by Gina Holmes
I took the cigar from him and slid it under my nose. Rich and woody, it smelled like victory. As I rolled it back and forth in my fingers, I felt for the crunching of the tobacco inside, but it was smoother than I was used to, with just a tinge of oil to the casing. The band circling it even managed to look expensive with its fancy gold and red lettering.
He picked a fresh one from the box and inhaled it before gently setting it back down beside the others. “You’ll be able to afford your own now.”
He slid a lighter from his front pocket and clicked out a flame. With my stomach already churning like a cement mixer, I was afraid smoking might make me hurl. “Thanks very much, Mr. Thompson, but would you mind if I save it for later?”
He let go of the button and the flame retreated. “I think you can guess what I’m about to say.” He motioned for me to have a seat, but I just stood there.
He raised his eyebrows, drawing my attention to that one unruly hair coiling up from the rest. “Yoshida, you’ve worked hard these past years. I want you to know that I appreciate it, even if I didn’t always remember to say so. You’ve been the first one here and the last to leave. Sure, you’ve slacked off lately with your personal problems, but I’ve decided to overlook that,” he pointed the lighter at me, “with the understanding that you’ll get your nose back to the grindstone.”
His beady eyes narrowed. “You will, won’t you, son?”
As he stood staring at me, my life flashed before my eyes. I saw Kyra’s father walking her down the aisle to entrust her to me, and the smile that met me when I pulled back the lace veil. I saw the beads of sweat pouring down her forehead as she struggled to push our son into the world and the tears she shed when we buried each of her parents.
I also saw the future I’d dreamed for us that would never be now. We might still retire to the ocean like we planned, just not together. Benji and our grandchildren would always feel pulled, splitting their time between us . . . and I’d always feel like half of me was missing.
Thompson slapped his hands together an inch from my face. “Snap out of it, Eric. This is the day you’ve been waiting for. I’m offering you up a six-figure salary and an office with a view. This kind of opportunity doesn’t come around often for a man without a bunch of letters behind his name.” He slapped me hard on the shoulder. “You’ve done it, son. You’ve made it.”
Trying to clear my head, I looked up at the dropped ceiling and noticed that the aluminum suspension brackets holding the tiles in place formed a string of crosses—a line of tiny crossroads.
“Wow,” I said, finally looking at Thompson. “I’m honored. I’m just not sure what to say.”
He picked his cigar out of the ashtray and chewed the tip. “What do you mean you don’t know what to say? Doggone it, boy. This is the part where you accept.”
I glanced up at the ceiling again.
“Yoshida, stop playing coy with me. Just tell me what you want.”
I thought about the Harringtons and what Bram was giving up for his wife. I thought about Larry’s advice, and my mother’s, and finally I thought about me. So what did I want? It was time to be honest, not just with Kyra and everyone else, but with myself.
He tapped his hairy knuckles against the desk. “So?”
Part of me wanted to say yes, to step onto the showroom floor and announce to everyone that I was worthy after all, but Thompson had been right when he said that getting what you wanted in life required sacrifice. And what I really wanted was Kyra. She probably would never forgive me, but if there was even the remotest chance, I had to try.
I opened up the box and set my cigar back down beside the others. “I appreciate the offer, Mr. Thompson, but Larry’s your man.”
He scratched his cheek. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think hell was freezing over. First Larry turns down the job because he wants you to have it, then you turn it down?”
I felt like I’d been slapped. “Wait, what?”
He had this stammering look on his face as if he’d just realized he might have said too much. “All I’m saying is this is a good—”
“You offered Larry the job first?”
He rubbed his mottled neck. “Don’t look so surprised. He’s a heck of a salesman, shows up every day on time, everyone respects him, and he doesn’t molest the help. You used to be my right-hand man, Eric, but lately, you’ve been somewhere else. Women, they’ll ruin a good man if you let them. And you’ve been letting them.”
I walked out of Thompson’s office feeling scared about how I’d make a living now. I hoped the old adage would prove true for once, and that the grass really might be greener on the other side of the fence.
Now, I just needed to figure out where that fence was.
When I stepped into the hallway, I found Larry leaning against the wall pretending to talk on his cell phone and trying his best to look like he wasn’t dying to find out what the outcome was. He acted like he was hanging up, then looked at me.
“It’s all yours,” I said. “I just quit.”
“I know,” he said with a smirk. “Thompson called me before you even made it through the door and begged me to reconsider.”
“He told me what you did for me,” I said. “You’re unbelievable.”
He shrugged. “It was no different than what you did for me.”
“Not for you,” I said, trying out my new vow of honesty. “For me.” I looked past those black-rimmed glasses of his into his gray eyes. The eyes of the man who was like a brother to me. I put my hand out for him to shake, but he grabbed me into a bear hug.
“Since you don’t want it, mind if I take it?” he said, letting me go.
“You better.”
He grinned. “Good, because I already have.”
I turned to find the showroom staff and a few customers watching us with curiosity. I took Larry’s arm and raised it in the air like the winning prizefighter. “Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Larry Wallace, your new boss.”
