Storm (12 page)

Oh god. “While this is heartwarming,” I said, “it’s also mildly awkward and totally embarrassing. I’m still here, guys, in case you didn’t notice.”

“Oh, I know,” Diane said. “I was just thinking we should get to the group hug and stirring emotional number on the intercom.” She pointed up at the speakers, as if they would burst into some cheesy music, and Tomo grinned. I pushed down the awkwardness and smiled back. This could have gone so much worse. Diane was so awesome; I should’ve given her more credit from the beginning. She looked past Tomo’s tough-guy exterior and saw what I saw—someone kindhearted, someone determined to make it against all odds.

Suddenly the window beside us darkened in a rush of wings, and a loud bang shook the side of the train car. A passenger screamed as we ducked into another tunnel, immersing all of us in darkness.

I stared at the window; something black pressed against it, the intermittent tunnel lights glowing like haloes around the shape as we passed them.

“What was that?” Diane said.

“A bird?” Tomo said, but there was no way to know until the train left the tunnel. We listened to the
click-clack
of the tracks as the train swayed slowly from side to side.

The train burst into the sunlight again, our window still blotted out with blackness.

It was a huge ink splatter, dripping down the window in streams like thin paint. Black feathers smeared with the liquid stuck to the window as they dried in the sunlight, tendrils of scrap paper curled around their quills. The feathers were spread on the window like an explosion of plumage. No sign of a bird body—just ink, feathers and little scraps of paper.

I looked at Tomo. Was it the Yatagarasu, the three-legged raven of Amaterasu? Had it tried to attack us, and left only the scars of its attempt?

He looked back at me, his eyes alien and dark. Oh, no. Not here, not in front of Diane. He couldn’t lose to Tsukiyomi on the train, in front of everyone. They’d call the police—they’d lock him up in a lab.

He saw the panic in my face, and he started to breathe slowly, his eyes cast downward at his hands.

“Poor bird,” Diane said, looking around the train car. “Let’s move to another seat. It’s hardly full today, and there are only a few stops until Tokyo. If someone comes on with a reserved seat number, we’ll just move again.” She stood up, grabbing her purse and my backpack as she shuffled toward another set of seats.

“Come on, Tomo,” I said, taking his hands in mine to help him stand.

“Get away from me,” he snapped, pulling his hands from mine. The rejection stung; was he embarrassed in front of Diane? But no, that wasn’t it. It was the alien eyes, the ones that didn’t know me. He breathed harder, his upper body slumping over as he struggled against it.

“Tomo,” I said, squatting down in front of him.

Ink trickled down his forearms, staining the cuffs of his shirt black.

“Not here,” he gasped, squeezing his eyes shut as he gulped in deep breaths.

“Katie?” Diane called from the new seat. “Tomohiro?”

I stood up, putting on my best smile and cheerful voice. “In a minute!”

She smiled, thinking we wanted a minute alone, a stolen kiss. If only it was just that.

I ducked down again and pressed my hands against Tomo’s wrists, willing the ink to stop. Tomo’s pupils grew like black puddles of ink; he heaved in each breath now, shuddering as the ink dripped horizontally along the windowpane.

“Tomo,” I said, but he was losing himself. Inside his bag, on the seat beside him, I could hear a scraping sound, the claws and talons of creatures trying to escape from the prison of the notebook. “Remember where we’re going. We’re going to collect the Imperial Treasures, okay? We’re so close—don’t give up now.”

Tomo let out a small moan, and Diane looked over. “Everything okay, kids?”

I swore under my breath and reappeared over the back of the seat. “Fine. He’s just a little motion sick.”

“I’ll get some tea from the cart lady,” Diane said, rising to her feet. “Be right back.”

“Thanks,” I said, only the dread took hold of me then—she’d come back, tea bottle in hand, and see him in whatever state he was. “Come on, Tomo,” I said quietly. “I need you right now, okay?”

“I can’t,” he moaned, twisting his head against the seat. The ink dripped from his fingers onto the train floor. “It feels like I’m being ripped apart,” he rasped.

The voice on the wind whispered,
Because it’s almost time.

“Because it’s almost time,” Tomo said, and I jerked away. He’d heard the voice, too.

“Remember what you told me,” I said. “You don’t have to listen to the voices. You don’t have to listen to the dreams. Make your own fate, Tomo. Fight it.”

He blinked a few times, his breathing slowing. I stared into his alien eyes, listened to his sketchbook as it shook the bag on the seat.

