The Shape of Mercy (35 page)

“Miss Durough?” he said, opening the door.

“Please call me Lauren.”

“Ken Kimura.”

“This is my friend, Raul,” I said.

“Pleased to meet you,” Ken said, almost mechanically. “Won’t you come in?”

We slipped off our shoes and stepped inside. The entry was cool and fragrant. The décor, decidedly Asian, exuded peace and simplicity. I drank it in.

Tom Kimura’s son was probably in his early sixties. His salt-and-pepper hair was trimmed short, and he wore a pair of rimless glasses. He looked tired. He showed us to a living room where six people waited. Six sets of sad eyes looked up at us. No one said a word.

“I’m really sorry to be coming at such … such a hard time,” I finally said. “If it wasn’t important, I wouldn’t have bothered you. Honestly, I wouldn’t have.”

Ken shrugged his shoulders and closed his eyes, like it hurt to have me say anything at all about my mission. Like he didn’t want to know why I came. He was just honoring his father, who’d asked that I be allowed to come.

“It’s no bother,” he said. “Why don’t you come on back? I told my father you were on your way. He’s expecting you.”

Ken turned toward a hallway and walked away from us. The six silent witnesses kept their eyes on me. I started to follow Ken, and when Raul didn’t come with us, I turned and begged him with my eyes to stay with me. He took a step toward me, and I resumed following Ken down the hall.

Tom Kimura lay in a rented hospital bed. His weathered, wrinkled face was ashen, his body thin and wasted away under the blankets that embraced him. The room was furnished with a mix of medical machinery and serene Japanese artwork. A row of bonsai trees stood on a mahogany cabinet by the window. Inky black Japanese characters painted on creamy rice paper hung on the walls. A small desktop fountain bubbled over stones, its motor the only sound in the room besides the shallow breathing of the dying man.

The gardener’s son.

Ken stood over his father. “The woman from Santa Barbara is here,” he said.

I cringed. Perhaps I had made a terrible mistake. I looked at Raul and his eyes spoke confidence. I stepped forward. Tom turned his head and his narrow eyes met mine.

“You can leave us,” Tom said softly to his son. Gently. But it was a command nonetheless.

Ken looked at me, flashed me a wordless plea to be brief, and left the room.

“Come,” Tom Kimura said. I stepped closer to his bed.

“My name is Lauren Durough,” I said. “This is my friend Raul. He brought me here. I’m Abigail Boyles’s assistant.”

“Abigail,” Tom said.

“Yes.”

“Did she send you?”

“She …” I didn’t know how to answer. The weight of not wanting to screw things up for Abigail tugged at me. “Actually, I don’t know where she is.”

Tom blinked slowly. “Is she all right?”

“Not really.”

“I don’t understand.”

“She left the house without telling anyone where she was going. She has only called once and it was to give instructions about … I think she has gone somewhere to … to die.”

Again the slow blink. “To die.”

I couldn’t help the choice of words. Abigail had gone somewhere to die.

“She is sick?”

I chose my next words and actions carefully, praying they’d be the right ones. I had no idea what Tom Kimura expected or wanted to hear.

“Not physically.” I touched the left side of my chest. “This is where she hurts.”

His eyes widened.

“She still loves you, Mr. Kimura. She has always loved you. Regret is what is killing her.” Two tears slipped out of my eyes as two tears slipped out of his.

“How did you find me?”

“I looked for you. And I found you.”

Tom said nothing for a moment. “Why didn’t she look for me?”

“She was afraid,” I said. It was as accurate an answer as any.

“Afraid of what?”

“Afraid you had moved on. Forgotten about her.”

Tom turned his head to look at the row of bonsai trees. “I had to move on. I had no choice. But I did not forget her.” Two more tears slipped away from me and I rubbed them away. Tom slowly turned his head to look at me again. “Is that what you came to hear?”

I nodded. “And it’s what I came to tell you. She has always regretted what she did. You should know that. She would want you to know that.”

He turned his head again to look at the bonsai trees. “Will you tell her something for me?”

“Of course.”

Tom drew in a long breath and continued to stare at the trees. “Tell her the evening primroses will always come back. Every year. The winter chill will try to kill them, but they always come back. She liked those.”

I told him I would tell her.

“Open that cabinet for me,” he whispered. His eyes never left the bonsai trees, and I realized he was staring at the cabinet on which they sat, not the trees themselves.

I went to the cabinet and opened one of its polished doors. Inside was a collection of books and papers and a cedar box about the size of a turkey roaster.

“Take out the box.”

I obeyed.

“The key is in the drawer above it, taped to the top.”

I opened the drawer, which was full of pens, paper clips, and packages of mints, and felt inside for the key. I peeled away the tape and the key fell into my hand.

“Open,” Tom breathed. His voice was weakening.

I set the box down on the floor, inserted the key, and turned it. Inside the box were more papers and several bound journals. “The red one,” Tom whispered.

I moved the contents around until I found a burgundy-hued, leather-bound journal. I lifted it out and showed it to him. “This one?”

“Yes. Hand it to me. And a pen.”

I stood, reached for one of the pens in the drawer, and handed it to him along with the journal.

His weak arms reached for them but fell back against the blanket. He sighed.

“What do you want me to do?” I asked, anxiety coursing through me.

“Open the book. Hold it steady. Hand me the pen.”

