She was tiny and very round. He smiled again when he saw his cousin’s face light up.
Cole withdrew a small package from his pocket. “Your present,” he said with a flourish.
Sumi giggled. “Mexican jumping beans.”
“No, no, no. You drop them in hot water and little spongy animals appear. Look, a present is a present,” Cole said loftily.
“I shall treasure it always.” Sumi continued to giggle, her dark eyes dancing. “Riley, how wonderful to see you again,” she said, doing her best to hug him. “Ivy called. She said you and Cole are to get in touch with her as soon as you can. She called from a pay phone.”
“Ivy called from a pay phone?” Riley repeated in dismay.
“Person to person.” Sumi smiled. “I didn’t take the call. One of my sisters did and wrote down the message. I tried to call back, but Jonquil said Ivy was out, and that she was baby-sitting. That’s all I know, Riley.”
“We’ll call, but first we need some food,” Riley said. “In the garden, okay, Sumi? And you are to join us. None of these Japanese traditions that the men eat together while the women giggle behind the door.”
“I would love to join you, but I must go to town. I have an appointment with my obstetrician. My sister is driving me. We’ll visit later. Go, go,” she said, making shooing motions with her hands. “My sisters will make tea and sandwiches.”
“You’re all screwed up, as usual,” Cole said, patting her rump. “Make it Sapporo and liverwurst with raw onion on rye bread. We have an American here who doesn’t like Japanese food.” He made gnashing sounds with his teeth.
Sumi snorted. “This is what he eats every day. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to get rye bread? We have to make it for him. Fresh. Every single day. We love doing it.” She grimaced.
“Ivy walked the same way. Back home we call it the Sawyer waddle. I overheard Sawyer telling Ivy she had to walk like that so people really would believe she was pregnant. She said a protruding stomach didn’t count,” Riley volunteered. “Sometimes I think your sister is weird, Cole. The twins are just like her and they drive her nuts. Ivy said she’s a wonderful mother, so I guess that’s all that counts.”
Cole nodded. He didn’t want to talk about babies, his sister, or duck waddling.
“Let’s walk in the garden. It will take Sumi’s sisters at least ten minutes to get our food and beer out here. It will be interesting to see if it disappears.”
Riley snorted. “My grandfather didn’t like liverwurst and raw onion.” He fell into step with his cousin. “You know, this must be the most peaceful place on earth. As a child I thought so. When I brought my grandfather back here for the last time when I made my decision to stay in Texas, I came out here hoping somehow I’d gain ... insight, wisdom, something that would tell me I was making the right decision. I cried. I thought we were all going to live happily ever after. Crazy, huh?”
Five minutes later, in the garden, Cole said, “Shhh. Listen. Okay, the food is out. Come on, I’m going to prove something to you, Riley. I’m going to lock the door from the outside. We both know there’s only one entrance to the garden. No other exit. Do we agree on that?”
“Yeah,” Riley said, pushing his cap back on his head. He should be calling Ivy instead of playing games with Cole. He watched Cole throw the shiny new brass bolt on the garden side of the door to lock it.
On the glossy black lacquer tray, which had been set on the white iron table, were four sandwiches, two bottles of Sapporo beer, a plate of rice cakes, a small bottle of sake, a yellow rose with delicate petals in a tiny vase, a pair of linen napkins, and two Havana cigars.
Cole clipped both ends of the Havanas, handed one to Riley, and lit them with his gold Dunhill lighter. The cousins puffed until the ash on both cigars glowed. Cole placed his at one end of a huge onyx ashtray. Riley placed his at the opposite end. He felt silly as hell, though his cousin’s face was dead serious.
“What now, Sherlock?” Riley said tightly.
“We take a walk,” Cole said.
As they moved away from the table, Riley looked over his shoulder. He didn’t sense anything unusual. He wondered if his cousin was having a nervous breakdown.
“Keep your eyes on the path,” Cole went on, “and observe that there is not a twig, a leaf, or a pebble on this path. It’s clean. You wait, you’re going to see cigar ash all over the place. There’s no wind, no breeze.”
