A Love For Always (4 page)

“Not this weekend.”

Nate didn’t seem happy with her answer. “Why?”

“Friday and Saturday are crazy busy. Sunday, I have to go see Mom and Nana.”

“How are they?”

“They’re fine.”

Nate’s jaw tightened; his eyes narrowed. She hated his perceptivity. Sylvie knew he worked for a covert branch of the government before BSI, probably the CIA, which made her current situation dicier to have him as a friend. She had asked him about his work before, and he flat-out told her he couldn’t talk about it. It never came up in discussion again. Maybe that was why she always held a part of herself back from him. Nate appeared to be a seemingly open book with his easy going, almost eternal frat boy nature, but he really ran deeper. None of his girlfriends ever caught on to that about him.
 

“Can I go see them with you?” Nate asked. “I miss them.”

“Not this time, Nate.”

“What are you doing Monday? Restaurant’s closed, right?”

This was getting aggravating. He was like a ram who just wouldn’t quit battering. He’d pound and pound until he got his way, but Monday was a big no.
 

“I can’t Monday. I already have things lined up,” Sylvie said. “How about Tuesday? I can see you before dinner service. Otherwise, it’ll have to be the following Saturday morning. I’m really sorry, Nate. I told you why this wasn’t such a good idea. I—”

“Sylvs,” Nate interrupted gently. “It’s fine. We’ll make it work.”

She tried to smile through the secrets weighing her down. If he only knew how unworkable the situation was.
 

CHAPTER THREE

The drive down Route 623 to Goochland County, VA was a peaceful one. Far from the bustle of the nation’s capital, Sylvie’s old clunker, a twenty-year-old Cherokee had seen this trip many times. She really needed a new car. The restaurant was finally making money, loans were getting paid, and the budget was easing.
 

Things were nowhere near settled with Nate. After yet agreeing to be friends for now, he took her back to the restaurant and followed her home. Not a peep, text, or call from him on Friday, she was beginning to think he changed his mind. She felt bereft as one would when you lost a best friend, but she knew there was something more. By Saturday morning, she was pissed and was this close to calling him to yell at him for disrupting her already complicated life. Thankfully, work kept her busy. Saturday evening, he popped into the restaurant to say hi, ate at the ramen bar, and left. This morning, he sent her a text message:

Nate: Enjoy your time with Pru and Nana. Say hi for me.

For some reason, that turned her insides into warm gooey marshmallow. At that thought, Sylvie cringed.
Get a grip, Yoshida.

Nana’s farm came into view. Sylvie visited as often as she could. This was where she was raised. Three generations of Buchanan women.

Prudence Buchanan, her mother—blown-glass artist, was a beautiful fifty-year old redhead with an independent streak the size of Texas. She earned the ire of the Asian Crime Syndicate boss by spiriting Sylvie away from the land of the rising sun. Daichi Yoshida had been furious, but according to her mother, his pride was what left them alone. Her mother had no intention of raising a daughter in a life of organized crime, and though getting entangled with her father was a mistake, Mom said she didn’t regret it because it gave her Sylvie.

 
She felt every bump and dip as her clunker creaked down the unpaved driveway. By the time she arrived at the ranch-style house, her brain felt scrambled. The jarring headache faded quickly when a petite woman with salt and pepper hair pushed open the screen door.

Her Nana, Agnes Buchanan.

Sylvie eagerly killed the engine and hopped out of the SUV. “Nana!”

“My darling child,” Nana rasped as Sylvie embraced her. “So happy you came today. I just made a pitcher of sweet tea.”

Sylvie smiled. That never changed.

“Where’s Mom?”
 

“She’s in the workshop. She’s been very busy.” There was an outbuilding behind the main residence where her mother created her beautiful glass art.

With their arms around each other, they entered her childhood home. It wasn’t grand in any scheme—three bedrooms, a living room, and a kitchen. The interior was very rustic with dark wood-slatted walls and flooring. There was a formal dining room, but it was rarely used. But Nana made it home. Something aromatic always simmered on the stovetop. Except during the summer months when the temperatures could reach 100 degrees, she cooked or baked. When the mercury reached scorching levels though, she had a smoker outdoors she used to make some of the best barbecue outside of North Carolina.

“I smell cookies.” Sylvie smiled.

