Ink and Ashes

by Valynne E. Maetani

  I shifted my gaze to Mom. “Everyone keeps saying what a good man he was, and we’re expected to believe it, but no one’s told us the stories that made him good! We don’t talk about anything truly important because it might be painful or considered complaining and that’s not helpful to anyone. Shikata ga nai. It can’t be helped, right?” The words tumbled out before I could catch them, each trembling as they hung in the air. “We’re taught that our ability to suffer in silence is a good thing. But it sucks. Can I imagine how painful this was for you to talk about? Yes. I think I can.”

  A tear escaped, rolled down my cheek, and landed in my lap. Then another. And then something broke, and my chest heaved with each angry sob. I clasped my hands together to keep them from shaking, and stared through the slats of the blinds into the inky black sky.

  No one said anything. Parker and Avery hung their heads.

  “I’m sorry,” Mom whispered.

  The darkness held my gaze. I waited for her to say more, but she didn’t. If I could string together every story, every little thing she had mentioned about my father since we moved here, the sum probably wouldn’t have added up to what she’d shared in this short time. Maybe she had used up all her words. Guilt crept in. My intent hadn’t been to hurt anyone or be disrespectful. I only wanted things to be different.

  “I’m sorry too,” I said.

  “Claire,” Dad said in a gentle tone.

  I turned to face him. His expression was smooth, comforting. It occurred to me that hearing my mom’s expression of love for another man must have been painful.

  “We’re not perfect. But we try,” Dad said. “And there’s always room for improvement.”

  Avery parted his narrow lips. “So what’s the plan?”

  Dad lifted his glasses with a finger and rubbed his eye. “I don’t know. On the surface, it seems like a hit and run. When the police examined our van, they found the only damage done by the other car was a dent on the back bumper. There’s not enough evidence to suggest it was an attempted homicide, unless you add everything together. They’ve assured me they will be taking this very seriously, and pursuing it keeping everything in mind, but they’ve also asked we exercise patience and not take matters into our own hands.”

  Dad pushed off the arm of the loveseat and rose to his feet to stand next to me. “But I’m not very good at being patient.” He put his hand over mine. “And I plan to find out who did this to you, and I will make sure he doesn’t come near you or the boys ever again. In the meantime, I think we just need to take care of each other like we always have, and I believe the best thing we can do is live our lives with caution, but not fear.” He pointed his finger in the air. “Use your ingenuity, kids.”

  “I think we would be much safer not going to school anymore,” Parker said.

  “Nice try,” Dad said. His expression silenced Parker’s snickering. “Unfortunately, I need to go to New York for the next few days. I know the timing couldn’t be worse, but this is pretty important. I want Claire to stay home the rest of this week so she can heal, but you boys aren’t going to be so lucky. I should be back by the time she returns to school, but Parker, I want you to get the guys together, and let them know I want everyone watching out for her like a hawk. We should be careful, but go on with our normal lives. People can do some very ugly, desperate things when they think you’re on to them.”

  My instinct was to argue my ability to take care of myself and voice my need for independence, but it seemed inappropriate. And someone had tried to kill me. Knowing everyone was keeping an eye out for trouble was a good thing. I’m sure Dad knew as well as I did there was nothing the guys could do if someone was after me, but I had also never seen him frozen in worry for so long.

  THREE DAYS PASSED before the hospital allowed me to go home. I was ready to be discharged after two days, but Mom made them run almost every test again with the exception of the CT scan and MRI. But I knew Mom better than that, and I’m sure the real reason for the delay was that the day I would have been released was on a “bad luck day” according to the Japanese lunar calendar. I’m sure the doctor could have refused Mom’s request, but to my dismay, he placated her, and I was subjected to more tests on my vision and balance and memory and reflexes and concentration.

  The doctor said I should resume activities slowly, returning to school after a week of rest. He then informed us I shouldn’t return to the soccer field for at least a couple of weeks, but he’d want to see how I was doing at that time before he felt comfortable giving me clearance to play. Based on my test results, I would most likely be able to play after a week, but a longer absence from soccer meant a lesser chance of reinjury, and if it were his child, he’d probably keep them away from a contact sport for a full two months.

  Once Mom heard that, I knew I would be out for the rest of the soccer season. I think I would have been more upset if I didn’t have so many other pressing things to occupy my mind.

  Dad helped me out of the car and inside the house. I didn’t think I’d needed the help, but he insisted. The muscles in my neck and back ached, and the bruises all over my body screamed if I moved the wrong way.

  Mom was skirting around the kitchen in her pink tracksuit when we walked in from the garage. She closed the door to the pantry. “I’ve got the family room all prepared for you,” she said.

  I hesitated. “Thanks, but I think I need to be in my own room.”

  She placed a hand on her hip. “We’ll be able to keep an eye on you better if you’re on the main floor, but fine.”

  Dad shrugged. “I’ll help her up.”

  Every step up the stairs required more effort than I expected, but once I was in my room, my sanctuary, a feeling of relief washed over me. Dad left my bag by the closet and helped me into my bed.

