Within These Lines

by Stephanie Morrill

  “How dare they ask why we are packing, as if we’re doing something sinister.” Aiko’s fists dig into her hip bones. Next, she’ll stomp away. “What are we supposed to do when the government is stealing everything from us?”

  “They are not stealing.” Father sounds tired. “The Medinas will watch everything while we are away. When we come back, it will all be here.”

  Aiko makes an exasperated noise in the back of her throat, pivots on her bare heel, and storms into the kitchen, where she had been helping Mother pack before the men knocked on the door. After twenty-one years of Aiko’s moods, we are all immune to them. With the ground beneath our family constantly shifting these days, her moods are a strange kind of comfort. At least some things have stayed the same.

  Father looks to Mother again. “Shikata ga nai.”

  “Shikata ga nai,” she says in agreement.

  The way they’re looking at each other, with the comfort of twenty-three years of marriage stretching between them as they repeat the Japanese mantra—“It cannot be helped, it must be done”—makes me avert my eyes and slip down the short hall to my bedroom.

  How long ago did Evalina give up on me being at the market this morning? I should have told her on Thursday during my delivery that we might not be there. Profits had slipped—despite Evalina’s best efforts—and that was before the Akiyamas’ girl was spat upon. I should have told her that we were moving out of our house, moving in with my aunt. But as usual, we’d had no privacy.

  Oddly, Evalina seemed to be at the forefront of Mother’s thoughts too when she told me about the decision over breakfast. “Mr. Cassano’s daughter who likes the produce so well will have to buy elsewhere. She is such a loyal customer.”

  I didn’t trust myself to respond in case what Diego says is true, that I might as well have throbbing hearts for eyes when I talk about Evalina.

  Mother had smiled at me over her teacup. “Strange for a girl her age, to spend Saturday mornings at a market. But it is good for business.”

  The telephone in the kitchen rings, jolting me out of the remembered conversation—and Aiko answers with a terse, “Hello.”

  That will be Mrs. Medina, who would’ve seen the government car outside our home and who is not the type to wait for information to come to her.

  I take in the various piles in my room, which I had been sorting before the knock on the door. Almost everything will be packed in boxes or left where it is, under the care of the Medinas. Precious few of my belongings get packed in my suitcase for Aunt Chiyu’s.

  My baseball bat and glove are on the bed. That’s right. When the knock came, I had been considering whether they should stay or go.

  I pick up the bat, but instead of the normal comfort of the smooth wood in my hand, I hear Mr. Nielsen shrieking from the stands during my last game, when I went an unusual 0 for 3.

  “Hey, coach! Why don’t you bench that yellow Jap instead of my son?”

  “Taichi?” Aiko’s voice is so meek I think she’s Mother until I turn and see her. She stands in my bedroom doorway, her face slightly gray while her eyes search mine.

  “What is it?” For a fleeting moment, I imagine the men from the FBI have returned and taken Father after all.

  “There’s a phone call for you.” Aiko’s words are carefully measured. “She says her name is Evalina Cassano.”

  I swallow. “Okay. Thank you.”

  I brush past my watchful sister, and her footsteps stay close to mine as I walk through the living room to the kitchen. The telephone receiver lies on the countertop.

  I expect Aiko to give me privacy, but instead she resumes her work in the cupboard closest to the telephone. On our porch, Mother and Father appear deep in conversation with Mr. and Mrs. Medina. How much time do I have before they come back in?

  Aiko nods to the telephone. “She’s waiting.”

  I’ve certainly kept plenty of secrets for Aiko over the years; I shouldn’t doubt her willingness to keep this one for me.

  I angle away from my sister. “Hi.”

  “Hi.” That one syllable is full of relief. “I’m sorry for calling. I didn’t know what else to do when you weren’t there.”

  “I know, I’m sorry. I didn’t know for sure until this morning, or I would’ve told you.”

  “Was it your sister or your mother who answered?”

  I glance at Aiko, who is taking great effort to be nearly silent in her work. “My sister.”