Everyone looked a little embarrassed and unsure, until I started clapping. As everyone joined in, I whispered to him, “I’ll clean out my desk when the place is empty if that’s okay.”
“Of course,” he said. “See you tonight?”
“Not if I can help it,” I said.
Thirty-Nine
The week we listed our house, we ended up with a bidding war that resulted in an offer fifteen thousand above asking price. That was the beauty of living in a neighborhood so many coveted. I was sad to leave but excited to begin the rest of my life.
Kyra had sold just about everything we owned, and what she hadn’t was boxed and waiting for the movers to take to her sister’s house. Marnie, who was over helping her finish packing, came down the walkway to where I stood on the sidewalk and gave me a hug. “I’m sorry how things have worked out.”
“It’s not over until it’s over,” I said.
She pulled back. “No offense, Eric, but it’s over.”
“Do me a favor?”
She sighed and gave me a weary look. “What?”
“Keep her at your house as long as you can. If she wants to buy a place, try to talk her out of it.”
She shook her head. “I’m not going to do that. She needs to move on, just like you do.”
“Please?” I said. Her expression dripped with pity. “You take care of my nephew or I’ll have Marcello send over some of his mafia friends to take care of you.”
“By the time they get their walkers loaded on the plane, I’ll be long gone,” I said.
A smile tugged at her lips. “Be careful on the road—85 percent of accidents happen during moves.”
I had to laugh at that. “You know, I’ve always wanted to know where you get your statistics.”
She looked taken aback by the question, then recovered with, “Ancient Chinese secret.”
“More like ancient Chinese nonsense.”
She twisted her mouth, but the humor glinting in her eyes told me I hadn’t really offen
ded her.
She leaned over to hug Benji. “You sure you want to go back to Braddy’s Wharf? I have plenty of room at my house.”
The look on his face must have given her the answer she was looking for, because she grinned and nodded. “You two take care of each other.”
“You take care of my wife,” I said, taking her hand.
She gave my fingers a squeeze. “I’ll take care of my sister.”
Benji watched her disappear inside the house, then turned to me looking as sad as the day we’d first moved here. “Guess I better go in and say good-bye to Mom.”
“You know,” I said, “you don’t have to come with me right now. You can come when everything’s done.”
“And do what in the meantime? Count silverware for Aunt Marnie?”
I nodded toward the house, trying my best not to let the choked-up feeling in my throat turn into tears. “Go on and kiss your mother for me.”
“Don’t worry, Dad; this is a really great idea. If I know chicks, she’s going to love it.”
I opened the car door. “A, don’t refer to your mother as a chick, and B, you don’t know chicks. No man really does. And C, get your butt up there and kiss your mother so we can get this party started.”
I slid into my vehicle as I watched him jog up the walkway. It struck me that if I accomplished nothing else good with the rest of my life, at least I’d done one thing right.
After a few minutes, he ran back to the car and got in. As we backed out the driveway, Kyra called to me from the porch. Hope made my heart quicken.
I rolled the window down the rest of the way. “Sweetheart, did you need something?”
Benji elbowed me. “Go up there and talk to her.”
Feeling more self-conscious than the first time I’d approached her at Sophia’s all those years ago, I meandered to where she stood on the porch.
Even dressed in sweatpants without a stitch of makeup on her face, she looked beautiful. She wrapped her arms around herself. “I just wanted to wish you luck.”
It was then that I saw her. Really saw her in a way that I hadn’t since I’d first fallen in love. I saw the freckles on the bridge of her nose, the lines around her eyes and mouth that hadn’t been there when we met, and the strands of silver that had started weaving their way through her red hair. “I wish you’d come with us,” I said.
She rubbed absently at her arms. “If wishes were dollars, we’d all be rich.”
I reached out to touch her, but she flinched and I withdrew.
“Tell Benji to call me when you get there and let me know he’s safe,” she said.
You used to want to know that I’d made it somewhere safe, too, I thought. “Will do,” I said. “Call me if you need help getting situated. It’s only a few hours away. I could be here in—”
She glanced at the open door behind her. “You take care, Eric.”
“You, too,” I said.
And just like that, my marriage was over.
Forty
Soft music played from the newly refurbished speakers as Benji and I sanded opposite ends of the bar in a steady rhythm. My arm began to ache, so I stopped to rub the muscles around my shoulder.
Benji’s now-longish black hair was speckled with sawdust, which made it look almost gray. He blew a strand from his face. “You okay, old man?”
I threw my sandpaper down on the ground like I intended to fight. “Those are big words coming from a little boy. Come here and I’ll show you who’s an old man.”
He wiggled his fingers at me. “Ooh, I’m shaking.” He glanced down at the front of his jeans. “Uh-oh, I better go home and change. I think I just peed a little.”
On a whim, I charged after him. Instead of shrieking like he used to do when he was a child, he widened his stance and raised his fists out in front of him like a boxer. I pretended to throw a right hook to his side, but when it came time for impact, I tickled him instead.
