Hero Complex

by Margaux Froley

  Devon couldn’t shake the image of the lone nun running into the hospital. “I can’t believe that just happened,” she said, gripping the door handle as the car swerved along the snowy roads.

  “Thank God it did,” Maya said. “Not that I’ve gone all religious or anything.”

  Devon stared at her. “But you’re okay? No baby problems or anything?”

  “Yeah, yeah, that was all a show.” Maya started unraveling her braid. “We’ve had to watch all these birthing videos, so I’ve got the scream down. Plus, Sister Louise totally has a crush on Dr. Collins. She can’t function around him; it’s hilarious. She’ll take way too long to put together what just happened, but when she does, Sister Helen is probably going to have her ass. Whatever. Probably wasn’t going to be a good nun, anyways.”

  Devon couldn’t believe how calm she was. “How soon do you think until they send out a search party? There’s no way that older nun is going to take this lightly.”

  “We’ll be fine. We can call off the search party when I show up back in San Francisco.” Maya leaned her head back in her seat and closed her eyes, her hands resting across her stomach.

  “Yeah, okay. It’ll be fine,” Devon said. If only she believed it.

  You’re welcome, she added.

  CHAPTER 24

  January 29, 1945

  Our fears have come true, and it’s worse than we ever thought possible. The war in Europe is almost over; the Allies are advancing on Germany now. And just a few weeks ago, we heard that the Japanese internment camps have started releasing people. Keaton has spent every morning watching the road up the hill, hoping for the cloud of dust that would bring Hana back home with it. Surely if people were being released, she would be returning as soon as she could.

  Yesterday as we were eating dinner in the mess tent, we saw the cloud of dust down the hill. A car had dropped someone off near the bottom. A woman in a black dress carrying a small suitcase was walking up the hill alone. We all froze, and Keaton ran down the hill to greet her. But we knew something was wrong when Keaton stopped running before he reached the woman. “It’s not her,” Edward said behind me, his napkin still tucked into his shirt collar.

  “Maybe it’s her sister or a friend. She has news, whoever she is.”

  “She’s not coming back.” Edward said the words almost to himself. I noticed his skin had suddenly gone pale and a line of sweat formed on his brow. Edward noticed me looking at him. “I’m not hungry,” he said and disappeared into his cabin.

  I ran to get Athena. While she carried the baby outside, waiting for this stranger, I had the horrible realization that Edward was somehow behind Hanna being taken. Had he told the Army she was a spy?

  We hurried to the top of the road just as Keaton and the woman were arriving. Keaton was holding her suitcase and ushering her toward the mess tent. “Come, have some water. We have food, too. Anything you need.”

  Athena and I were speechless. For all we’ve seen of the newsreels of this war’s atrocities, we have been spared much of its real misery. But this woman, her black hair was matted with dirt. Her skin hung over her cheekbones, limp and pale, and her eyes—I heard Athena inhale, and I knew she saw what I did in the woman’s eyes. They were dark brown, almost black, and when she looked at us as she passed, it was as if she didn’t even see us. As if she was still watching something else happen before her eyes, something she couldn’t stop seeing.

  We followed Keaton and the woman into the tent. She ate the rice and fish quickly, keeping her eyes glued to the plate. When her plate was empty, she took a long drink of her water before finally looking up at us. She gave Keaton a slight smile.

  “Hana told me you would be nice to me,” the woman said. “My name is Issa. We shared a tent in our camp. They took us to Wyoming. I was lucky and got on the first train leaving. But Hana, she asked that I find you.”

  Keaton reached across the table and took Issa’s hand in his. “Please tell me where I can find her. I will go anywhere. Just tell me where.”

  She pulled her hand out of his and sighed. “Hana is still in Wyoming. We buried her there with your son.”

  Keaton couldn’t hold the tears back any longer. “Son?” he choked out.

