Ink and Ashes

by Valynne E. Maetani

  Dad leaned back in his chair and took a deep breath. “Sometimes your persistence is a little scary. I don’t know if I should be impressed or angry.”

  The tight grip he had on the arms of his chair and his narrowed eyes didn’t give a vibe that he leaned toward “impressed.”

  He held up the pictures and studied them one by one. “Yes,” he said. “Your grandfather knew where your father had come from.”

  “And you were okay with that?”

  His face relaxed into a smile. “At first I resented the way Grandpa cared for him and felt like he had brought Henry into our home because I had somehow failed him as a son. Hideki Kawakami became Henry Sato to hide from the yakuza, but changing his name also reflected the life changes he had made.”

  “I was able to get information by following paper trails,” I said. “Wouldn’t the yakuza be able to do the same thing to find him even though he had changed his name?”

  “Oh, there were paper trails,” Dad said. “Your father wanted nothing to do with that lifestyle when he left. But his rank in the clan was high enough that they would come looking for him if he escaped, so your father had help from someone who had access to a lot of money. They left paper trails that led mostly to Korea but some led to Brazil, Hong Kong, and Los Angeles. Airline tickets, real estate purchases, financial investments, fake documentation.”

  “Fake documentation?” I sat straighter. “Do you mean he wasn’t really a citizen?”

  “He was a legitimate citizen. His friend helped your father get a job so he could get a green card, and he started working at your grandfather’s diner, and met your mom. And once he married your mom, it was easier to become a US citizen.”

  “That still seems fast, though. I swear Ashley Cheung once said it took her dad almost twenty years to become a citizen.”

  “The fact that his friend had a lot of money also made the process a quick one. Everything was legal, but his friend was very fluent in business politics and knew how to work the system.”

  I scooted to the front of my chair and leaned my elbows on his desk. “Are you sure my father changed when he came here? Not just his name, but as a person?”

  “Positive. Over time, I grew to love your father like a brother, and when I left to attend college, we wrote to each other often. We were close.”

  I loved hearing about what their relationship had become. Once Parker left for college, I’d probably email him, but I couldn’t see myself taking the time to send anything handwritten. “Do you still have his letters?”

  Dad nodded. “I do. I have the one when your father met your mother at the diner, one from when they were married, letters announcing the arrival of kids and other big events. They’d waited so long for children, more than ten years, and then all of a sudden it was like the stork dropped a big bundle. I was so proud of all he had done with his life. As you know, I entered the military immediately after college, but he would send me pictures of you guys all the time.”

  Behind him was a set of pins hanging on the wall. He had collected them from various places he had been assigned. Mom had laid them out on a piece of felt and then had them framed. She gave it to him as an anniversary present a few years ago.

  “So how did you end up with Mom?” I asked, the most relaxed I’d been all day. I nearly forgot about all the strange recent events that caused me so much anxiety.

  He leaned back until the leather chair groaned. “Claire, the day your father died was one of the saddest days of my life. When I saw your mother on the day of the funeral, standing with the three of you next to her, I felt . . . compelled to take care of all of you. It seemed like the honorable thing to do—something your father would have wanted. Through all of the letters and pictures your father had sent, I felt like I knew you—as if I had grown to love you and your brothers before I had even met you.” His mouth curved into a smile, and his dark eyes sparkled.

  I could have curled up in that story. Maybe there were bad people out there who wanted to do bad things to me—and maybe the rest of our family and friends—but he wasn’t one of them.

  For a moment he stopped, perhaps unsure if he should continue. But finally he shifted his weight forward. “So I took a leap of faith and moved to be near your family, not knowing what would happen, and spent time with your mother. She had her hands full with you and the boys, and my support came at a time when she really needed it.”

  I stared at him, speechless. This seemed like a pretty important part of my history which should have been made known to me—us—much earlier than now. “When were you guys planning on telling us all of this?” I bit at a fingernail.

  “It never seemed necessary, but I think you’re old enough to understand now. Your father did a lot of things we had always hoped to protect you from. Mom thought if you knew how well I had known your father, you would ask too many questions, and you guys were so young. At the time we got married, we wanted to keep it fairly quiet, so we eloped. For your mom to get married so soon after your father’s death seemed like a potential scandal for the people in Hawaii who knew both of our families. We didn’t want anyone to think I had taken advantage of a widow, and many traditional Japanese people felt she had not been grieving long enough to consider remarrying.”

  “Do you think he knew he was going to die?” I asked.

  He pushed up his glasses again and paused to gather his thoughts. “I don’t know, Claire. For Henry to die at such a young age . . . I guess it’s possible.” His tired eyes sagged.

  The story of how my parents had gotten together was not what I expected, although I didn’t know what to expect anymore. It was definitely more information than I thought he would share. I stared out the window to our front lawn. I could visualize the car parked across the street and the man taking pictures. “Dad, is there any reason the mafia would want to hurt us now that my father’s dead?”

  “Not that I can think of,” he said. “Why do you ask?”

  I told him about the black SUV, from the first time I saw it, to the guy taking pictures of our houses, to how he followed me out of school just now.

  “How long has this been going on?” he asked.

