Hiro Loves Kite

by Lauren Nicolle Taylor

  It was all there.

  And now it’s gone.

  51

  KITE

  Living in sin. I like the way that sounds.

  I run my hands along my arms. Along hairs that refuse to lay down. The idea that I could have what I want. It feels so ridiculously good. My smile breaks the cut through my lips, and I taste blood.

  The nurse enters, starched and soft, and quirks an eyebrow. “You look cheerful.”

  I blink away what I think must be tears of joy. They run through the trails already staked and marked by pain, revitalizing parched hopeless places.

  I press my finger to my lips, gazing at the droplet of blood coloring my skin. “I am. Very.”

  She gives me a quizzical look, then leans me forward to fluff my pillow. “Well, I’m glad, dear. If you’ve managed to find a little piece of joy in this world, you should hold onto it for all it’s worth.”

  I nod, trying to lessen my smile so my cut can clot. I plan to.

  “Could you please telephone my lawyer, Mr. Inkham, for me? I’d like to meet with him as soon as possible.”

  The nurse nods. “You got it.”

  Mr. Inkham is flushed and flustered. His scarf carries hitchhiking snowflakes that melt to water spots as he removes his hat and coat.

  I’ve been waiting for Hiro to return. Watching the door like it’s a portal about to close. I know he must have much to organize, but…

  I shake my head to clear the bad thoughts, batting at old worry like dusty rugs. It’s okay. You’re safe.

  “Miss Deere, how are you feeling? I hope you’re well.” He talks fast. “I’m well. What can I do for you?”

  I giggle. “Are you all right, Mr. Inkham? You seem a little, er, harried.”

  He swipes at his face. “No. No. I’m perfectly all right. I’m just following quite a few cases right now. Tell me, Nora, what can I do for you?” The way he says it seems meaningful. Like he’s decided to step further into my story.

  As I explain my intentions, his eyes widen until I think they won’t stay in his head. Pop like buttons from a torn shirt. Coughing, he plays with his tie and takes a deep breath.

  I watch him carefully for signs this is a bad idea. I see none. Just that it’s a large undertaking. “So… that’s it. I need your assistance with the finer details. The legal obstacles…”

  “Miss Deere, you do realize you’ll be going against what is considered socially acceptable, don’t you? People will have strong opinions on what you plan to do. It will make your life quite… difficult. Are you prepared for the consequences?”

  I almost laugh and have to cover my mouth, catch the absurdity before it hits him square in the eye. Sighing, I compose myself. “Mr. Inkham, with all due respect, my life up until now has been difficult. Nothing about this seems insurmountable. To me, this is the easiest decision. It makes the most sense.”

  His eyes soften and settle. He gets out a pen, then starts jotting down my instructions and making his own notes. When he’s done, he stabs the paper like he’s marking the occasion. Pinpointing the day my life truly changed.

  The nurse returns, and I ask, “How much longer do I need to stay here?”

  She pats my hand. “If you can afford a private nurse to visit you every day, I don’t see why you wouldn’t be able to leave tomorrow.” I want to jump at her words, climb them like a rope ladder out of here, but she puts a finger up to stop me. “Just… let me check with the doctor first.”

  Mr. Inkham looks up from his paper. “So, Miss Deere, if you would like to go ahead with the establishment of your home as a private orphanage, just sign here to authorize me to begin the process.”

  I sign what I am told will be the first of many, many papers. He’s trying to warn me. Prepare me, but I welcome the work. Let papers fly at my face, laundry pile to the rafters, plates stack high in our kitchen. I float above it all.

  I shift in my bed. Ready to walk. To fly. “Thank you, Mr. Inkham. Could you do me one more favor?”

  “Of course.” His body is still, awaiting my request. He’s a strange man. One I don’t really know. But I guess that will change.

  “Can you stop by the house and check on Frankie? I worry about her all alone in that big place with Marie.” I smile. Secrets on wings carrying my mouth upward. “I worry about poor old Marie, too, all alone in that big house with my whirlwind of a sister!”

