Crimson Footprints (38 page)

“
This is your problem,
Takumi. Everything is about you. What Takumi wants, what Takumi
likes. No reason, or values, or anything. And what has Takumi
decided he wants this time? A little flesh.”

“
And what about you, dad?
Don’t you go to any lengths to get what you want? Isn’t that what
my whole life has been about?”

Daichi’s gaze narrowed.
“This is neither the time nor the place.”

“
No? Well can you have
Angela pencil me in and get back to me?”

Daichi’s eyes narrowed to
nothing.“Listen to me and listen closely. I am your father. You
know better than anyone that I will not tolerate insolence. We will
not revisit this. I forbid this. I forbid
this
,” he pointed a finger at Deena,
and like that, he’d reduced her to an object, a thing, a
this
.

“
Dad.” Tak’s voice broke
with frustration. “Don’t be this way. If you just—if you knew how
important she was to me,” Tak sighed. “I’ve always done as you
asked, regardless of whether we saw eye to eye. So you must know
that I—I don’t do this lightly.”

“
Takumi. What would
your
ojiichan
say? What would he think?”

Tak sighed, thinking of the
proud historian that was his grandfather. What
would
his
ojiichan
say?

“
Otosan
. I can’t help how I feel.”

Daichi closed his eyes. When
would the boy learn? Learn that what mattered was not issues of the
self, but of the group, the greater good?

“
You’re my oldest son,
Takumi. You’re supposed to be my pride and joy.”

Daichi’s head was lowered,
his hands in the pockets of his slacks, and he was no longer
shouting. “When I am gone you’re supposed to head this family. To
preserve our history, our traditions, our way of life. You know how
important this was to your
ojiichan
, how important it is to
me.” Daichi ran a tired hand through his hair. “I know I have not
been the ideal father. Absent when I shouldn’t be, whether through
mind or through body, but such a thing doesn’t negate your
responsibilities. It doesn’t negate who or what you
are.”

He raised his head. “You
cannot be so colorblind as to erase the color from your own skin.
You are not as others are. You are of Japanese blood and your
history is rich and important and worthy of preservation. Know this
before you know anything.”

Daichi paused with the
memory of him and Yoshi learning Japanese on Saturdays, going to
Dharma school on Sundays, and a host of ethnic and cultural
events—Hana Matsuri, Sakura Matsuri, Tango no Sekku and the Obon
street festivals. His father had been adamant about Daichi and
Yoshi knowing and taking pride in their culture.

“
There are things greater
than you,
musuko
.” Daichi looked at his son pointedly. “You must ask
yourself, this woman that you love—will she follow our traditions?
Will she honor your ancestors at the Obon Festival? Build a
butsudan
for you, for
me, when we are no longer here? Because Christians are not in the
habit of fashioning altars to the deceased, no matter how much
they’ve loved them.”

Tak thought of how willing
Deena had been to let things unravel because his ethnicity proved
an obstacle. He thought of the lengths she went to to hide who and
what he was—lying, skulking, hiding, indefinitely. He couldn’t be
certain she’d ever embrace their traditions. They hardly ever
fought, but when they did, it was because he’d grown tired of
deceiving his father or keeping quiet when Grandma Emma called.
She’d never able to give him a straight answer as to when they
could pull the shroud back from their relationship. Perhaps, she’d
never intended to. Perhaps, after three years together he already
had the answers to his father’s questions, and simply refused to
accept them.

Tak stared at the floor. “I
don’t know what she’d do,
otosan
. I can’t be sure.”

Daichi stared at his son,
baldly.

“
I’m leaving.”

He turned to Deena. “And you
are off the Skylife project.”

“
What?” she exploded. “You
can’t do that to me! You have no right!” It was her project, her
vision,
hers.

Daichi chuckled.
“
I
have no
right?
I
have no
right?”

He took a single menacing
step towards her.

“
I
have
every
right.
I
am
Daichi Tanaka.
That
is my firm. And I began it with little more than the sweat of
my palm. That is
my
son, born of
my
flesh and blood.
You
, Deena Hammond, are the one with
no rights.”

Deena shook her head,
flustered and near tears. “But this is personal. You can’t kick me
off for—for dating your son.”

“
No? How about because your
project is over budget? Or because your inaccessibility this
weekend has caused an estimated loss of 2.3 million dollars as we
searched for documents that only you seem to know the whereabouts
of? So, tell me, Ms. Hammond, would you find any of those reasons
more to your liking?”

Deena closed her eyes, felt
a tear spill.

“
Daichi, please. I’m
begging you.”

He turned away, unimpressed.
“And as for you, Takumi, I will pretend that this never happened.
And you will do the same.”

Tak and Deena watched as
Daichi smoothed his charcoal jacket, straightened his posture, and
sauntered out the door. Silence followed.

“
Tak?” Deena said weakly as
he disappeared into the bedroom. When he emerged, he was fully
dressed.

“
Tak? Tak, talk to me.” His
silence frightened her.

He shot her a single,
impatient look, brushed past her and slammed the front door behind
him.

CHAPTER
FIFTY-EIGHT

Deena tore out the door
after Tak, oblivious to the wild jutting of her two-tone curls, and
barreled down the creaking staircase. She shouted his name in
desperation, certain he intended to exit not only her building but
her life. She found him partway down, frozen at the sound of her
voice, as he waited for her to catch up with him.

“
What, Deena? What do you
want?” He sounded tired, anguished.

