Crimson Footprints Part 33

Daichi unwrapped the paper carefully, folded it and set it aside, before opening the box. Deena watched cautiously, nerves erratic, as he lifted the first book.

"Structure and Nature," he read. "Finding Harmony in Discordance." He chuckled.

He dug for the next treat.

"Organic Architecture: Molding Earth and Form." And finally, "Nature and the Artificial: Man's Arrogance in Architecture."

"The lady doth protest too much," Daichi teased.

She smiled. "Until I have my way."

"Your way," Daichi laughed, "would be an onslaught of low income housing, all with beachfront access, fitness centers, and the latest in architectural innovation."

"Affordability and innovation aren't necessarily divorced."

Daichi grinned. He found her youth and compa.s.sion refres.h.i.+ng.

"No," he agreed. "But affordability and the wealthy architect are."

Daichi tipped his gla.s.s to her and took a drink.

"Well done! Bravo!" Yos.h.i.+ clapped. "The sooner you abandon your principles the sooner you can be rich. My brother here can offer you all the guidance you need on that."

"Yos.h.i.+," June said. "It's a holiday. And we're all having such a good time."

"Yos.h.i.+ is welcome to air his grievances holiday or otherwise. He's certainly ent.i.tled to a few, considering the substandard life he's forced to endure."

Daichi sipped his tea.

"Daichi. Yos.h.i.+aki. That's quite enough," Yukiko warned.

"Yes, yes, remind us again of how important you are. My brother on the cover of Time and People and Newsweek. Daichi Tanaka, the most important Tanaka. Everyone take note!"

"The most important Tanaka?" Daichi laughed. "And what does that distinction require? A university degree?"

Tak sighed. John rubbed his face tiredly.

"Daichi!" Yukiko cried. "You've gone far enough!"

Daichi shrugged indifferently. "Perhaps."

Deena looked from Daichi, in his white b.u.t.ton up and navy slacks, legs crossed and sipping iced tea as though he were bored, to Yos.h.i.+, his face bloated and red, mouth working without speaking, food forgotten.

Michael sat on Kenji's bed, surveying the spread of comic books. Each one seemed to impress more than the last, and he lifted them with the respect and admiration of a long-time fan.

"You've got a few vintage here, Kenji. DC Marvel vintage. How'd you ever get this stuff?"

Kenji shrugged. The DC Marvel stuff was for bragging rights only. He still preferred his graphic novels. "Got it on eBay. How else?"

"Having a rich dad must be awesome," Mike picked up yet another book.

Kenji thought about his uncle's job as a used car salesman. "At least your dad was home a lot."

Michael laughed. "Too much if you ask me."

He paused. "Can I ask you something, Kenji?"

Kenji glanced at him. "Yeah, sure. What is it?" He began stacking his comics in order of release, making neat piles on his nightstand.

"Deena's beautiful, isn't she?"

Kenji froze. "What?"

"That girl, Deena. The one that works for your dad."

Beads of sweat peppered Kenji's forehead.

"Yeah. What about her?" He was having trouble breathing.

"I saw you with her today. On the beach. You must've spent hours with her. And you guys went for ice cream afterwards, didn't you?"

Kenji swallowed. "Yeah."

"Well, tell me about her. What's she like?"

Kenji stared at him. "I-I don't know." He lowered his gaze. "I don't really know her."

"Kenji, come on. You're with her all the time. Today you were with her forever. What did you talk about? What did you learn? What did she laugh at?"

Kenji shook his head. "I don't know what to tell you. I don't know what she likes. And we just talked about stuff. Baseball. Comic books."

He was lying of course. They'd talked about him s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g up and greeting her like an old friend on the staircase. They'd talked about the way he dusted the opposition in last year's state champions.h.i.+p. And they'd laughed about Michael not being able to take a hint.

"So she likes comic books? I knew it!" he leapt to his feet, thrilled. "I knew I'd have so much in common with her. I just felt it. This meant-to-be thing."

He began to pace. "I'm putting everything I've got into winning her over. And I want you to help me."

Kenji wiped his forehead. It was damp. Really damp. "But why?"he whined inadvertently.

"Why what? Why do I want to win her over?"

"Yea-yeah. I mean why do you have to want her so bad?"

Michael shook his head. "Because she's beautiful, Kenji! That hair. And those eyes. And she's smart. I'm willing to bet she's brilliant. And that's the sort of woman I was meant to be with."

He stopped pacing. "You know what, Kenji? I think I'm in love with her."

"What? No! You can't be," disbelief marred his face.