  He nods, not quite smiling. He doesn’t strike as me a someone who smiles very much. “Absolutely.” He tilts his head. Opens and closes his mouth. Stares at his tie and then looks up. “You know you remind so much of Rebecca sometimes. Before she met your father, she had grand plans to change the world.”

  My eyes fall.

  He scrambles. Stumbles over his words. “Oh, dear. I don’t mean to upset you. What I’m trying to say is I think she would be very impressed with the young woman you’ve become.”

  It’s a flutter and a fall. I’m glad he sees something in me that will make him work harder for what I want to achieve. But the Rebecca I knew was a shell. She barely kept me safe. She did little and caused much. I loved her. But she’s not my hero. She’s not someone I aspire to be. If anything, I aspire to be less like her. I’m doing this for me and the Kings. Not to win approval. In fact, I think to many, it will have the opposite effect.

  He leaves in a flurry, same as he entered. He has a lot of work to do.

  And so do I.

  Changing the world will happen in small, slight turns. I’ll be happy if we can change just one street, or even one stoop.

  52

  FRANKIE

  It feels good to be home. I like my bed. My toys. I like rolling around on the carpet. It’s soft and warm and if I wiggle enough, my fingers spark and I can shock Marie. I liked the tunnel, too, but it was cold. I hate being cold.

  I lie on my tummy, pressing my fingers into the patterns on the floor. I scratch and pick and wait for Nora to tell me off. I sigh, big like a hot air balloon. Nora’s not here. Nora’s all banged up and broken, and Daddy made her that way.

  Daddy needs to stay away from here.

  I hear a knock at the door and jump up. My feet are springs and I’m a bunny, jumpin’, jumpin’, jumpin’ out the door and across the landing. Jump. Jump. Jump to the scary stairs.

  I bite my lip and hold onto the railing, being more careful coz that’s what Nora would want me to be.

  I’m being super fast but really careful as I take the stairs two at a time, my skirts flying up like there’s a big wind in the reception hall. When I hit the bottom step, I see a man standing there like a funny little statue. His eyes are round, and his hair is squashed down from his hat. He bows to me like I’m a princess, and I give him my best frown.

  “I know you,” I say, pointing at him as Marie tuts and takes the man’s coat. “I seen you a bunch a times.” Mommy used to talk to this man when Daddy wasn’t home. They’d sit in the front room and whisper like they had secrets. And when I tried to come in and see what was going on, Mommy would close the door on me. I didn’t like it one bit.

  The man clears his throat, holding out his hand. “I’m Mr. Inkham. I’m your family solicitor. Your sister may have mentioned me before. She asked me to stop by and check on you.”

  I feel my face puckering up like I’ve just bitten into a lemon, which I have done before, a lot of times even though Nora told me not to. “My soul… Soul stir?” I shake my head.

  “Or you can say lawyer. I handle your family’s legal affairs. Does that make sense?” He bends to looks in my eyes. He’s giving me that look like Nora gives me when she thinks I’ve said something I shouldn’t have said.

  I lean away. “No, I know you from when Mommy was still here.”

  Marie makes a funny noise, then starts pushing me toward the stairs. “Nothing to worry about here. We’re doing just fine. Aren’t we, Miss Frances?”

  I grip the railing and think about Nora. Marie keeps pushing, and I poke my butt out. Making it hard for her to mo
ve me. “I’m fine,” I shout. “But Nor-ah’s not so good.”

  The man looks sad. “No, she has been through a lot.”

  Turning around suddenly, I glare at Marie. “I wanna talk to Mister Ink… Ham.”

  Marie looks real worried and her face shakes like jello, but Mr. Inkham nods and shoos her away. It annoys me that she listens to him and not me, but at least she’s gone.

  I sit on the step, patting the space next to me. He looks all uncomfortable like he wants to pee, but then he sits beside me. “What can I do for you, Miss Frances?”

  I cross my arms. “It’s Frankie or Kricket, but actually, though, don’t call me Kricket. That name’s special.”

  He puts his hands on his knees, staring at the door to the outside. “Okay, Frankie. What did you want to talk about?”

