And yet I was hungry. Cold. Bleary-eyed from too many back-to-back shifts and skipped meals, and getting ready to head right back to work. I wanted to crumple right there under the table and wake up next century, when everything had been paid off or repossessed or whatever needed to be done.
“Aw, simmer down,” said Shane, chuckling as he put his wallet away. “I’m jest kiddin’. C’mon. I’ll leave ya alone. Honest Injun.” He put his palms up, reminding me of Adam’s ridiculous “Scout’s honor” nonsense, and scooted his chair a few inches back. “Sit down. Let’s have lunch.”
If I wasn’t so hungry, I would have walked out the door anyway, but instead I plopped back down and grabbed the menu.
Chapter 15
So you got your car back, Ro-chan?”
“Yeah. A few days ago.” I tucked my old Bluetooth tighter in my ear and listened to her voice crackle over the bad international connection as I steered the car around a fence-lined bend toward home. A shower of dry burnt-orange and brown leaves rained up from the asphalt. “I’m driving it now. Thank goodness for that.”
“How much did it cost?”
“Two thousand.” I sighed, flicking the wipers to scoot away stray leaf bits in the darkening gray-blue glower of evening. “Plus another seventy to replace that broken headlight.”
“Two thousand?” Kyoko yelped. “That’s more than you make in what, six months?”
“Very funny.” I reached over with one gloved hand to turn up the heat. “Although you’re not that far off.”
“How did you manage to pay two thousand bucks up front? Or did they let you break it up in payments?”
“Well … neither.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
I sighed again, hating that I had to answer. “Shane paid for it.” My lips quivered in humiliation. Especially after practically EVERYBODY in the state of Virginia had gossiped about my dumb nondate with Shane.
“Who? That good-lookin’ cop Stella told me about?”
Argh. Stella! “Yes, him.” I scowled. “And he’s not that good-looking.”
I flexed my fingers on the steering wheel, troubled. He’d sent me roses two more times since I got my car back, calling and asking me out, and all I’d done was blow him off. Why? Why couldn’t I just tell him to take his roving eyes somewhere else and leave me alone? I never had trouble saying that to guys before.
My eyes fell on a small, white rectangle that had fallen out of my purse and onto the passenger’s seat: Adam’s business card. The one we designed. The one with the new leaf logo, courtesy of yours truly, announcing the new Bible verse and “landscape designer” bit.
“Well, what’s wrong with him, Ro? Stella said he’s a decent guy.”
“Who?”
“Shane! Who else?”
“Oh. Right.” I jerked my eyes off the business card and back on the road then reached over and covered Adam’s business card with a fold of my scarf. “Stella thinks everybody’s decent. She tried to set me up with the water-meter reader, who’s got a criminal record! Divorced twice and three kids, all by the age of twenty-three.”
“Wow. That’s impressive, actually. He certainly keeps himself busy.”
“Well, I’m not going after anybody like that. Forget it. Shane just paid for my car without asking, and none of my arguing did any good. So what am I supposed to do? It’s not like I have two thousand dollars in my pocket to pay him back. I told him I’d reimburse him a little each month.”
I felt the car accelerate as I came down a small hill, murky lights from country houses twinkling across the cold gloom. “I’m not Esau, Kyoko. Shane doesn’t tempt me.”
“Wait, Esau … Isn’t he the lead guitar player in that British band?”
“Huh? No. Esau from the Bible. I read about him in the book of Genesis.” I glanced down at my gas gauge, its insolent red needle pointing to EMPTY. Did I really put in that many miles between work and home?
“So what about Esau?”
“He traded his birthright for a bowl of stew.”
“That sounds like you.” Kyoko snickered. “If anything would lead you into temptation, it’d be food.”
“Very funny. Stella’s marble cake might do the trick though. I’ve been trying to convince her for weeks to sell desserts to Jerry’s restaurant. Have you tasted her caramel chocolate chip cookies?”
“No, but I’m sure you’ll tell me about them.”
“Oh, Kyoko,” I sighed. “Stella’s an incredible cook. If only she’d leave me alone about Shane.”
I dug in my purse with my free hand to see how much money I had for gas—and counted out ten one-dollar bills. No, wait. Eleven. Somebody actually gave me a one-dollar tip tonight, the cheapskate. And after I had the kitchen make him a special vegan plate. See what I put in your sandwich next time, buddy!
