Deena lowered herself into her chair and gave John a sheepish smile. He responded with a short wave that was more fingers than hand. He turned to Tak and whispered something. He whispered back. When John turned back to her, he was all smiles.
He stood abruptly and offered a hand across the table. “John. John Tanaka. Pleased to meet you.”
His gaze was steady, as challenging as Tak’s handshake.
Deena stood, aware of the attention of the entire family. “Deena Hammond,” she said quietly.
“If Michael can rein in his unadulterated eagerness I’d like to offer formal introductions,” Daichi said, taking a seat at Deena’s left hand.
A blush colored Deena’s cheeks as Michael mumbled an apology. She felt as though she were under a firing squad with Tak, John and Kenji all sitting directly across from her.
Daichi glared at Mike a moment longer, as if to ensure his silence, and then turned his attention to the elderly woman at the head of the table.
“Deena, this is my mother Yukiko Tanaka. Okasan, this is Deena Hammond, a colleague of mine.”
She was a regal figure, short and wraith-like, with bone-straight, glossy black hair that ran the length of her back, bronzed skin and wide, expectant eyes. When she spoke, her voice was no surprise—silken and aged, soothing.
Yukiko rose, her diminutive stature leaning over the table, and offered Deena a tiny hand. Deena stood and clasped hands with the woman. Here was Daichi’s mother, Tak’s grandmother. It seemed to Deena that everything she was now was somehow because of this stranger.
“It’s a great honor, Mrs. Tanaka.” She lowered her gaze.
“Likewise, I am sure.”
The old woman found her seat again, careful not to sit on her silken locks. Daichi turned to a fat man with a comb-over at the left hand of his mother. “And this is my brother, Yoshiaki.”
Deena stood, attempting to stifle astonishment. It was this man, with the beer belly then, that was John’s father, Daichi’s brother—not the man at the other end who was in peak physical condition.
Yoshiaki offered a hand. His mouth was stuffed with what appeared to be rice though no one else was eating. He glanced at it, spotted grease, and wiped it on his pants. When he offered it again, Deena took it reluctantly.
Across from him, Daichi glared.
Deena met Yoshiaki’s wife, John’s mother June, a wide-eyed and angular woman with stringy brown hair and a smidgeon of freckles. She had a wide mouth with pink lips and a caddy laugh that she reacted to everything with. She was white.
They had another daughter, a teenage girl named Lauren, as slim as she was solemn. Dark makeup circled her eyes and painted her lips, a gross contrast to her pale pallor. When she greeted Deena she used no words, only a hand, the fingernails of which were painted black.
The man she’d been certain would be Daichi’s brother was actually his brother-in-law. Ken Wantanabe was a microbiologist for the Center for Disease Control. He and Daichi’s sister, Asami, had a five-year-old daughter named Erin, who seemed to simmer more than sit. Deena thought she was adorable.
And she met Tak’s mother. Hatsumi Tanaka was a slender beauty. She had alabaster skin, creamy and polished, sweeping and ebony salon-style curls and mournful gray eyes. She wore a silk white blouse and creased gray slacks. Her makeup was daring yet well-done, shimmering silver above the eyes, a hint of blush for the cheeks, and lips the color of cherries. She was flawless.
It was only when she stood and clasped Deena’s hand that her awe-binding spell was broken. Her touch was cold, and with it came the memories of stories she’d heard. Of neglect and alcohol, of indifference to everything.
Still, she was beautiful.
The spread before them was impressive. She’d never seen such an assortment of fresh seafood in one home. Boiled Maine lobster, raw oysters, and steamed mussels shared space with an assortment of sushi and sashimi, gyoza or steamed dumplings, miso soup and soup of another kind, clear with large prawns in it. There was soba with sliced duck breasts, shrimp and chicken tempura, steamed white rice, fried rice and a few steaming one-pot dishes that Deena couldn’t identify.
“Everything looks so delicious,” Deena said to no one in particular.
“My mother is quite the chef,” Daichi said. “She’s the one to thank for such a lavish meal.”