  “I want to talk about Deddy.” He moves on the stairs, breathing slowly like he’s getting ready to hold it. I’m not good at that game. “Where is ma Deddy right now?”

  His mouth is hard, and his jaw looks tight like he can’t swallow. “Your father is being held in a prison.”

  I tilt my head. “How long will he stay there?”

  Mr. Inkham sighs long. “It’s hard to be sure. I strongly believe he will be there for a very long time. Your sister’s and Marie’s accounts, plus that of the policemen, is solid evidence that will be very hard to refute.”

  I kick his ankle with my bare foot. “Yer using a lot of big words I don’t understand. I want to know if it’s for sure. I want to know that he cain’t ever come back here no more.”

  Mr. Inkham looks very sad now. Putting his hands in his hair and frowning. “I can’t promise anything one hundred percent until the trial is over. The problem is your father is pleading not guilty.” I scowl at him again, and he says, “He’s saying he didn’t do it.”

  This makes my chest hurt and a fire build behind my eyes. “But he did do it. He’s been doin’ it forever!”

  Mr. Inkham nods. “Yes. But he is presumed innocent until proven guilty. Luckily, because he assaulted a police officer, he’s been refused bail.”

  “That’s stupid, and what’s bail?”

  He’s trying to be patient with me, but he doesn’t seem too used to kids. “He will be held in jail until after the trial.”

  I need to do something. When I think about Daddy being back in this house or him getting close to Nora again, I feel like I might explode with worry. “What’d make him hef to stay in jail with no… uh… trial? Like how could we make him one hundred per cents have to stay in there?” I ask.

  He turns to me. His eyes have gone really serious. “The only way that would happen would be if your father pleaded guilty. He would have to admit what he had done and accept responsibility for his actions.”

  Standing, I face him. This seems like a good plan. This is the thing I can do for Nora, when she’s done so much for me. “Well, let’s make him do that.”

  Mr. Inkham’s eyebrows rise, but he doesn’t have the ‘no’ look in his eyes.

  I know Nora would be cross at me for doing this. I’m gonna have to keep it a secret. At least for a little while.

  We got to ride in a taxi, then we got out and walked up a long path to a big gray building with fences as high as the sky. My neck hurts from looking up, and I squeeze Mr. Inkham’s hand as we walk through gates and doors and more gates and more doors. Until we’re standing in a funny room. Kind of like a ticket office.

  Daddy looks small. He’s dressed in pajamas, and his hair is messy. His face looks scratchy. He is very surprised to see me. He is mad to see Mr. Inkham.

  There’s glass between us and a phone. Daddy’s eyes are dark and angry, and I try to find him in there. I wave and smile, and he suddenly looks more like he used to on those days when he would give me a kiss and make pancakes. I let go of Mr. Inkham’s hand, then scrunch my fingers into fists. That Daddy, the pancake one, never stayed around for very long. I mostly remember the angry one. The hitting one.

  Mr. Inkham sits down, picking up the phone. I can’t hear what Daddy says, but he looks like he did when he found me in Mama’s closet trying on her dresses.

  His voice is calm. But that kind of calm someone forces into their voice.

  “Yes. I know this is no place for a little girl. … She insisted. … This is what it has come to, Christopher, because you can’t accept what you have done. … No. … I promised you would listen. It’s the absolute least you can do.”

  Mr. Inkham gets up, then lets me sit. He gives me the telephone, and I press it hard to my ear so I can hear better.

  “Frances, darling, it’s so good to see you.” I know this voice. It’s at the start of something bad. I put my hand up to the glass to test it. It’s pretty thick. And there are people here to save me and stop him.

  I think about my words really careful. “Hello, Deddy. I hef come here to ask you to plead guilty to what you did to Nor-ah.”

  I watch his face change. Eyebrows go up. Cheeks tighten. His mouth is smiling but it’s not a real smile, and I feel like I’ve swallowed a bird and it’s trying to peck its way out of my chest. “Frances. Frankie. It’s not as simple as they would have you believe… I…”

  I spread my hands out over the glass. “Stop. Deddy, please. Please just stop hurting us. You don’t know how to do it by yerself. I know you’ve tried, but it never works. You need to stay here so we can be safe. You need to let Nor-ah and me be safe.”

