Within These Lines

by Stephanie Morrill

The look in his eyes—guarded pain—is enough to make tears well behind my own. “You should’ve told me.”

  “It’s not pleasant to talk about.”

  “For me either, but I want to know what’s going on.”

  “I know. I’m trying.” His voice is gruff, and I realize he’s trying to hold in his own anger and frustration. “We’ve officially reallocated our farm back to the Medinas.”

  A gasp escapes from me.

  “It’s just a formality,” Taichi says. “So they can do what they need to do while we’re . . . gone.”

  Gone. The word reverberates in my soul.

  “My family is really fortunate,” Taichi says thickly. “Yes, our accounts are frozen, but the Medinas are a great family and have been understanding. And the FBI didn’t take Father like they did my uncle or the others who had boat licenses.”

  You don’t have to be brave and grateful with me, I want to tell him. But I know if I open my mouth, I’ll cry. I don’t want to waste our entire visit sobbing.

  Right after Pearl Harbor, the FBI swept through Japanese communities and arrested thousands of Issei men, meaning those like Taichi’s parents, who live in America legally, but were born in Japan. This move had been praised in the papers, but I’ve seen how the senseless arrests have hurt families like Taichi’s. His uncle was taken away to a prison camp in North Dakota just for having a fishing license.

  “Has there been any word on how your uncle is doing?”

  “He doesn’t say much about what it’s like there.” Taichi swallows hard. “I know that makes my aunt nervous. It makes us all nervous.”

  I squeeze his hand. “He probably just doesn’t want to worry you.”

  His smile is wry. “Well, it doesn’t work. We worry anyway, and we imagine the worst. And Aunt Chiyu is alone and scared in the apartment.” Taichi turns and looks at me in a calm, even sort of way, and my heart rate spikes with fear. “The reason we reallocated the farm to the Medinas this week is we’re going to move in with my aunt so that when we’re evacuated, we’re all together.”

  “But—” I clench my jaw, willing away the tears. “You’ll be so close to the bay. The paper says that’s where they’ll evacuate first.”

  Taichi nods as he rubs his thumb over the back of my hand. “Yes, but I’ll be living much closer to you.”

  I huff an incredulous laugh. “But for how long?”

  “There’s no way to know. Maybe a week. Maybe months.” He says this all so evenly and unaffected.

  My voice comes out squawky. “How can you stay so calm about this? You should know. It’s just wrong for no one to tell you when you’ll be forced out of your home.”

  “I know.” He squeezes my hand, and his slight smile holds affection. “But at least for the remainder of my time, I get to be near you.”

  I press my eyes closed and will myself not to cry.

  Even before Pearl Harbor, our relationship felt as though all we ever had to get by on was a gas can of fumes. Five-minute conversations in front of our fathers when the Hamasakis delivered produce to Alessandro’s on Mondays and Thursdays. And the same on Saturdays during market season. Some weeks we managed to steal extra time, and we almost always slipped letters to each other. We had stayed strong through this because we thought it was temporary. Because we thought this fall we might be at U.C. Berkeley together, if Taichi could get a scholarship too.

  The scent of citrus tickles my nose, and I open my eyes to find Taichi peeling the orange from Mrs. Ling. He hands me the generous half.

  My fingers curl around it. “How are we going to bear this?”

  “We will be fine. We always knew our road would be a rough one. This is a bump.”

  I snort. “This is more than a bump. This is like a . . . like a . . . canyon or something. I don’t know how we get across.”

  “We’ll find a way.” Taichi pops a wedge of orange into his mouth. “We can’t see it now, and maybe it doesn’t exist yet, but we’ll find some way through this. Some bridge across this canyon.”

  “I don’t want to wait for someone to build us a bridge,” I snap. “I’ll do it myself.”

  Now Taichi’s smile is full, as it often is when my temper flares. He leans forward and presses his mouth to mine, melting away the firm, angry line of my lips. His hand threads into my hair, and I try to lean into the moment. Try to not let its inherent joy be stolen by all my fears about what tomorrow or the next day will bring.

