Crimson Footprints II: New Beginnings

by Shewanda Pugh

  She continued to strain.

  “We’ll grow old together, Lizzie, right here in this bed before I let you do what you’re thinking. Try me if you don’t believe me.”

  Lizzie thumped against him, shuffling and shifting for an inch, no more. He’d meant what he said. He’d not let her go.

  Only when she began to cry did Kenji loosen his hold.

  The sudden tenderness of his touch deflated her, seeping out fury and panic, until only shame and fatigue remained. A scratch above Kenji’s brow stood fiery red while the boxers he wore hung torn and limp. Lizzie looked away.

  “It’s okay,” he said.

  But it wasn’t. She’d hurt him. The only person who’d looked at her and seen more. More than a hell-bound whore and discarded drug addict, more than there was, perhaps.

  “One mountain a day,” he promised and kissed her forehead. “One mountain a day.”

  ~*~

  Kenji rang the doorbell to Tak’s house and waited, grateful for the midday and absence of kids. He couldn’t go into work with a gash on his forehead, not to the company where the marquee bore his name. Deena would be looking for him, no doubt to weigh him down with one speech or another about the burden and honor of being a Tanaka in architecture, but as far as he was concerned, she could have that mantle, gladly.

  Mrs. Jimenez opened the door.

  “I need to see Tak,” he said, cutting off her concern.

  With a scowl of disapproval, she led him to the gym.

  Red faced and with puffed cheeks, Tak lay on his back, heaving a barbell weighted with iron in swift, even strokes. Kenji waited by the door.

  “Come spot me, you bastard,” Tak gasped, weights slowing.

  Kenji rushed over and stood overhead, peering down at his older brother.

  When the weights sailed up, Kenji grabbed hold and returned them to the machine.

  His brother sat up. “What happened to your face?”

  Kenji hesitated. He’d come to talk about Lizzie, but the wound wasn’t where he’d planned on starting.

  His brother stood, a half head taller, scowling, disapproving, already knowing. Kenji looked away.

  “So, she hits you now.”

  He went for a towel. In Tak’s voice was distaste, disappointment, disgust. And Kenji couldn’t bear it.

  “It’s not like that.”

  Tak dabbed his face with the towel and tossed it to a corner. “Don’t,” he warned and went for the water cooler opposite him.

  Kenji followed him, wanting to let the conversation go, but unable to.

  “You think she’s bad for me.”

  Tak filled a paper cup and tossed the water back in a go. Then he crushed it in a fist and dropped it in a nearby waste bin.

  “Don’t ask me obvious questions.”

  “But she—”

  Kenji halted at the squeak in his voice, appalled. Why was it always this way? Demoted to childhood in the presence of his brother, compelled to whine at his slightest disapproval. Where was the man he’d been last night; strong when Lizzie was weak? Could his brother know what it was to love an addict? To find doubt, turmoil, fear, and hope every day? Those were his realities; that was the proof of his strength. And it was high time Tak knew it.

  “I know what I’m doing,” Kenji blurted. “And I don’t need you to approve of it any more than you needed Dad to approve of you and Deena.”

  Tak headed for the leg press.

  “Deena wasn’t on drugs,” he said and dropped low into the seat of the machine.

  “And neither is Lizzie. She’s been off for months now. I know it because I see her every day.”

  Tak grunted before shoving his machine’s metal plate with his legs so that his seat sailed backward to the hilt.

  “Do you have any idea what the statistics are on drug relapse? Fifty to ninety percent, Kenj, depending upon the severity of addiction, drugs involved, and length of treatment.”

  Tak’s knees rose and fell as he pushed against weights, the muscles of his calves straining.

  “It means you’re biding your time,” he continued. “And from the looks of things, your biding’s just about up.”

  Kenji’s jaw clenched. “She had a setback. That’s all. And she’s past it.”

  Tak said nothing.

  “We will!” Kenji cried.

  Tak glided to a halt and climbed off. Kenji, the inadvertent little brother, took a step back, uncertain of what was to follow.

  “Kenj, I’m not trying to upset or hurt you in any way. I just know that you’ve been sheltered—”

  “And you haven’t?”