He lifted the miso soup, ladled out a bit into the porcelain bowl before him, then passed it to Deena. She took some and felt the eyes of Tak and Kenji on her, both of whom knew that she didn’t care for miso soup.
“I find it fascinating that you’re an architect,” Michael said suddenly. “It isn’t a field with a lot of women, let alone beautiful women.”
Daichi’s spoon clattered to the table.
“Will you force her to listen to your nonsense endlessly? Even sweatshops allow lunch breaks.”
John snickered into his hand.
“But I was just making conversation, oli.”
Daichi returned to his soup. “Well, do a better job.”
They ate in silence, and after the soup, passed around trays of seafood and sushi. People plucked at random. Deena took some of everything so she wouldn’t seem impolite. She also took only a little, as taking the last of anything was also rude.
Michael slid a one-pot dish towards Deena. “This is especially good, if you like beef.”
Deena nodded. Peering into the dish, she spotted soba noodles, firm tofu, slices of beef, cabbage and mushrooms.
“It’s sukiyaki. You know, there’s a great fable about sukiyaki and a medieval nobleman. It goes like this. One day a nobleman—”
“Michael, maybe you should let her get some before it gets cold,” his mother, June, suggested.
Again, John snickered.
“Could you not have quite so much fun?” Tak murmured.
His cousin turned serious with the scolding.
Deena grabbed bits of the sukiyaki with the back of her chopsticks and shot John a warning look. He returned it with wide-eyed innocence.
Yukiko cleared her throat. “And how is your art these days, Takumi?”
Tak’s glare melted. “It’s good, baachan. A few weeks ago I had a gallery showing in Manhattan, the most profitable to date.”
His grandmother beamed. “Your art inspires people. Even your grandfather said so.”
Tak shrugged. “There’s always room for improvement.”
“And your music? Do you keep up with that?” Yoshi asked.
Daichi scowled at him. When Tak was a boy he had music lessons three days a week—piano and violin. One summer with Yoshi and the boy returned with a knack for the drums and a need for a guitar. When Daichi refused to buy him either, his uncle did, and Tak taught himself.
“You know I practice.” Tak simulated a guitar riff and Yoshi grinned. His mouth brimmed with rice.
“So, you studied architecture at MIT huh? A difficult program to get into,” Michael said. “But then again, aren’t they all?”
His chortle was obnoxious.
Deena shrugged. “I suppose so.”
She brought white rice to her mouth with chopsticks.
Michael laughed. “You suppose so? You must be a sharp one. But I knew that already since you work for my oli.”
Deena massaged her temple tiredly.
“So, were you an active participant in the social scene?”
“No. Not really,” Deena said.
“Funny. I would’ve pegged you for a folk dancer, easily.”
This time it was Tak’s turn to drop his utensils. Michael glanced at him and turned back to Deena.
“I was very active with the Science Fiction Society and the Model Railroad Club. You probably had friends in one or both.”
Deena sighed. How was it that Tak and John and Kenji could all be so—so warm and funny, and this guy—this guy could be so…awful?
“You know, there are times when I find myself missing MIT,” Michael said, dunking his gyoza in soy sauce before dropping it in
his mouth. “Are you the same way?’
“No.” Deena glanced at him and suddenly felt bad for her curtness. “It was…too cold for my tastes.”
Michael grinned and nodded as though he were privy to some great inside joke. “Indeed, indeed. Still, there are times when I wish for that old school spirit, you know?”
Deena scooped a sliver of beef out of her dish and ate it. She had no idea what he wanted her to say.
“We should’ve crossed paths on campus at least once. And I know we didn’t, because I would remember a face as pretty as yours.”
Daichi and Tak scowled at him.
“What?” Michael said.
Deena met Tak’s gaze. He was pissed. At Michael, at Deena, and at himself. She could see it. She shot him a look of pity, hoping to convey that she was suffering as much as he was, but he met it with a hard glare.