“Cole, I know how you felt about my grandfather, but I do not believe he’s here. His spirit, his soul, whatever, is at rest. Ask yourself why he would come back here. Such things don’t happen.” How desperate I sound, Riley thought.
“Then how do you explain the time Sawyer was in the hospital and we heard the angels sing? Even the doctor said he heard it.”
Riley shrugged. He’d never come to terms with the angels singing. As the two men walked slowly through the extensive garden, Riley thought about it. He’d heard what sounded like angels. So had his aunt Maggie, Cole, and the surgeon. Cary said Amelia’s spirit was always with him, pointing out right and wrong and making chandeliers tinkle. He’d seen that too. He found himself shivering.
“Cole, we should be going back. I have to call Ivy. There may be something wrong. Otherwise, why in the world would she call from a pay phone?”
“Maybe the phones went out. It used to happen all the time, don’t you remember? Then one of us would have to go into town and notify the phone company.”
Cole was probably right, Riley thought. The phones had gone out twice in the last two months. Ivy had probably gone to town to call him so that he wouldn’t worry if he tried to call home. He should have called her from Guam, he thought guiltily. “How long have we been out here?”
“Twenty-five minutes. Maybe you should call out to him.”
Riley would have laughed if his cousin’s expression hadn’t appeared so miserable. But then the fine hairs on his neck started to prickle, and a chill raced up his arms. His eyes dropped to the footpath.
Cole’s fist shot in the air. “I told you,” he said, pointing to the little pile of ash to the left of their feet. “That ash wasn’t there when we walked this way before.”
Cole ran down the path back to the little patio, with Riley at his heels. He triumphantly pointed to the onyx ashtray, where only Riley’s cigar now smoldered. Half of one bottle of Sapporo was gone, and the tiny sake bottle was completely empty. One rice cake was missing. The napkins remained undisturbed, and the brass bolt was still in place.
“Now do you believe me?” Cole demanded.
Riley shivered. “Where’s the cigar?”
“How the hell do I know? I was with you, remember?”
Riley sprinted down the path, poking and prodding every miniature shrub and bush that came within his line of vision. When he reached the small footbridge from which his grandfather loved to view the garden, he took a deep breath. He knew when he lowered his eyes he was going to see the remains of a mangled cigar. He didn’t know how he knew, but he knew. He swallowed hard. Then forced himself to look down, and there it was, two inches of mangled pure Havana. He found himself growing light-headed, and would have fallen but for Cole’s strong arm.
“What does he want?” Riley whispered.
“I don’t know,” Cole whispered back. “You ask. You knew to come to this bridge. Maybe he wants us together.”
Riley stepped slowly onto the bridge. When he arrived at his grandfather’s favorite spot, he whispered, “Tell us what you want. We don’t know what to do. Is it the deal with Sawyer? Grandmam Billie? Cole and me? Wait, wait, let’s do it one at a time.”
But there was no time to wait. Suddenly a furious wind roared outside the walls of the Zen garden. It ripped up and over the wall, feeling almost as strong as the tornado that had leveled Sunbridge.
“Get down,” Riley shouted.
All about them the ageless trees and shrubs were uprooted and tossed like twigs. When it was over, the only things remaining
untouched were the footbridge and the discarded Havana cigar at their feet.
“All of the above,” Riley said softly.
“Jesus. Why would he destroy this? He loved this garden. He told me once he wanted to die here but it would cause unhappy memories for his family and that’s why he chose the cherry blossom hill. He loved this garden. Nah, he didn’t do this. That was a freak. That was some—What do you mean, all of the above?” Cole asked in a shaky voice.
“I asked him if it was Sawyer, Grandmam Billie, and you and me. That’s when the ... whatever the hell it was hit. Do you have any idea how much those iron pagodas weigh? Hundreds of pounds, at least. Look where they are, all over the damn place. He must be in a hell of a snit to uproot those banzai trees. They’re hundreds of years old. It’s totally destroyed. I think we should decide right now, just the two of us, if we believe my grandfather did this or if this was some . . . fit of nature.”
There was such disgust on Cole’s face, Riley found himself wincing. “I guess I know what your vote is. As much as I hate to admit it, it was my grandfather. I don’t think we should . . . you know, tell anyone. Who the hell would believe us?”