  Before long, my mind was at work again, still trying to put all the pieces together because I hadn’t made any progress in the hospital. It made sense that my parents felt the recent events had been related to my father, but I wasn’t able to figure out what that meant.

  Parker brought a TV into my room to make my existence a little more tolerable.

  “Thanks.” I slumped in despair. “But day after day of watching television—twenty-four/seven? That may be your lifelong goal of achievement, but certainly not mine.”

  “I have goals.” Parker set down the TV. “I just don’t share them with you because they’d blow your mind.” His expression turned serious. He plugged the TV into the socket and turned it on. “There you go—your entertainment for the week.”

  He left and came back with an armful of string and pulleys.

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  “Trust me,” he said. “You’ll love it.”

  Even if I didn’t trust him, I had learned I couldn’t stop him once his mind was set on a tinkering project. By the time he finished, I had two strings hanging over my bed. They ran along the ceiling and down the wall to the light switch.

  “Pull the string on your right when you want to turn the light off,” Parker said. “And pull the other one when you want to turn it on.”

  The string on my right moved along pulleys on the ceiling and down the wall and tied around the toggle light switch from the bottom. I gave it a tug, and the string pulled the toggle switch down. The light turned off. I pulled the string on my left, and it moved along its own pulley system and pulled the toggle switch up. The light came back on.

  “That’s pretty cool,” I said. “Thank you.” I appreciated the sentiment and didn’t mention how I was actually feeling pretty good, probably didn’t need to miss a week of school to heal, and was perfectly capable of walking over to the switch myself. My brother would never do anything nice for me again if I did.

  “I knew you would like it,” he said.

  “Hey, if you don’t have a date for the dance, I was thinking you should consider asking Mika.”

  “Because?”

  “She thinks you’re cute and funny.”

>   He nodded. “Smart girl.”

  I looked through the window and found Forrest waiting at his window. I motioned for him to join us.

  In no time, Nicholas entered carrying pillows and blankets. “Party in Claire’s room.” He lunged at the bed as if to pounce on me.

  I narrowed my eyes and signaled for him to stop. “Don’t even think about it.”

  “Aw, I’m just playing with you, Kiki,” Nicholas said and kissed the top of my head. “I’m on direct orders from your father to protect you, so I’ll pulverize you another time.”

  “Bring it on,” I said.

  For a brief instant everything felt . . . normal—almost. The guys piled everywhere. Reality shows were on TV. Fed and Avery arm-wrestled on the floor.

  Before long, everyone was out cold except for Forrest. He leaned against the wall with an unfocused stare. “You okay?”

  Muscles and bruises groaned as I rolled over and faced him. I’d just taken my night pain med dose, hoping it might help me sleep, but it hadn’t kicked in yet. “Everything hurts, mostly my neck and back, but I’ll heal.”

  “But are you okay?”

  “Go to sleep. I’m fine.”

  “You’re a horrible liar,” he said, making himself comfortable on the floor.

  “I know.” If this was related to my father’s past, I couldn’t help but wonder why everything was happening now. The only thing I knew for sure was it had all started with finding the note from my father to my dad. No one had sent me gross threatening packages or followed me in a black car before that. Chase had never done more than make fun of me in class.

  “Forrest,” I said, my eyelids finally getting heavy. “Do you think I might have called someone in the yakuza when I called that phone number?”

  Silence hung between us awhile before he answered. “It seems possible. Or it could have been the autopsy report like you said before. Or it could be because they’d been looking for your family for a long time, and they’ve finally found you. Maybe they don’t know your father’s dead.”

  What if my father had done something they wanted revenge for? What if the story he’d told my parents was a lie and there was another reason he needed to escape? What if . . . ?

  Eventually the pain medication began to take over, quieting my aching body, and my eyelids grew heavy.

  After almost a week of rest, the pain had died down, but not completely. I could open my left eye again, but it was black and blue and looked like I had lost a boxing match. Sometimes I couldn’t remember new things that had happened since being home. The doctor said that was normal and would hopefully be temporary, but to me it was only another reminder of the nightmare I was living.

  I sat on my bed and stared through the window at the formless shapes in the darkness. The moon crept higher but hid with the stars behind a sky full of clouds.

  Physically, I had healed enough to go back to school, but whenever I thought about my return the next day, my chest grew tight.

  Outside of our family and the guys, the only thing anyone else would know is I had been in a hit-and-run car accident. No one would know it was completely intentional. Dad said the less information the public had, the better chance we’d have of catching the person who did this. We hadn’t been informed there were any leads on the case. I didn’t expect them to find the culprit overnight, but my experience with Officer Schwartz had me worried nothing was being done, and I hoped they would prove me wrong.

  I hadn’t seen the black SUV since the day it chased me home, and I could only assume the white car had somehow been linked. I tried to focus on the father I knew, the one I loved. But everything that had happened to me, every horrible experience in the past few weeks seemed to lead back to him. What other explanation could there be for the crow’s eyes, representing bad luck; given in a set of four, which means death; my name written in red ink the way it is on Japanese gravestones; and the Japanese music? I guess I couldn’t complain I hadn’t been warned. Someone wanted me dead.

