Crimson Footprints Part 8

Deena's eyes widened. "You kidding me? My family's got it all figured out."

"And you? Have you got it all figured out?"

She frowned. "No. It just seems to me that if you've already made up your mind then you can find evidence corroborating whatever it is you believe."

"So what are you telling me? That you're an atheist?"

Her eyes widened. "It's not G.o.d that I doubt, its people."

They continued in silence.

"And what about you?" she said.

Tak sighed.

"I'm sure you've heard of cafeteria Catholics," he said.

"Yeah?"

"Well, I'm an ambivalent Buddhist. You know, it's more about family ties than any clear and all-encompa.s.sing notion."

"Hmm," she said in quiet understanding.

On they went.

"You know what I wish?" Deena said suddenly.

He shook his head.

"I wish that I didn't want my family's love so bad. I wish I could be one of those people who wore leather jackets and just didn't give a d.a.m.ned."

He shot her a look. "You'd be musty if you wore a leather jacket in this heat."

She grinned. "You know what I mean."

He shrugged. "Who doesn't want a decent family, Dee? It's not much to ask for."

He paused to pluck a seash.e.l.l from the sand. Chipped and polished by time, it shone under the glint of a fast setting sun.

"I don't know the answers," he said. "But they seem to be in things like this." He held up the sh.e.l.l.

She frowned. "I don't follow."

Tak simply shrugged. "Well, think about it. What's a sh.e.l.l? It's just a-a hard, protective outer layer. The same is true with family. They're an outer layer, a protection from the world. At least that's what they're supposed to be." He paused. "Think about what happens when you screw with an animal that has one of those hard sh.e.l.ls. What does he do?"

"He goes into it."

"Right. He retreats." He thumbed the sh.e.l.l thoughtfully. "Now imagine if you were to rip the sh.e.l.l off a turtle and expose him. What do you think you'd find?"

Deena cringed. "Something soft and hurting.

"And dead, if not close to it. So, our hypothetical turtle, who's able to stand our sh.e.l.l transplant for the sake of comparison, needs another sh.e.l.l, another form of protection. And so do you." Tak handed the grooved and sand-polished subject to Deena. She looked down at it.

"So, how've I been surviving all this time then? What's my sh.e.l.l?"

Tak grinned.

"Tell you what. I'll let you know when I crack it."

He plucked the sh.e.l.l from her hands and tossed it in the waters. The two stopped, ocean rus.h.i.+ng their feet, saturating then receding.

"Who the h.e.l.l told you to take my sh.e.l.l?" Deena demanded. She would've sounded more incredulous if she could've kept from smiling.

"Your sh.e.l.l? I'm the one who bent and plucked it. All you did was stand there with your hand out."

Deena giggled. And before she knew it, she'd shoved him. Never had she pushed someone before. But the feeling it gave her, watching him stumble just a tad, was enough to make her squeal in mischief. She darted off, hoping he would follow.

He did.

Through the sand they dashed, laughing as their footprints grew closer and closer before merging with her capture.

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

When Deena went to work for Daichi Tanaka as an intern four years ago, she was shoved into a cubicle with the breadth and gloss of a sterilized broom closet. Her desk back then was a flimsy white contraption, held steady by the half dozen texts she memorized as per Daichi Tanaka's request.

Of the twenty interns Daichi took on each year, Deena had been the first he'd ever offered employment. With the vote of confidence, Deena's works.p.a.ce moved from a broom closet cubicle to an office on the third floor. It had a single window, bare white walls and a drab gray carpet. But it was hers.

Her desk as an intern and the one she had now, had both been adorned with a single potted plant-a bonsai named Hope.

Hope was a forgiving bloom, hacked in inexperience, frustration and anger. Ever lending a patient ear, she listened as Deena prattled about her apprehensions and fears, and forgave for skipped feedings and sunlight. Hope flourished no matter her treatment, almost as if aware of how much Deena needed her to.

Deena's reliance on Hope was beginning to wane. These days, she found it much more rewarding to seek out a certain guy with an easy smile and a tender touch when she wanted to talk. She hoped the bonsai didn't mind.

Despite the s.h.i.+mmering sunlight of an early spring day, Deena was behind her desk. Her works.p.a.ce was a streamlined one because a cluttered mind led to cluttered work. She had only her M.I.T. degree on the wall, hung with a single nail. A drafting table, L-shaped desk and charcoal gray swivel chair sat in the center of the room. On one side was a bookshelf crammed with must-have references, on another a high-backed guest chair, and in the center of it all, was Hope.