The cousins sat together, arms wrapped around their knees, their shoulders touching.
“What does it all mean, Riley?” Cole asked softly.
“I don’t know. The Sawyer thing I can figure out. I guess you’re supposed to hand over the money with no strings. As for Grandmam Billie . . . she’s the head of the Coleman family, just the way my grandfather was head of this family. Maybe she’s going to step down and hand the reins over to Aunt Maggie. She already turned Billie Limited over to your mother. As for you and I, I was prepared to go to the wall with you. I would have, Cole.”
“I know. I would have let you win, too,” Cole said softly.
“You always were a softie, cousin.”
“Look who’s talking,” Cole said, thumping his cousin on the shoulder.
“Come on, we have to protect the roots of the banzai trees. See that one over there by the pagoda? It’s eight hundred years old.” Riley ripped at his shirt and light jacket. Cole did the same. When they had the roots bundled, they were shivering in their jockey shorts.
Sumi waddled up the footpath, her eyes dancing devilishly at the sight of her husband and his cousin. “Should I call the gardener?”
“I think that’s a real good idea. What did the doctor say?” Cole asked wrapping her in his arms.
“He said I’m about ready. One more week, he thinks. He gave me something new for my heartburn.”
“Wait a minute, how did you get out here? The door was bolted from the outside.”
Sumi held up a steak knife for her husband’s inspection. “I just slid it through the crack in the door and wiggled it till the bolt moved. Someone should tell me what happened,” she said, eyeing the destruction all about them.
“A crazy wind,” Riley said.
“Like a tornado,” Cole said.
“Do you really expect me to believe that?” Sumi giggled. “This garden has been through many storms, as well as a war, and it has never been touched. When the Zen master planned this garden, he said it would last till the end of time. My father did this, didn’t he? Somehow, some way, he ... so you made a believer out of me,” she said, tweaking her husband’s cheek. “Besides, no one but the owner of the garden can change it, remodel it, or dismantle it. Ask Riley. Old Japanese proverb.”
Cole looked at Riley. Riley looked at Sumi. He shrugged.
“See, I’m always right.” Sumi smiled.
As Cole and Riley trekked down the hallway to the bedroom side of the house, they heard titters and laughter. Cole knew Sumi was egging her sisters and nieces on. He heard them making comments about nice buns and Chippendale bodies.
“Jesus,” Riley said, after ducking into the first bedroom he came to. “When I left here, the aunts and nieces would never even raise their eyes. What the hell did you do to them?”
“Introduced them to our local version of MTV. They’re women of the nineties now.” Cole laughed uproariously. Riley thought it a good sound.
Thirty minutes later he was on the phone with Ivy. Cole and Sumi sat directly across from him.
After he hung up, Riley’s face was the color of old parchment. He repeated Ivy’s news, his vision blurred by the mist in his eyes. He rubbed them and saw tears trickling down Sumi’s cheeks.
“You must go now, Cole,” she said. “I will pack your bags. There is nothing to worry about where I am concerned. I have my sisters and a very fine doctor. Tell your family I will be with them in spirit.”
Cole hugged his wife. “Are you sure, Sumi?”
“I am absolutely sure. You will give my love to all and express my regrets.”
“Sumi—”
“It is your family, Cole, you must go. Help me up, please.”
Cole pretended to grunt. “Two tons at least.”
“At least,” Sumi sniffed. Riley jerked back when she whistled shrilly between her teeth. The sisters came on the run, their kimonos flapping in a rainbow of color. With her index finger, Sumi pointed to each sister and issued orders in rapid-fire Japanese. Riley tried to get the gist of it, which was, Snap to it, don’t drag your feet, and be here with my husband’s bag in ten minutes along with a basket of food.
“Do not move, Riley, I have a present for little Moss. I bought it yesterday on the Ginza and was going to mail it tomorrow. Now you can take it to him and tell him it is from his aunt Sumi and uncle Cole.” She waddled away.
“She’s one in a million,” Cole said quietly.
“Try two in two million,” Riley whispered.
“That . . . that holocaust out there . . . Grandmam Billie . . . Cary ... it really is us now.”
