Bridge of Scarlet Leaves

by Kristina McMorris

  That system, however, was turning out more flawed than Lane thought—starting with Agent Walsh, who eyed him, waiting for compliance.

  “I’m fine standing,” Lane bit out.

  “Uh-huh. Well, I’m telling you to take a seat.”

  “And I said I’m fine.”

  Their invisible push and pull raised the temperature of the room.

  “Takeshi, suwarinasai.” His father intervened, a stern command to sit.

  Lane’s gaze shot to his mother. The woman would never stand for such humiliation. After all, they had nothing to hide. But she remained rigid, her eyes fixed on the agent’s dress shoes, another insult to their home. That’s when Lane remembered he, too, hadn’t taken his off.

  “Boss,” a voice called out. The Gary Cooper agent entered the kitchen. “I think we got something here.”

  Walsh accepted a stack of large creased pages. Flickers from the lamp concealed the content from Lane’s view. The man flipped through them and drew out a whistle. “So you like airplanes, do you, Mr. Moritomo?”

  “Yes, yes.” Lane’s father perked with a touch of enthusiasm.

  “American bombers ... fighter planes ... all kinds, looks like.”

  “Yes, yes. I paint for, ee ...” He searched for the word, found it. “Hobby. Is hobby.”

  “Any chance you’ve been sharing some of these drawings with, oh I don’t know, friends back in Japan?”

  Blueprints. That’s what they’d found. Blueprints for his model aircrafts. The same ones any kid could buy for a few nickels at Woolworth’s.

  “This is ridiculous,” Lane blurted. “Are you trying to say my father’s a spy?”

  Walsh crinkled the paper edges in his hands. “Better watch that tone, son.”

  “I’m not your son. And my father’s not a criminal.” This wasn’t how America worked. Justice, democracy, liberty—these were the country’s foundational blocks that creeps like this kicked aside like pebbles.

  Lane’s father stood up and yelled, “Takeshi! Damarinasai.”

  “No,” Lane said, “I won’t be quiet. They can’t come in here and do this. We haven’t done anything. We’re not the enemy.” Holding his gaze, he implored his father to fight for the very ideals with which Lane had been raised. Yet the man said nothing. His Japanese roots had taken over, dictating his feudal servitude.

  “Eh, Boss, we’re all set.” A third guy appeared. The brim of his fedora shaded his features from nostrils up. “Boss?”

  Walsh relaxed his glower. “Yeah?”

  “All the major contraband’s packed up.”

  “Right.” He jerked his layered chin in Lane’s direction. “Then, let’s take him in.” The two other agents crossed the room, the faceless one pulling out a pair of handcuffs.

  Lane’s stomach twisted. “What is this? You’re gonna arrest me?”

  “Got a reason we shouldn’t?” Walsh said.

  Gary Cooper raised a calming hand at his supervisor. “Al, you’re tired. You need some food, some sleep. Go on home and rest up. We got this.”

  Walsh exhaled, rubbed his eyes. Eventually, he mumbled his concession and handed off the blueprints. He had just left the kitchen when Lane heard two metallic ripples. The third agent had handcuffed his father, explaining it as a formality.

  “Nani ga atta no?” Lane’s mother demanded, now on her feet.

  “We just need your husband for some more questioning,” the agent said. “He’ll be back by morning.”

  “Shinpai suruna,” her husband assured her weakly as the men began escorting him out. “Shikata ga nai.”

  Lane despised the old adage. It can’t be helped. No culture needed to be so damn passive.

  “You can’t do this!” Lane marched behind them. “Where are you taking him?”

  “The Justice Department will be in touch,” one of them answered, right as Emma charged down the stairs, begging him to stay.

  “Papa, ikanaide.” She shook his bound arms. “Papa, Papa! It-tara dame!”

  He offered her phrases of comfort that did little good. Then he turned to Lane and in Japanese stated in an even tone, “From now on, you are responsible for the family.”

