Crimson Footprints (32 page)

They had another daughter, a
teenage girl named Lauren, as slim as she was solemn. Dark make-up
circled her eyes and painted her lips, a gross contrast to her pale
pallor. When she greeted Deena, she used no words, only a hand, the
fingernails of which were painted black.

The man Deena had been
certain would be Daichi’s brother was actually his brother-in-law.
Ken Wantanabe, a microbiologist for the Center for Disease Control.
He and Daichi’s sister, Asami, had a five-year-old daughter named
Erin, who seemed to simmer more than sit. Deena thought her
adorable.

And she met Tak’s mother,
Hatsumi Tanaka. A slender beauty, she had alabaster skin, creamy
and polished, ebony salon-styled curls and mournful gray eyes. She
wore a silk white blouse and creased gray slacks. Her makeup was
daring yet well-done, shimmering silver above the eyes, a hint of
blush for the cheeks, and lips the color of cherries. She looked
flawless.

It was only when she stood
and clasped Deena’s hand that her awe-binding spell was broken. Her
touch felt cold, too cold, and with it came the memories of stories
Deena had heard. Of neglect and alcohol, of indifference to
everything.

Still, she was
beautiful.

The spread before them was
impressive. She’d never seen such an assortment of fresh seafood in
one home. Boiled Maine lobster, raw oysters, and steamed mussels
shared space with an assortment of sushi and sashimi,
gyoza
or steamed
dumplings, miso soup and soup of another kind, clear with large
prawns in it. There was soba with sliced duck breasts, shrimp and
chicken tempura, steamed white rice, fried rice and a few steaming
one-pot dishes that Deena couldn’t identify.

“
Everything looks so
delicious,” Deena said to no one in particular.

“
My mother is quite the
chef,” Daichi said. “She’s the one to thank for such a lavish
meal.”

He lifted the miso soup,
ladled out a bit into the porcelain bowl before him, then passed it
to Deena. She took some and felt the incredulous eyes of Tak and
Kenji on her, both of which knew that she didn’t care for miso
soup.

“
I find it fascinating that
you’re an architect,” Michael said suddenly. “It isn’t a field with
a lot of women, let alone beautiful women.”

Daichi’s spoon clattered to
the table.

“
Will you force her to
listen to your nonsense endlessly? Even sweatshops allow lunch
breaks.”

John snickered into his
hand.

“
But I was just making
conversation,
oli!
”

Daichi returned to his soup.
“Well do a better job.”

They ate in silence, and
after the soup, passed around trays of seafood and sushi. People
plucked at random. Deena took some of everything so she wouldn’t
seem impolite. She also took only a little, as taking the last of
anything she knew would be rude.

Michael slid a one-pot dish
towards her. “This is especially good, if you like
beef.”

Deena peered into the dish.
She spotted soba noodles, firm tofu, slices of beef, cabbage and
mushrooms.

“
It’s sukiyaki,” Michael
said. “You know, there’s a great fable about sukiyaki and a
medieval nobleman. It goes like this. One day—”

“
Michael, maybe you should
just let her get some before it gets cold,” his mother suggested
hastily.

Again, John
snickered.

“
Could you not have quite
so much fun?” Tak whispered.

His cousin turned serious
with the scolding.

Deena grabbed bits of the
sukiyaki with the back of her chopsticks and shot John a warning
look. He returned it with wide-eyed innocence.

Tak’s grandmother, Yukiko,
cleared her throat. “And how is your art these days,
Takumi?”

Tak’s glare melted. “It’s
good,
baachan
.
Just a few weeks ago I had a gallery showing in Manhattan, the most
profitable to date.”

His grandmother beamed.
“Your art inspires people. Even your grandfather said
so.”

Tak shrugged. “There’s
always room for improvement.”

“
And your music? Do you
keep up with that, still?” John’s father, Yoshi asked.

Daichi scowled. When Tak was
a boy he had music lessons three days a week—piano and violin. One
summer with Yoshi and the boy returned with a knack for the drums
and a need for a guitar. When Daichi refused to buy him either, his
uncle did, and Tak taught himself.

“
You know I practice.” Tak
simulated a guitar riff and Yoshi grinned, his mouth was brimming
with rice.

“
So, you studied
architecture at M.I.T. huh? A difficult program to get into,”
Michael said. “But then again, aren’t they all?” he chortled
obnoxiously.

Deena shrugged. “I suppose
so.”

She brought white rice to
her mouth with chopsticks.

But Michael mistook her
indifference. “You suppose so? You must be a sharp one. But I knew
that already since you work for my
oli.
”

Deena massaged her temple
tiredly.

“
So, were you an active
participant in the social scene?”

“
No. Not really,” Deena
whispered. She openly searched for a rescuer, but found no
takers.

“
Funny. I would’ve pegged
you for a folk dancer, easily.”

Tak dropped his utensils.
Michael glanced at him and turned back to Deena,
unfazed.

“
I was very active with the
Science Fiction Society and the Model Railroad Club. You probably
had friends in one or both.”

Deena sighed. How was it
that Tak and John and Kenji could all be so warm and funny, and
this guy—this guy could be so…
awful?

“
You know, there are times
when I find myself missing M.I.T.,” Michael said, dunking
his
gyoza
in soy
sauce before dropping it into his mouth. “Are you the same
way?’

“
No.” Instantly, her
curtness embarrassed her. “It was…too cold for my
tastes.”

Michael grinned and nodded
as though he were privy to some great inside joke. “Indeed, indeed.
Still, there are times when I wish for that old school spirit, you
know?”

