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Authors: Kristina McMorris

BOOK: Bridge of Scarlet Leaves
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22
T
he unfathomable had become reality. President Roosevelt had signed an executive order, allowing the removal of any persons from any area the military saw fit. That area was turning out to be the entire West Coast; and the people, those with Japanese ancestry.
They started with Terminal Island. Gave them forty-eight hours to evacuate. How does an entire community pack up and move in forty-eight hours? Their families and houses, their livelihoods.
For months, Lane had hidden daily newspapers from his mother. There had been no need to rattle her further. History courses had taught him that journalists with extreme viewpoints tended to represent a vocal minority. Fanaticism and fear, over evidence and reason, sold papers. When the
Los Angeles Times
had printed declarations of vipers being vipers no matter where they were hatched, he’d dismissed his budding of anger. Paranoia would run its short course, and the typewriters would shift to accurately reflect the overall sentiment of the country.
But through FDR’s order, the country had spoken.
And Lane had been ruled a viper.
Seated in a far corner booth at Tilly’s Diner, Lane reviewed these thoughts to gather his courage. The manila envelope lay front-side down on the table. He told himself he was making the right decision; that he was giving Maddie the needed out she would never ask for.
Still, he regretted arriving so early, allowing too much time to think. He should have chosen another place to meet. At a diner, she would be expecting a casual, lingering date.
Too late to make a change. Maddie had just arrived.
She approached the table smiling, radiant in her peach dress. He’d known her too many years not to recognize when she had put special effort into her appearance. Her hair hung long, pinned neatly at her temples. Rouge and lipstick brightened her face, spurring his urge to kiss her.
“Have you been here long?”
He shook his head. To his relief, she slid into the seat across from him; the division of the table hindered him from acting on impulse.
“I don’t know about you, but I’m starving,” she said, setting aside her pocketbook.
Hamburger sizzled and scented the air. From a corner of the room, a jukebox projected “Embraceable You” to a sparse early-lunch crowd. Autographed portraits of movie stars hung in frames on the wall. He noted all of this, not wanting to forget the place in which he and his friends—namely TJ—had spent countless hours over the years.
“Let me guess.” Maddie smiled. “Strawberry malt with extra whipped cream.”
He was about to agree, when he recalled the purpose of their meeting, and his gut churned. “Not today.”
Her eyes widened in exaggerated astoundment. “Are you sure you’re feeling all right?”
“Maddie,” he began, “I need to tell you something.”
Gradually she sat back, as if becoming aware of the tension.
He cleared the resistance from his throat. But before he could continue, a navy-blue form swam into his periphery. Ruth stood at their table in her diner dress, a pencil behind her ear. She held her order pad to her chest.
Expecting her predictable greeting—
The usual, Lane?—
he interjected, “We need a few minutes, please.”
The waitress didn’t move. Her motherly features looked distraught. “I’m real sorry, sweetie. But we have a new manager, and, well, he thinks you’d be more
comfortable
eating somewhere else. I told him you probably just missed the sign, and you weren’t trying to make trouble.”
Lane lifted his eyes and discovered the back of a small poster taped to the window. He could imagine what it read without seeing the front.
No Japs Allowed.
There were plenty of the same around town, at markets and barbershops, but it hadn’t occurred to him that a place he’d grown up in would subscribe to the insanity.
“I’m real sorry,” Ruth repeated with genuine care, then left their booth, exposing a view of customers’ glares and whispers. Apparently he’d been too preoccupied to notice them.
“Come on, Lane.” Maddie clutched her pocketbook. “We’ll just go.” She slid from the seat and waited for him to respond.
Against the weight of humiliation he managed to rise.
 
