightening screws on his latest contraption, which involved a bicycle seat and a skate deck. He scrunched his nose. “Dude, you stink. Off my bed. Now.”

“Just chill.” Avery scowled but stood up and leaned against the wall.

Parker slumped into the rolling chair at his desk. “So whassup, shorty?” he asked, focusing on me with eyes that appeared gigantic through his magnifying visor.

I closed the door behind me so Mom couldn’t hear if she came back. “Our fathers knew each other,” I said. “Isn’t that crazy?”

Parker shook his head. “Whatever.” Sometimes my obsessive investigations had led to theories, which had sometimes been considered “ludicrous” (Parker) or “stupid” (Avery). Given the evidence, and in some cases lack of evidence, the theories had always seemed plausible to me, but getting access to information for better proof was another reason I had learned how to pick locks. “I found a picture of the two of them together. And there was also this note.” I walked to the desk and handed him the piece of paper.

He replaced the magnifying visor with his usual glasses and studied the letter. The smile on Parker’s round face fell into a thoughtful expression. “Where’d you get this?”

The thought of sharing our father’s notebook made me pause. “Dad’s desk,” I lied.

Avery dragged himself off the bed to take a peek. “Why does Dad have that?”

“How would I know?” I said. “And it’s weird because I just talked to Dad, and he sat there as I went on and on about our father. But he didn’t say anything.” Up until now, I never thought my parents would lie to me. To us. They must have had a good reason, and I intended to find out what that reason was. Even though I didn’t have much evidence yet, I knew the reason couldn’t be a good one.

“What’re you all staring at?” The boy’s voice from behind startled me, but at least it wasn’t my mom. I hadn’t even heard the door open.

Forrest laughed and gave me a one-armed side hug. In his other hand was a plate of Spritzkuchen. My brothers each grabbed a German donut before I could.

“Whoa,” Forrest said and lifted the plate out of their reach. He was about a foot taller than me, and his naturally tan skin had a glow that my mom says comes from clean, healthy living. His dimpled smile and deep blue eyes sent the hearts of stupid girls everywhere into a flutter. But not mine. Around Forrest, I felt an immediate easiness.

He presented the plate, and I took one, explaining what I’d found between bites.

Forrest shoved a huge chunk of Spritzkuchen in his mouth and shrugged. “Is this theory related to past theories you’ve had about your dad’s travels?” He wiped away some stickiness at the corner of his mouth.

“No,” I said. “Maybe.” I shook my head. “I don’t know.”

Parker returned to his tinkering. “I’m sure it’s not a big deal.”

“I never said it was a big deal.” My voice sounded a little whinier than I expected. If they had kept this from us intentionally, was there more they were hiding? “But aren’t you the least bit interested in finding out why they never said anything to us?”

The rattle of the garage door announced Mom’s arrival home. I needed to hide the evidence, but before I could get the letter, Avery stole it from Parker. “Why don’t we ask Mom? I’m sure she’ll have a simple explanation, and you’ll realize how not-interesting it is, and then I can go back to working hard at being lazy.”

“But then she’ll I know I was going through Dad’s—” I swiped at Avery’s arm, but it was too late. He’d already jumped up and headed into the hall.

I raced to catch up to Avery, arguing with him all the way down the stairs.

“Do you know how hard my life is?” he asked. “I have to fit hours of watching TV, playing video games, and napping in one weekend day, all because weekdays are too laborious to let me space these things out. Let’s get this over with, so I can get back to my life.”

I grabbed at the note again, but he held it out of reach. “You’re going to get me in trouble.” Stupid little brothers growing taller.

“Yes, but think how peaceful my life will be once your questions are answered.” Avery slinked over to the refrigerator and rested against its stainless-steel doors, a smirk playing on his lips.

Parker dropped himself onto a barstool at the island in the middle of the kitchen. After a few more failed attempts to get the paper away, I gave up and sat next to Parker, with Forrest at my back.

Mom came in then, oblivious to our argument, and flitted around emptying grocery bags, shelving spices into the worn oak cabinets, and stacking cans in the overfilled pantry. “Just in time to help me.” She shoved a carton of orange juice into Avery’s arms.

Instead of putting it in the fridge, Avery set it on the counter. “So, did our dads know each other?” he asked.

Mom’s back stiffened. She lifted her shoulders and raised her head, a cantaloupe in her left hand and her right hand reaching into another bag. She put down the fruit, but her wrist caught on the handle of the plastic bag. She ended up yanking it off, wadding it into a ball, and throwing it on the counter before she turned to face us.

“Actually—” She paused. “Yes. Why do you ask?”

Avery glanced at me sideways. “Because Claire said they did.”

I darted a murderous glare at him.

Mom’s small eyes hardened and narrowed on me, waiting for an explanation.

“It’s just that I . . . um, happened to see Dad looking at a picture of the two of them this morning.” There was enough of the truth there that I prayed she could tell I wasn’t lying.

“Well,” Mom said, “he often does his own private ceremony on this day, which I think is very good of him.” She fumbled for something in one of the drawers. “He doesn’t want to intrude.”

“So they were good friends?” Parker asked.

“More like . . .” Her eyes flickered to Forrest, but she knew that by now there wasn’t anything I wouldn’t tell him anyway. “Acquaintances. I mean, I wouldn’t have met George—your dad—otherwise.” She unzipped the jacket of her gray tracksuit, slipped it off her thin frame, and draped it over a chair at the kitchen table.

