Crimson Footprints (39 page)

“
Code Blue, shock-trauma
unit. Code Blue, shock trauma unit.”

“
No,” Deena whispered.
“No.”

“
Code Blue, shock-trauma
unit. Code Blue, shock-trauma unit.”

They slipped chest tube was
slipped into Tak. Crimson flooded from his torso, rushing to fill a
plastic hose.

“
God, please.”

He couldn’t do this to her,
wouldn’t do this to her.

“
Code Blue, shock-trauma
unit. Code Blue, shock-trauma unit.”

Her father, her brother and
now, the man she loved. The Grim Reaper followed her, haunting her
with the promise of everlasting sorrow.

Hot tears streaked Deena’s
cheeks. She closed her eyes and whispered a prayer wrought with
grief and desperation. Never would she take him for granted again.
Never, if given another chance.

“
Though He causes
grief,

Yet He will show
compassion

According to the multitude
of His mercies”

Grandpa Eddie would whisper
that verse from Lamentations as he sat on the edge of his bed
clutching a yellowed portrait of his son, her father, Dean Hammond—
dead at 28. And as she stood there facing the frantic siren of the
EKG monitor, she whispered the verse over and over, the words
pouring from her lips in a mangled mesh of despair. Tears filled
her eyes as an endless stream of blood pumped from Tak’s body into
a container on the floor.

A white jacket turned to
Deena as if seeing her for the first time.

“
You need to go, ma’am.
There’s a social worker in the hall that needs information from
you. And she’ll want to contact his family.”

Deena thought about the life
she could’ve had. Her life if she’d tried to stop her mother from
killing her father, if she’d stayed with Anthony instead of going
home the night he was murdered, and if she’d only agreed to let Tak
meet her family. Her stubbornness and their argument had sent him
barreling into the street. Her words had sent him to his
death.

Deena paced, as if to tread
a groove in the floor. Her brain went numb, her mouth dry, her eyes
a flood of endless tears. In her mind, tires screeched, bones
crunched, and there was yelling—so much yelling. Was it her? Was it
him? God, was he really pinned by all that metal? Her stomach
lurched.

They’d lived as though they
had forever. And there was no excuse. Fate had given her ample
warning that time and love were precious. She’d always taken him
for granted, up until the last moment. She strung him along,
coddling him, humoring him, ignoring his desire to have more than a
cloak-and-dagger affair. In doing so, she assumed that his
friendship, his companionship, his love, were all unconditional,
irreversible, and timeless. A life without Tak was what she
deserved—deserved for never having the guts to love without
condition or to purge the demons that haunted her. And so she
stood, with an hourglass in hand, and the sand all emptied out.
Their time together was done.

Daichi burst into the
hospital like a torpedo. His jacket unfastened, his hair tousled,
his face a deep crimson.

“
You!” he shouted. “What’s
going on with my son?”

He grabbed the arm of an
orderly near the entrance, who instantly appeared terrified.
“Takumi Tanaka! I demand to know his status!”

Three steps behind him a
woman entered with her head lowered. Mounds of freshly styled curls
cascaded about her shoulders as alabaster skin sheathed a long,
graceful body. It was Hatsumi.

“
Deena!”

Daichi spotted her and
shoved aside the orderly, who stumbled. He closed the space to
Deena and pummeled her with questions.

“
Give me a status report.
What’s going on? Where is he? What’s his condition?”

Deena shook her head,
slowly. “I-I don’t know.”

“
What? Well, is he
conscious? Dead?”

“
I don’t know!”

Daichi stared at her, his
breathing shallow; his stomach nauseated. His thoughts were
muddled, incoherent, as he struggled to concentrate. He was losing
control. A white-hot panic brimmed beneath the surface, threatening
to overwhelm him. Sweat beaded his temples as Daichi clenched his
fists, piercing the palms until they bled. The pain was a
distraction, and with it, he was able to refocus. He needed
information. With information, he could make decisions, give
orders, right this wrong. With information, Takumi would be all
right.

