“A safe is a strong steel box with a complicated lock—it’s impossible to break into.” I stood up straighter. “Now let’s go.”
She looked at me with big innocent eyes and then pulled the bottom desk drawer open with her shoe.
“I think it is in here.” Her eyes held mine, daring me to stop her. When I didn’t, she let out a deep sigh. “I did not imagine this would be so easy.”
My stomach was in knots. What was I going to do, beat her up?
She reached into the drawer, to the very back, and withdrew a leather-bound book. It was a journal, the cover worn and darkened from years of use.
“How did you know?” I said.
“I could feel it speaking his words.”
My mouth dropped open.
“I came a long way to get this, Junya. I will read it.” Her expression softened. “But I will return it, I promise you.”
My hands went to my temples. “So … you planned all this?”
Shoko nodded. “I want to see if Edward wrote about my mother.”
“Why would he write about your mother!?”
She sighed. “My mother was in love with Edward.”
If my jaw hadn’t already been on the floor, it was now. I was dumbfounded but growing angry. “You’re wrong.”
She waved a hand, dismissing my comment. “I want to know what Edward thought. Did he know she loved him? Does he regret losing her, or did he throw her memory away as he has done with everything else he loves?”
“There’s no way my grandpa knew your mother!” I felt something build inside me, a swelling in my chest. “Put the journal back—we’re leaving!”
She clutched the book to her chest like a little girl. “Please, I will give it back. I promise.”
I wasn’t falling for it. “No way. You tricked me. Now put it back.” I tried to sound strong, but the energy was already slipping away from me.
Shoko stood up and faced me and we stared at each other. Beads of sweat ran down my sides as my antiperspirant failed. Then I remembered the emergency button on his desk, within my reach, and a smug smile spread across my face. “One last chance,” I said.
She took a step back to where she’d left her backpack beside the desk and leaned toward the drawer, but her eyes never left mine.
“Have you ever been in love, Junya?”
“I … well, no. I mean …” I glanced away.
The drawer slammed closed.
A wave of relief swept through me—she wasn’t holding the journal. She must have put it back in the desk. She shouldered her backpack.
“He should have chosen love over gold,” Shoko whispered.
I turned toward the fireplace, toward the painting with the steel safe behind it. There were gold bars inside that Grandpa had showed me when I was little. But how did she know?
When I looked back, Shoko was near the door.
“I am sorry about my behavior.” She bowed low and her braids tumbled over her shoulders.
“You should be.” I pointed toward the stairs. “Now let’s go.”
We went downstairs in a silence so dense that I could hear my heart beating. She kept her head down until she was through the gates. Then she turned to face me.
“Thank you for showing me the house. It is more beautiful than I could have imagined.” Then she turned and walked out the gate, through the shadow of the archway. At the sidewalk, as the sun illuminated her again, she bent low into a formal bow. “I will see you again, as I promised.”
What did that mean? I watched her walk across the cobblestone street. She never looked back.
There was a loud clunk behind me—the gates were closing.
“My backpack!” I darted through the shrinking gap and then slowed to a walk. I’d barely reached the front stairs when I heard the roar of the wave.
I spun in time to see it rush over the hedge, bending the trees as if they were blades of grass. It hit me and I flew backward. Then it was gone, leaving me breathless and flat on my butt in the garden.
Mr. Sugimoto came around the front of the house about then. His straw hat flew off as he ran toward me—he moved fast for an old guy in rubber boots.
“Junya, are you all right?” He reached out and pulled me onto the pathway without effort. He was in his late fifties, but bulging muscles showed through his damp work shirt.
“I’m not sure.” I was trying to steady myself. “I hope I didn’t hurt your plants.” I always got nervous when I spoke Japanese with a man. I worried that I sounded like a girl because I listened to Okaasan so much.
He looked around, poised and alert. “What happened here?”
I hesitated. “There was this big gust of wind … It knocked me over.”