  “If you intend to build us a bridge, Evalina”—Taichi’s forehead touches mine, and his whisper is warm and citrusy—“then I pity whoever gets in your way.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Taichi

  Wednesday, March 25, 1942

  Diego and Ruby, his girlfriend this month, stare at the sky, the ground, the rows of nearly-ripe asparagus—anything that isn’t me—while we wait for my parents to come out of the house. Mother and Father are finishing tidying the house, as if it matters. Aiko sits on the porch step with a face of stone.

  Ruby pins a smile on her face. “I bet your parents are happy you’re not going overseas. At least you’ll be safe, right? I think my mother would do just about anything to keep my brothers from enlisting.”

  A sarcastic response bites at me. Including the government taking away your right to be on your own property? Sending you away without telling you where you’re going?

  But Ruby is a nice girl. She doesn’t mean anything insulting by her comments. I just smile back and lean against the truck that’s piled with the remains of my family’s life. Our suitcases, the produce for tomorrow’s deliveries, and thick, puffy jackets that Mother is convinced we’ll need. The rest will stay here under the watchful eye of Diego’s family.

  “But it just isn’t right,” Diego says. There’s an unusual strain in his voice. He looks at me, and then cuts his eyes away.

  Ruby gives a small, nervous laugh. “No, of course it isn’t right. I didn’t mean that. I was just saying . . . you know. At least where Taichi is going, everyone will be Japanese. And that seems like it would be good.” She pushes her smile higher. “I mean, because of safety. Not that you aren’t safe here, of course. I don’t think anyone at school cares that you’re Japanese. Except maybe Danny Nielsen. But he’s such a dead hoofer anyway. No one cares what he thinks.”

  She laughs again, clearly nervous, and on any other day I would search for the words to put her at ease. But not today. Because today I unceremoniously graduated from high school when I took my exit exams in the principal’s office. Because right now my baseball team—including Danny Nielsen, who definitely cares that I’m Japanese and takes it as a personal insult that my batting average is higher than his—is traveling to play our rival, and I’m not on the bus. Because last night we sat around our family table for a final dinner, and then we walked the farm that we’ve worked for fifteen years, silently saying goodbye. In light of all that, I’m just too tired to care about the comfort of Diego’s current girlfriend.

  The front door opens, and my heart plummets to my ankles. Father has his arm around Mother’s shoulders. She isn’t crying now, but she clutches a handkerchief in her left hand. Father locks the door of our family home, and Mother presses the handkerchief to each eye. Usually they both have so much to do, they are off in separate directions. It’s strange to see them completing simple tasks together.

  Father offers a slight bow to Diego and hands him the key. “Thank you, Diego. We are grateful for your friendship and your family’s friendship.”

  My father’s English is exceptional, considering he came to America when he was nineteen and didn’t know how to say much beyond “Hello” and “Are you hiring?” But this morning, my ears catch every bit of his Japanese accent. The way his tongue can’t quite produce the th sound. The way his Rs have the softness of a W.

  The hinges of the truck’s passenger door protest as Aiko climbs in. Father doesn’t turn and look, and Mother watches with only a vague concern. She has spent so many years worried f
or Aiko, the concern is like a family member you don’t particularly like, but who you have adapted to sharing the table with anyway.

  “I understand you will leave for training soon, Diego,” Mother says in her quiet, careful way. As though she weighs each word and how to pronounce it before allowing it out of her lips. She has always been self-conscious about her English.

  “Yes, ma’am. Just after graduation.”

  Mother smiles and nods. “We will pray every day for your safe return.”

  A strange shame washes over me, which is illogical considering I don’t have the option to enlist. But I felt the same way right after the attack on Pearl Harbor, as if somehow I had done something wrong. As if somehow I was responsible for all those dead men, just because of my Japanese heritage. Even though I knew it made no sense, I couldn’t seem to push away the feeling.

  “We must go.” Father shakes Diego’s hand and offers a slight bow to Ruby. Then he and Mother slip away to give me a small privacy for my own goodbyes.