Michael stopped and gave him a once over, as if seeing him for the first time. "Ohhh. I get it. You like her too, huh? A little boyhood crush? "

"No! G.o.d no. She's like a sis-" Kenji bit down. "Listen, I don't like her. Not the way you think."

Hurriedly, he lowered his gaze to the stack of comics. G.o.d, where was Tak when he needed him. Or a flight to Miami. "Besides," Kenji muttered disagreeably. "You barely even know her."

Michael shrugged at the minor inconvenience. "That's why I need your help. Help me get to know her. Everything I try seems wrong. I can't make any progress. Find out what she likes, for me. You're a kid. She'll trust you. She'll think you're adorable."

Kenji shook his head. "I can't help you, Michael. I can't talk to her, I can't-"

"What do you mean you can't talk to her? You just spent the whole afternoon with her! Make her laugh again, then slip in a good word about me."

Kenji closed his eyes. What could he say? Denying Michael this would cause him to wonder. Yet, helping him would be betraying his brother. He needed a compromise. Or at least, the appearance of a compromise.

Kenji sighed. "Alright, Michael, alright. I'll help you."

CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE.

After a robust breakfast of steak and eggs, Daichi and Deena retreated not to the study as she'd expected, but to the terrace to work. Donning a floppy straw hat, sundress and sandals, she followed Daichi out, amused once again by his casual attire. On this day, it was a crisp oxford, sleeves rolled up, tan chinos and a pair of Italian leather loafers. Daichi minus a jacket still looked strange.

He led her to what was undoubtedly the most impressive patio furniture she'd ever seen. Curved wicker benches of a deep espresso, padded with thick couture cus.h.i.+ons, surrounded a round gla.s.s table adorned with bone china settings for four. An oversized umbrella in a soft cream shaded them. They had prime viewing of the private stretch of beach and the volleyball game Tak and John, Kenji and Mike were about to start.

Tak was s.h.i.+rtless, his bronzed chest sweat-glistened under the morning sun. He ran a hand through his hair, saturated and falling into his eyes. Deena exhaled.

"Are you fan?"

Deena blinked. "A what?"

"A fan. Are you a fan of volleyball?"

He opened his briefcase, never taking his eyes off her.

"No. Well, not really."

"Yet they seem to have your attention."

"No, I was just...thinking that...someone should tell them not to...play so soon after eating," she finished lamely.

"I see. Would you like to take a moment to do so?"

Deena blushed. "Of course not. We have work to do. And in any case, they should know better."

Daichi nodded. "Agreed. Now let us get to work."

They labored through lunch, triple checking their work as they snacked on finger sandwiches and sipped iced tea. Deena ignored her cell phone as it vibrated, certain it was her grandmother yet again. She had this well developed habit now of making frantic calls when Deena was out of town.

Deena turned her phone off and pushed through the sludge that was their work. And when Daichi set aside their stacks of paper and eyed Deena with interest, she stared back warily.

"Something on your mind, Daichi?"

"A curiosity. Unrelated to work."

Now she really was nervous.

"Okay," she said with forced evenness.

He cleared his throat. "I find you to be a capable architect, Deena---more than capable even. Talented, astute, driven. So, my question to you is this. What has consumed you so singularly?"

"Sir?"

Daichi nodded as if her hesitation were due to something reasonable and other than confusion.

"I should hardly expect your candor without offering you such accessibility." He leaned back in his seat.

"My success as an architect was at the expense of my wife and children. There are times when the reality of that consumes me. It prompts me to toil, to accomplish more, as if said accomplishments can a.s.suage the bitterness of sacrifice. So, I'll ask you again. What has consumed you? What sacrifice have you made in the name of architecture that now requires such relentless commitment?"

She lowered her gaze. "Maybe I'm just ambitious."

"You are," he conceded. "But burdened, as well."

She swallowed. When she spoke next, her eyes were on the crumb-laden dish before her, and not on her boss.

"When I went away to college my brother Anthony was eleven and my sister Lizzie, eight. They did all the things kids at that age do. Anthony would draw and do puzzles, and Lizzie, well; Lizzie was content with finger painting and dolls."

Deena s.h.i.+fted, paused.

"When I returned from M.I.T. my brother was a drug dealer with two years left to live and my sister, well, my sister was already quite adept at giving out s.e.xual favors."

The words didn't shock him the way she thought. He nodded as if he'd expected something so sordid. "And your parents? What of them?"

"My father's dead and my mother's in prison."

"Am I to presume they're related?"

Deena nodded, suddenly feeling tired.

"And...you blame her? For the fate of your brother and sister?"

Deena sighed. "I blame her. I blame me. I don't know."