“I felt something, too … but that wasn’t the wind.”
“Then what was it?”
He took in a deep breath. “It was like a door opened.” He paused and an odd expression twisted his face. “And a breeze came through … a very pleasant breeze.”
He touched one of the sharp, menacing-looking tools that hung from his belt and looked at me with interest. Then he walked away.
I got my backpack out of the hall closet and stood for a moment, trying to process what had just happened. I couldn’t explain that wind, that wave of energy. At least I’d stopped Shoko from getting the journal, but I still didn’t understand why she wanted it or how her mom could have known my grandpa.
I will see you again, as I promised.
A sinking feeling overtook me. I dropped my backpack and climbed the stairs.
When I sat down in the chair, the leather was still warm from her body, and there was a small shoe print on the dark wood of the desk. When I reached to wipe the print off, I noticed she’d left the bottom drawer open a crack. My heartbeat quickened as I stared into the thin dark space. Finally, I pulled the drawer open. Inside was a row of thin red file holders, each labeled in Grandpa’s handwriting. But at the back of the drawer, so far back I had to open the drawer all the way to see them, were five blue folders. Inside each were thick manila envelopes. I leaned closer. There was one folder, the third from the back, that hung at an odd angle. Its contents had stretched it wide. I reached in to straighten it.
A lead weight dropped into my stomach. The file folder was empty.
She’d taken the journal.
CHAPTER
7
They made Grandpa stay in the hospital another night, which must have driven him nuts. Grandpa’s driver offered to pick me up after school Monday and take me straight to the hospital, but no way was I getting into a Bentley in front of my classmates. I’d stick with the bus.
I sat near the front with my backpack on the seat beside me. I felt like crap. What was I going to tell Grandpa? Hey, I let some strange girl into your house and she stole your journal. My bad.
Grandpa’s staff had taken over the waiting area. Two bodyguards stood at the end of the hall, and Walter Roacks was off in a corner with a phone pressed to his ear.
I headed to the bathroom to wash my hands. I’d barely finished when some guy in his early twenties barged in.
“What are you doing here?” he said. “This floor’s off limits.”
I blinked. “I’m visiting my grandpa.”
“The old-farts ward is down two floors.”
“My grandpa is Edward Thompson.”
He frowned and then smiled. “I knew that,” he said and slapped me on the shoulder. I stumbled. “I’m just kidding around.”
He headed back out to the waiting area. I turned down the hall toward Grandpa’s room. John stood outside the door.
“Hey.” I jerked my thumb over my shoulder. “Do you know who that jerk is?”
John snorted. “That jerk is Anthony Roacks.”
I found Ms. Lin sitting on the edge of the bed, holding Grandpa’s hand. When she heard the door open, she let go and stood. Today she wore a short flowery dress and high heels. She looked less formal than usual, but to me that only made her more go
rgeous.
She smiled. I blushed.
“Hi, James.” She moved closer and lowered her voice. “He’s saying some odd things, but don’t worry, it’s only the medication.” I glanced past her. An intravenous line led from the suspended bag to his arm, but he looked OK otherwise.
“I’ll leave you two alone.”
I watched Ms. Lin leave before turning to Grandpa. His eyes were on the door, too. He let out a long sigh.
“That woman’s got a beautiful body,” he mumbled.
“Grandpa!”
“What?” His eyes were half-closed now. “It’s true.”
I agreed, but I wasn’t about to say so.
“Did you know I met her on a plane?” He slurred his words. “She was a stewardess … couldn’t take my eyes off her.” He laughed and pointed to his ice cup. I held it while he took a sip.
“So you hired her for her looks?”
“Listen, boy.” He wagged an unsteady finger while he tried to talk around the ice chips. “Why can’t I hire a beautiful woman? The airline did.” He dropped his hand. “But no, it was her eyes … Such confidence in them. Don’t see that very often.” He stopped again and stared at the wall, the only sound the rhythmic beeping of the monitors. “I’ve only seen that in a woman once before. Lin seemed so … familiar somehow. I couldn’t let her go after that.” His eyes drooped closed and his voice dropped to a whisper. “Couldn’t let her go a second time.”