  “Ruby.” Diego puts a hand on her back. “Would you give Tai and me a moment?”

  “Of course!” she chirps, and she seems relieved to walk away.

  Diego sticks his hands in his jean pockets and jingles the coins within.

  “Thanks for watching over the place while we’re gone.” I’ve said this countless times over the last few days but I don’t know what else there is to say.

  Diego shrugs. “Of course.” He glances at the truck, at its closed doors, before asking, “Will you get to see your girl more? Now that you’ll be in the city?”

  “I hope so. She’s pretty determined when she sets her mind to something.”

  Diego makes a noise in the back of his throat. If you didn’t know him, it would just sound like an acknowledgment. But I can hear the weight of his disapproval.

  “If you gave Evalina a chance, you would like her,” I say quietly. I don’t want to fight about this again. Especially not right now.

  “I’m sure she’s a peach.”

  Again, the flat sarcasm. I give Diego a look. “If you really want to help me out while I’m gone, please be nice to her. Talk with her a bit if you make deliveries. Slide her some extra blackberries when our crop is ready. That’s her favorite.”

  My throat involuntarily clenches when I think of the first thing Evalina ever said to me. You should be charging more for your blackberries.

  “You know, it’s not like I’m going to be around here much longer either.” Diego’s tone is an attempt at sounding lighthearted. “As soon as I graduate, I belong to the U.S. Navy.”

  I glance toward my house, where Ruby loiters on our porch, trying to look as though she feels comfortable. “What does Ruby think of you enlisting?”

  “Oh, you know how girls are. She’s worried, but she’ll see me in my uniform and won’t be able to resist me.”

  I don’t feel like laughing, but I make myself try. If I had been allowed to enlist, what would Evalina have thought?

  Diego digs at the ground with the toe of his boot. “Could you write to me once you get where you’re going? I don’t mean your aunt’s. I mean from . . . wherever it is they send you.”

  “Of course.”

  Diego rubs at the back of his neck. “It’s funny because we were always gonna be saying goodbye in a few months”—his voice has an unfamiliar gruffness—“so it’s not like I didn’t know this was coming.”

  I look away as I realize he’s blinking funny. As I realize my own eyes have started to pool.

  Diego folds his arms around me, clapping me on the back a few times. “I’ll miss you, brother.”

  “I’ll miss you too. I’ll write as soon as I can.”

  Diego releases me and takes a step back. He shoves his hands in his pockets. “I’ve never been much for letter writing. Guess I’ll have to learn.”

  “I guess so.”

  A smile whispers over his lips, and then trembles away. “See you around, Tai.”

  “See you around.” I clench my jaw for a moment until I’m sure I won’t cry, and then add, “Bye, Ruby.”

  “Goodbye.” Her voice breaks, and Diego crosses the scrubby grass to where she stands and fits an arm around her shoulders.

  I take one last look at our small, dusty ranch house that I’ve sometimes despised and sometimes loved, but that has been my home nearly all my life. The window into our kitchen that I once cracked with a baseball. The oak tree that Aiko and I climbed as children. The porch where Mother gave us all haircuts last night.

  Just as I’m about to hoist myself into the truck, I look at Diego. His dusky skin gleams in the golden sunshine, and his black hair is styled better than the typical farm kid. Whatever Ruby is saying to Diego causes his smile to flash, and I look away before it vanishes. That’s the memory of my best friend that I want to carry away.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Evalina

  Thursday, March 26, 1942

  San Francisco, California

  “I just don’t understand why he wouldn’t have called me.” Gia runs her teeth over her bottom lip like she always does when she’s thinking hard. “We had a lot of fun on Saturday. We saw that new movie with Ginger Rogers. But he hasn’t called since. Why would he not have called?”

  I wish she would move a little faster down the stairs toward the door. I have to get to Alessandro’s in time to see Taichi during his delivery.

  “I don’t know, Gia. I wouldn’t worry about it.”

  “The only other times that he has skipped out on calling is when he was about to break up with me.” Her lower lip is bright red from all her worrying. “Do you think that’s what this means?”