I did as he asked. Tom held the pen over the open front page and rested it there for a moment. Then he slowly began to write.

The pen fell away from his fingers and I took it. Raul moved toward me and I handed it to him.

“These are poems I wrote. They’re not very good, but she might like the one on page twenty-six. Take the book to her. Don’t let Ken see you have it. When you are gone, if he asks, I will tell him I gave it to you. He will think I did not love his mother. I did. I loved them both. In different ways.”

I hesitated.

With a shaking hand, he thrust the book toward me. “Take it. Give it to her when you find her.”

I closed my hands around the book.

“She liked the primroses,” Tom whispered.

“Yes,” I said, aware of Raul closing the box behind me, returning it to the shelf in the cabinet, and replacing the key under the tape.

“Thank you for coming.” Tom’s voice was but a breath surrounded by transparent words.

I leaned over and kissed him on the forehead, letting my lips linger. I wanted him to think, just for a moment, that it was Abigail’s lips that caressed his ancient skin, thanking him for the book and for releasing her from her pain.

Tom fell into an exhausted sleep. I slipped the book into my purse, and we left him.

Ken waited for us in the living room, concern covering his face. He asked us politely if we wanted any tea. Raul declined for us, thanking Ken for allowing us to come, and we slipped our shoes back on. I had no words to say good-bye.

Ken stared at us as we left, wondering I’m sure why my face was wet with tears.

“I’ll drive,” Raul said as he walked to the car. I wordlessly handed him the keys.

We got into the car and I took the journal out of my purse.

I turned to page twenty-six and read what the gardener’s son had written there.

Abigail Rose

I
had six phone messages waiting for me when I finally turned on my cell phone after Raul and I returned to Palo Alto. It was after six in the evening, and though I had managed to sleep some in the Cessna, I was bone tired. Two of the messages were from my mother, two from Esperanza, one from Alex Helming. I didn’t feel like listening to any of them.

“You should stay another night,” Raul said, as he took me back to my car.

“I can’t. I have to get back.”

“But you’re exhausted.”

“We can get some coffee. I’ll load up on caffeine. I’ll be fine.”

Raul wasn’t convinced, but he didn’t argue with me. I wouldn’t have minded if he had. I was starting to enjoy his concern for me.

We stopped by a Starbucks and I ordered a venti latte with three shots of espresso. When we got to the hotel parking lot, Raul walked with me to my car. I unlocked the driver’s side door and then we just stood there. I didn’t know how to say good-bye and apparently neither did he.

“Thanks for doing this for me,” I finally said, though I had already said it half a dozen times that day.

“I’m really glad you asked me. I think some good may come out of all of this. It’s kind of cool, actually.”

He stood so close to me, and I still felt such shame for the things I
had believed about him. “This isn’t the first time you’ve stepped in for me,” I whispered.

Raul tipped his head, unsure what I meant.

I looked down at my feet, unable to look him in the eye. “Cole said you came to the hospital the other day for me.” I lifted my head, summoned some inner strength, and met his gaze. “You came for me.”

“Yes.” His eyes never left mine.

A sliver of silence passed between us as we just looked at each other.

“I’m sorry, Raul. I’m sorry for every—”

But I could say nothing else. He leaned in and kissed me, silencing my unwanted apology with his lips. For a moment I was back in the clouds, far away from the cursed ground and the messy world. I never wanted to come back down.

When he slowly broke away, Raul lifted his hand to my cheek. I had started to cry again and he brushed away the tears.

“You’re not the person you think you are, Lauren,” he said.

Speechless, I stood, unable to move, as what he’d said echoed in my mind. I wanted to hear it over and over and over.

“Can I call you later to make sure you made it home okay?” he asked.

“Yes.”

He opened my door for me, but I turned to him and wrapped my arms around him. Some of my coffee spurted out of the cup I held and dropped to the asphalt. His arms were at once tight around my waist.

I wanted to thank him again, but I couldn’t, and I knew he didn’t need to hear it.

He kissed me again and stepped away. “You need to go so you can get home.”

I was amazed how much I didn’t want to get into my car and leave.

Raul walked toward his car. “Call me when you get home. Call me if you get sleepy!”

“I will.”

He got into his car and I got into mine, and for a few minutes we shared the same road, our cars just yards apart. Then he honked a farewell and I headed toward the highway and home.

Once on the open road, I relived those last moments with Raul, replaying them in my mind again and again. I felt what Mercy tried to describe in her diary when John Peter kissed her. I knew now exactly what she meant. I couldn’t keep myself from smiling as I drove.

How had Abigail ever turned her back on this? This feeling that swept you breathless into the sky?

I was nearly an hour into my commute before I pulled myself away from what happened in the parking lot to listen to my phone messages.

My mother first called with a progress report on my dad—he was doing well, the chest tubes had been removed—and then called to see how I was. Esperanza called twice to ask the same question—when was I getting back? And Alex Helming called to say Graham had arrived in Santa Barbara and wanted to speak with him. Alex had told Graham it might have to wait until next week. “But I can’t put him
off
much longer than that, Miss Durough. It would be much easier if Abigail were here. I trust she will contact you before then.”

But I really didn’t think Abigail had any plans to do that. Why would she? She had plenty of money. She could stay wherever she was as long as she wanted.

I eyed Tom Kimura’s book peeking out of my purse on the passenger seat. I had to get that book to Abigail before she did something stupid. I had to give her Tom’s message.