  “Listen. It’s obvious you care about her. I’m not making light of that.”

  “Yes, you are.”

  Tak sighed. “Fine. Be emotional.”

  Again, Kenji’s jaw clenched.

  “You are making light of it! And you did it right from the start. When I told you I’d been seeing her, you asked me how much it ran me an hour.”

  “She’s a prostitute!”

  Kenji’s fist smashed into the wall.

  “She was! I told you she quit!” Chest heaving, nostrils flared, he stared at his older brother with a foreign sort of fury.

  Tak looked at the stretch of rustic wood grain he’d pummeled, none of which had given way, before glancing down at Kenji’s hand.

  “You okay? That’s probably—”

  “I’m okay!” Kenji yelled. Meanwhile, he ignored the dull throb of his hand.

  Tak stared at him, as if expecting some other truth to be revealed. When it didn’t come, he sighed.

  “Listen, kiddo. I—”

  “I’m not a kid, Tak! Now, I’m warning you! If you can’t talk to me like a man—”

  “Hey! Calm down, already. What is all this? I’m just worried about you, that’s all. I’m not,” he gave Kenji a once-over, “questioning your manhood.”

  A smile tickled at the edges of Tak’s mouth, forcing Kenji’s to do the same, until he looked away, cursing his brother for making him laugh.

  “All right, come on. Talk to me. What’s going on?” Tak said and took a seat on a sculpted oak grain bench.

  “I was gonna kick your ass,” Kenji said and sat down next to him.

  “Yeah, okay. Don’t get carried away.”

  Kenji grinned.

  “I thought the wall would break when I punched it.”

  “Reinforced for hurricanes.”

  Deena. Of course.

  Tak frowned at him. “So, it’s serious, huh?” he said.

  “Very.”

  Tak pondered this, gaze on his black Nikes.

  “What’s she like sober?”

  “Smart. Funny. A little bit of a smart aleck. Sweet. Sensitive, sometimes.”

  Tak stole a glance at him. “And the guys . . .?”

  Kenji sighed.

  “It’s a lot sometimes. She tells me stuff, and I listen, but I only listen because I’m supposed to. There were guys in her life that I think I would murder if I ever met them, and some of the things done to her that don’t make for decent conversation. But the other stuff, the stuff she willingly did for drugs or money,” he shook his head. “It’s hard not to be jealous. Or to not think that someday, some guy’s gonna see us out and offer her ten bucks for a blow job. He wouldn’t even understand why I’m choking the shit out of him.”

  “And you’ve been tested? You and her?”

  “When I sent her to rehab they did a full physical. But yeah, we’re clean, and we use protection. Who doesn’t these days?”

  “Me and Deena didn’t. If we did, it was, like, once.”

  Kenji stared. His older brother, content to be his role model, and Deena—the bastion of decorum and responsibility?

  “You guys never had to . . . you know . . . did you?”

  “No.” Tak paused. “Can I ask you something?”

  Kenji hesitated.

  “Do you love her?” Tak said.

  Kenji opened his mouth, but denial was
n’t possible. “Yeah.”

  “Then leave the past to memories. She’s not some prize to possess or be angry about when someone else seems to have possessed it. She’s a human being, with her own wants and emotions, however right or wrong they might’ve been.”

  Tak gave him a sideways look.

  “Got it?”

  Kenji nodded.

  “Good. Now go ice your hand.”

  Relief washed over Kenji. It had been throbbing like hell.

  CHAPTR FIFTY-NINE

  Two home pregnancy tests and a doctor’s confirmation later, Deena sat at the breakfast table chewing on toast and considering. She ate toast all day, as she’d done with Mia. It wouldn’t be long before Tak noticed.

  They had never considered the possibility of three children. When their love was still new, they’d joke of having a dozen, all wild haired with the smug smirk of a Tanaka. But with Mia, life had changed more dramatically than either had suspected. Early on, Deena had been loathed to be without her, keeping her cradle in the bedroom for the nursings that took place every two-and-a-half-hours round-the-clock. Even when Tak gave her breaks with breast milk in a bottle, Deena slept fitfully, waking to check on her newborn.