Kyoko remained quiet, and I jiggled the Bluetooth in my ear to hear better. “Hello? You still there?”
“I’m here, Ro. Just thinking.”
I felt my stomach lurch. “What?”
“See, here’s the thing, Ro-chan—Shane’s not asking you to marry him, you know. Why can’t you just date him awhile? And take advantage of his … uh … financial procurements?”
“What?” I threw my head back. “You would do something like that?”
“No. But I’m not serving coffee to thirteen-year-olds either.”
I know Kyoko didn’t mean to hurt me, but it stung. I swallowed and clenched my jaw tighter, wanting to prove I wasn’t some desperate waif.
But who was I kidding? In ten minutes I’d arrive at an empty, freezing house in rural Virginia with bad heating and half my furniture chewed up/torn/peed on by a dog that I hid from my real-estate agent. My hair still greasy from fry oil and nothing for dinner but a package of frozen corn. And, yeah, maybe some deer meat buried under there somewhere.
“I didn’t mean that the way it sounded,” said Kyoko, her voice gentler than before. “I’m just worried about you, Ro. I’ve put money in your bank account, but I can’t fix your problem long-term. Maybe Shane’s … I don’t know. A temporary solution.”
“Thanks again for the money, Kyoko. Really. I’ve already used it to pay for—”
“Quit thanking me. I did it for the tax refund. You being a charity and all,” she quipped.
I made a face. “But no to Shane. He’s a temporary … um … temptation. Or his money is. The Bible says we’ll always have to fight against temptation from the wrong things in life.”
“Temptation? C’mon, Ro-chan. You really believe that?”
“Sure I do. I live it every single day.” I wiped at a spot on the windshield, wishing the defroster worked better. “Temptation to knock snooty customers through the wall. Steal somebody else’s money. Which, yes, I did lots of times as a kid. And I can’t even repeat what I’d like to do to Ashley.” And maybe Adam, too. With his little Eliza Harrison and her pilgrim collar. Give me a break!
Ashley’s newest letter sat on my kitchen table, unopened. Or indirectly from her, I suppose. The official-looking letterhead read JAMES REUBEN PRUFROCK III, ATTORNEY AT LAW. With a real Chicago address.
“Well, then, do it! Stop being so repressed.”
“Right. Maybe I’ll just copy a story on the prime minister’s wife and send it to Dave.”
Even Kyoko’s words faltered.
“Nope. I’m done living my own way.” I stretched my neck and back, stiff from a too-long day of carrying heavy trays and ferrying orders. “I’m trusting God, Kyoko. You’ll see. He’ll provide what I need without Shane’s dumb money.”
I tried to sound confident, but something in my voice wavered, edged with bitterness. And I left it hanging in the air, not bothering to try to convince Kyoko I meant it.
“What about that farmer?”
“Huh? Farmer?” My foot pressed the gas a little too hard, and I eased on the brake.
“I forgot what he does. Something with vegetables. Or … no. Plants.”
“Vegetables?” I hollered, as Kyoko collapsed into laughs. But for some reason I couldn’t laugh back. Couldn’t even smile. Thinking of how I’d suddenly cut contact. Skipped church on Sunday. Not returned any of Adam’s calls.
“Adam’s a landscaper, Kyoko,” I finally replied, staring out at a patch of barren trees, which still clung to a few wrinkled mahogany leaves.
“Whatever. How is he? And that kid brother of his?”
“I don’t know. Fine, I guess. Don’t ask me.”
“What do you mean? I thought you two …”
“No. I told you we’re just friends.” My voice rose, hard and sharp. I forced myself to relax, as if it didn’t bother me. And why should it? Adam was just … Adam.
I glanced over at Adam’s business card, one little corner still visible in the shadowy darkness. “He’s got a girlfriend, or whatever she is. Besides, I’m not staying in this town any longer than I have to. Adam and I …” I paused, feeling my pulse quicken slightly at the combination of those three words, bound together in unexpected unity. “We’ve both got separate lives and separate … callings.”
“Callings. Wow. You sound so spiritual.”
“Stop making fun of me, Kyoko,” I said, voice flat. “I’m too tired for this.”
