The Gatekeeper's Son (6 page)

“Remind me, if I ever meet her, to thank your mother for teaching you to cook.” I arched my eyebrows and smirked. “Of course, I don’t know where you found time to learn, what with washing clothes in the creek all day.”

She made a face. “My real mother never taught me to cook. I learned that from my adopted Mom. And the creek was before I left my family.”

Okaasan rarely talked about her life in Japan, but I knew she’d gone to live with another family when she was a teenager. I’d asked her about it once, a long time ago, but never got a straight answer.

“Why
did
you leave your family? Your real one, I mean.”

She took a sip of tea. “My family lived an old-fashioned life, far from any cities. It was wonderful as a child—we could run barefoot in the grass and swim in the creek.” She stared at the wall behind me. “But schooling was difficult, and I wanted a different life.”

“Wait a minute.” Something clicked into place. “Did you run away?!”

Her cheeks turned pink. “You can never tell your father I told you this.”

I nodded, but I was never going to let her live this down.

She lowered her voice. “When I was fifteen, I spent a year in the city, as part of my studies. It was a rare opportunity, but I was a top student. It was so exciting, so much to see and do! When it was time for me to return home, I didn’t want to. Of course, my family was furious, but I insisted and my mother finally relented.” She smiled. “We had friends of the family in the city and my mother made arrangements. I became their adopted daughter and took their last name.”

“Seriously?”

“That isn’t so uncommon in Japan, even now.”

She got up and started to pile the dishes into the sink. I stared at her back, wondering how I’d gotten to sixteen without questioning her odd life—which reminded me of what had happened in the garden that morning. I still didn’t know how she’d heard me.

“You
were
very quiet,” she said without turning, “but I sensed you from the time you got out of bed. Your thoughts were not pure.”

I choked on my milk, splattering my shirt, the floor, the table.

She tossed me a towel.

As I cleaned the milk off the floor, I glanced up. She was staring down, but not at me. She looked a million miles away.

“Okaasan?”

She raised her eyes to meet mine. “For some reason, your energy is stronger today, easier to sense.” She paused, looking uncertain. “No … it was harder to ignore.”

“My
energy
? Give me a break.” Then I remembered what I’d been thinking about in bed. My face went red. “Uh, can you hear
all
my unpure thoughts?”

“Who has time for that?” she said, facing the sink again. “I tune in to things that require my attention, that’s all.”

I stood up and tossed the wet towel onto the counter.

“But how do you know when to listen?” That she
could
listen, I never doubted. Okaasan had always had an eerie way of knowing exactly what I was thinking or what I’d done—especially if I’d done something wrong.

She shrugged. “Intuition is like …” She stopped, a wet hand going to her chin. “You just get this feeling, you know?”

“I
don’t
know. That’s why I’m asking.”

“It’s like becoming immersed in the stream of life,” she said. “The stream is always flowing around us. If you listen, everything you need to know is available to you.”

I stared at her. “The stream?”

She sighed and rolled her eyes. “How about a library? Can you imagine that?”

I nodded.

“Everything’s already written and the book lies open. But you have to turn the pages and read the words.” She smiled as if terribly proud of her definition.

“Is that what you did yesterday, at Grandpa’s?” I frowned. “I’m sure you ran into the house
before
Lin starting yelling.”

She thought a minute and then shrugged. “I guess so.”

“But how did you
know
?”

“Why are you suddenly so interested in this?”

I hesitated. “Because I think I felt it, too. I just didn’t know what it meant.”

She frowned. “It’s not common for men,” she said after a while, “but anyone who chooses to listen can. And maybe it’s easier for you. Nuts don’t fall far from the tree.”

I shook my head and left to get a new shirt. The only nut in this house was her.

She was still in the kitchen when I came back.

“I was wondering about something else.”

She grinned at me. “I know.”

I glared at her, trying to decide whether to continue.

“I’m kidding,” she said, laughing. Then she sat at the table and looked up at me, expectant. “I’m sorry. Go ahead.”

“Yesterday, some really strange things happened.” I sat down across from her. “I don’t know if it was this
stream
thing, but … I felt something, this tingling feeling, like I needed to look behind me.”

She gave me her full attention, her eyes wide. “And what did you see?”