“Perhaps you would allow Ms. Hammond to enjoy her meal instead of feeling obliged to humor your fruitless advances,” Daichi said.
“Hey, don’t start, Daichi.”
That was Yoshi.
Daichi turned to his brother. “You’ve something you’d like to say, Yoshiaki?”
“No. He does not. And neither do you,” their mother said.
Everyone fell silent.
“Maybe after dinner I can show you some of the sights here,” Michael offered.
Deena could feel Tak’s eyes on her.
“Um no. Tak—Takumi has volunteered to do that.”
“Oh?” Michael looked from Deena to Tak, paused at the thinly veiled annoyance on his cousin’s face, and then turned back to her. “Okay. Maybe some other time.”
When dinner ended, John made eye contact with Deena and nodded towards the back door. He stepped out onto the terrace and she followed.
“Quite the show you’ve got going.”
He closed the sliding glass behind them.
Deena sighed. “So, is Tak ready to commit domestic violence or what?”
He grinned. “You’d have to cop to a relationship for it to be domestic violence.”
“Is that your legal opinion?”
“Hey toots, you’re pretty and all, but if this goes down I’m Tak’s lawyer not yours.” He paused, slipped a hand in his pocket. “Tell me something, Deena. You guys have been at this thing awhile now. I mean, formally, for close to three years, and informally—even longer. So how long do you plan on keeping this up?”
Deena frowned. “Now you sound like Tak.”
“No. I just sound like a guy who’s about to get caught between his brother and his cousin—a cousin who happens to be his best friend.”
“I don’t know, John. I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m just hanging on by a thread—trying to keep everything and lose nothing, when I’m not even sure if that’s possible. I just wish that I could—”
She fell silent when the doors opened and Mike stepped outside.
“So, uh, post-Renaissance, you say, huh?”
Deena blinked at John. “Um, yeah. Post-Renaissance,” she desperately searched for an application to the phrase. “Well, there was more unity in construction back then. And uh—and more consciousness of the surroundings, at least as far as designing was concerned.”
“At least,” John said distractedly, his eyes on his brother.
“Now this is a new interest,” Michael said. “John and architecture.”
John scowled. “Mom and Dad thought the same thing when they saw you talking to a girl.”
Michael’s smile faded. “Pretty enough to tear brothers asunder, huh?”
John sighed. “I’m bailing. Talk later, Deena.”
She watched him go with reluctance.
“Maybe I should go, too.”
She didn’t want to be alone with him.
Michael nodded. “Alright. I’m sure we’ll talk again.”
DEENA SAT IN the window seat of her bedroom and admired her view of the Pacific. The waters were dark and shimmering as the light of the full moon illuminated her face. She’d been certain Tak would come to her when the house was still and it was safe. At least, she thought he would. But it was getting late, nearly one, and still no Tak. When Deena fell asleep, it was with a heavy heart.
When Deena woke in the night, she frowned at the arm draped about her. Thank God, it belonged to Tak.
“When did you get here?”
He shrugged. “One, maybe two minutes ago.”
“I thought you were mad at me.”
“I am. I was going to slip in here and steal a little undetected sex.”
Deena snorted.
“Okay. Maybe you would’ve detected after a second or two. But I’ve decided not to be mad since I agreed to do this and since it is your dream to work for my dad and what not.”
Deena gave him a grateful smile. “And that’s why I’m so crazy about you.”
“Yeah, and I know someone who’s crazy about you.”
“I don’t like him, Tak. Not at all.”
Tak grinned. “Yeah, Mike has that effect on women. Now if only we were a couple I could tell him to go away.” He brought a finger to his chin as if contemplating.
“Not mad, remember? Not even passive aggressive.”
His gaze narrowed. “Not sure I agreed to that one.”
“I see. You know, John warned me you might resort to domestic violence. He said that if you do, he’d be willing to defend you.”
“John’s a tax attorney. I’d probably wind up with the death penalty after slapping you.”
Deena giggled. “Good. Keep that in mind when you’re busy being mad.”
