Cole laughed. "I can't do that, Mr. Hasegawa."
"That is my problem, too. They mean well, but they are ... pests," the old one said fretfully.
"I can relate to that." Cole laughed again. "Perhaps they will extend your bedtime. A compromise."
"I don't like that word, Coleman san. A compromise means someone wins and someone loses. It is a word I try to avoid. One gives up things and gains things. Winners and losers. I lose and have to go to bed, but I do not sleep."
They talked, intensely at first, and then quietly. West meeting East, and finally understanding. It was after eleven by Cole's watch when a Shadow fell across his lap. He almost burst out laughing at the expression on the old Japanese's face.
"You see what they have done? My daughter fears my wrath, so she sends in a child, whom she knows I cannot refuse. They call this little spirit Top Gun. She is a buzz saw, meaning she will swoop me up and carry me to my room if I don't follow her docilely."
Cole noticed that the old one rose with difficulty, rejecting the child's offer of her arm. He walked with a cane these days, but at least he was walking. In the dim garden light Cole thought he looked about the same as he had in November, with the exception of the cane.
"I rise at five. If you would like to join me at that time, I have my breakfast, if you can call it that, here in the garden," he said with a grimace.
Cole nodded. "I'll be here."
It was evident to Cole, when he walked to the garden for his early-morning breakfast, that the Hasegawa household revolved around Riley's grandfather. Never in his life had he seen so much quiet bustling. Everyone, it seemed, had her own job. The little girls tittered behind their hands as he nodded formally. He wondered if Riley knew all their names.
They all appeared to be school age. All the little girls were dressed in uniforms—no blue jeans and sneakers here. He doubted if any of the children were aware their counterparts in the United States dressed differently. The United States must seem like another world to them.
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"Mush!" the old Japanese said sourly after he greeted Cole. "You will, of course, have the traditional American breakfast of ham and eggs. One of my daughters tells me they prepared something called grits for you. The name alone would prevent me from eating it. You will have coffee and I will have tea. I will pretend not to see you eat, and you must not watch me consume this. .. this mess they say is good for my digestive system. Dig in, Coleman san."
He did. The ham was pink and succulent, the scrambled eggs light and fluffy. The toast was warm, with butter and blackberry jam. The coffee was a blend of aromas that did strange things to his nostrils. The grits, he forced down. He almost laughed when he remembered Riley saying that eating grits was like eating warm snot. His mother had reprimanded him, but she'd never served grits to Riley again.
Cole pushed his plate away. "That was one of the best breakfasts I've had in a long time. Your mush looks... awful."
"I know. I complain just to stay in practice. The food I like, I can no longer eat. It tears up my insides. I endure."
"All your family lives here, in this house?" Cole asked.
"Yes, all my married daughters have apartments of their own. I have twelve grandchildren living here. All but two go to school. In Japan space is limited. Children live with their families. It is our way. This house was meant for many people. When Riley was growing up, it was a very happy house. He was the first grandchild. You Americans say, the apple of my eye. Soon I will introduce you to all my family, save my youngest daughter. She is already at the paper, working. She will return late this morning to tell me what she has done right or wrong. Usually it is wrong. She does not want to marry. A career, she says. She wants to be a modern Japanese. When no one is about, she sneaks me a cigar or some sake."
Cole was on his third cup of coffee when the family parade started. First the children were introduced. They bowed formally and left. The daughters approached their father respectfully. He took each one's hand as he introduced them. Each was prettier than the next one. He was surprised; he hadn't expected beauty. He'd seen pictures of Riley's mother, and she'd been pretty, too. The last daughter was the only one to speak. She did so in halting English. "Your breakfast was satisfactory?"
"Yes, thank you."
"If there is anything you wish, ring my father's bell."
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"Nannet, the children will be late for school," the old man said.
"Is Nannet a Japanese name?" Cole asked.