  His fingers go all white around the telephone, coz he’s holding it so tight. I think he’s gonna yell at me. I think maybe he’ll try and smash the glass with the phone, but his hand slowly goes back to pink and his eyes stop being hard and angry.

  His neck seems to go all floppy, and his head falls into his hands. And then he does what I thought he would. He starts smashing. Thumping the little table in front of him with his fists. The glass shakes, and I can feel the pounding coming through to the table in front of me. It sends wobbles through my body. He just keeps smashing, smashing, smashing. He’s scaring me, and I stand up and turn to Mr. Inkham, who wraps his arms around me and holds me close. I don’t want to look at Daddy no more. I don’t think I ever want to see his face again.

  “You did so well, Frankie.”

  He strokes my hair, and we walk away.

  I really hope Daddy listened to me.

  53

  HIRO

  Groaning, the cop slaps a hand over his face. “Ugh! I almost forgot. Your phone call.”

  Small trickles of hope slide down the black brick walls. I lift my eyes. “My phone call?”

  He strides to the cell briskly and unlocks it. Blunt iron. The door swings open, and he just lets me walk out. “You get one phone call. Everyone gets one phone call.”

  He picks up the phone and holds it out to me, yanking it away when I reach for it. “First, you need to give me a name.” I don’t know why I say it; it just kind of flies out before I can stop myself. “Hiro Deere,” I mutter. The cop scrawls the name on a piece of paper, spelling it correctly, which is surprising, and nods.

  “Make sense, I guess. Japanese first name and American second name…” He doesn’t get the ridiculousness of his statement. Even if my last name had been Japanese, it would still be American. But that’s such a large part of the problem.

  His partner grunts. “You idiot, Torres.”

  “What… what did I say?” He approaches his partner, the spiral cord of the phone stretching, and they start arguing. I take the opportunity to dial while they’re distracted. It starts ringing, and the cop speaks into the receiver. “Hi, this is Officer Torres of the 77th. I have Hiro Deere for…”

  “Katsutoshi,” I say.

  Officer Torres sounds out the name slowly. “Kat…su…toshi.” Seeming very impressed with himself for getting it right.

  He hands me the phone. Kin’s voice is like a warm breeze in this freezing hellhole. “Kettle, Kettle, Kettle.” Kin clucks his tongue. “What kind of trouble have you got yourself into now?�
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  His humor dissipates as I explain my predicament. “I’ll be there as soon as I can,” he says, and I sigh with relief. “Do you know why they’re holding you?”

  I turn to the cop. “Why are you holding me?”

  The cop frowns. “We’re waiting for Marvin to sober up, so we can get a statement.”

  I look at the snoring, slobbering mess that is Marvin and purse my lips. If he’s what decides my fate, then I’m in bigger trouble than I thought. “Kin,” I whisper. “I’m…”

  His voice is too calm. “I know, little brother, but try not to panic.”

  I’m led back into my cell. Bars were where I started. Maybe that was always where I was going to end.

  My eyes droop heavily. My feet have pins and needles. I uncross them and cross them the other way. I don’t know how long I’ve been here, and I’m starting to wish they’d just throw me in the black car and be done with it already. The waiting is agony.

  The stretch of knowing Kite is waiting for me is torture. Like I’m on a medieval rack. I reach through the air, close my eyes, and imagine my cheek pressed to hers. Her bottled-star laughs and deep dark sighs.

  I lace my fingers across my chest, listening to the throttling snore of Marvin. The bastard who got me into this mess. I want to kick him. I want to scream at the unfairness of it all.

  It must be nearly twelve hours now. The cops have changed shifts, and are now back to the same ones I had the day before.

  The snore becomes a rumbling thunder. Reminding me of lightning chasing black clouds over the desert. Flashes of white. Coyotes with yellow eyes frozen like a photo, and then gone by the next strike. The chain-link fence rattling like cheap bells as they tried to dig their way in. Rain evaporating on the cracked, begging-for-moisture earth. My first real home shaking like a house of cards as it was butted by headstrong wind.