  I reached underneath the mattress and retrieved my diary. The thoughts of all the bad things my father could have done while in the yakuza clouded my mind as I leafed through each page. If his rank in the clan was as high as Dad had suggested, it was a guarantee my father had done some pretty awful things. Most girls began their entries with “Dear Diary,” but all of mine began with “Dear Otochan.”

  The first page was from my first day of middle school. I removed it delicately. But every rip after that became more and more careless until shreds of paper surrounded me. I only stopped when Forrest knocked on the door.

  He entered and, without saying a word, bent down to help me clean up the pieces of paper, scattered like confetti. Then I slammed the diary shell into the garbage can.

  I sat back on the bed.

  Forrest sat down beside me. “Are you ready to go back tomorrow?” he asked.

  “Not really.” I sighed.

  “You and Mumps seemed to be getting along well,” he said.

  “I guess. He’s funnier than I thought he’d be.” Talking about Mumps seemed a little random.

  The back of his hand brushed across my cheek, then slid down my arm until his fingers intertwined with mine on the bed. His expression was somber.

  Something whirred inside of me, soft and barely noticeable.

  “Forrest?” I said.

  His mind wandered somewhere else, and I wondered if he had even heard me. He stared at our hands, still together, and said, “Claire, I’ve known you since the second grade. And I don’t even know at what point you became my best friend—”

  “Middle school,” I said. “All of you guys had been invited to a party Brooke was throwing, but she didn’t invite me. You pulled me off the couch and said, ‘Everyone knows I don’t want to go anywhere without you. Get in the car because your mom’s gonna leave us.’ You were so bossy back then.”

  He moved his thumb back and forth along my finger. “Yeah, I guess that sounds about right. I mean the becoming best friends part. Not the bossiness.” He sighed and wriggled closer.

  “I don’t even know where she goes to school now,” I said, “but I guess I owe her.”

  “Do you think we’ll always be best friends?” he asked.

  “Of course. Why would you even ask me that?”

  The way he held my hand, the strain on his face, and the torment in his eyes made the weight of what he was really saying start to register.

  “I don’t know if . . .” His forehead crinkled for a brief moment. “I don’t want you to pick Mumps,” he said in a soft voice.

  I finally understood. Forrest was answering the question I never dared to ask him. He opened his lips to say more, but I put my finger to them.

  “Why now?” I tried to slow my breathing as I lifted my finger from his lips.

  “Because I was so scared. When I first saw you after the accident, your eye was swollen and you had bruises everywhere, and I kept thinking, What if something had happened to her, and I never told her?”

  His words spilled out so quickly that I could barely keep up with him. He continued, “But even before that, I saw you laughing with Mumps, and I thought I was going to explode.” His eyes were wide and I think his breaths were coming as fast as my own. “I literally thought I might rip him off that bench and beat him up. And I didn’t understand how you could pick him over me. What does he have that I don’t? I have been here this whole time, Claire.” He took an exasperated breath. “Pick me.”

  I didn’t know what to say.

  “Pick me,” he said louder.

  There had been times I had wondered if he wanted something deeper than friendship. There were times I’d even wondered if I wanted something more. But I’d never considered what I would do if I knew for sure. I hadn’t let myself hope. It was too much of a risk. What if it didn’t work out?

  I shook my head. “Mumps doesn’t have anything over you.” I looked away, gathering my thoughts. “How long have you known?” I asked softly.
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  “Since the second grade,” he said. “Pretty much right after we moved next door.” He raked his fingers through his hair. “I wanted to kiss you so badly.”

  “What?!” I hadn’t meant for it to sound so loud.

  “Do you remember the first time I played soccer with you guys, and Fed got hurt?”

  I managed a nod.

  “And you ran over to him and held his hand?” Forrest raised his eyebrows. “I remember wishing I was the one who had gotten hurt so you would worry over me like that.”

  I grasped for something to say, but came up empty. He pulled my hand onto his lap and turned it over. The bruises on the inside of my arm and wrist had lost their deep purple color and were fading into shades of yellow and green. He traced patterns on my palm with his finger.

  “Why didn’t you tell me before?” I said, still quiet.

  “I did.” His finger stopped. “Kind of.” He lifted his eyes. “I asked you to marry me.”

  “We were in the third grade,” I said, breaking into a nervous laugh. I bit at my lip to make myself stop.

  “I got you a ring and everything. And it wasn’t cheap either. I used a lot of tickets at Chuck E. Cheese’s to buy that thing,” he said. “And I told you in all those notes I wrote to you.”

  We had passed notes. Everyone had. But none of the ones from Forrest ever told me how he felt about me. I would have remembered that. I gave him a questioning look.

  “And then never gave you,” he admitted. “Or when my dog died, and I told you I loved you for loving her as much as I did?”

  My heart melted, but the rest of me had never felt more complete. Excitement radiated through me, freeing my muscles from stiffness and aching.

  He tilted his head to the side and sneaked a glance at me. “Or when you didn’t get invited to Brooke’s party, and I told you that I never wanted to go anywhere without you.” He locked onto my eyes. “That hasn’t changed.”