The old man snorted. "This foolish old man you are sitting next to agreed with his wife that she could pick the names for the girls and I would be the one to choose the boys' names. I had no boys. My wife was addicted to the American film stars. Nannet is named after Nanette Fabray. I believe she was a singer. When our last daughter was born, my wife took pity on me and allowed me to name her Sumi. She also permitted me to name Riley's mother, our firstborn. I named my daughter Sumi after my own mother.
"Let us walk about my garden, Coleman san, or my daughters will insist I take a nap. I will tell you what each plant is and when it was planted. A true Zen master planned this garden for my wife and myself. I think it is my favorite spot on earth. If I had more strength, I would take you to a place that is my second favorite spot in the world. I used to take Riley there and hold his hand on the climb. He trusted me then and only wanted to please me."
"Sir, Riley still trusts you."
"Perhaps. I was about to tell you about my second favorite spot. I will ask Sumi to take you there. Beyond my house in the back there is a cherry tree grove. I myself planted the trees when I married. My wife loved the cherry blossoms. At the end of the grove there is a hill. The trees line the walkway on both sides. The top is level, a circle really. My wife planted the trees on the circle, and my Zen master did the rest of the sculpting. I wish to die in that spot. My first choice would be to die here in this garden, but it would leave unhappy memories for my children and grandchildren. None of them love the special place on the hill. My wife is buried there. So is Otami, and next to Otami is a cross that bears Riley's father's name. The only thing buried there is his flight bag. Otami insisted. My wife and I had no objections. In all the trips that Riley made here, he would never go to the cherry blossom hill."
"It would have been too painful for him," Cole said loyally.
"Yes. We must all experience pain and sorrow, for if we don't, how will we know happiness? Come, my daughters are lurking in the windows. You will have more coffee and I will have more tea. Women are only happy when they are fussing
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about serving food and clearing up. There are days when I feel Sumi has the right idea."
The old Japanese and the young American talked of many things as they sipped their tea and coffee. Every so often a comfortable silence would ensue, or the old one would drift off to sleep. Cole was amazed; he could fall asleep in the middle of a sentence, sleep fifteen minutes, wake, and continue with what he was saying.
"Sumi will be here soon. She always brings me a present, some little thing that catches her eye. Or she will bring a cigar and close the doors so no one can see me puff the evil smoke. Perhaps today there will be a cigar. We could share it, and if my daughters spy on us, you could say it was yours."
"Yes, I could do that," Cole laughed.
Fifteen minutes later the doors behind them slid open. "Ah, here she is. This is my daughter Sumi, Coleman san."
Cole got to his feet. The old Japanese watched Cole and Sumi as they shook hands.
In the blink of an eye, Cole Tanner fell in love. In that first brief moment, he knew all those sensations that a man experiences when he comes face-to-face with his emotional destiny. His entire body was alive with feelings that he had never known before. He knew now, in this briefest of seconds, that he was looking at the one woman who could fill the emptiness in his life, the one woman with whom he would share his whole being.
And, as if nature had planned the meeting, Sumi
was aware, for the first time in her life, of what a beautiful sensation it was to look at a man and know he had been predestined to be hers. Yes, in the blink of an eye, Sumi Hasegawa also fell in love.
Because of the intensity of their own experience, neither Cole nor Sumi was aware of the joy on the countenance of the old Japanese as the two of them shook hands.
The day after Cole's introduction to Sumi, the old man took to his bed, but not before he instructed his daughter to look after their guest. The paper could do without her editorial input, he explained to Cole. Hers was just a window-dressing job, to keep her from pestering him to death. Allowing her to work at the paper was his concession to her demand to be a modern Japanese. While Cole was here, she would have another job: to be his guide. And, she'd thought slyly, if her father hadn't found a way for her to be in Cole's company, she would have found one
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herself. She winked at her father, a sign that she was more than a little interested in their American guest.
She spoke, telling Cole what she'd planned; he listened, wishing she'd go on speaking forever. Her musical, lyrical voice intrigued him. Her accent was soft; at times, the way she strung her words together seemed awkward to his ear, but the effect was foreign and exotic. He loved it. . .and her. Why had Riley never mentioned this beautiful young woman?