  These were his final words before being ushered into the backseat of the agents’ car, the last instructions before Emma chased them two full blocks. She wailed out useless pleas as her mother retreated into the dishevelment of their house. Neighbors peeked from windows.

  Yet for Lane, none of this—not the groundless arrest, not his sister’s cries nor their mother’s isolation—caused the physical blow that came from the look in his father’s eyes. A look of utter shame.

  16

  She couldn’t stand the wait anymore.

  Maddie threw her coat back on, not bothering to fasten the buttons. She had tried phoning Lane, to confirm he’d made it home. Then to warn him not to come over. But the calls wouldn’t go through. The only person she’d reached was Jo, who had more questions than Maddie felt up for. A third attempt to ring Lane’s house had failed. The chaos of the switchboard was likely the problem, the operator had said. Told her to try again after a spell.

  Maddie, though, didn’t have time to spare. TJ could return at any minute—having gone to a meeting, Jo claimed. Right or wrong, TJ needed a chance to cool off before connecting her wedding band to Lane. And that’s precisely what would happen if the three of them shared an exchange. After the intimacy of her wedding night, how could she possibly hide her feelings in Lane’s presence?

  In the morning, once TJ’s shock had settled, she could explain everything. Rarely did she deviate from tracks laid in reason. He knew this. He knew her.

  At least the brother she used to know did.

  Headed for Lane’s, she hurried from the house and down the front stairs. The tip of her shoe caught on the splintery bottom step, sending her tumbling. Exhaustion from the day wilted her body. No chance to rest. She heaved herself up and brushed off her gritty palms. A hole tore through her silk stockings, among the few she owned. Yet the misfortune had become a meaningless hiccup in the grand scheme.

  She continued toward the street with a hindered stride. At this pace, the walk would stretch to a good twenty minutes, widening the opportunity for the guys to cross paths.

  Should she go or stay? Which option would be worth the risk?

  Frustrated by her own indecision, she wagered her hopes on a car approaching from the end of the long suburban street. The vehicle rumbled in and out of moonlight slanting between houses. Its chrome grille had the opened fish-mouth shape of a Buick’s.

  “Lane, please be you.” She focused on the windshield, breath held.

  “Are you all right, dearie?” a woman called. It was her elderly neighbor, leaning out from behind her screen door. “I was just watering my pansies in the window when I saw you take a fall.”

  “Oh, yes, I’ll be fine.” Maddie flung the reply behind her.

  “I have some peroxide if you scraped yourself up. You remember what I told you about my nephew’s ankle, after he didn’t care for it properly. Ended up almost dying in the hospital.”

  No matter how dire the situation, Maddie knew better than to entrap herself in the house of a person who took pride in enumerating worst-case scenarios.

  “I appreciate the offer. But I’ll be okay.” Maddie stretched her neck toward the street.

  “What are you doing out here, exactly? If you pardon my asking.”

  “Just waiting for ... a friend,” she said, at last determining that Lane—thank goodness—was the driver behind the wheel.

  “Well,” the woman replied, “if you change your mind.”

  A creak indicated the screen door had shut, but Maddie could sense the peering of curious eyes.

  Thoughts roaming in a fog, Lane pulled over slowly to the curb. He didn’t notice Maddie waiting outside until she bolted around the hood to reach him. As he stepped out of the car, she spoke in a quiet rush.

  “TJ’s on a rampage. If he finds out a
bout us tonight, I don’t know what he’ll do. I tried to call your house, to warn you not to come over, but I couldn’t get through.”

  Lane fixed his attention on her lips. Their movements shaped syllables that had become hard for him to grasp.

  “Sweetheart,” she said. “Did you hear me?”

  “They cut our lines,” he heard himself say.

  “They what?”

  “Cut our phone lines. The FBI arrested my father. Took boxes full of our things.”

  She covered the base of her neck with her hand. “But—why?”

  The image of his dad being driven away, handcuffed like a criminal, came charging back. The insanity of it all beat like a fist behind his forehead. “They said they needed him for more questioning. They’re wasting time. I’m telling you, he had nothing to do with it.”