“Shut up,” I shouted, slamming my fist onto the bag. The notebook stopped shaking, and Tomo snapped out of it. “You okay?” I said. He nodded, looking faint.

“Here,” Diane said, passing Tomo a bottle of unsweetened green tea. That stuff was bitter, but exactly what he needed.

“Thank you,” he said. I looked at his hands, worried, but the ink was gone from them and from the floor; only his shirt cuffs were still stained, matching the drying inkblot on the window. His hands shook a little; I grabbed the bottle before Diane noticed and unscrewed the cap for him.

Diane smiled. “Tough guy who gets sick on trains, huh?”

Tomo smiled back, chugging back the tea before he replaced the top, not attempting to tighten it. He knew his cover of something more serious was nearly blown. “You’ve discovered all my secrets,” he said.

“Somehow I don’t think that’s the last of them,” she said.

“You’re right,” Tomo said, and I tensed. He was walking on the edge. If Diane knew about the Kami...but wait. Would she even take him seriously? But then Tomo added, “I like to cook.”

“See, that I wouldn’t have guessed.” Diane laughed. “Come move seats when you’re feeling better, okay? No making out—I can see you guys from over there.”

“Diane,” I said, my neck flushing with heat. “You’re totally embarrassing me.”

“That’s what family is for,” she said, walking away.

Tomo’s color had returned by the time the train reached Shin-Yokohama Station, and by now the skyline of Tokyo was all around us, pulling us in to the futuristic dreamlike city. The bullet train pulled up to the platform of Tokyo Station next, and the doors opened with a gasp of air. I hadn’t been back here since I’d first arrived in Japan and Diane had led me through the packed platforms. It had all felt like a maze then, an entirely new world that I couldn’t fathom. That was last February—nine months ago. Enough time to birth a new life, for the world to go from cold to warmth and back into cold.

I wasn’t ready to face my dad, just like I hadn’t been ready to let go of Mom. But time went on, not caring whether I was prepared or not. Tomo and I didn’t have much time, either.

We followed the signs for the Yamanote line, weaving through the passengers in the station and following the trail of green signs. But Diane stopped at a fork in the hallways, a series of blue signs leading toward the right passage.

“You need the Sobu line, don’t you?” she said to Tomo. “To get to Chiba.”

“I’ll see Katie off first,” Tomo said. “I can connect through Yoyogi after.”

“Hmm,” Diane answered, her face twisted into some kind of grimaced smile. She was trying to decide if he was supportive or pushy. I smiled to let her know I was grateful. I wanted him to stay with me.

She turned and headed for the left hallway to the Yamanote train.

Tomo brushed his shoulder up against mine, tilting his chin down as he spoke quietly. “I bought tickets for the Imperial Palace tour,” he said. “I just have to show ID when we show up at the palace.”

“What time?”

He shook his head. “If you need more time with your dad, I’ll understand. But if you’re ready, I booked them for two-thirty.”

“Two-thirty?” I said. “And Diane won’t wonder at all where we are?”

“Hopefully she’ll just think things are going well with your dad. Or you could tell her we went for bubble tea in Harajuku. It is our first time in Tokyo as a couple, after all.” The way he said “couple” sent a shiver through me. They used the same word in Japanese, but the pronunciation was a little different.
Kap-pu-ru.
And you didn’t use it in the same way in English. You might say some made a cute couple, but you wouldn’t really refer to yourself that way.
We’re a couple.
There was something charming and antique about it, something that made the warmth in me bloom like a flower.

We reached the ticket machine, a sprawling wall of screens and buttons and rainbow train routes plastered from one side to the other. We fed our tickets into the gates, which beeped and sent the tickets soaring out the other side for us to pick up and take with us. This train was a lot smaller than the bullet train, but because the Yamanote line circled all of downtown Tokyo, we had to cram onto the popular route with a ton of other passengers.

We had to go as far as Harajuku Station. Of course my dad would stay in some outrageous area of the city like Harajuku, with all its bizarre fashions and strange stores. He’d leave with the weirdest impression of what Japanese life was like. Life in Shizuoka was totally different than Tokyo, just like life in Albany was different from New York City. But somehow tourists came away with the idea that Tokyo was like the rest of the country, that everything in Japan was the same.

I wondered about life up north in snowy Hokkaido, or south in Fukuoka, or the tropical Okinawan islands. There was no way life there was the same as the rainbow of colors in Harajuku.