They stared at each other, smiling, their noses near touching in the dark. It still amazed her that she could be so comfortable with someone, so close. She hadn’t ever thought it possible.
“Your grandmother is beautiful,” she said. “And your mother, too.”
“Uh huh.”
“And I get the joke now, about John looking like his father.”
“Oh, you do now?” Tak asked. He sat up. “What are you trying to say?”
Deena sat up as well. “Nothing. I just—”
“What? That he’s fat? Ugly?”
“No, Tak. I would never. I just—”
He seized her, tickling as she squirmed, as she giggled her apology. He clamped a hand over her mouth and leaned over to whisper in her ear.
“I can’t believe you’re going to sit here and laugh in my face,” he said.
“I’m not. All I said was—”
“And John, that poor bastard, do you see what he has to look forward to? What he’ll look like in a few short years?”
Deena giggled.
“Again, you’re laughing in my face.” Tak sighed. “And Mike, Jesus, he’s on the fast track there, isn’t he?”
When she laughed, she clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle it. Tak frowned at her.
“You’re doing it again.”
He paused, as if with a thought. “And poor Lauren. Can you picture her in a few years? With that comb-over and that gut?”
This time when Deena laughed, he tickled her again. “I’m going to teach you some manners, little lady. Right now. Gonna give you some punishment.”
He grabbed her by the wrists and pinned them over her head before kissing her neck. His body was lean and hard, and hers, instantly turned on.
WHEN DEENA VENTURED into the kitchen the next morning, beckoned by the smell of coffee, she was greeted by the Tanaka women—Yukiko, June, Hatsumi, and Asami. Erin, Asami’s daughter, sat at the breakfast nook swinging her feet.
“Can I get you some coffee?” Yukiko said.
Deena nodded and pulled out a chair from the table. Despite the kitchen’s broadness, it still pulled off a cozy feel.
She took a seat across from Asami, who sipped tea as she watched her. June took a seat next to Asami and also watched her. Deena smiled nervously.
“So, we hear that you work for, Daichi?” Asami said.
Petite and pretty
, she had wide dark eyes and black hair that fell to her shoulders, streaked with chestnut. Her attire was expensive and reserved—dark tailored slacks and a sleeveless blouse; Deena recognized them from the new Dolce & Gabanna lineup.
“It’s going well. We’re in the middle of a major project that we’re very excited about.”
“Yes, yes, we know that,” Asami said dismissively. “But how is it to work for him?”
“Oh, it must be horrible,” June blurted. The women looked at each other and giggled.
Deena went to work preparing her coffee. A touch of milk, two spoons of sugar.
“Every architect considers it a great honor to work with him. Myself included.”
June rolled her eyes. “Yes, we’ve been told. By him.”
Again with the giggles. Deena shifted in her seat.
“You know,” Asami said, bringing a fist to her chin. “You’re not what we were expecting. Not at all.”
“No?”
Asami shook her head. “When my brother said that he was bringing a colleague home, well, we were expecting…”
“A man?” Deena suggested.
“Well, yes. One that was older…”
“And whiter,” June blurted.
Deena grinned. “Then I must really disappoint.”
“On the contrary,” Yukiko said, joining them at the table. “You’re a breath of fresh air.”
Deena smiled at her. She couldn’t help it.
“So, tell us about yourself,” Asami said as she stirred her tea. “Where are you from? Where are your parents from? How many brothers and sisters do you have?”
“Well,” Deena began, “I’m from Miami, and so are my parents. And as for my siblings, I have two. A brother, who’s dead, and a sister. Both younger.”
“Your brother is deceased? My God, I’m so sorry. That must’ve been terrible for you,” Asami said.
“Was it a long time ago?” June asked.
“It doesn’t matter how long ago it was, June. You never get over that sort of thing,” Yukiko said.
Deena offered a sad smile. “I cope. It’s been a few years now, so, I’ve learned ways of dealing.”
“You must be so strong,” June said. “I wilt at the slightest bad news.”
Crimson Footprints Page 21