Cole paced the bedroom Sumi's oldest sister had assigned to him. He was pleased to see it was Western, with no mats or rice paper partitions; for visitors, he assumed. He felt lightheaded, and his stomach was queasy—leftover jet lag, no doubt. Or. .. was this how you felt when you were in love? His heart skittered in his chest at the thought.
Cole sat down with a thump on the edge of the bed. He felt his brow the way his mother used to do when she thought he was sick. Cool as mountain water. He'd never been in love before. Oh, he'd had his share of flirtations, affairs, and then his relationship with Lacey. He'd been bewitched and bedazzled by Lacey, the most serious of all his affairs, but he knew from the beginning it wasn't going to be permanent. All that play time was behind him. It was time now for what he really wanted: warmth, laughter, and humor, along with shared insights and gentle touches. Someone to care enough about him to worry if he was warm or cold, sick or well. He wanted someone to argue with, someone to indulge, someone to kiss hello and good night. He wanted someone to encourage him, someone to understand him, someone to listen to him when he had something to say. He wanted love.
Sumi Hasegawa. It has to be the most beautiful-sounding name on earth. Sumi Tanner. Mrs. Coleman Tanner. Mr. and Mrs. Cole Tanner.
The ring of heat around Cole's neck made him touch his brow again; it was still cool. It was possible he was getting sick. Sumi could take care of him. She was so fragile, so delicate, so very beautiful. She had such warm, melting eyes, dark and soft like licorice. Those eyes had stared into his soul. . . and what had they seen? He wondered.
She was attracted to him, that much he knew. Tomorrow they were going on a picnic, an outing she said she would arrange. A blanket, a picnic basket, walking hand in hand. Sharing thoughts on the past and the future. Sharing their families. He'd
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seek her advice about Riley. She'd probably tell him things he didn't know about his cousin, things he needed to know.
Riley was half-Japanese. Sumi was all Japanese. What would his family say? A lump settled in his throat. He had to slow down and think carefully. To his knowledge, no one in his family was prejudiced. He didn't realize he was holding his breath until it exploded from his throat. Thank God. He realized in this second that it didn't matter what his family thought. The ring of heat crawled up to his face. Marry. He'd just met the girl and already he was thinking of marriage. He wondered if it had been like this for Riley's father. Maybe Sumi knew, or maybe Mr. Hasegawa knew. He wondered if it would be all right to ask. He decided he'd voice the question if the right moment appeared. The worst thing they could do was to tell him it was none of his business.
Cole lay back in the deep, comfortable bed and looked around the room. He'd slept here last night, but he hadn't really noticed the room, other than the bed. Now he was aware of everything—the clean, tangy scent of the bedclothes, something that smelled like lemon and eucalyptus, colorful paintings on the wall, the soft carpet which was a peachy cream color, a Sony television, a Sony VCR, a Sony Walkman, a Sony stereo unit, and a host of other gadgets all neatly aligned in a corner. All the comforts of home.
Cole leaped off the bed and raced to the bathroom. If he felt different, he must look different. The face that looked back at him in the mirror was the same one he'd always had. He leaned closer to the mirror. Summer-blue eyes stared back at him. They appeared bright and curious in the smoky mirror. Eyes that were alive, thirsting for... for what? Sumi, of course. He would never be able to drink his fill of her if he lived to be a hundred.
The bathroom was something out of Arabian Nights. He had showered and shaved in here, last night or this morning, but for the life of him, he couldn't remember. There were no damp towels to offer a clue. His toiletries were still in their zippered Louis Vuitton bag. There wasn't a speck of water anywhere.
The bathroom itself had to be at least twelve by fifteen feet, he judged. Gold leaf marble walls complemented the sunken black marble Jacuzzi. The faucets and hand grips looked like gold, and probably were. A massive vanity with three black marble sinks took up one entire wall. Cole snapped a switch and wasn't surprised to hear soft music. A second switch produced
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recessed lighting, a third offered a red heat lamp.