Daichi turned his wrath to
the women at the reception desk.

“
Takumi Tanaka. Right now,”
he slammed a fist on the desk. “Tell me what’s
happening.”

The gray haired woman
fumbled with a folder. She was slight and mousy, cowering under the
fury of Daichi Tanaka.

“
Right goddamned now!”
Daichi screamed. “Takumi Tanaka!”

The woman behind the counter
disappeared in search of information. With his head bowed and palms
flat on the counter, Daichi took a deep breath, allowing only the
slightest tremble to escape. His tears were sudden and silent, and
brushed away in impatience. Eyes closed, he spoke to his long-dead
father.

“
Otosan
, please,” he trembled involuntarily. “I’ve done so many
things wrong. I’ve been prideful, arrogant, and abusive. I’ve taken
my son for granted. Please help me.” He broke off. Swallowed. “I’m
begging you.”

Daichi inhaled deeply before
lifting his head. He smoothed out his suit. No further grief, no
more indulgences. He turned to Deena who sat gasping and trembling,
sobbing into her hands. He watched and he marveled. Daichi had seen
this expression only once before, such stark bleakness, such
wretchedness—on the face of his mother when his father had
died.

Daichi extended a hand to
Deena and gestured for her to come forward. She looked at him with
distrustful bloodshot eyes. She searched his face for some sign of
his intentions. The embrace was a surprise.

CHAPTER
FIFTY-NINE

When Yoshi joined Daichi in
the waiting room, he took a seat next to his brother and stared at
the floor. A one a.m. flight out of Denver, just four hours after
he’d received word of Tak’s condition, placed him in Miami at just
after nine a.m.. It took a single bag of luggage, a six-hour
flight, and a rental car going ninety miles an hour, to get him
there at eleven. But even in his haste, he’d not beaten his son
John, whose flight from LaGuardia brought him in just before
midnight, the night of the accident.

Yoshi searched for words.
His heart wanted to say one thing, his mind another. Grief crippled
his thoughts. They were fractured, incomplete, like a heartfelt
letter with pages missing. This was his nephew, teetering on the
edge of death. The boy he’d taught to play drums and the guitar
against his brother’s wishes. The boy he’d spent summers wrestling
with and took to Disneyland when his brother hadn’t the time. He
loved him as if he were Michael or John, loved him more in some
ways. He was equal parts Yoshi and Daichi, the better of the two
without any of the worst. He couldn’t lose him. He simply
couldn’t.

“
When you prayed,” Yoshi
said as tears began to blind him. “When you prayed to
otosan
—did he
answer?”

Daichi fell silent for a
long time.

“
No,” he said
simply.

Yoshi sniffed. “He didn’t
answer me either.”

He paused momentarily. “When
we were kids,” Yoshi began. “I used to think you were invincible. I
used to think you could do anything, be anything and have anything.
Till yesterday, I think some part of me still thought
that.”

Yoshi brushed away tears,
half laughing at a fifty-year-old man who still believed his older
brother omnipotent. “I’d give anything to still believe that right
now.”

Daichi stared at the floor,
his eyes shadowed with worry.

“
I hope you can forgive me
one day, Yoshi. I’ve been a terrible brother. Always have
been.”

Yoshi shrugged. “That’s not
exactly true. A little rough sometimes, but not terrible.” He
nudged Daichi. “You taught me a lot of things. How to tie my shoes,
how to ride a bike and eat a taco at the same time, and how to get
a girl to let me kiss them on the first date.” Yoshi grinned. “All
very important.”

Daichi shook his head. “I
don’t know how to forgive, Yoshi. I’ve been unable to forgive you
for doing as you pleased with your life. And I’ve been unable to
forgive my wife for having an affair.”

“
She had an affair?
When?”

“
Eighteen years
ago.”

“
Oh.”

“
But even that seems to be
my fault. You of all people know how intolerable I can
be.”