  “Francis Ichiro Keaton,” she told him. “Hana didn’t know that she was pregnant when they took her. She was first sent to a detention center in Montana because of her marriage to you. They were convinced she was selling secrets to the Japanese, but Hana only swore her loyalty to America. By the time they sent her to Heart Mountain, she was six months pregnant and not doing well. I remember her skin almost looked gray when she arrived in our tent. I took care of her; we all tried. We gave her whatever we could of our own food, our clothes. She had gotten sick in the winter. Most of us didn’t have warm enough clothes. She was starting to get healthier as it got warmer. She talked a lot about you, how proud she was of you and the work you were doing for the country. Despite everything they did to her, she still loved America. She talked about after the war, about the beautiful hillside you lived on and how she wanted to live there and raise your son. She named him Francis after you. Ichiro means ‘first son’ in Japanese. She wanted to have many children with you.”

  Keaton’s head hung low, the tears dripping from his chin onto his khaki pants. Next to me on the bench, Athena cried while holding William. I kept looking at Issa. Was it possible any of this was false? Could Hana have gotten mixed up with someone else? It didn’t seem true.

  “He was born on May 6th, 1943. We had a nurse in our block that helped Hana, but there were complications. We didn’t have a doctor, and we couldn’t stop the bleeding. Francis lived for another day, but he was so small. I kept him with her until her body went cold. We tried to feed him goat’s milk and water, but he followed his mother. He wouldn’t have survived there another two years. This way they are together. We couldn’t send a message to you because it was illegal to contact anyone in the military. We couldn’t risk being sent to a more hostile detention center.”

  Issa reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out a small folded piece of paper. Inside was a gold ring. I recognized it as matching the gold wedding band that Keaton wore. She gave it to Keaton. “This was hers. I’m sorry for the loss of your family, Mr. Keaton.”

  None of us knew what to say. The war had come home.

  DEVON MADE SURE MAYA had fallen asleep before she pulled out the fragile diary and finished the last of its worn pages. Maya needed frequent bathroom stops, and Devon tried to be supportive. But it was all about management of the pregnant girl. There wasn’t a hint of what Devon would get in return for her service. Maybe Maya doesn’t know, Devon thought, and texted Bodhi as much.

  Her mom didn’t put up a fight when Devon had texted that she’d be spending another night at Ariel’s. Apparently it was a “busy time” at the hospital.

  Lies upon lies upon lies …

  She tried to stay awake as they drove through Montana and Nevada, but nodded off after a huge silent meal the three of them shared at a rest stop before they reached the California border sometime in the middle of the night.

  Devon woke up around dawn when the car jerked. They were exiting the highway—the Berkeley hills suddenly in front of her.

  “Devon, we’ll drop you off first.” Maya said.

  Devon sat up straighter, stretched, and forced herself to fully wake up. “Wait, no. I thought we were dropping you off first.”

  “I have to see Eric before the trial.”

  “That’s today?”

  Maya nodded.

  “Then I’m going with you. Eric made me some promises, and trial or not, he’s not backing out of them.”

  “Devon, I don’t think you’re really grasping what’s going on today,” Maya began impatiently, sounding very much like her mother. “There’s—”

  “Stop it. I sprang you from St. Mary’s so you could get on the witness stand to defend a guy that killed his own brother out of greed. Trust me. I get the gravity o
f the situation.”

  “If you think we’re so awful, why’d you come get me?” Maya asked, staring out the window.

  “My scholarship is riding on it, remember?” Devon fumed. “Not like you’d ever know what this is like with a father like yours, but not everyone can afford a Keaton education. I need to get back in somehow. And besides, I actually think Hutch would have wanted me to.”

  Maya turned to her and blinked. Her lips quivered. The color had drained from her round cheeks. “Pacific Heights, then, please, Kevin,” she said in an uncertain voice. “You can drop Miss Mackintosh off afterward.” She paused. “Devon, thank you.”

  A LINE OF PARKED cars—none of them very fancy, all of them official-looking—took up the block in front of Eric’s house. Of course; the trial began today.

  Kevin pulled the SUV right into the driveway, which made Devon self-conscious. She wanted to be here but didn’t want her arrival to be a major announcement … especially now that she knew that Maya was unaware of her scholarship problem.

  Eric had blackmailed Devon without telling Maya the specifics.