  “Oh, good. I thought so. If one of your parents answered, I was going to pretend we had an eggplant emergency at the restaurant. Or that I was desperate for blackberries.”

  I chuckle. “Either would be believable. You have a reputation.”

  In the background, I hear a car honk. I assumed she was calling from the restaurant, but I guess not. I need to tell her about the farm and Mother and Father’s decision about leaving, but the words all stick in my throat. I thought I would have until Monday, when I make my next delivery to Alessandro’s, before I had to tell her.

  Evalina laughs, high and bright. She’s nervous. “So I’ve done something that you’re maybe not going to be happy about.”

  I grin at the wall. I have no trouble imagining her reaming out whoever took our spot at the market. Or, if she learned about the Johnsons’ teenage son spitting on the Akiyama girl, spreading rumors about their produce. “What’ve you done this time?”

  “Well, I was really worried when you weren’t there this morning. So I sorta took a ferry to Alameda.”

  “Evalina . . .” My heart seems to pound right in my ears. “You’re in Alameda?”

  Beside me, I sense Aiko has stopped packing away dishes and is now unapologetically eavesdropping.

  “I could just go home?”

  But I hear the pleading in her voice. Please come get me, she’s really saying. I took a risk in coming here. I’m hoping you’ll take a risk too.

  I don’t even care that Aiko is listening, or that I haven’t a clue how I’ll get out of the house without explaining to Mother and Father. “Don’t you dare go home. Of course, I’ll come get you.”

  “Okay. I’ll see you soon, then?”

  “I’ll see you soon.” I hang the receiver on the wall and I look into the smirking face of my sister.

  “Is it possible that my perfectly behaved, do-everything-he’s-told baby brother has been keeping a secret from me? From all of us?”

  The knowing shine in her eyes makes my chest tighten. “I don’t have time to explain right now, but I’ll fill you in when I get home.”

  Aiko withdraws the truck keys from her sweater pocket—why does she have them?—and dangles them just out of my reach. “No, you’ll explain now. I will even lie to Mother and Father for you, but you have to tell me who Miss Evalina Cassano is.”

  “As soon as I get home—”

  Aiko shakes her head. “I like to be paid up front.”

  No one can draw a cross look from me like Aiko. “She’s waiting for me.”

  “Then you had better explain fast, little brother.”

  I suck in a quick breath and exhale. “Her father owns Alessandro’s, one of the restaurants we supply. We’ve gotten to know each other over the last year. That’s all.”

  Aiko raises her eyebrows. “No, I don’t think ‘that’s all.’”

  I pitch my voice low. “What do I have to say before you’ll give me the keys? That she’s my girlfriend? Fine, she’s my girlfriend.”

  Her dark eyes dart over my face. “You really like her.” It’s not a question.

  I hold out my palm. “Keys, please.”

  Aiko’s lips purse. “Evalina Cassano doesn’t sound very Japanese.”

  “Because it’s Italian.”

  “Oh, Taichi. This is heartbreak waiting to happen.”

  I stare at her, stunned. We live in a state that doesn’t allow interracial marriage, so it’s a natural response. So natural that I had said the same thing to myself over and over as I denied how deeply I had co
me to care about Evalina. So natural that I had spoken the words out loud just before our first kiss.

  This will only lead to heartbreak.

  Hearing the word afresh—on the lips of my notoriously rebellious sister, no less—makes me feel as though I’ve swallowed fire.

  I snatch the keys out of her hand. “You wanted to know who she is, and I told you.”

  “I’m sorry, Taichi,” Aiko says. “She sounded really nice.”

  I don’t respond, just barrel out the front door. To Mother and Father’s surprised faces, I say, “I’ll be right back. Aiko will explain.”

  If there’s anything I can trust Aiko for, it’s to come up with a believable cover story. In her first year of college, she hid a Caucasian boyfriend for six months and nearly got away with hiding a miscarriage too.

  I drive away much slower than I would like, not wanting to appear too rushed. My teeth grind together as I think of the way Aiko looked at me with such pity. Not that it matters. I don’t need her good opinion.