I leaned closer. “Let who go?”
He cleared his throat. “This stuff’s better than whiskey.” He remained quiet, his eyes closed, and I began to wonder if he’d drifted off to sleep. I poked his shoulder and his eyes opened.
“Did you know someone else once, someone like Ms. Lin?”
He looked confused, but he nodded.
I put on my brightest smile. “I’ve never heard about this girl, Grandpa. Would you tell me the story, please?” Just like I used to ask for stories when I was a kid.
He made a clumsy attempt at scratching his face. “A long time ago … I met a girl … an amazing girl.” His voice was clearer now. “I wasn’t much older than you … right out of college.” He paused and his eyes slid closed, like a garage door coming down. I poked his shoulder harder this time.
“Where did you meet this amazing girl, Grandpa?”
His eyes opened a crack. “I went to the desert … the Mojave—”
“You met an Asian girl in the Mojave Desert?”
His eyes opened and then he squinted. “I never said she was Asian.” He glowered at me. “And … I wasn’t in the desert at the time. You wanna hear this … or not?”
“OK, OK, I’m sorry. So you met this girl who happens to look like Ms. Lin …”
He nodded. “I was looking for something … treasure. My father told me about it before he died … had a map.” He looked past me. “Indians showed me the place, but … they wouldn’t go near … said spirits lived there.”
I nodded like it made perfect sense.
“Still couldn’t find it … but I found her. Well, she found me … and I stayed with her for three days … but they wouldn’t let me stay, and I couldn’t ask her to come. I had nothing … I was broke.” His eyes closed again and his words began to fade. “I should’ve found a way …”
“Found a way to stay in the desert?”
“It wasn’t the damn desert!” The machines started beeping faster. I kept quiet and after a while the beeping slowed down. He started to fumble around, and when he hit the intravenous needle, he mumbled an “ouch.” Finally, he looked over at me. “Confusing for me, too,” he said with a sniff.
I nodded. “You said you were looking for treasure?”
He blinked a few times before answering. “Remember that gold I showed you … years ago?”
I glanced at my new watch.
“That’s right,” he said, nodding. “I used some … in your watch.” He paused and stared at me, his face perplexed as if waiting for something. “Well, don’t you see?”
“See what?”
“The girl led me to the gold.” His eyes returned to the ceiling. “Then she disappeared.”
I looked up at the intravenous line and felt guilty. I knew I should stop and let him rest, but I couldn’t.
“What was her name?”
He didn’t answer. His breathing became regular and his eyes remained closed. I looked up at the ceiling, cursing inside. Then he grabbed my hand and scared the hell out of me.
“Tomi.” His eyes opened a slice. “Her name was Tomi.”
I held my breath.
“The perfect girl.” A line of drool escaped his lips. “But money … power … they mean nothing now.” He paused. “Sometimes I wish she’d never shown me that damn gold.”
I looked out the window and tried to pull the pieces together. One thing seemed clear: Shoko hadn’t been lying about my grandpa knowing her mother.
“You used the gold to start your business?”
He nodded.
“That Bartholomew guy helped you, too, right?”
Grandpa let out a growl. “Bartholomew … helps himself.” He let out a long, slow sigh. “Can’t figure that bastard out … He’s been old since the day I met him.” He chuckled, but it turned into a cough. When he recovered, he grinned at the ceiling. “Lin looks like Tomi … but Lin has a better body.”
A nurse came in to check his vital signs and shooed me away from the bed. When I moved back to give her room, I noticed Ms. Lin standing near the door.
How long she’d been there, I didn’t know. She stared at me, her arms crossed, her face unreadable. “Why don’t we go get some dinner, James?” There was no stewardess smile this time. “The Chairman needs his rest.”