“Chocolate chip, my dear. Big gooey chunks of ‘em just the way you like it.”

Her Nana hobbled to the kitchen to pull a tray of cookies off the cooling rack. Sylvie frowned at her labored movement.

“Nana, are you okay?”

“I’m certainly better than I was a few months ago,” her grandma said. “Sometimes I’m convinced this is all a part of growing old.”

“The doctors were impressed with your last results,” Sylvie said. “You have another appointment in two weeks—”

“Let’s not talk about that, child,” Nana cut in gently. “Let’s have some cookies on the porch, okay? Go say hi to your mom.”

“Okay.”

“Grab that pitcher of iced tea.”

*****

It was early April. Nana’s land was mostly leased to farmers who wanted to grow corn or soybeans. This year it was corn and the land was tilled for planting. The spring breeze was still chilly, the smell of earth was in the air. The sun was hovering over the horizon, brushing a rich red streak across the sky.

Sylvie swung idly on the porch swing. She had since kicked off her shoes and her bare toes trailed the porch floor. Her mom was leaning against the railing, her slender form clad in faded jeans and gingham shirt.
 

Both women were at an impasse.

Sylvie waited to make sure Nana was busy in the kitchen before she spoke. “There’s no other way, Mom.”

“You have to stop, Sylvie. I’ve gone along with this long enough, and I was against it in the first place. The restaurant is doing so well. You’re going places. Smuggling drugs for your father needs to stop.”

“But the experimental drug is working. Nana’s results are better.”
 

“Yes, but at what price? She’s at a point where it’s manageable and the disease won’t regress.”

“I’m not taking any chances. We have to be sure.”

Her mother pushed away from the railing and sat beside her on the swing. “Sylvie, baby, you think if Ma finds out—”

“She won’t find out.” Sylvie shuddered at the thought. It would break Nana’s heart. If there were an idealist in this world, it was her grandma. As for her mom, she had outgrown her wild child ways. Having a daughter to raise would do that. Falling for a mafia boss would do that as well—open your eyes to the realities of this world that there was good, evil, and morally ambiguous actions.
 
Sometimes, Sylvie thought she had more of her dad in her. The ruthless streak. The “end justifies the means” mentality. “She won’t find out, Mom.”

“How many more of these drops do you still need to do?”

“As many as required to get Nana well.”
 

A stretch of silence fell upon them. Nana was still busy puttering around in the kitchen. Both women were lost in their own thoughts.

Her grandma was stricken a year ago by a rare liver disease. It was a very stressful time as her health deteriorated rapidly. They’d been to several doctors, all were of the same opinion there was no cure. Sylvie always suspected her dad was keeping tabs on them and this was confirmed when he contacted her with an experimental drug that was not even on the FDA’s radar. She guessed she shouldn’t be surprised how her dad managed to get hold of Nana’s medical records. She also had a sneaking suspicion he still had a thing for her mom.
 

“Maybe I should talk to Dai,” Mom said suddenly.

Huh?
Guess they were both thinking about Dad. Weird.

“You think he’ll simply hand over the drug out of the goodness of his heart?” Sylvie had spent some time with the man when she apprenticed at ramen shops all over Japan nine years ago. Daichi Yoshida wasn’t one to give you warm and fuzzy feelings, but then again he was a crime boss.

Mom sighed. “No. On second thought, me talking to him might do more harm than good.”

“When was the last time you spoke to him?”

Mom blew out a breath and shook her head slowly. “I don’t know. A while. Two years maybe. It was around the time you opened the ramen shop.”

Her mother patted her knee and stood up. “I took you away from Daichi to avoid exactly this, and it makes me angry at him that he dragged you into his kind of life anyway. I understand your reasons, baby, but you need to think about the consequences. This could land you in jail—”

“Mom. Stop.” Sylvie got off the swing. That little bit about getting caught and going to prison had been an undercurrent of anxiety troubling her the entire time. Hearing her mom stating it bluntly was unnerving.
 
“Let’s go help Nana with dinner.”

When Sylvie pierced her fork into a golden fried drumstick, steam escaped its crunchy exterior. Cooked in shortening and a well-seasoned cast-iron pan, Nana’s good ole Southern fried chicken never failed to please her. It may have even started her love affair with the ultimate comfort food. Not wanting to burn her tongue as she was known to do, she dutifully blew a couple of times before taking an eager bite. Her eyes closed.