Deena scooped a sliver of
beef out of her dish and ate it. She had no idea what he wanted her
to say.

“
We should’ve crossed paths
on campus at least once. And I know we didn’t, because I would
remember a face as pretty as yours.”

Both Daichi and Tak glared
openly at him.

“
What?” he finally
said.

Deena met Tak’s gaze. He was
pissed. At Michael, at Deena, and at himself. She could see it. She
shot him a look of pity, hoping to convey that she was suffering as
much as him, but he met it with a hard, indifferent
glare.

“
Perhaps you would allow
Ms. Hammond to enjoy her meal instead of feeling obliged to humor
your fruitless advances,” Daichi said.

“
Hey, come on, Daichi.
Don’t start that.”

That was Yoshi.

Daichi turned to his
brother. “You’ve something you’d like to say, Yoshiaki?”

“
No. He does not. And
neither do you,” their mother said.

Everyone fell
silent.

“
Maybe after dinner I can
show you some of the sights here,” Michael offered.

Deena could feel Tak’s eyes
on her.

“
Um no. Tak—Takumi has
volunteered to do that.”

“
Oh?” Michael looked from
Deena to Tak, paused at the thinly veiled annoyance on his cousin’s
face, and then turned back to her. “Okay. Maybe some other
time.”

When dinner ended, John made
eye contact with Deena and nodded towards the back door. He stepped
out onto the terrace and she followed.

“
Quite the show you’ve got
going.”

He closed the sliding glass
behind them.

Deena sighed. “So is Tak
ready to commit domestic violence or what?”

John grinned. “You’d have to
cop to a relationship for it to be domestic violence.”

“
Is that your legal
opinion?”

John snorted. “Hey toots,
you’re pretty and all, but if this goes down I’m Tak’s lawyer not
yours.” He paused, slipped a hand in his pocket.

“
Tell me something, Deena.
I’m just curious here. You guys have been at this thing awhile now.
I mean, formally, for close to three years, and informally, even
longer. How long do you keep things up
in
toto
?”

Deena frowned. “Now you
sound like, Tak.”

“
No. I sound like a guy
who’s about to get caught between his brother and his cousin—a
cousin of which happens to be his best friend.”

She ran a hand over her face
and through wayward curls before exhaling in fatigue.

“
I don’t know, John. I
don’t know what I’m doing. I’m just hanging on by a thread—trying
to keep everything and lose nothing, when I’m not even sure if
that’s possible. I just wish that I could—”

She fell silent when the
doors opened and Mike stepped outside.

“
So uh, post-Renaissance,
you say, huh?”

Deena blinked at John, slow
to catch the tactic. “Oh, yeah. Post-Renaissance.”

Desperately, she searched
for an application to the phrase. “Well, there was more unity in
construction back then. And uh—and more consciousness of the
surroundings, at least as far as designing was
concerned.”

“
At least,” John said
distractedly, his eyes on his brother.

“
Now this is a new
interest,” Michael said. “John and architecture.”

John scowled. “Mom and dad
thought the same thing when they saw you talking to a
girl.”

Michael’s smile faded.
“Pretty enough to tear brothers asunder, huh?”

John sighed. “I’m bailing.
Talk later, Deena.”

She watched him go with
reluctance.

“
Maybe I should go,
too.”

Michael nodded. “Alright,
then. I’m sure we’ll talk again.”

CHAPTER
FORTY-EIGHT

Deena sat in the window seat
of her bedroom and admired her view of the Pacific. The waters were
dark and shimmering as the light of the full moon illuminated her
face. She’d been certain Tak would come to her when the house was
still and everything seemed safe. But as the hours dragged on, and
night crept toward morning, there was still no Tak. When Deena did
fall asleep, it was with a heavy heart.

Deena woke in the night and
jumped from the arm draped about her. If that weirdo went so far as
to—

She turned and exhaled in
relief. It was Tak. Deena snuggled in close, now facing
him.

“
When did you get
here?”

He shrugged. “One, maybe two
minutes ago.”

“
I thought you were mad at
me.”

“
I am. I was going to slip
in here and steal a little undetected sex.”

Deena snorted.

“
Okay. Maybe you would’ve
detected after a second or two. Point it, I’ve decided not to be
mad since I agreed to do this crap, and since it’s your dream to
work for my dad and what not.”

Deena smiled in unfettered
gratefulness. “That is why I’m so crazy about you!”

“
Yeah, and I know someone
who’s crazy about you.”

She pulled a face. “I don’t
like him, Tak. Not at all.”

Tak grinned. “Mike has that
effect on women. Now if only we were a couple. I could just tell
him to go away.” He brought a finger to his chin as if
contemplating a solution.

“
Not mad, remember? Not
even passive aggressive.”

His gaze narrowed. “Not sure
I agreed to that one.”

“
I see. You know, John
warned me you might resort to domestic violence. He said that if
you do, he’d be willing to defend you.”

“
John’s a tax attorney. I’d
probably wind up with the death penalty after slapping
you.”

Deena giggled. “Good. Keep
that in mind when you’re busy being mad.”

They stared at each other,
smiling, noses near touching in the dark. It still amazed her that
she could be so comfortable with someone, so close without
self-consciousness. She hadn’t even thought it possible.

“
Your grandmother’s
beautiful,” she said. “And your mother, too.”

“
Uh huh.”

“
And I get the joke now,
about John looking like his father.”

“
Oh you do, now?” Tak sat
up. “What are you trying to say?”

Deena sat up as well.
“Nothing. I just—”

“
What? That he’s fat?
Ugly?”