  I shrugged. “Maybe a few weeks. About the same time I ordered the autopsy report.” I showed him the top of my hand. “Here’s the license plate number.” The marker had faded to a grayish-purple. “It’s a Nevada plate.”

  He squinted. “I can barely read it. What if it had washed away completely?”

  “I wrote it down on paper upstairs just in case.”

  He took a pen from his desk drawer and copied the information in a notebook in front of him.

  “I don’t want you to worry about this. I’m going to take care of everything,” he said. “But if you happen to see the car again, I want you to call the police for help immediately, then call me.”

  “I will. Do you think this has anything to do with my father?” I tugged at the loose thread on the hem of my shorts until it broke. “Do you think I started this when I ordered the report?”

  “I don’t know.” He pursed his lips as he shook his head.

  Maybe he was saying that to make me feel better, but I could tell there was something he wasn’t saying. “Do you have any idea who’s in the car?”

  “Perhaps. How’s the team doing without you?”

  The way he transitioned into questions about soccer so quickly made something prickle in my gut.

  “Fine. I think. We haven’t had any games, so I don’t know. I’ve only been away a few days. At this rate I’ll miss tomorrow’s game, but I’m a little more worried about everything else.”

  He picked up his cell phone. “I’m going to call the school and have them tell your brothers to call home. I need to know if they received boxes.”

  “They’re at soccer practice by now, so you’ll have to tell the office to give the message to Coach Zindler.”

  “Noted. And I’m going to try to reschedule your meeting with the principal while I have them on
the line.”

  “Okay.” I put my arms on the chair and lifted myself up. “Am I in trouble then? For the autopsy report and all that other stuff?”

  He edged around the desk to get to me. He perched on the front of his desk, leaned over, and clasped my face with both hands. “Yes, very much so. But I will deal with you later.” He kissed the top of my head, already dialing the school.

  “Love you, Dad,” I said as I left him.

  “Love you, too.” He lifted the phone to his ear. “I’m going to take care of this. I’m not going to let anything happen to my princess.”

  His gentle tone and the look on his face said he was trying to be convincing, but his anxiety lit up the room.

  Dear Otochan,

  Today I was thinking about something that happened a long time ago. We’d only lived in Utah a few months, but Fed had spent so much time at our house he felt like my little brother—one I liked. Anyway, we were all playing soccer at the park across the street. Forrest had been in the neighborhood even less time than we had because he moved in a little after. So this was his first time playing with us. He ended up knocking Fed to the ground, and Fed started screaming. Nicholas started to make fun of Fed and called him a baby because he wouldn’t get up. I finally went over and helped Fed roll over. Blood was everywhere. He’d fallen on a sprinkler head, and it had somehow sliced his leg open. I remember I started to cry because I was so scared. All I could think about was how he might die like you. I held Fed’s hand and was probably crying harder than he was.

  I don’t know how I could have been so stupid. I was worried he was going to die, but rather than trying to stop the bleeding, I sat there and bawled. I guess I’m lucky that all Fed needed was stitches.

  I only have a few memories of you, but one is that I held your hand as you were dying. Mom says she told me to wait with you while she called for an ambulance. I don’t remember that, but I remember I was going to be turning seven in a few weeks. I was worried that you were going to be sick on my birthday and that I would have to wait to open my presents. I know that I wasn’t that old, but sometimes I wonder if there’s something I could have done to save you.

  With everything going on right now, I know I don’t ever want to feel like that again. I don’t want to question whether there was something I should or could have done. I want to know I at least tried.

  Love,

  Claire, age 16

  AFTER I LEFT Dad’s office, I sat down at the piano. I’d played the piano for as long as I could remember, first in Hawaii and then Utah. Once we moved, I studied under a professor at the University of Utah. I missed taking lessons, but I hadn’t missed the four to five hours of practice each day required by Dr. McLloyd. It was nice not to wake up early so I could get a few hours of practice in before school, and I enjoyed having more room in my schedule for other things like soccer.

  I chose the Warsaw Concerto by Richard Addinsell. The style reminded me of Rachmaninoff, but Dr. McLloyd had told me the song was composed for a movie. I imagined playing the music to a screenplay of someone else’s life, someone else’s problems.

  I finished the piece and checked my phone. School was out, and I had multiple texts from Forrest asking where I was. I texted him briefly to let him know I was at home.

  When his Jeep rolled into our driveway to drop off my brothers, I ran out to meet him. I never understood why he always gave us door-to-door service when he lived next door, but it was one of the things I found endearing about him.

  My brothers jumped out of the car. “Good to see you,” Parker said. “Get it? See? Eyeballs?”

  “You’re so stupid,” Avery mumbled.

  “Did you guys get boxes too?” I asked, making my way to Forrest’s side.

  Avery shook his head.

  “Eye did not.” Parker bent over, laughing harder than anyone at his own joke. They hauled their stuff inside.

  I was the only lucky one. I didn’t know how to make sense of everything.

  Forrest rolled down his window. “Since when do your brothers know more information about you than I do?” He smiled.

  I hung both of my hands on his door. “Yeah, sorry about that. They only knew I was home because Dad called the school.”