Harajuku Station itself looked like some little ski lodge in Switzerland, all paneled white-and-brown wood and cute country charm. Around us, skyscrapers in all kinds of architectural shapes sprawled across the horizon like a living dystopia novel. I half expected to see bands of disheveled teens roaming the city for canned foods and LED lights or something. Instead, there were guys with hair that was way crazier than Tomo’s copper hue—rainbow Mohawks, bright pink spiky deals with frosted blue tips and girls in frilly pink Lolita dresses with strappy vinyl shoes like doll heels on bow steroids. One girl had a giant star on her cheek made of tiny sticker gems. They caught the sunlight as she walked around under a lace parasol, despite the colder weather. Then again, I knew girls back in Albany who sacrificed warmth for fashion, too. I guess it wasn’t really that different.

We walked toward Takeshita Street, the huge expanse of Yoyogi Park on our left. The trees were bare, the grass tinged brown, but it made me think of Toro Iseki and Nihondaira, of those quiet forested areas that belonged only to Tomo and me. On the right, the street flooded with people and chaos.

I stopped suddenly. I was going to confront my dad. This was it; this was what I’d wondered about for so long. The chance I never thought I’d have.

Diane squeezed my hand. “You can still go back if you want.”

But I shook my head. “I need to do this.”

“Dekiru zo,”
Tomo said, his head tilted back as he looked at me with confidence. “You can do this.”

“Thanks for coming the whole way,” I said. My eyes were filling with tears; I could see the colors and shapes starting to blur in the corners of my vision. I tried to blink them back—I didn’t want to give Steven the satisfaction of seeing he’d hurt me, or seeing he was important to me. It would be a lot easier if I could keep him guessing. I could start a relationship, or shut it down and get closure—whatever might happen, I’d come out on top.

I could see the curry restaurant from here, the one he’d promised to be at for “12:00 p.m. exactly.” I don’t know why it mattered so much down to the minute—I’d been waiting my whole life for him. I bet everything was always to his convenience, to his benefit. The one thing I knew about him was that he was selfish. He’d left us to look out for himself.

“I’m meeting with a couple English teachers I know for lunch,” Diane told Tomo. “Unless Katie changes her mind and wants me to come with her.”

“I’m fine,” I said again. Maybe I’d start to believe myself.

“Keep me posted,” Diane said. “I’ll come get you the minute you ask, okay? Train back is at seven. Should we meet for dinner?”

“Sounds nice,” Tomo said.

Diane looked at him, suspicious again. “You won’t have dinner with your family, Tomohiro?”

He shook his head. “Shouta has a swim competition today,” he said. “I doubt I’ll be able to visit for long.”

Shouta. Tomo has a cousin named Shouta.
Add it to the list of things I didn’t know about him. But I wanted to. I wanted to know everything.

“Say hi to Shouta for me,” I said.

Tomo grinned, his eyes crinkling in the corners. “Okay.”

He wasn’t going to Chiba, of course. He was here for the Magatama. A wave of guilt rose up in my throat. I’d almost forgotten.

Diane squeezed my hands and kissed my cheek. “You’re strong, Katie. You go in there and show Steven what he missed.”

Tomo nodded, but he didn’t hug me, or even take my hand.
Some Japanese boys are too shy to do that
, Yuki had told me.
It doesn’t mean they’re not thinking it.
And the way he was looking at me now, his brown eyes gleaming through the fan of copper bangs...it said everything I needed to hear.

If Diane wasn’t here, if the crowds of Harajuku-goers weren’t here, I would’ve pressed my lips against his.

Instead, I turned toward the curry restaurant, and stepped forward toward the glass door. I pressed the gray button handle and the door automatically slid open, the comforting smell of curry radiating from the warmth of the restaurant air.

“Wait,” Tomo said, and I turned to see him in the doorway, a slip of folded paper in his hand. I looked at it nervously, but he shook his head. “It’s not a sketch,” he said. “Just...look at it if you need to remember.” He pressed the note into my hands.

“Remember what?”

“That you’re not alone.” He stepped back, and the door closed between us. Just behind him, I could see Diane watching.

I slipped the note into my pocket, Tomo and Diane on the other side of the door. Tomo was right. I wasn’t alone. I could do this.