“Cole,” Riley whispered, “I don’t have anyone left. My grandfather, Grandmam Billie . . . my mother and father.”
“I know what you’re trying to say here, Riley, but you’re wrong. You have Ivy and Moss. Hell, you’re the perfect brother. You have all these ditzy aunts coming out of the woodwork, and you have all the Colemans. You said it before—family is what counts. It’s all coming full circle. Grandmam Billie says life does that. Your grandfather and Grandmam Billie—they did their best to make it right for us. It’s up to us now. We can handle it, Riley, I know we can. While we’re in Texas, we are going to unite our families spiritually and financially. From this moment on we are—”
“One family,” Riley said in a hushed whisper.
“One family,” Cole agreed.
“In alphabetical order,” Riley said airily.
“Now why did I know you were going to say that?”
“Coleman-Hasegawa Enterprises. I like that.”
“I do too,” Cole said.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The trees with their budding spring foliage rustled softly in the early morning air. Two plump birds sat atop the barbecue grill, tussling over a fat worm. Inside, peering between the chintz kitchen curtains, Rand watched with interest. He noticed that the bird feeders, placed strategically around the small yard, were empty. He wondered whose job it was to fill them—Ferhs’s or Susan’s? Before he left, he would check the garage to see if there was any seed, and if there wasn’t, he’d go to the nearest feed store and buy some. Nobody, human or animal, should have to fight for food, he thought.
Rand turned from the window to survey the tidy kitchen. He loved kitchens. His adopted mother Amelia loved kitchens too. All the Colemans loved kitchens. Kitchens were like nesting places, warm and cozy, where families gathered to eat together, to share their day. He liked Susan’s little clay pots on the extra wide . windowsill. He leaned over and sniffed. Mint, thyme, parsley, and rosemary. The same herbs Maggie had on their windowsill at home. It must be something sisters did.
The sun would be up in a few minutes, and if it was going to be a nice day, the kitchen would flood with light and warmth. His eye swiveled to the huge Mickey Mouse clock on the wall, and he laughed
silently to himself. Susan must have hung the clock for Jessie, to try and teach her how to tell time. Or she hung it for the child in herself. Suddenly he wanted to know why the Mickey Mouse clock was in the kitchen. He stored the question in his mind. When the proper time presented itself, he would ask his sister-in-law.
Time to start breakfast. He realized he was ravenous. As he rinsed the coffeepot and added fresh grounds, he thought about the reasons he was here and what he hoped to accomplish. Two days to pay the outstanding bills and have the phone turned back on. Two days to have Susan’s car serviced and filled with gas. Two days to buy a few groceries and pack Susan’s belongings in the three large traveling cases in the attic. One case alone was full of sheet music, old contracts, brochures, and playbills.
When he heard the first plop of the percolator, Rand added strips of bacon to the frying pan. He’d just finished whipping the fluffy yellow mixture in the bowl when Valentine padded into the kitchen dressed in a thick, sky-blue terry robe with a matching towel on her head. She looked about sixteen, Rand thought.
“What’ll it be, scrambled eggs or pancakes?”
“Both. Lots of bacon and three pieces of toast. I like to dip my toast in coffee. Soft butter, and by any chance do you have strawberry jelly?”
“No, but we have apple butter,” Rand said, expertly flipping the bacon.
“Sounds good,” Val said, lighting a cigarette. “You do that like a pro.”
“I always make breakfast on the weekends for Maggie. In the beginning, she’d make me do it over and over till I got it right. One time I used up four dozen eggs till I got them scrambled just the way she likes them. You should see my pancakes. They’re so light they almost float.”
Val laughed as she poured herself a cup of coffee, then sat back down. “In the scheme of things, I’d say that’s pretty important.”
Rand laid the crisp bacon on paper towels to drain, washed the frying pan and added butter just the way Maggie taught him. She didn’t like the little specks of bacon that were in the eggs when you fried them in bacon grease. He searched for bowls for the pancake mix. With his head in the cabinet under the sink, he muttered, “You can use the car. I’m going to be stuck here all day waiting for the realtor who didn’t show up yesterday.”
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