  It was a standing complaint with Tak that family life somehow meddled in his art. Certainly, his stagnation was proof. Before marrying, he’d been a rogue; now, he drove around with a booster seat and juice box, just in case. Deena couldn’t predict how he’d respond to another child.

  Tak strolled into the dining area, whipped a kitchen chair around so that the back faced Deena, and sat, eyes level with hers.

  “Toast,” he observed.

  “Toast,” she confirmed. “It helps.”

  He jumped to his feet. “You’re pregnant? Definitely pregnant?”

  Deena nodded.

  His mouth parted, unnerving her with her inability to distinguish whether he was thrilled or horrified.

  Then suddenly Tak let out a whoop and snatched her into his arms.

  “And you’re okay with this?” Deena cried.

  “Okay? I’m about to hire one of those New Orleans brass bands to just follow my ass around!” He grinned at her. “You want one, too?”

  “Tak!”

  He squeezed her again, so tight her toast threatened an encore.

  “Damn, I love you, Dee! I love you so much.” He gave a derisive little laugh and got down on one knee.

  “And you too, little guy.”

  He covered her belly with a hand. When Deena looked up, she caught a snatch of brown hair fleeing.

  Tony.

  Tak cursed and darted after him with Deena right behind.

  Tears already streamed down Tony’s face before he hurled the door shut with a grunt.

  A baby.

  Of course.

  Why had he thought them any different? All married people wanted a baby. Not a twelve-year-old liar and thief.

  His gaze swept the room, desperate for luggage. There was an oversized duffle bag in his closet; he’d used it on the trip to Disney.

  Tony snatched it from the shelf and tossed it to the floor. Over his shoulder went whatever he could find—shirts, jeans—designer mostly—all destined for the bag and the streets.

  They would have their son.

  A little boy who looked like mother and father, instead of just a relative of mother’s. They would take him to the playground and the park, and all the other places parents took new babies. Tony could only guess. He’d never had such an experience.

  Tak had said he wanted a son. How long had they been trying? With the adoption underway, they’d resigned themselves to a stupid misfit of a kid who stumbled over big words and got into fistfights, too. How often had they wished they could have a baby instead of him? Always, he imagined—always.

  “Tony, open the door!” Tak yelled.

  Tak was a good guy, the best Tony had ever met. He would miss him being his father.

  “Tony!” Deena shrieked. She banged on the door, rattling it. “What are you doing, Tony?” she cried.

  He was her brother’s kid, not hers. She felt responsible for him. He would free her of that now. It had been wrong of him to come there, insert himself in their lives, their perfect lives, pretending to be the son they wanted.

  “Please open the door,” Deena said. “Talk to me at least.”

  “I’m leaving,” Tony announced. “Don’t stop me.”

  He jammed shirts in the bag, a handful of Polos, and followed them with jeans. He hadn’t the money he’d stolen, but he felt good about that, not bad.

  “Why are you leaving?” Tak said. “Because of the baby?”

  Tony didn’t answer. He didn’t want them forced into saying things they didn’t mean, things from some script of parenting that were worthless in the face of truth. They had their son. They had their baby. It was time for Tony to move on.

  He shoved Jordans in his bag and snatched his console from the TV. It was heavy. It would slow him down, but he wouldn’t leave it unless they made him.

  “Tony!” Tak cried.

  “You have your son now!” Tony roared. “You don’t need me!”

  He was too furious to cry, too furious at himself for being naïve, and at the world, for being shitty.

  Silence followed, and he supposed they agreed.

  The thought proved too much. His body racked with a gut-wrenching sob so strong he keeled over with it, with the realization that he was nothing and had nothing—not mother, not father, not even a sister anymore. It was more than he could bear.

  “Tony.”

  He whirled in horror.

  Tak sat in his now-open window. Deena, standing just outside, was at eye level with Tony.

  “Come here,” Tak said.

  “No! I don’t want to hear—”

  Deena clamored into the window with the help of Tak, and automatically, Tony scrambled over, so worried was he that she might fall and hurt herself or the baby they’d been trying for.