  But even after I’ve left the farm, I find I haven’t let go of Aiko’s use of the word sounded. That Evalina sounded really nice.

  As though Evalina is already a piece of my past.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Evalina

  “Evalina, you have flipped your wig.” But Gia sounds admiring, not admonishing. “I knew when you finally fell for a boy, you would fall hard, but you seriously took a ferry to Alameda?”

  “What else was I supposed to do? He wasn’t at the market this morning, plus these articles in the paper . . .” I swallow. “I thought maybe his family had been taken.”

  “You are so dramatic sometimes. They’re not going to be taken. It’s all voluntary.”

  “I don’t think so, Gia.” I twist the cord of the pay phone around my finger. “I think they’ll all be made to go.”

  “I still can’t believe you took a ferry to Alameda. What are you going to tell your parents?”

  “Hopefully they’ll never know. You’ll cover for me if they call or stop by, right?”

  “Of course. I’m meeting Lorenzo for lunch, but I’ll just say you were with us.”

  Imaginary lunches with Gia’s on-again off-again boyfriend are the only kind I can tolerate. “Thank you, Gia. I’ll let you know when I’m home.”

  I hang up and push my bicycle out to the curb. The day has grown warm, but the wind off the bay still bites, so I tighten my coat. Around me, families hurry into line to catch the ferry to San Francisco. The women are dressed in bright spring skirts and sweaters, and many of the men wear their military uniforms. A group of three sailors stand nearby; one winks at me. He reminds me of Gia’s boyfriend, so I angle away.

  I fold my arms around myself and watch as a seagull grabs hold of a discarded bread crust before flying away. As I track its flight, I spot the familiar green truck pulling into the parking lot. Taichi’s black hair is shiny and neat, despite the truck’s windows being down. He isn’t smiling at me as he pulls up to the curb, but he doesn’t look angry either.

  The words I want to say—“I was scared. I had to see you.”—stick in my throat as Taichi gets out of the truck and walks around to where I stand on the sidewalk.

  I want to burst into tears and throw my arms around him, but I can feel the curious and condemning gazes of others.

  “I didn’t know what else to do,” I whisper.

  “Let’s go somewhere else, okay?”

  I nod, and Taichi lifts my bicycle into the back of the truck. As he hoists it, the orange from Mrs. Ling rolls out of the basket and lands in the gutter.

  “Of course, you brought fruit,” Taichi says with a laugh as I stoop to pick it up.

  My heart hammers in my chest as I wipe grit from the orange’s peel before dropping it into my handbag. I try to laugh too—I don’t truly believe the orange is lucky, right?—but it comes out sounding rusty.

  I stand outside the passenger door until I realize Taichi is walking toward the driver’s door, not mine. Our eyes connect over the back of the cab, and Taichi winces.

  “Sorry, I’ve never done this before,” he says as he jogs around the front.

  I stretch the sleeves of my coat to where they cover my hands. “It’s fine.”

  “No, it’s not.” Taichi jerks the handle, and the door squeals as he yanks it open. Now his laugh sounds nervous. “It’s no Chrysler.”

  The kind of car Tony’s family drives. Has Taichi seen their car at the restaurant, or was that comment just a coincidence?

  “Taichi, it’s fine.” I smile in a way that I hope will soothe him. “My family doesn’t even own a car.”

  Taichi waits until I’ve tucked my skirt underneath me before he shuts the door and jogs back around to his own. Beyond him, the sailors watch with matching disdainful expressions. I look away, shame and anger flooding through me in a strange tangle of emotions. Taichi can’t see them, but how would he feel if he knew?

  The truck putters away from the dock, and my fingers twist together in my lap. Why is my breathing so shallow? Why are my shoulders scrunched up to my ears? I’ve been alone with Taichi many times before. I don’t need to be so tense.

  But it’s never been quite like this.

  “So . . .” I say as Taichi says, “How long do you—”

  Some of the tension between us dissipates as we laugh.

  “Ladies first,” Taichi says.

  But I didn’t even know what I was going to say. I just couldn’t stand the silence anymore. “No, what were you going to ask?”