  “Of course he didn’t,” Maddie said in natural agreement.

  Lane raked his hand through his hair. Why did he feel the need to present her with his case?

  “Oh, honey, you’ll figure this out. You always do.” Her eyes shone with belief, a deepened trust that he could conquer any obstacle. But rather than it fortifying him, for the first time ever, he felt afraid of failing her.

  “How is Emma?” she asked. “And your mom?”

  “They’re all right. Or they will be, once my dad is back.” By morning. That’s what the agent had said. If not, Lane would find a way to bring him home. He had to. “I’ll come by as soon as I know more.”

  “Why don’t I stop over instead? At your house sometime tomorrow?”

  The house. Shredded to pieces.

  “We’ll see.”

  In the awkward silence, she glanced at the neighboring home. Was she nervous about their being seen together? Lane had grown accustomed to keeping their relationship under wraps, but he’d presumed that would change after their vows.

  “I’ve gotta go.” He started to duck into the car.

  “Just a minute.” She clutched his hand on the rim of the door. “I wanted to say that—no matter what—I hope you know that ...” She trailed off, enwrapped him with her arms. Against his cheek, she finished in a heartfelt whisper, “I love you, Lane. I love you so much.”

  His eyelids lowered, blocking out all but the warmth of her breath, the softness of her hair and body. They were again in that hotel suite, curled up under the oblivion of the sheets. A complimentary bowl of nuts and fruit adorned the bureau. It could have sustained them for at least another day. Why, in God’s name, did he ever let them leave that room?

  Maddie yanked herself from his hold, and the illusion followed her.

  “Tomo, you’re here,” TJ called to him, rounding the corner. “What’s going on?”

  This was Lane’s cue for quick thinking—but nothing came. His excuses had run dry.

  “Tomo?”

  Maddie jumped in. “Where did you go, TJ? Where are the others?”

  He looked at Lane curiously. “Just had a meeting. They drove back to their place afterward. I walked from there.”

  She snuck Lane a glance, a plea for him to act natural. “So, the meeting. What was that about?”

  TJ’s attention traveled between him and Maddie in calculating progression. “Shooting the enemy,” he replied, distracted. A struggle between denial and the obvious escalated in his eyes. His shoulders lifted an inch.

  In light of all that was happening, Lane couldn’t do this anymore. They needed to protect one another. And that couldn’t happen until he fessed up.

  “Lane was actually just leaving,” Maddie said. “He has to see about his family. Isn’t that right?”

  A beat dragged past before Lane could push out the words. “TJ, I think we need to talk.”

  “Lane,” Maddie breathed. “Please.”

  TJ’s gaze lowered, sharply halting at the ring on Lane’s finger. His jaw visibly tightened. “What have you done?”

  Something plummeted and landed hard in Lane’s chest. “We should go inside.”

  “No,” he said. “You tell me now.”

  Maddie’s arms closed over her chest, her neck drawn. She appeared ready for an earthquake. Clearly she had forgotten, as had Lane until this moment, that he and TJ were blood brothers. Two pricks of a sewing needle had sealed their bond in the storage room of Mr. Kern’s shop. They were eight, but their pact held no expiration. Nothing could divide them.

  Not even this.

  Lane closed the car door. He faced TJ before speaking. “Months ago, Maddie and I, we started dating. We were afraid how you might feel about that, really about her dating anyone. So, we thought it’d be better not to say anything—just at first, though.”

  TJ broke in with a slow, raw voice: “Did. You. Marry her?”

  No amount of padding would cushion the truth. Lane took a weary breath and answered. “Yes.”

  Disappointment carved its way into TJ’s face. It was then that Lane imagined how it would feel, down the road, if some guy ran off and married Emma. Let alone his best pal.

  Maddie attempted a voice of reason, which TJ shut down by trudging toward the house.

  “Hold on.” Lane followed him. “I know it looks terrible. And I’m sorry, honest I am. But you have to let me explain.”