“Yummy as usual, Nana,” she said between chewing.

“Manners, child,” Nana clucked, but an indulgent smile tugged at her lips.
 

“Can’t help it.” She spooned a mouthful of mashed potatoes to chase the chicken down her throat. “You’re the best.”

Nana inquired after the restaurant. Her grandma was disappointed she chose to follow her Japanese roots when it came to the business. Though Sylvie loved anything Nana made, when it came to cooking, she preferred the exacting requirements of Japanese cuisine. Its spirituality and the almost Zen-like feeling that came with its preparation appealed to the chef within her.

After dinner, conversation around the table turned to mundane topics like the yield of corn and the price of soybeans. So it was jarring when Nana suddenly asked, “When will I meet my benevolent benefactor?”

“Huh?” Sylvie took a gulp of sweet tea to stall. She knew exactly what her grandma was asking.

“Your contact at the health supplement company, sweetie,” Nana said. “I don’t know how much longer I can hold off my doctor regarding the therapeutic shots.”

Sylvie exchanged disconcerted looks with her mom. Lies were piling on top of lies.
 

“Um, Nana, we agreed that this would be our secret. This is not FDA-approved. Even if the drug is a naturally occurring antioxidant, the one I’m giving you has been synthesized and altered to be more aggressive.”

Nana frowned. “Would this get you into trouble?”

“It could,” Sylvie replied.
 

“Not sure I want to continue with it if that’s the case.”

“Nana—”

“No. I know you mean well—”

“Just a few more,” Sylvie said desperately.

Her Nana huffed and pushed back from the table. She picked up the empty plates and walked the short distance to the sink.

Sylvie glared at her mom and mouthed, “Say something.”

Her mom shrugged.

Argggh!

Just then, her phone chirped. It was Nate.

Nate: Miss you.
 

Her aggravation receded; she quickly typed in a smiley face in response.

“Who’s that?” Mom asked.

“It’s Nate.” She tried to keep her tone nonchalant.

“I always liked him better than Brad,” Nana quipped as she took her seat again.
 

“Nana!”

“What? It’s true. Your Brad fellow was okay, but your lively spirit was subdued around him.”

“Are you going to analyze my aura now?” Sylvie muttered.

“So how is Nate?” Nana’s eyes sparkled shrewdly.

“He’s fine.”

“Fine,” her grandma scoffed at her glib response. “You know, Sylvie, that man has it bad for you.”

“We’re just friends.”
 

At that, Agnes Buchanan smiled in that sage, all-knowing way.

“Sometimes you don’t realize what you’re looking for is right in front of you,” Nana said as she covered Sylvie’s hand with her own. “See him, Sylvie, because he
sees
you. Fear of making a mistake with you held him back all those years. Don’t be afraid to trust him with your heart. But then again, a man like him, when he decides the time is right, I don’t think he’ll leave you with much choice.”

*****

Cosmetic drugs? That’s it?
 

Nate leaned back in his chair, relief and consternation warring within him. It was Monday morning, and the first order of the day was following up with Caitlin about a favor he’d requested over the weekend. Travis’s wife was an analyst for the NSA, but she had interesting extracurricular activities. She called herself a digital forensic investigator. She’d become BSI’s unofficial hacker. Travis wasn’t happy with his wife’s less than legal activities. One would think as the eponymous owner of the company, he’d have more say. In truth, he could only agree his wife was the best out there and it made her happy to help. She covered her digital footprints very well, and during rare occasions when she got into trouble with authorities, Admiral Benjamin Porter—an ally within the CIA, and Beatrice’s father—was always at hand to bail her out. In a way, Cade Bowen was right because Nate was currently looking at the DEA’s case file on the Asian Crime Syndicate (ACS) and Sylvie.

The drug in question, Glutathione Derivative Enzyme (GDE) was a synthetic reproduction of the tripeptide Glutathione—a powerful antioxidant. GDE was a popular street drug in Japan, and Japanese pharmaceutical companies were in a race to reproduce the cosmetic pill, but failing. The going rate was 3000 yen a pop, which was roughly translated to 25 USD a pill. Nobody knew its source, but the DEA’s Japanese informants were pointing to a brilliant biochemist living in the Nagano Prefecture who was under ACS protection.