  That was a problem. In a weird way, it humanized him even more. He knew things Devon didn’t, but he didn’t want Maya to be part of whatever sordid business lay at the heart of this mess, the business that endangered Devon herself. Devon smoothed back her hair and made sure she didn’t have any crusted eye boogers or drool on her face. In the intervening silence, Maya had applied makeup and redone her elegant bun.

  “I’m going in first,” Maya stated, climbing out of the car.

  “Whatever works.” Honestly, Devon was grateful. She had no idea what they were walking into. Before Maya had even closed the door behind her, Bill and Mitzi Hutchins stepped out of the front door in crisp business attire. Spotting Maya, Mitzi put a hand to her heart and hurried back inside.

  C.C. and Edward Junior bolted through the front door moments later.

  On instinct, Devon lunged back inside and closed the door behind her. C.C. wrapped her arms around Maya, eyes squeezed tightly shut; she shook her head as if fighting back tears. St. Mary’s had definitely sounded the alarms. So had Keaton, probably …

  Devon ducked down in her seat. Best not to be associated with Maya’s dramatic return if she could help it—though it was probably too late for that. She was in this, totally and completely. She sat back up and peered out the window.

  C.C. held Maya at arm’s length, her voice getting louder. Maya shouted back, and C.C. slapped Maya across the face. Mitzi and Bill cringed along with Devon. She watched as they slipped back inside, and Edward Junior pulled C.C. away.

  “We’re fixing it. Why don’t you trust me?” Maya screamed at her mother, loud enough to hear through the car windows. Eric appeared at the front door in a dark suit. Clutching her cheek, Maya ran into his arms. C.C. threw up her hands and turned her back on them. Her eyes narrowed and settled on the SUV. Devon’s heart beat faster as she locked eyes with C.C.

  “Let’s go,” Devon said to Kevin.

  “You sure?” He shifted the car into reverse and backed out the driveway.

  “I’m sure.” Devon watched as Eric held Maya close. In Devon’s side mirror she could see Eric watching the SUV as it drove away. C.C. kept her gaze glued to the car. She yanked out her cell phone and stormed back to the house.

  Devon sat straight in her seat as the car sped away from Hutchins Villa-turned-prison. Her phone buzzed in her pocket. It was a text from a number she didn’t recognize.

  Meet me at Huntington House tomorrow at 11. I know Eric had a role in convincing you to free my daughter. We need to talk.

  CHAPTER 25

  Her mom was at work (or so she claimed), so Devon paced the house until Bodhi called at 8:53 in the morning. He was in a hurry, so she let him talk. Apparently he and Raven were on their way to Eric’s trial. The prosecuting attorney wanted to demonstrate their relationship with Reed, to show why Reed would have changed his will and cut Eric out of his inheritance in favor of Hutch, creating Eric’s motive for wanting Hutch out of the picture.

  Bodhi would call with more as soon as he could.

  Devon stared out the window after he’d hung up. She wondered if Eli or Khaki would appear. She had a feeling they wouldn’t. Strange—even alone in the house, her future a question mark—she felt truly safe for the first time in a while.

  BODHI’S NEXT CALL CAME at the stroke of five.

  Eric Hutchins was found guilty of involuntary manslaughter and sentenced to three to five years in San Quentin, minimum security.

  Devon wasn’t sure how she felt, other than sick. Again, she listened as Bodhi relayed the proceedings: how Eric had cried over his addiction to his pain meds, his unstable thoughts, and his promise to attend rehab for as long as the judge wanted. Add that to Maya’s teary defense of “the father of my unborn child, who arranged for me to be present to testify on his behalf,” and the judge seemed to revel in the leniency.

  Devon couldn’t believe it. After everything, Eric would be across the Golden Gate on waterfront property. He’d probably spend those years working on his tennis serve.

  “I figured your mission was a success,” Bodhi concluded, out of breath.

  “How?” Devon cried.

  “Maya was there. You sprang her.”

  “Yeah, but I have no idea about my scholarship, and Maya’s mom knows I’m the one that brought her back. She wants to have lunch with me tomorrow.”

  Bodhi drew in a sharp breath. “Just you and her? Jeez, that’s intense. Why?”