“Irrashaimase!”
An employee at the front of the restaurant shouted the greeting at me to let the whole restaurant know I’d arrived. Why my dad had chosen a curry restaurant, I didn’t know. Most people wanted the famous sashimi and sushi Tokyo had to offer, or the eccentric-themed cafés you could visit. But my dad hadn’t asked where I’d like to go or what I might like to eat. He’d just instructed Diane in a message he’d left on her phone—
“Koko Kare Restaurant, Takeshita Dori in Harajuku, 12:00 p.m. exactly.”
Yeah, really warm and encouraging. I guess that’s the tone of a father who leaves his pregnant wife and critical prenatal daughter.

I nodded as the man started to motion me to a table, but explained that I was meeting my dad. He didn’t seem surprised that I spoke Japanese, probably because I still spoke it poorly, and because there were a ton of foreigners in Tokyo, especially in the touristy areas. This visit might be life-changing to me, but it was just everyday business to him. “He’s already arrived.” The man smiled, stretching his arm out as he asked me to follow him. I wound through the tiny restaurant until I reached the table.

My dad.

I’d seen pictures of him, but it was the weirdest thing. He looked the same, and yet completely different. It was like when I’d seen a baby picture of myself. There was something in the eyes that was the same, something about the smile, but life had a way of altering everything else.

His blond hair was thinning on the sides, with a spray of white throughout. He had a large nose, too, but his eyes seemed warm enough, and his hands were clasped as he propped his chin on them. He was wearing a lab coat of all things, white and pristine and awkward in a curry restaurant. All I could think was how awful it would be to get curry sauce on that lab coat.

He hadn’t noticed me yet, thank god, because I was staring at him like an idiot. He was just a person, I thought. Just another human being walking and breathing and living. He didn’t look like someone who’d abandoned his family.

“Hai, kochira desu,”
the restaurant guy said, and my dad looked up. His eyes connected with mine, and I tensed. The moment was here.

My dad jumped to his feet, his chair pushing back with a loud screech. His hand knocked the plastic specials sign off the table and it clattered on the floor. “Oh, sorry,” he mumbled in English as he reached down for the sign. The restaurant guy politely motioned him away and replaced the sign on the table before returning to the front of the restaurant. “Thanks,” my dad shouted after him. “Uh,
arigatou
.” He sounded strange, like he was trying to speak Japanese with a New York accent. When Diane spoke Japanese, she used the same intonations they did, and I tried to do the same.

I guess I’d been here too long—judging another
gaijin
, like I wasn’t one myself.

“Kate,” he said, sidestepping around the table toward me. Was he going to hug me? He held out one hand, and then both, nervously smiling as his lab coat swished around him. “Uh,” he said, like he wasn’t sure what to do. I wasn’t sure, either. But then he wrapped his arms around me and held me in an awkward hug. It felt strange; not awful, but just strange and unfamiliar. The thought made me sad. I didn’t know what it was like to hug my own father.

We separated, and I forced a smile onto my face.

“Look at you,” he said, holding both my hands as he stepped back and studied me. “Just like your mother. My god, I thought it was her walking in here for a minute.”

“Um,” I said, noticing the Japanese in the restaurant who were politely ignoring us. “We should sit down.”

“Oh, yes, of course,” he said, going around the table to his chair. He hesitated and came back around to put a hand on my chair.

“That’s okay,” I said, wishing he would stop. “I can do it.”

“Sure, sure.”

We sat, and I opened the menu, wanting to escape. He wasn’t threatening or cold like I’d expected. He was flustered, like he wanted to make a good impression. For his benefit or mine? I wasn’t sure.

“I want to thank you for coming, Kate,” he said, his eyes scanning the menu. “I’m really glad you decided to come.”

“Me, too,” I said, because it was what I thought I should say. The waiter arrived and bobbed his head at us, ready to take our order. “Go ahead, first,” I told my dad.

Dad pointed to a photo in the menu of a katsu curry don, a bowl of rice with vegetables and breaded pork drenched in sauce. He used his English-accented Japanese again to order.
Ko-ray o koo-da-sigh.
It wasn’t awful, it just didn’t sound like it fit. At least he was trying. I ordered my meal next, a chicken curry set that came with a melon soda.

“Kashikomarimashita.”
The waiter nodded, and then he was gone toward the kitchen.

My dad stared at me, his eyes wide. “Listen to you,” he said. “You’re fluent. Amazing!”

“I’m not fluent,” I said, taking a sip of the water the waiter had brought. “Not at all.”

“You sound like it, though,” he said. “Wow.”