“
Yeah,” Yoshi said slowly.
“For fifty years I’ve been trying to get through the door of
Daichi’s approval. And in that time I’ve figured out that not only
is it narrow, but sometimes it doesn’t exist at all.”

Daichi rubbed his face as if
to wipe away the self-loathing.

“
I’ve made so many
mistakes,” he said pitifully. “Left so many things unspoken. Every
cross and thoughtless word, every moment of neglect and
forgetfulness, it plagues me and convicts me, Yoshi.”

Daichi dashed tears away. “I
need a second chance. Desperately.”

Yoshi sighed. “We all do,
Daichi. We all do.”

CHAPTER SIXTY

A balding white physician
with the face of a cherry pie stood before Deena and the Tanakas in
the waiting room a full fifteen hours after the accident. He
introduced himself as Dr. Frank Moore and offered a hand as ruddy
as his face. He looked from Hatsumi, who continued to dab the
corners of her eyes, to Daichi, red-faced and stiff, before turning
to Deena, who held her breath altogether, hands clasped in
anticipation. He recognized her as the woman he’d thrown out of the
resuscitation room hours ago.

“
Mr. Tanaka,” Dr. Moore
began, “arrived with cardiac arrest after enduring blunt force
trauma to the chest. This resulted in a massive hemothorax, or in
laymen’s terms, blood in the chest cavity. After we performed
resuscitation and an emergency thoracotomy, we located and stopped
the bleeding. In addition, he suffered a break of the right fibula
and tibia and several contusions and lacerations.”

“
So he’s alive?” Daichi
breathed.

Dr. Moore grinned. “And
awake, no less.”

Deena shrieked with delight
and hugged first Kenji, then John. Hatsumi clasped a hand over her
mouth and stifled a sob. Daichi stared at Dr. Moore distrustfully.
It was his brother, Yoshi, who swept him in a bear hug, the first
they’d shared since adolescence.

“
My God. Can we see him?”
Deena asked.

The doctor frowned, shaking
his head. “He’s in ICU. Right now what Mr. Tanaka needs is lots of
rest. We’ll monitor him tonight. We expect he’ll be able to see you
tomorrow.”

*

The ICU allowed two visitors
every two hours, for a total of fifteen minutes. Visiting hours
began at 10 a.m. and ended promptly at 8:15 p.m., allowing each
patient a maximum of 90 minutes company a day, should visitors
leave and return each hour.

At 10 a.m., Daichi and
Hatsumi rushed in, eager to see their son, and thereby relegating
Deena to a spot in the waiting room. It was then that the influx of
Tanakas arrived—Grandma Yukiko, in on the red-eye from Phoenix,
Asami and Ken, who drove all night when they could find no flight
from Atlanta, and Mike, who made three connections to get from
Seattle to Miami in eight hours of travel time. That was in
addition to Kenji, John, Allison, Yoshi and June, all of which had
arrived within hours of the accident. By the time visiting hours
ended at 8:15, Deena found herself still sitting in the cramped
quarters of the waiting room, but this time considering the
possibility that Tak wouldn’t see her.

She returned the following
day only to watch it unfold as the one before. She arrived early,
resumed her spot in the hard-backed chair near the lone water
fountain, and watched as Daichi and Hatsumi lead the usual
procession of Tanakas. Tak was angry with her. He had to be. He had
to know she was there. Why wouldn’t he ask for her?

“
Deena?”

A nurse approached her,
piercing her thoughts.

*

Deena followed the nurse
down a brightly lit hall and into a spacious private suite. Bright
lights, stark white walls and polished linoleum illuminated the
room. In one corner was a leather recliner, in the other, a
matching couch. A small table with magazines sat at the arm of the
sofa. A 27-inch flat screen was mounted on the wall. He was there,
in the center of the room, as an IV and chest tube protruded from
his body and a medical monitor recorded his vitals. His face and
arms were covered in bruises, his leg in a cast, but he was
alive.