  “I wondered how long you have. I’m trying to figure out where we should go.”

  “I shouldn’t be gone too long.” I smooth the pleats of my skirt so they cover my knees. “The next ferry leaves in an hour, so I guess until then.”

  Taichi nods. “Okay. If we go up this road a bit, there’s a corner of the Medinas’ property where I think we could be alone. Being seen in public together . . . just . . . not the best idea.”

  “I agree.” But the admission is still like a heavy blanket over my heart.

  I look out the window as we roll by a squat, brick restaurant that has a large black-on-white sign hanging in the window: WE DON’T SERVE JAPS! it says above a caricature of a man with buck teeth, overly slanted eyes, and a sneer.

  I sense Taichi shifting, and I look at him, not caring if he sees that I’m on the verge of tears.

  He reaches for my hand. “It’s fine, Evalina.”

  As his fingers fold around mine, tears blur my vision. “No, it’s not. It’s not at all fine.”

  Taichi squeezes my hand but doesn’t say anything to combat my statement. I clench my jaw to stop its trembling, and after a few deep inhales, my tears clear. I watch Taichi as he watches the road. I love the angle of his cheekbones and eyes. I love the contrast of colors when our fingers are entwined. And even more, I love his kind heart. How hard he works, how much he respects his family, how determined he is when he wants something. How can anyone look at him and see an enemy?

  “Here we are.” Taichi withdraws his hand from mine to crank the steering wheel and turn us down a dirt road at the edge of an orchard.

  Road might be a bit of an exaggeration, actually. I grab hold of the door handle as the truck bumps and pitches over the rutted earth.

  “Diego and I used to play in this creek when we were boys.” Taichi speaks loudly over the noise of the engine and tires. “This time of year there’s actually some water in it.”

  My teeth rattle together until Taichi pulls along a grassy bank. I wait for him to open my door, and I take his hand as I climb out even though I don’t need assistance.

  Taichi reaches under the passenger seat and withdraws a faded, scrappy quilt. He brushes it off. “Not the cleanest, but I think it’ll be more comfortable than sitting right on the grass.”

  The only other boy I’ve gone out with is Tony Esposito, who I’ve known all my life. Every date we ever went on was perfectly planned, as if Tony had bought an instruction
manual on how to be a good boyfriend and was following it to the letter.

  Nothing about this date feels perfect, except for the one piece that really matters.

  We settle on the quilt, our legs resting against each other, and watch the dappled sunlight play on the grass. I can think of about a thousand things to say, and yet none of them seem like the right thing to say. The minutes tick by so rapidly it’s as though we’re sitting inside an hourglass, feeling the sand beneath us shift as it drains away.

  “Remember when we used to spend all our time arguing about when and if I would tell my parents I didn’t want to be a farmer?” Taichi asks with a wistful air.

  “Not all our time.”

  He smiles at me. “Nearly all our time.”

  I used to think the two of us having a future together was contingent on Taichi being honest with his parents, telling them he wanted to go to college instead of taking over the family farm. Now I would give anything for that to be our biggest struggle.

  “Why were you not at the market this morning?”

  Taichi stares out at the trickle of water in the creek bed. His jaw is set, and his breathing so steady that I know he’s concentrating on keeping it that way. So steady, I know something bad is coming.

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you ahead of time. I didn’t know until I got up this morning that we weren’t going.” With his free hand, Taichi smooths his jeans over his work boots. “Profits have been down. It doesn’t make sense for us to keep going, but the Medina family will continue to send others. They’ll be happy to continue sourcing Alessandro’s too, obviously.”

  “Taichi.” I blink at him. “I don’t care about the restaurant. I care about you and your family. Mrs. Carrick said some of the Japanese Americans were treated badly last week. Was that you too?”

  Taichi’s jaw once again clenches and his breathing is rhythmic, but at least this time he looks at me.

  “Yes or no?” My voice has a frantic pitch to it. Why won’t he just tell me?

  “It’s nothing I haven’t dealt with before.”