He tried hard not to laugh but finally gave in. I was about to tell him he laughed like a girl when I heard a familiar little snort. Both Benji and I turned toward the door at the same time to see Kyra standing there in a white sweater and faded jeans, holding a fishbowl. She wore her hair shorter now, angled and trendy. She looked good, but then she always had. Her face seemed narrower than it was last time I’d seen her, and I imagined with the weight I’d lost since our separation, mine probably did too. Turned out that impending divorce was the best appetite suppressant known to man.
“Kyra,” I said, surprised. “You weren’t supposed to come yet. We’re not ready.” I brushed dust from my face and tucked my shirt in. “I wanted everything to be staged.”
She smiled shyly. “You know me. As soon as I got your message, I had to see it for myself.” Holding out the fishbowl, she said, “Here, I brought you a housewarming gift.”
When I took it from her hands, our fingers brushed. I felt like crying when I saw that her left ring finger was bare. “Oh, cool, a beta fish. Thanks.”
She gave me one of her Mona Lisa smiles. “Let’s see if you can keep this one alive.”
When I set him on the bar, the water swayed back and forth, carrying him with it. “If he dies, I promise you it’s not going to be from neglect this time.” I watched the small blue fish swim through the tiny rock bridge underpass. “What should we name him?”
“I was thinking maybe Benji Jr.” She winked at our son.
Laughing, I said, “I think that name already belongs to a certain crab.”
Benji walked over to the bowl and peered in. “He looks more like an Eric Jr anyway.”
I gave the back of his head a playful tap.
Kyra eyed the place, looking more awestruck than I even hoped. “Did you really buy it?”
“Lock, stock, and barrel. What do you think?”
She looked down at the plank floors Benji and I had spent a week refinishing, then over at a life-size mermaid statue standing guard over the bar we were just about ready to stain. “Love the mermaid. Gosh, this place looks way better than it ever did when it was Sonny’s.”
“You really think so?” I beamed at the approval in her eyes.
“It’s amazing.” She walked over to Benji and hugged him. “So, I gather you’ve known about this the whole time?”
“He’s worked beside me every step of the way,” I said, feeling another surge of pride. “Turns out our son has talents we never knew about.”
“Looks like you both do.” Her gaze slid across the freshly painted walls and stopped at the piano. A look of recognition passed over her. “That looks just like my old . . .” She walked over to it and sat down on the bench.
I held my breath. I’d spent at least an hour every night for the past few months working to refurbish it. Her fingers traced the key cover and slowly she opened it. She looked up at me as her hand flew to her chest. “It is mine. Where did you . . . ?”
I walked over and sat beside her, trying not to be obvious as I inhaled her vanilla-almond scent. “It’s not like we got rid of it. It was always in storage.” I realized then why she’d acted so bitter about me replacing it with the baby grand. “You didn’t know that, did you?”
She shook her head, looking like she might cry. “I guess I just assumed . . .”
I didn’t bother saying what we were both probably thinking.
Bending over, she touched the scrolled legs. “It looks like new. When did you have it redone?”
“He did it himself,” Benji said.
With the sleeve of my shirt, I dusted off the keys. “Except the tuning. I had to hire someone for that.”
When she wiped at the corner of her eyes, I knew I had done all right.
“Play something, Mom.”
She looked up at Benji, then set her fingertips down. The old piano didn’t have the satiny sound the baby grand did, but watching Kyra play with her eyes closed, completely engrossed in the music, made it sound like a song from heaven.
Suddenly, as if ripped back into
reality, she stopped playing and turned to me. “I never knew you wanted to own a restaurant.”
“I don’t,” I said.
She gave me a questioning look and then Benji.
Benji bounced around like he used to do on Christmas morning. “Dad, show her the sign.”
A curious smile worked its way across Kyra’s mouth. “What sign?”
“Well,” I said, standing, “I was going to wait until your birthday to show you, but I guess the jig’s up.”
“The jig?”
I took her by the hand and led her outside. The sun was preparing to set, and the horizon had never looked more lovely with its blending hues of orange, pink, and purple. Waves roared in the distance, and as I stood there beside my wife, wishing she was still wearing my ring, I had to fight an overwhelming urge to kiss her.
Benji stood on the other side of his mother looking up at the tarp covering the sign. “Can I do it?”
“You want a drum roll?” I asked.
“Sure,” he said.
I looked at Kyra. “You’re the musician.”
She moved her wrists up and down in quick succession, accompanying it with the appropriate sound. Benji waited for her to hit the pretend crash cymbal, then yanked the end of the tarp revealing a blue shingle hanging from thin metal chains. The white cursive letters read Kyra’s by the Sea.
Her eyes turned into saucers as her mouth dropped to the sand. “I don’t understand.”
My stomach was tied in knots as I choked out, “Happy birthday, honey.”
She looked troubled. “You named your restaurant after me?”
It dawned on me then that she might have outgrown this dream. “No, I named your restaurant after you. But if you don’t want it,” I said, “we can sell, or—”
“I’ll take it,” Benji said.