“
What do I want?” Tears
obscured her vision. “I want you to come back. Why did you leave
like that?”

Tak took a deep breath. “Why
do you want me to come back, Deena?” Still, he wouldn’t look at
her.

Deena searched the expanse
of his back. “What do you mean? I love you. Why would
you—”

He turned to face her. “All
right then. You love me? Then let’s make this thing solid. When do
I meet your family?”

“
Tak,” Deena shook her head
in exasperation. “You can’t—you know I can’t let you.” Deena
sighed. “We keep
talking
about this!”

“
Right! We keep talking
about it. And it’s going to keep coming up.”

Tak shook his head in
disbelief. He took a step upwards, toward her.

“
Just what is your plan
here, Dee? To keep me hidden forever? And just how the hell am I
supposed to feel about that?” It was exactly as his father said;
she wanted more from him than he should ever have to
sacrifice.

“
Tak, please. I love you.
But you’ve got to understand how things are for me.”

“
How things are for
you
? This whole
relationship has been about ‘how things are for you!’”

“
I know, Tak, and I love
you for it. I know this is a strain on you. But this is hard for
me, too. There are consequences to this relationship for
me.”

Tak stared at her. “And
what? You haven’t decided whether you’re willing to accept these
consequences, yet?”

“
That’s not the point,
Tak.”

“
No, Deena. That
is
the point. You love
me? Then damnit, you need to act like it. I mean, what kind of
watered down love is this, anyway? You love Lizzie and you fight
like hell for her. You prowl up and down the streets at God knows
what hour, without a fucking thought for yourself. You love your
grandmother and you fight like hell so she’ll show you an iota of
affection.”

Deena’s nostrils flared. “Is
that it, Tak? I don’t show you enough love?” she
sneered.

Tak shook his head. “This is
such bullshit. I’m out of here.”

He turned and barreled down
the stairs. Deena followed.

“
Don’t you dare walk away
from me in the middle of an argument!” she called.

“
We weren’t arguing. I made
a statement and I departed shortly thereafter.”

“
What are you now, Daichi?
Smug and self-righteous?” Deena shouted as they rounded the last
set of stairs.

“
My father’s a wise man,”
he said as he reached the bottom of the staircase, “and he knows
exactly what he’s talking about—when it comes to you at
least.”

He cast her a single, hard
glare before taking off again. She gaped after him.

“
What the hell’s that
supposed to mean?” She quick-stepped to meet his long stride across
the lobby.

“
It means just what I
said.”

“
When it comes to me?”
Deena echoed. “No way. You don’t get to make some sweeping
statement like that and just walk off.”

Tak shot her a look before
shoving open the heavy double doors that led to Collins
Avenue.

“
Fine, Dee. You know what
it means?” Tak said as their argument spilled into the bustling
sidewalk. “It means that he’s a hell of a lot smarter than me. He’s
smart enough not to let love derail his values.” He shot her a look
of disdain. “But I guess you two are alike in that way.”

Deena shook her head in
desperation. “Tak, come on! You know I love you. God knows I do. I
don’t know how to be any plainer than that! If we were in a perfect
world, I’d already be married to you.”

Deena’s eyes filled with
tears.

“
Well, we don’t live in a
perfect world! So you need to decide whether you’d be married to me
in this one.”

He jumped into his silver
Ferrari, staving off her plea with a slam of the door. Tak started
the car, backed out of his space and whipped a furious turn into
the street. In their anger, both were oblivious to the wild SUV
barreling towards him until too late. With the screeching of tires
and the folding of metal, Deena screamed, as the convertible, and
the man she loved within it, were crushed.

Ruby red lights pulsed as
frantic sirens signaled the severity of Tak’s condition. Within the
tight confines of the racing ambulance, Deena bit back the threat
of hysteria as she took in his lifeless body, blood-soaked clothes
and swollen blue lips.

A burly paramedic strapped a
pressure cuff about Tak’s arm. He paused, then frowned at the
gauge.

“
I’ve got BP at 100 and
dropping!”

Deena looked in desperation
from the thin red head with the messy ponytail to the thick man
with the wire frames and wondered which, if either, could save
Tak’s life.

“
90…80…75!”

The red head clamped an
oxygen mask over his face and paused.

“
Shit,” she said. “This
guy’s going into cardiac arrest!”

Deena could see nothing but
Tak’s dying body and the pale hands as they worked to revive it. An
anguished sob tore from her lips.

They arrived at Ryder Trauma
Center under a hail of red lights. Men and women in white jackets
and scrubs dashed to meet them. A flurry of hands assisted in the
transfer, as Tak was hoisted from ambulance to hospital. Deena
rushed after them blindly, padding through the smatterings of blood
leaking from Tak, trailing crimson footprints in her
wake.

The trauma team burst
through the doors of the resuscitation room and swarmed on Tak in a
blaze of needles, tubes, sponges, knives, scissors and white
jackets. Nurses worked to cut away his clothes as Deena watched in
horror—the fitted tee from Old Navy, a gift from her, faded Levis
with a perfect fit, and white boxer briefs, Calvin Klein—the only
kind he’d wear. Two IVs went into his arms as a tiny blonde slipped
a needle into the back of his hand and retrieved multiple vials of
blood. A pressure cuff was strapped to him and tape patched to his
chest.

The EKG screeched to life,
indicating that Tak had flat lined.

“
Call a code!” screamed a
white jacket.

The hospital’s paging system
blared to life.