Three fat-bellied china Buddhas sat in a tier, gazing benevolently at him. Cole christened them Mickey, Mike, and Mo. He shook his head in disbelief as he walked back to his bedroom. This was some spread.
Sumi tiptoed around her bedroom; she wasn't sure why she was trying to be so quiet. So she could hear her thoughts, maybe—thoughts of Cole Tanner. She knew she was in love; every beat of her heart told her so. It wasn't just Cole Tanner's handsome presence that was making her heart beat fast, it was all the things her father had told her about him, too. She'd sneaked his letters and read them over and over till she knew them by heart. Somehow, someway, she must have known this was going to happen. All along she'd been preparing herself for this fateful meeting. Now it was a reality. Was she pretty enough, intelligent enough, interesting enough, to make Cole fall in love with her? How did she compare to American girls with their freedom, their panache, their opportunities? She felt something squeezing her heart when she looked into her mirror. She was too tiny, her hair was too black, her skin too honey-colored. Most American women were taller, had golden hair and peaches-and-cream complexions. What could Cole Tanner possibly see in her? Her dark eyes filled with tears.
She was the rebel in the family, and her father indulged her because she was the youngest, the baby. She knew her job at the newspaper was a token concession, but she didn't care. It was a start. That wasn't to say she didn't love and respect the old ways, but time moved on, and she didn't want to be in a gridlock, like her sisters. Life was too wonderful, too precious to remain behind locked walls, seeing to a house and children. She hadn't been willful or adamant; she'd pleaded with her father to understand. If the Coleman family weren't entwined with her family, her father would never, ever have allowed her to work at the paper. In their own way, the American side of her family, as she referred to them, had helped her get where she was now. It was a start.
She loved getting up in the morning to the sound of her alarm clock. She loved dressing in tailored Western clothes. She loved bustling to the kitchen for coffee and juice, the way she'd seen the American film stars do. But the best part was taking the bus to the paper.
Now, in the blink of an eye, her life had changed. She
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couldn't help wondering if her older sister Otami had felt the way she was feeling when she met Riley Coleman, Sr. The Colemans had turned their backs on Otami and her young son. No, th
at wasn't fair; only Moss Coleman had turned his back on her sister and her baby. The other Colemans didn't even know about Otami and little Riley, and when they found out, they came immediately to try to make things right. That was when the Hasegawas and the Colemans became intertwined.
If she could manage to make Cole Tanner fall in love with her, she knew his mother and grandmother would accept her. There was no prejudice in any of the living Colemans—at least, none that she knew of.
Sumi sat down on a hard wooden chair with a thump. She grimaced. And how do I make Cole Tanner fall in love with me? How? She wished she knew how Otami had made Riley's father fall in love with her. She smiled ruefully, knowing full well you couldn't make someone fall in love with you. Either it happened or it didn't. She crossed her fingers, then she crossed her slim legs. She laughed; it was better than nothing.
For the next hour Sumi practiced all manner of makeup tricks in front of the mirror. When she stood back to view her elaborate hairdo, with the sticks poking out at all angles, she giggled. Her painted face made her reach for the washcloth. She looked like a streetwalker on the Ginza.
If Cole Tanner was going to fall in love with her, it would have to be with the fresh-scrubbed Sumi in the mirror.
She wiggled out of her Western clothes, slipped into a kimono, and headed for the kitchen. She would make the food for the picnic basket. Maybe she would make two baskets— Americans loved to eat. So did she, for that matter.
It was almost dawn when Sumi cleaned the last of the flour from the kitchen counter. All the food was stored in the refrigerator, waiting to be added to the two wicker baskets at her feet. The six American cookbooks she'd pored over were back on the shelf. When she walked up the stairs to her room, she felt as if she had created a miracle.
For just the barest instant, her footsteps slowed as she passed Cole's door. She strained to hear any trace of sound. Her smile was tired, but lovely when she heard the light sound of Cole's snoring. She thought it was the most beautiful sound in the world. She hoped the day would come when she would sleep next to Cole so she could listen to his breathing and feel his arms reach out to encircle her in his sleep.
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