Crimson Footprints (9 page)

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
God 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-encompassing 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 damned.”

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
seashell 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
shell.

She frowned. “I don’t
follow.”

Tak simply shrugged. “Well,
think about it. What’s a shell? 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 shells. What does he
do?”

“
He goes into
it.”

“
Right. He retreats.” He
thumbed the shell thoughtfully. “Now imagine if you were to rip the
shell 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 shell
transplant for the sake of comparison, needs another shell, 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 shell?”

Tak grinned.

“
Tell you what. I’ll let
you know when I crack it.”

He plucked the shell from
her hands and tossed it in the waters. The two stopped, ocean
rushing their feet, saturating then receding.

“
Who the hell told you to
take my shell?” Deena demanded. She would’ve sounded more
incredulous if she could’ve kept from smiling.

“
Your shell? 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 workspace 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 shimmering
sunlight of an early spring day, Deena was behind her desk. Her
workspace 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 shimmered as if
buffed to a high gloss and sunshine 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 assure
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 snob.”

Deena froze. “I beg your
pardon?”

“
I said you’re a snob.
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 fellowship
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 hit 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?”

“
Who cares where? Anywhere.
Everywhere. The going is what’s important.” He leaned against her
desk again.

“
Now the way I figure it,
my dad gives two weeks of vacation for every year of employment.
Now, considering what I know about you, that you’ve been here three
years and that you’ve probably never used a day; that gives us
eight weeks of vacation time to play with. Who knows where we could
go with that?”

Deena lowered her
gaze.

She was considering it. She
could hardly believe it, but she was considering it. The woman
whose life was charted out on an Excel Spreadsheet titled
‘Expectations,’ the woman whose Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday of
each week had been nearly identical for the last three years, was
considering it.

How had he done that to her?
How had he penetrated her life so thoroughly, that she would
consider throwing her hands in the air and following him blindly
round the country?

But the thought of it made
her shiver. She wanted to. God knows she wanted to.

“
But—I have a new project.
What about Skylife?” Deena said. “I can’t skip out on that. I mean,
we haven’t started or anything yet but…”

His father had given an
opportunity, singling her out among the hundred or so architects
that worked for him, pegging her to collaborate on a project with
him. She was the youngest at the firm, and after that day, the most
loathed.