“I actually wasn’t. I just wondered if …” The characteristic ping-pong sound of Kyoko’s Japanese doorbell chimed in the background. “Sorry, Ro. Gotta go. Pizza’s here.”
“At eight in the morning?” My eyes fluttered to the clock on the dash.
“Sure! Why not? Breakfast!”
“Which kind?” I asked, trying to brighten my waning spirits with memories of the Tokyo I loved. “Curry or tuna?”
“Neither. I found this cool place that sells natto pizza. Can you believe it?”
Fermented soybeans? On pizza? I gagged. “Do they have those long strings of slime hanging between them?”
“Like week-old dishes in my sink? Uh, yeah. Actually.” I heard her speaking Japanese in the background, laughing with the pizza guy. Words I still saw in my sleep, their complicated kanji strokes like elaborate works of art, each one a perfect riddle that I somehow knew how to unravel. Now they hovered on my lips just out of reach, like a prayer I didn’t have the courage to lift to heaven.
“Kyoko?” I heard her pick up the phone again. “I know you’ve got to go, but do you think I should maybe … call him?”
“Call who? Pizza delivery?”
“No. Adam.” I bit my lips together. “I mean, we were friends. Good friends.”
Her voice turned sober. “Do you miss him?”
“Me? No way! I just … I don’t know. Maybe a little. He’s a great guy, and we …” I shrugged. “I probably should call him, right? Maybe when I get home I’ll try and see if he’s there.”
“Huh? Hold on. I didn’t give the pizza guy the right change.” Something jingled. “You don’t have two hundred yen, do you, Ro?”
“Sorry. You should have asked me that a year ago.” I made a sour face. “Bye, Kyoko.”
I started to take out my Bluetooth, for once entirely glad that when I ordered pizza, it came from Virginia—not Japan. Then I heard Kyoko call my name again.
“Ro? Don’t give up. You’ll find him.”
“Find who?”
“The right guy. And it’ll just … fit. Hang in there.”
“Sure. Maybe ten years from now. But thanks anyway.”
I told her good-bye and dropped my Bluetooth on the seat. I drove silently, staring out at the darkening fields and remembering the bright photo prints on my walls. The beautiful fish tile in its lonely square. The pot of purple asters Adam had given me, wilting brown and limp around the edges. They needed water. Needed care. Needed …
Gas station. I jerked my car over into the gravel entrance, glad I’d caught it before it closed—which happened shockingly early out here in the country. A frosty crescent moon peeked from a brooding sky as I pulled up to the pump, and scattered stars twinkled. Reminding me of long walks down sparkling Tokyo streets, a million miles and memories away.
Instead my eyes fell across my rumpled Green Tree shirt and tie, hanging half out of my duffel bag. Dirty Mary Janes strewn across the floorboard, a smashed spaghetti noodle stuck to the bottom of one.
I grabbed my purse and scooted out, slamming the car door behind me. Just as a patron with a sleek, new Prius came around the corner of the pump and grabbed the windshield washer squeegee.
I reached for the gas cap, not realizing his speed, and whammed right into Carlos Torres Castro, Argentinean ex-fiancé and heartbreaker extraordinaire.
Chapter 16
My knees buckled. The shock of seeing Carlos was one thing—but finding him at a run-down gas station on the side of a country road outside Staunton, Virginia—was another. Context slapped me in the face.
I felt myself sinking toward gravel, my breath squeezed out, when Carlos rushed around the pump and grabbed my shoulders, clumsily hauling me to my feet.
I wobbled there stupidly, not able to form a single word, as my senses came back in a muddled rush. Then I jerked myself away from his grip.
“What on earth are you doing here, Carlos?” I hollered, hands on my hips. My lips trembled as chilly wind whipped my hair from my once-smooth ponytail.
Am I dreaming? I must be dreaming. I just hope this isn’t the one where I’m being chased by a herd of black-eyed peas because that one always ends with …
I felt my knees sinking again and leaned against the side of my car with both hands, trying to force some sense or breath—whichever came sooner—back into my spinning head. Trying to make the two images of Carlos form into one.