  I fight back my urge to say yes. Gia and Lorenzo have always been hot and cold, and I thought he was out of our lives forever when he enlisted in the Navy after graduating last year. But then after the attack on Pearl Harbor, Lorenzo apparently “did a lot of thinking” and realized that he had “been in love with Gia the whole time.”

  Blah, blah, blah.

  It’s not so bad when he’s out to sea, but this last month that he’s been back home has been torture. I don’t like seeing my best friend agonize over whether she’s good enough for a rake like Lorenzo Romano.

  “Why don’t you call him?” I suggest as I tie a kerchief over my curls. Hopefully my hair won’t be a complete wreck by the time I get to Alessandro’s.

  “Because he always calls me.”

  I shrug. “Change things up. Maybe he’s waiting for you to call.”

  Gia looks at me like I’m being silly. “I told you. He always calls me.”

  “If he truly cares about you, why does it matter who calls who?”

  “If?” Gia’s eyes bulge. “I’m talking to you about this because I’m worried, and that is the kind of support you’re offering? If he cares?”

  I try to not let my impatience show, but I don’t think I’m doing a good job. “I didn’t realize you were looking for support. I thought you just wanted to talk about it or something.”

  “I don’t know why I would even expect you to support me.” Gia tears at her bicycle lock. “You’ve never been able to see Lorenzo’s good qualities.”

  I unwind my lock and try to not yell back at her. I need Gia on my side. She’s the only one who knows about Taichi.

  “I’m sorry,” I force myself to say, despite the hundreds of angry retorts begging to be let out. “I don’t want you having to feel this way, is all. You’re my best friend, and you’re amazing. And I want your boyfriend to make you feel like you’re amazing.”

  Gia’s crying now as she tugs at a knot in her lock that she created with her haste. “I just thought it was really it this time, you know?” She wipes at her eyes and smears makeup into her hairline. “I thought being in the Navy had matured him, especially when Pearl Harbor was attacked. And I just didn’t think it would be like this anymore. I thought . . .” Her chin quavers as she confesses, “I thought we would get married.”

  Gia dissolves
into sobs against me, and I steal a peek at my wristwatch as I pat her back. Gee, I hope the Hamasakis are running late today.

  “And maybe you still will,” I say, even as I’m praying they won’t. “Maybe you just need to tell Lorenzo how you feel. That when you have a date, and he doesn’t call for several days after, it worries you.”

  Tony jogs down the school stairs, sees Gia crying, and makes an abrupt turn back into the building. Typical.

  “He’s just going to say I’m being needy,” Gia blubbers into my shoulder.

  “What’s so wrong about needing something from the person you love?”

  Her crying quiets a bit. “I guess that’s true . . .”

  “It’s completely true.” I push her off my shoulder and take hold of hers. “There’s nothing wrong with needing each other. If Lorenzo can’t handle that, then it’s best to know now. Right?”

  Her jaw trembles, but she nods. “Right . . .”

  “I have to go.” I throw my leg over my bicycle. “Daddy’s expecting me.”

  “Okay.” Gia sniffles. “Thanks, Evalina.”

  “I’ll stop by your house later, okay?” I call as I push off down the hill.

  Ten minutes later, I arrive at Alessandro’s with a pounding heart that has nothing to do with the ride and everything to do with the fear that the Hamasakis may have already come and gone.

  The bells that hang over the entry jingle as I push open the front door. The restaurant is empty, and I call, “It’s me!” immediately so that Daddy and whoever else is here will know they don’t need to stop what they’re doing to come up front.

  “Hello, me!” Daddy calls from the kitchen, the joke he’s been making all my life.

  I hang my coat and pull my kerchief off my curls, which hang wildly after coasting down the hill. Hopefully I’ll have time before Taichi arrives to tidy my appearance.

  The air smells strongly of marinara sauce, so Mr. Esposito must be here too. Sometimes that makes it easier to steal a few extra minutes with Taichi, because Mr. Esposito is chattier than my father, and he’ll engage Mr. Hamasaki for longer.