CHAPTER
8
We walked out to her steel-blue BMW Roadster and headed downtown against the flow of rush-hour traffic. The BMW was a two-seater, small and powerful, with a retractable hardtop that Ms. Lin opened at the first light. She drove fast, swerved around slow cars, and shifted and cornered like a pro. As she peeled away from a traffic light, the car’s engine roaring, she glanced at me.
“You like my car?” she yelled.
I nodded. “It’s awesome!” I yelled back. Grandpa must pay her a lot.
A few minutes later, we lurched to a stop in front of a trendy Italian restaurant on the ground floor of a converted four-story brick warehouse. I could see massive wood posts and beams through the windows of the loft apartments above, as if the building were showing its bones.
The valet took one look at the car and hurried around to open her door. I let myself out and waited on the sidewalk, hands stuffed into my jean pockets. As Ms. Lin walked around the car, a breeze fluttered the hem of her dress. She eyed me as she approached and then shocked me by reaching out to adjust my shirt collar and fix my hair.
“That’s better,” she said as she stepped back. “You’re a good-looking young man.”
I felt my face flush.
“You take after Edward.” She used his name with a familiarity that surprised me. “You should probably start dressing like his heir.”
“Why?” I frowned. “I want him to get better.”
“I didn’t mean it like that, James.” Her tone was softer now. “Let’s go eat.”
As we approached the glass restaurant doors, she nodded toward our reflection. I stood a little straighter, drawing myself up as far as I could, a hopeless effort against her high heels. Her long silky black hair brushed my shoulder as she tilted her head toward me.
“I look like a cougar.” She frowned and then purred in my ear. We both burst out laughing—I’d imagined many things about this woman, but a goofy laugh wasn’t one of them.
As we walked into the restaurant together, I wished Mack could see me. I looked at the beautiful woman beside me. “Ms. Lin, would you mind calling me Junya?”
“If that’s what you’d prefer,” she said. “And you can call me Lin. I feel like an old schoolmarm around you.
”
I smiled. “Deal.”
“Table for Edward Thompson, for two,” Lin told the man behind the reception desk while a surgically preserved middle-aged woman took our coats. The man said something to Lin.
“Put it on our personal account,” she said.
I didn’t have time to wonder what our personal account meant, because a short round man in a pinstripe suit pushed his way past the waiters and called to us in a thick Italian accent. He looked like a wise guy out of a gangster movie.
“Lin, what a surprise!” He kissed her on both cheeks. He looked at me, puzzled, and then his rosy face lighted up. “Ah, it is you, James!” He grabbed my shoulders. “You’re growing up. Soon you’ll be a big businessman like the Chairman, no?” He turned back to Lin. “I must apologize,” he said, “but the cellar room is already taken.” He forced a smile. “If I’d known you were coming …”
“Please don’t make a fuss, Antonio. Anywhere is fine.”
He guided us to a secluded table for two, where a waiter appeared and spread napkins on our laps. Lin ordered a glass of red wine, and by the time I’d gotten my bearings it was already half-gone.
“Do all Grandpa’s employees enjoy benefits like this?” I was also thinking about the BMW parked outside.
Lin gave me an “Are you kidding?” look, followed by a smile. “Only those Edward considers special.”
I noticed a group of businessmen watching her and exchanging comments.
“Do you know everyone stares at you,” I said, “even women?”
“I don’t dress like this expecting to be ignored.”
I flushed. “So … you like the attention?”
“Dressing well is one of the joys of being a woman.” She gave a small wave to the businessmen. Most of the men looked away, embarrassed. “But no, I don’t need their attention.”
One man in the group hadn’t looked away, and she held his gaze for a moment.
“Confidence like that is rare,” she said, turning back to me. “It’s very attractive, more than good looks and money combined.” Then she laughed. “Of course, if you’re rich and handsome, you tend to be confident.”
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