  “Hey, Kiki,” Nicholas said from the passenger seat. “I’m going to pound the guy when I find out who did that.” He hit his fist against his palm.

  “You can have him after I do,” I said.

  “So Katie’s party tonight?” Forrest asked.

  “Yep,” I said. “What time do you guys want to head over?”

  “We’ll be over once we drop off our stuff, and then we can go whenever we feel like it,” said Nicholas.

  “See you in a little bit,” Forrest said, and backed out of the driveway.

  I headed up to my room to get ready and threw open my dresser drawers. And then I stared.

  Nothing stood out. Even though all of my time was spent with these guys, I was still a girl who did, on occasion, care what I looked like. After agonizing forever, I dressed in a gray T-shirt from my last soccer tournament and a pair of jeans, which wasn’t different than what I wore on any given day. I probably should have asked one of the girls from the team to go shopping with me to help with my style, but the kinds of clothes other girls wore looked so uncomfortable. And if I asked Mom to take me, everything would end up being pink.

  While I stood in front of the bathroom mirror deciding what to do with my hair, the kitchen below became filled with a chorus of the usual noise. I heard Avery and Fed raid the fridge, open and slam the pantry door, trade insults.

  My black hair fell just below my shoulders. I tried to pin some of it up the way other girls did, but it was hopeless. In the end, I stuffed my hair in the usual ponytail, but the elastic snapped and I didn’t have any more in the house. I gave up and left it down.

  I brushed on some mascara and tried some eyeliner. Since I didn’t use eyeliner often, I’d never learned how to hold my hand steady. The line looked decent on my left eye, but the right eye took a couple of attempts before I could draw a straight line.

  A muffled bumping sound came from my closet. Looking in the direction of the noise, I stiffened. Something shifted again behind the door. I grabbed a hairbrush off the bathroom counter and clutched it until the blood drained out of my hand. Stepping out of the bathroom into my room, I stared at the knob. The rustle of clothing made me stop. I urged my hand to steady itself, but it continued to tremble. Most likely it was a mouse, I told myself. A big one.

  I hated mice.

  My heart sprinted laps inside my chest. I reached for the handle and yanked open the door.

  A huge figure dressed in all black yelled and launched himself at me. I delivered a strong backhand to his face with the brush as I was tackled to the floor. Everything happened so fast that I only realized Parker was in my face when my brush found his cheek.

  He rolled off me, gripping his side to contain the laughter.

  “Stupid jerk,” I muttered, and punched him in the stomach as hard as I could.

  He folded in half. “Jeez! It was just a joke,” he said, rubbing his stomach with one hand and his red cheek with the other.

  I threw the brush at him and stormed out.

  When I marched into the kitchen, Dad seamlessly interrupted his chat with the guys. “Too much makeup,” he said and kept talking.

  Wearing a little mascara and eyeliner hardly equated to “too much makeup,” but the fact that I ever wore makeup at all made him upset.

  Fed cracked a toothy grin, his freckled cheeks pushing against the bottom of his eyes. “I think you look great. A princess, like Asayahime.”

  “Thanks.” I tried to contain my big smile. Fed was proof bro­thers could communicate with sentences that didn’t include insults. He’d also never jumped out of my closet and tackled me to the ground.

  He tugged my arm and asked me for advice on what to wear. I scanned his blue T-shirt with a picture of a caffeine molecule and assu
red him he didn’t need to go home and change because he looked fine. I wasn’t the best person to give fashion advice though.

  Dad put both hands on the island. “Where are you going?” he asked.

  “To Katie’s house,” I said. “All of us are going.”

  Avery motioned to Fed to go upstairs so they could avoid the conversation, but Dad stopped them. “Son, I need to speak with you.”

  “I’ll meet you up there,” Avery said to Fed.

  Fed nodded and disappeared up the stairs.

  “Parker,” Dad called. “Can you come down here please?”

  I sat on a stool at the island.

  Parker lumbered down the stairs and into the kitchen. He seated himself on the stool next to me.

  “Look, kids, I don’t think you should go anywhere tonight until I can find out what’s going on,” he said.

  Avery walked over and stood behind Parker. “Just because someone doesn’t like Claire?”

  Dad closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He opened his eyes and said, “Avery, I think we all know this could be more serious than that, and we can’t say for sure if Claire’s the only one being targeted. Hopefully it isn’t serious, but until I know who did this, I’d feel better if you and your friends hung out here tonight.”

  “Okay, I admit it. I did it,” Avery said. He clapped his hands together. “Who’s ready to go?”

  Dad stared at him in disbelief, and from the way his nostrils flared, he was crossing over into extreme irritation.

  “We’ll stay here,” Parker said.

  “Thank you, Parker,” Dad said, still glaring at Avery. “I need to catch a plane for a business trip to Phoenix, but I trust you can behave yourselves until Mom gets home from work.”

  “Claire, you heard Dad,” Avery said. “No pole dancing tonight.”

  Dad shook his head and rolled his eyes before he went to his room. I remembered the prickly feeling in my gut when I had talked to Dad earlier that afternoon. There was something he was holding back. I had never been sure where he went, but I planned to find out. His briefcase was in his office.