  “You’re not leaving,” Deena said. “The day you walk out of here will be the day you board a plane for college. You’re a boy. Our boy. I don’t care how many miles you’ve hitchhiked or how that makes you feel like a man. We’re your parents and while we believe in giving you choices, the ability to walk out of this house isn’t one of them. Now if this house is truly where you don’t want to be, then you’ll have the chance to tell the judge that at your Final Hearing on Thursday.”

  “I do want you to be my parents,” Tony said pitifully.

  “And yet you’re packing,” Deena said.

  “I thought you didn’t want . . .” he trailed in shame.

  “The only thing I don’t want is you ever trying this again,” Deena said.

  Her face crumpled, just a tad. When Tak reached to touch her back, Tony felt shame. She was about to cry. He was about to make her cry.

  “You’re my son. My brother’s son. And I can’t go back to before you were here. Okay?”

  She brought him to her harshly, pressing his wet face to her softened belly. Tony closed his eyes to the warmth.

  “Okay?” she said, firmer still.

  Tony nodded.

  She released him and strode for the door, stopping only once to look at him before exiting.

  “You know, Tony,” Tak said, the moment she was gone. He began picking up clothes and hanging them in the closet.

  “There’s no rule saying I’m allowed just one son. China’s one-child limit doesn’t extend to Dade County.”

  Tony blushed. It sounded so obvious now. People had two children. Four. Ten. God knew they could afford it. Suddenly, he felt like a Looney Tunes character with a stupid stamp from Acme on his forehead.

  Tak hurled a shirt at him. “Pick this stuff up,” he said. “I don’t work for you.” And with a grin, he was gone.

  Tony began to work, slowly, methodically, placing clothes back in their rightful place, reattaching the console to its station beneath the flat screen. As he worked, one wor
d throbbed in his mind like the thump of his heart:

  Thursday.

  Thursday, and his adoption would be final.

  CHAPTER SIXTY

  For the whole of summer and fall, Florida escaped the wrath of Mother Nature. But according to weather reports, that was about to change.

  With Thanksgiving at their backs and Christmas on the horizon, bright and multicolored lights were being strung, both in the city and in the Tanaka home. Though Tak was Buddhist, he remained festive about the holiday season, so festive, in fact, that it confused Tony.

  “But Christmas is Christian, right?” he said as they hung lights about an eight-foot tree.

  “Christians invented Christmas,” Tak said. “But even people who don’t believe in God celebrate it. Because it’s the spirit of it that resonates with everyone.”

  Satisfied for the moment, Tony continued decorating. But as was always the case, more questions would follow.

  “The government of the Cayman Islands has issued a tropical storm warning in conjunction with Tropical Storm Lucille. Tropical storm conditions are expected on the island within the next twenty-four hours,” an urgent voice warned from the television.

  Collectively, the family turned at the ominous interruption to The Grinch, and saw an illustration of the storm’s probable path. It teetered toward the Caribbean, swallowing South Florida.

  “It’s coming here!” Tony shrieked.

  “Hurricanes come every year. They bring rain, which is good,” Deena said calmly.

  Tak messed Tony’s hair with an oversized hand, leaving glitter in his wake. “They’re only guessing this early. No cause to worry,” he said.

  Days passed and the tropical storm became a meandering hurricane, simmering in the warm waters of the Caribbean, content on gaining strength. It caused flooding in San Juan, mudslides in Puerto Rico, the Dominican Republic, and Haiti, drownings in Cuba. It caused a handful of deaths, promising more. Each day it grew closer was another spent convincing Tony that death wasn’t imminent.

  They prepared for evacuation even as Christmas drew near. Each year, the Tanakas spent the holiday season at Daichi’s California estate though Daichi didn’t technically celebrate Christmas.

  With the hurricane coming, they decided to head for California early. Deena hired a handful of contractors to commence with securing the house, leaving them to board windows as she packed important documents for safekeeping. Tony paced amid the constant movement, restless as if supervising, needing reminders that he too had to pack.