Outside, they walked without speaking. They were halfway down the block, in search of an alternate spot, when Lane stopped her. There was no reason to delay the inevitable, and the gentle approach he’d planned had been whittled away.
“This is for you.”
Accepting the envelope, she said, “What is it?”
“Us being together,” he stated simply, “it isn’t going to work.”
Her face darkened, as he’d expected. But then she discarded his claim with a shake of her head. “We’ll be fine. I told you, we can move wherever we want to go.”
“We made a mistake.” The phrase felt like metal shavings in his mouth, each syllable a tiny razor. “It’s time we faced the truth.”
“Wh-what do you mean?”
“We made a mistake,” he forced out again.
“Stop saying that!” Her eyes lit with moisture, her skin flushed.
He restrained his arms from enfolding her. “The papers are already filled out. There’s a pen inside. Please just sign them.” He angled his head away. He could hear her slide the packet out, the gasp from her mouth.
“Divorce papers?”
After an infinite pause, no pages rustling, he glanced up to confirm she was reading. Rather, she was staring at him. From the devastation in her eyes, he felt a ripping in his chest, the severing of his heart.
“Lane, please don’t do this.” Her voice strained through her tears. She touched his cheek, and a slow burn moved over his skin. “You’re the only person I have left.”
He clasped her fingers, harnessing truth that would only destroy her in the end. And from behind his facade, he peered at her. “I’m sorry, Maddie. But I don’t love you anymore.”
Before his resolve could buckle, he turned and let her go.
23
“C
’mon. Just try a little.” Maddie heard the words through the pillow covering the back of her head. “It’s a cinnamon roll, your favorite.” Jo’s gentle coaxing dwindled with her patience. “For Pete’s sake, you gotta eat somethin’. It’s dang near three o’clock.”
“I’m not hungry,” Maddie mumbled into the mattress. In fact, she doubted her appetite would ever return.
A soft clink indicated Jo had placed the silverware and plate on the nightstand, where the divorce packet remained. Since receiving it yesterday, Maddie couldn’t bear to open the envelope again.
The bed dipped as Jo took a seat. “You know, Maddie, could be this is for the best. Maybe it’s like that opera you told me about. Where the girl and guy are keen for each other, but they meet at the wrong time, and their worlds are just too different.”
Suddenly Maddie regretted that she’d relayed the premise of
Aida
. She needed someone to convince her that life could end happily. Like a snappy Broadway musical, not a tragic opera. Lane used to be that person for her.
Jo knew that. How could she suggest they’d be better off apart?
Lifting her head, Maddie squinted against the sunlight. “We’re
not
too different. Lane and I are supposed to be together, regardless of what others might think.”
Sure, their backgrounds varied, from finances to heritage. But they, as individuals, were the same. Their tastes in food and films were identical. During
Amos ’n’ Andy
radio shows
,
they were always the first two to laugh. And when it came to beliefs and values, they were a perfect match.
“Okay, you’re two peas in a pod.” Jo agreed so naturally, it was clear Maddie had fallen right into her trap. “So, why don’t you just go over and talk to him? Straighten all this out?”
“Because—it’s not that simple.”
“Oh. Oh, yeah, I see your point. You would, after all, have to stop feeling sorry for yourself long enough to change your clothes. How long you been in this outfit anyway?”
“I am
not
feeling sorry for myself.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
Maddie groaned, retreating into the pillow. She should have known better than to call on Jo for sympathy. Raised in a household of boys, the girl hadn’t exactly mastered the art of coddling.
“Ah, Maddie. Forget the baloney he told ya. I mean, jeez Louise, if I ever had a fella look at me like that ... well. He loves you for sure. You know he’s only doing this to protect you. Boys are cavemen. They guard their clan. Granted, often in ways that make no sense whatsoever. And they almost always say the opposite of how they feel.”
In general, the explanation rang true, TJ being a prime example. The way he’d hold in his emotions, express them in an infuriating fashion. But Lane was an exception. He’d always been a straightforward guy. It was one of his greatest traits.
Although, given the current circumstances, anyone could act out of character, she supposed.
Maddie turned back toward Jo. Her eyes felt swollen from tears. “Do you really think he still loves me?” She searched her friend’s face for the truth.
“Yes,” Jo said with absolute certainty. “What’s just as important, though, is do you love
him?
”
Faced with the probability of losing Lane, her feelings were never clearer. “Oh, Jo. I love him so much, I can’t imagine living without him.”
“So fight for him.”
The suggestion sounded like the most obvious solution in the world. Perhaps it was. Again and again, Lane had fought for her, fought for them. If she didn’t return the favor, and soon, she stood to lose him forever. But how?
She ran a finger along the side of the manila envelope. The document to end their marriage awaited her consent. What if she refused? He couldn’t divorce her unless she signed the papers, could he?
This was her decision to make too.
Mouth set with determination, Maddie kicked off the covers. She’d had her fill of being guided by others, based on what they felt best suited her. It was high time she took hold of her own future. She began by sifting through her closet and grabbed the mint-green sundress. The color of spring, to reflect a fresh start.
“What do you think?” she asked, holding the garment up to her body.
Jo’s lips curved into an approving smile. “I think he’s going to love it.”
 
Answer, answer, answer ...
Maddie stood at the Moritomos’ front door. With each of her steps to reach their house, her strength had gained volume and momentum. Her energy filled the porch. She felt ten feet tall.
About to knock again, she opted for the bell. She rang it twice and with purpose. Today, she had the confidence to persist even if Mrs. Moritomo opened the door. Maddie was prepared to wait for hours until Lane arrived should he be out—the cinnamon roll was enough to tide her over.
“Somebody answer,” she urged quietly.
Still no one.
She rose up on her toes to peek through the arched glass in the door. The foggy pane distorted her view. Lane had mentioned that his mother scarcely left since his father’s arrest. Maybe the woman had spotted Maddie through the peephole and was pretending not to be home. Or ...
Could the FBI have returned? Taken the whole family in for questioning?
It was a ridiculous thought—Emma being eight.
Then Maddie noticed a paper taped to the window, covering the hole from a thrown brick, reminding her that anything was possible.
Anxiety rising, she strained to see through a narrow opening between the closed drapes. She could make out a mere sliver of the floor. No movement. Below the patched hole, she discovered a wider view. Her hand cleared a circle on the dusty glass. The couch was gone. And the coffee table. The whole formal room appeared empty.
At the shop, she’d heard mortifying tales of people walking straight into Japanese American homes and taking what they pleased, knowing the families were too afraid to call the police. Had the Moritomos, too, been robbed?
“Hello! It’s Maddie. Hello!” She tried the knob. Unlike most houses, it was locked. Sifting through possibilities of what had happened, she rushed to the next-door neighbor’s. She pounded on the door with her fist.
A plump Mexican woman poked her head out. “Yes?”
“I’m sorry to bother you, ma’am, but I think burglars may have broken into the Moritomo home. All of their things—we need to call the police.”
To Maddie’s dismay, the woman didn’t dash to the phone. Her features simply drooped, their sullenness explained through words that cracked the sky.
“The family moved away.”

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