  “Wish I knew. It’s at Huntington House. Should I just not go?” The more Devon thought about it, the idea of possibly bumping into Eli again seemed not only scary, but kind of reckless. Eric had successfully blackmailed her, and now he was certain of his fate. Maybe he had no intention of honoring his end of their bargain.

  She felt the color drain from her cheeks. Of course he didn’t. He was a psychopath.

  “That’s where you saw her before, right?” Bodhi asked. “And Eli was there? There’s something about that place.”

  Devon fell onto the couch. “I know. I mean, I know rich people love having a club or something to go to, but it feels like something else.”

  “Tell you what, I’ll take you over there tomorrow. I’ll wait outside. No one will know I’m there. I don’t want you there alone for something like that. Plus …”

  “Plus?” Devon breathed.

  “I kind of missed you,” Bodhi said.

  Devon glanced around her empty house, wondering again about her mother’s conspicuous absence.

  “I miss you, too,” she said. “It’s nice to be missed.”

  BODHI’S VW BUS WAS so glaringly out of place idling in front of Huntington House, that Devon was tempted to ask him to move it. With tired eyes, Devon looked up and down the block. She didn’t see Eli or anyone suspicious. She realized her palms were sweating. She rubbed them against her “formal dress”—the same exact charcoal-gray one-piece she’d worn to her first interview with Mr. Robins to convince him to let her be a peer counselor.

  It still fit. Actually, it was a little loose.

  “I don’t know why, but I’m nervous,” she said.

  Bodhi leaned out of the driver’s-side window and kissed her cheek. “She’s just a person. And she knows what you need to know. Besides, you look better than she ever could in a million years. That matters to people like her.”

  Devon smiled in spite of herself. “Thanks, that’s totally not helpful.”

  “Go in there, see what she has to say, let her play her little game, and then you’re out of there. I’ll be circling the block. If you see Eli or anything that freaks you out, you text. It’s a public place; she can’t touch you.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure about that. I saw her slap Maya the other day when she came back from Montana. It was pretty gnarly.”

  “You’re not Maya. You’ll be fine. Now let’s go get this over with.” Bodhi kissed her again. “I’ll be right here.�
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  DEVON WAS RELIEVED THAT Zara wasn’t working the front desk. She couldn’t handle another fake smile. It was all she’d had with her mother since last night—fake smiles and meaningless chatter about how proud Mom was that Devon was owning up to her mistakes and facing an uncertain future.

  Then again, Devon was just as guilty. She hadn’t spoken to Ariel since the summer. Bullshit for bullshit, until the truth came out.

  Devon stepped past the hostess podium. Weird—the entire restaurant was deserted, except for C.C. at a table near the window. The whole room seemed set up just for her. Because it probably was, Devon realized. That was the kind of money at stake—money that could drive a boy to kill his own brother.

  “Ms. Tran?” Devon greeted her. She cringed at how timid she sounded and forced herself to stand taller as she approached.

  C.C. took a sip of her iced tea and smoothed the napkin. “You can sit.”

  Devon pulled out a chair. Instantly a waiter appeared with a glass of water. Not Eli. He disappeared back into the kitchen without saying a word.

  “My daughter has been telling you a lot of stories, it seems,” C.C. said. She sounded hurried and kept fidgeting with her napkin. “Very convincing ones about needing to be rescued, or about being held against her will.”

  Devon thought carefully before she responded. It was like a session in a way. Let the subject lead the conversation. “She called me. I was just trying to help.”

  C.C. leaned back in her chair, eyes still on her napkin, a bitter smile on her lips. “Well, I’m just a terrible mother, and there’s nothing to be done, is that right?”

  “I never said that,” Devon responded evenly. Yes, C.C. was a terrible mother. But when someone was angry, that anger often hid hurt. Maybe C.C. was feeling like an underappreciated mother. It would make sense, given her narcissism.

  “How much do you know about your father, Devon?” C.C. asked.

  Devon shrugged, wondering if Maya’s mom was steering the conversation toward how she wanted to make up for being a bad mother by being a good grandma to the child of a convicted killer. “Not a lot. But that’s by choice. My mom did the sperm bank thing. Says she really wanted a baby, and she was getting older, and she didn’t want to wait for the right man to come along and miss her window.”