It was the sort of day when the sky was a silky seamless blue, when the ocean s.h.i.+mmered as if buffed to a high gloss and suns.h.i.+ne glistened like melting honey. It was the kind of day that emptied out the Tanaka Firm like a fire drill. Daichi's employs found countless ways to get out of the office-lunch with a client, site evaluations, scouting potential construction locations-anything, really. But not Deena, Deena was business without fail.

She spent the morning working on the plans to remodel a preparatory school, all the while loathing the subsequent phone call with the school's chancellor. She was a nasty old woman with a pension for drama who preferred to choke rather than hold the school's purse strings. The woman salivated over haggling, and when the time came, Deena knew she wouldn't disappoint.

"Is it really necessary to raise the toilets?" croaked the disciplinarian. "It seems to me that if we left the toilets as they were we could save thousands of dollars."

Deena stared at her fingernails, already annoyed. "It's a matter of safety, Miss Gleason. It's the same way with the grab rails. These are small alterations with big benefits."

"Big benefits? Benefits to your firm, perhaps. I've heard that you guys mark up the price on everything anyway."

She hated this part. The haggling, the selling of a vision, the educating of the ignorant.

"Miss Gleason, I can a.s.sure you that you're being charged the customary 8% of construction cost and not a penny more. I've slashed every possible expenditure to make this affordable-there's nothing left to cut."

"That's what you say. But why is it that when St. Charles was renovated it cost half of what you're quoting me?"

Deena sighed. "I don't know, Miss Gleason. It could be anything. Your building might be older, or larger, or, or-"

"Or it could be you. You ripping me off."

"If I wanted to rip you off I wouldn't suggest cost-saving measures, now would I?"

"I don't know what you'd do. But I'll tell you this. I don't like your tone. And quite frankly, I never have. I think you're a sn.o.b."

Deena froze. "I beg your pardon?"

"I said you're a sn.o.b. Right from the beginning you've been rude and impatient and-and-"

"Miss Gleason, hold on a moment. I don't think-"

"Don't tell me to hold on. I'm paying you. Now all you've tried to do, right from the beginning, is rip me off. We need this and we need that-way more than what we asked for!"

"Your building wasn't up to code!"

"Says you. Look, I don't have to tolerate this," Miss Gleason said. "I refuse to work with you one more moment. Not one more!"

"Miss Gleason, please. Let's gather our bearings and-"

Dial tone.

With a sob of frustration, Deena heaved the phone across the room and buried her face in her hands. All that work, all that fighting, only to be fired.

The woman was impossible. Life was impossible. She wished herself away from this plain-faced office, and on a beach. With Tak and his guitar.

The first time she heard him play was evening she cleaned out Anthony's room. The hour grew late as they sat on the beach, nothing but the gentle strumming of his guitar between them, and on occasion, a few melodic verses he'd conjure on the spot.

She'd been stunned by his voice and the feelings it stirred in her. Smooth and sultry, his tenor was lulling and seductive, and on that night, made exquisite by grief. She'd closed her eyes and let his sound wash over her, pain alleviating with the notion that he somehow shared it.

Deena closed her eyes with the memory, attempting to recall something of the notes which soothed her.

"That bad, huh?"

Startled, she lifted her head to find Tak. Deena smiled.

"How long have you been standing there?"

He shrugged. "Long enough to know you need a raise."

Deena grinned. "Try getting that one by your dad."

He stepped inside and closed the door.

"School marm?" he said with a sympathetic smile.

Deena sighed. "School marm. Not to worry though. She fired me this time."

Tak waved a dismissive hand. "Screw her. She was beneath you anyway."

"No one's beneath you when you're as poor as me."

He shook his head.

"Deena, listen. Sometimes the slammed door is just a distraction. You know, to the opportunity in the other direction. Every week that woman took a hacksaw to your work, stifling your talents. She had no vision, no appreciation. Trust me. Better things are in store. Soon." He pinched her cheek. "All right?"

"All right."

Again, she smiled.

"How long has that woman been badgering you, anyway?"

"Too long. And I rushed through two other projects, small ones true, but still rushes-because she said that I wasn't giving her enough attention."

"And this is how she thanks you." Tak frowned, leaned against her desk. "And the fellows.h.i.+p hall? Are they still beggars being choosy?"

Deena sighed. "Yeah. Draft number five was finally approved. And all it cost was my sanity."

Tak leaned against her desk.

"You need a vacation, Dee."

Dee. She still churned at the nickname. Never had she known how sweet endearments could be on the right lips.

Was that what she thought of him? Of his lips? That they were somehow right for her? Deena blushed.

"Let's do it."

Tak slammed a hand on her desk and Deena blinked.

"Do what?"

"Take a vacation."

He rounded her desk, warming to the idea. "Let's. .h.i.t the road. You, me, and the top down on the Ferrari." His hand sliced through the air. "Just open air and speed."

Deena frowned. "But when? Where?"