  The air turned electric as TJ reached the stairs. A single spark could set off an explosion. Still, Lane couldn’t let him think the worst.

  “Buddy, listen to me,” he said, catching TJ’s elbow.

  In an instant, TJ swung around and grabbed him by the shirt, cinched it up under Lane’s chin. “I’m not listening to anything from you! I ought to kill you, you piece of shit!”

  “Stop it,” Maddie shrieked. She worked to restrain her brother, his right arm poised for a punch.

  “Go on,” Lane yelled back. “Hit me.” And he meant it, wanted the redemption found in a rightful punishment. “Do it!”

  “That’s enough,” Maddie said.

  TJ’s fist quavered, as did his reddened face. Releasing his grip, he shoved Lane back several feet. “You were supposed to be my friend.”

  Lane’s hand rose to his gathered collar. “I am your friend.”

  “No, you’re not. You’re a filthy liar,” he seethed. “Paul was right. You’re just another dirty yellow Jap.”

  Maddie protectively held Lane’s arm. “TJ, you don’t mean that.”

  Whether he did or not, the result was the same. The floor in Lane’s gut had dropped out, leaving him hollowed. A shell unable to move.

  “Get back in the house,” he told his sister.

  “No.”

  “I told you to get back inside!”

  “Or what? You’re going to hit me too?”

  Something pulled TJ’s head up. Lane followed his gaze to find neighbors in their entries, watching the show. When he returned his focus to TJ, the emotion in the guy’s eyes launched a chill over Lane’s skin. Disappointment had dissolved into hatred.

  “Get the hell off our property. I don’t ever want to see you again.” With that, TJ went into the house.

  Maddie stared after her brother as their audience ebbed away. “I should’ve told him from the beginning. This is all my fault.”

  “No,” Lane contended. “I’m just as much to blame.” Tough as it was to face, he could have confessed at any time. Yet he hadn’t. Not just because Maddie had asked him to wait, but because he’d been willing to sacrifice anything to ensure they stayed together.

  Drained of words, they moved to the driver’s side of the car. As he squeezed the door handle, Maddie clasped his hand. “Let me come stay with you.”

  On any other day, he would have rejoiced over living with her. But for now, aside from a guaranteed objection from his mother—undoubtedly heightened by the situation—the FBI could return without notice, interrogating anyone with links to his family. The last thing he’d do was subject Maddie to that treatment.

  “Believe me, I wish you could.”

  “I just need to grab my things,” she said. “My luggage i
s still packed.”

  “Not yet, sweetheart.”

  “When, then?”

  “I ... don’t know. When I head back to school, I suppose.”

  School. Finals. Would they continue as scheduled, or be put on hold with the rest of his life?

  “I don’t want to be without you,” she said, her bottom lip trembling.

  He shook his head and offered in assurance,“You won’t have to.” He brought her into his arms. “This is only for now. Till things settle, it’s safer for you here. Understand?”

  She said nothing, but gave a reluctant nod.

  “I’ll call the shop and come see you when I can.” He kissed her on the forehead, then the lips. Her face conveyed a craving, a need for security he couldn’t deny. “Don’t you worry,” he told her. “Everything will work out.”

  When she nodded again, he got into the car and drove away, half regretting what he’d said. For what was intended as a promise felt like yet another lie.

  PART TWO

  Meaning of Japanese proverb:

  Like clouds over the moon and storm over blossoms, misfortune often strikes during times of happiness.

  17

  Two days and still no word from him.

  Maddie had arrived at the shop early that morning in search of a second letter from Lane. He had hand-delivered the first one through the mail slot on the door. Wrinkles from frequent readings covered the pages already imprinted in her memory.

  My dearest Maddie,

  I imagine this isn’t the honeymoon you were hoping for. It certainly isn’t the one I’d had in mind. At least when it comes to my arranged marriage, I won’t have to find a way of letting the woman down gently. I think it’s safe to assume the matchmaker has taken me out of the running. (That’s supposed to make you laugh.)