“Oh, thank goodness it’s you,” he said breezily, leaning against the gas pump as if we’d planned this moment all along. His face achingly beautiful in the harsh shadows of the overhead fluorescent lights: proud cheekbones and strong chin, those black, almond-shaped eyes. His longish curly hair cut shorter, sleeker than I remembered it. “I’m lost. I’d just stopped to get directions.”
I had to remember, for a split second, that I was supposed to despise Carlos. So handsome he was in his fitted winter coat, preppy dark knit scarf around his neck.
“What do you mean thank goodness it’s me?” I spat, taking a step back. “You better not be looking for me, you …”
“Amor. I missed you. Come on.” He opened his arms and had the audacity to smile. “Please. Let’s talk.”
“Talk?” I shouted, so loud a woman with a blond ‘do the size of Texas gawked out the window of her broken-down car. I forced myself to lower my voice. “Are you here to see me?”
“I’d hoped so. Yes.” A hint of Spanish accent hung on Carlos’s perfect lips.
I stared, jaw wobbling open. “Doesn’t anybody from Japan bother to call me before showing up?” I shouted, forgetting my brief attempt at propriety. “You’re all nuts, you know that? Haven’t you ever heard of a phone?”
Carlos blinked in confusion. “Who else came from Japan, mi amor? I had no idea.”
Bunch of stalkers. “How did you find my address?” I spoke through clenched teeth, fumbling for the gas cap. Angrily jerking the nozzle off the pump and turning my back on Carlos—in part so I wouldn’t have to look at his gorgeous face. “Kyoko wouldn’t give it to you, that’s for sure. And I’ll knock her lights out if she did.”
“Mrs. Inoue at that shop you like. She said you sent it in a letter.”
“You went to Mrs. Inoue’s shop?” Angry color rose to my cheeks, and my eyes burned as I jammed the nozzle into the Honda. “My favorite shop? Where I used to buy green onions and jasmine tea?”
“Shiloh,” Carlos whispered my name. In that tone of voice that used to thrill me. But I felt dead, motionless.
“I’m sorry.” He reached out to take my arm, but I shook it away. “Leaving you for Mia showed my … well, absolute stupidity. I didn’t deserve you, and I certainly don’t blame you for hating me.”
I whirled ar
ound, brushing my hair back again as the wind tossed it in my eyes. “Excuse me?”
“I broke up with Mia, princesa. And I miss you. I—I love you, Shiloh. I’ve always loved you.” He pushed himself off the pump, taking a step toward me. His perfectly fitting, trendy-classy jeans and nice sneakers contrasted with the gas-splattered, pockmarked asphalt littered with cigarette butts and blackened bubble gum.
“Don’t ‘princesa’ me!” I ordered, voice loud and tight. “Love? What are you talking about?”
“Shiloh, please. Just listen. I messed up. And I’m asking your forgiveness. You Christians know about forgiveness, right?”
“Oh, did Mrs. Inoue tell you about that, too?”
My voice came out harsh, but tears rose as Carlos’s sultry accent played in my ear, reminding me of old walks through the crowds at Shibuya, arm in arm. Spiky-haired Japanese teenagers milling past us, the girls giggling at Carlos and calling out “Haro!” in broken, butchered English. Cherry blossoms sprinkling pale pink all over the sidewalks.
In the middle of all this, as if seeing my ex-fiancé just a couple of miles from my house wasn’t enough, Carlos’s cell phone trilled in his pocket, and he pulled it out and turned away slightly, finger to his ear.
I felt dizzy again, gripping the back of my car to keep standing up straight.
“Yes,” I heard him say. “That’s right. Make sure you turn it in by Friday, or it’ll be … right. Good.” He lifted a finger at me, shrugging in apology. “But you have to … no. No. Let me explain again.”
I shook my head in disbelief as he rattled on in an ugly combination of Spanish and Japanese, the latter of which wasn’t Carlos’s strong point. I considered grabbing the phone to correct all his mangled verbs.
Without warning, he laughed a good-bye and flipped the cell phone closed. “Sorry about that. My work. They’re always bothering me, especially with this new intern. She’s hopeless. She has a thing for me though, for some reason, which … whatever. Forget it.”
I didn’t reply, mind still reeling over the fact that (1) Carlos was here, and (2) he’d interrupted an apology to answer some intern back in Tokyo.
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