“So you met Dad through”—I took a hesitant breath—“our father?”

“I did. He contacted me after the funeral.” She grabbed a carton of eggs off the counter and put it in the fridge, as if what she had told us was the most normal thing in the world.

We waited for her to offer more, but she stacked apples in a bamboo basket until they almost spilled over, her lips remaining tight.

Avery brushed away some long hair strands and finally broke the silence. “So, did you have an affair?”

I sucked in a quick breath. That had never even crossed my mind.

“What?” Mom pressed her palms on the counter.

Avery didn’t seem to notice the sharpness of her reply, but Forrest gripped my shoulder. Parker’s leg jiggled up and down. I was amazed Avery’s mouth hadn’t gotten him into more trouble by now.

“That’s ridiculous,” she said. “Dad and I only got together
after
your father died.” Her eyebrows pinched in. “I can’t believe you would even ask me something like that.”

Avery relaxed his body against the side of the fridge. All of us gave him a look. I shook my head. He lifted his hands and widened his eyes, mouthing, “What’s the big deal?”

“Why didn’t you guys tell us this before?” Parker asked.

“I didn’t think it mattered,” Mom said. “And it’s not like I never said anything. I told you I met your dad through someone I knew, and that someone happened to be your father.” She placed a hand at the back of her head and massaged her neck. “Seriously, kids. They barely even knew each other.”

“How do you explain this?” Avery yanked the note from his pocket and stretched the paper in both hands like an open scroll.

My breath caught in my throat. What was he thinking?

Forrest buried his forehead in the back of my hair and muttered, “Idiot.”

I took a step in his direction, but Forrest grabbed my arm, and I stopped. Heat flushed my cheeks. I didn’t know how long I was going to get grounded, but I was, without a doubt, going to ruin Avery’s life.

Mom’s face lost color. She snatched the letter from Avery and glanced over it. Her body went still. And then her forehead crinkled, and her eyes narrowed.

Avery waved his hand in front of her face. “Mom?”

“Where did you get this?” she said in a soft voice.

No one said anything. She folded her arms and swept her glare over each of us.

I shot my brothers a look to say we were all in this together, but neither of my brothers lasted longer than a few moments. Parker and Avery shifted their eyes on me. I couldn’t believe they were throwing me under the bus without even a second thought. Okay—Avery, yes, because he didn’t care if it meant I was getting into trouble, but Parker usually had more staying power. I raised my eyebrows and scowled at them both. Mom rotated and locked onto me with a blazing expression.

I wasn’t ready to part with the notebook, but I’d have to give her a good reason to be in Dad’s office. I cleared my throat. “I found it in one of those boxes in the garage with Otochan’s old stuff, and I know you guys said not to touch them, but that’s the only thing I found.”

Mom skimmed the note, and as she read, her hands shook. Not a lot, but enough that I could tell she was struggling to keep the paper steady. She didn’t say anything, and the moment drew out as I waited for her judgment.

“So?” Avery demanded, still oblivious. He snapped his fingers twice.

Parker stood from his stool and delivered a backhand to Avery’s chest.

Avery looked around the room. “You all saw that, right? Domestic violence?” He turned his attention back on Mom. “So?”

She whipped up her head and frowned. “I don’t know. I’ve never seen this before.” Her hand gripped tighter, her fingers digging into the paper. “This could be about a lot of things,” she said. “I know about as much Japanese as you guys do, so it’s not like I can read it. I mean, obviously I can read the numbers, but how would I know what they’re for?”

Avery held out his hand so she could return the note.

“I’ll hang on to this,” Mom said, wetness pooling in the corners of her eyes. She creased the paper in half and jammed it in the pocket of her jacket, still hanging on the chair. “All of you need to mind your own business, and I think this conversation is finished unless you want me to tell your dad what you were up to.”

“But Claire was the one who . . .”

Avery’s voice faded when Mom’s stony expression turned on him. We all hurried to help put the rest of the groceries away, and though I tried to make light conversation, Mom responded with one-word answers. I edged closer to the kitchen table, and when her back was turned, I slipped my hand into the pocket of her jacket. Mom wasn’t going to share anything else, but the letter might.

After we finished, we herded upstairs and gathered in my bedroom.

“That was awkward,” Forrest said. He perched on the edge of my desk and crossed his long legs at the ankles.

Parker collapsed on the bed among several Hello Kitty pillows, his wide feet hanging off the edge. “It doesn’t make sense,” he said. “If they were friends in their early twenties, he would have known Dad years before he married Mom.”

Avery stretched out facedown on the floor, drawing in the rose-colored carpet with his finger. “Mom’s probably thinking of a punishment as we speak. You have totally ruined the rest of my day, Claire. And to think it started out so nicely.”

I stood over him, my hands on my hips. “I ruined your day? This only happened because you decided to show Mom—”

“Stop,” Avery said. He sat up and waggled his finger at me. “All these accusations are hurting my feelings. I’m very sensitive, you know?”

I forced myself away, fighting the urge to kick him and help him truly find his “sensitive” side. Forrest patted the spot next to him, so I sat on the desk, conflicted between thinking of all the ways I would make Avery’s life miserable and the thought that my parents could be hiding something from us.