“Well, I saw this girl and … I thought there’d been an earthquake … but it was more like an explosion. A strong wind hit me, like an energy wave.”

Okaasan cleared her throat. “What kind of girl?”

“The female kind, what do you think?”

“Was she pretty?”

I paused. “Yeah.”

Okaasan grinned. “Well, maybe you’re smitten.” She clasped her hands in front of her chest. “That happened to me when I first saw your father.”

I stood up. “That isn’t what happened.” Well, maybe a little.

She shrugged. “I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about.”

“But I sensed something at Grandpa’s, too—right before you ran into the house.”

She stood and looked at me, her face serious now.

“Children can sense things that adults can’t, but as we get older, we stop listening. I don’t know why you’d start sensing things now, but I recommend you pay attention.” She walked me to the door and put her hand on my arm. “By the way, … you did well in the dojo today.”

I forgot to say good-bye—I think I was in shock.

CHAPTER

6

When I got to the basketball court, I found Mack sitting on a bench, gazing into the distance, his basketball under his arm. Without a word, we started a game of one-on-one. He had the height but I had the speed, so it wasn’t as one-sided as you might think.

Half an hour later, we took a break and lay back on the grass, both of us sweating. A thick layer of clouds tumbled toward the east, but they didn’t look threatening. Mack turned and grinned at me.

“I went out with Isabella again last night.”

“How do you do that?”

He gave me a funny look. “Do
what
?”

“Not
that
.” I rolled my eyes. “I mean how do you ask girls out?”

He emptied his metal water bottle. “If I like them, I just ask them.”

“But what if they say no?”

He shrugged. “Sometimes they do, but so what? If you don’t ask them, you’ll never know.” Then he gave me a suspicious look. “Why’re you asking?”

“I just wondered.” I tried to look innocent. “And you’re such an expert.”

He puffed up his chest. “It’s so true,” he said. Then he got serious. “You’re scared of girls but they’re as nervous as you. It’s when they stop being nervous that they become a mystery. Or they become bitchy for some reason. That’s when I dump them.”

“Maybe you should try to understand them.”

He just laughed.

I recalled my conversation with Okaasan that morning: if I couldn’t understand my own mother, some strange girl was hopeless.

“Never mind,” I muttered.

As I trudged up the steep sidewalk under a canopy of oak and maple trees, I noticed a shiny red sports car parked behind the iron gates of one of Grandpa’s neighbors. I stopped to look. It was a Ferrari, a two-door convertible. Very nice.

I smiled and walked on. No matter what Okaasan and Grandpa said, I’d have a car soon. My bank account was already looking good, and I’d made a hundred and ten grand on a single project. If I inherited Grandpa’s company, I’d have a car like that
and
his 145-foot motor yacht with the helicopter on the back.

A wave of guilt swept over me. What was I thinking? I didn’t want a world without him. Besides, I had other plans for my life.

I was halfway across the boulevard when a chill ran up my spine. I spun in a slow circle, trying to find the source. When I found it, I faltered. That girl was back—same white socks and black braids, sitting on the park bench. She stared at Grandpa’s house, just as she’d done yesterday, and didn’t notice me until I was right in front of her.

It was Shoko Murakami.

She jumped. “Oh, it is you,” she said in Japanese. “I am not used to getting sneaked up on.” She still wore her school uniform. It looked neat and clean, but really, hadn’t she brought anything else to wear?

“Hi again,” I said. “What are you doing here … again?”

Sometimes I could just kick myself.

“I am sightseeing.” She held up one of the books she’d checked out yesterday with my card. “It says The Crescent is a must-see.” There was a picture of Grandpa’s house. “That is your house?”

“No, it’s my grandpa’s house.” It was the first time I’d admitted that to anyone.

“It is so beautiful. We have no such houses where I come from.” She looked at me with wide eyes. “Do you have time to sit with me?” She patted the bench beside her.

“Sure … I have lots of time.” I sat next to her—well, not quite. I was nervous and kept a respectable distance between us. I knew I should ask her about yesterday, but my words evaporated when my eyes dropped to her legs. Her bare thighs were tanned and muscular—not the legs of a girl who sat around watching television all day.

“Do you run track or something?” I asked, my eyes still on them.

She turned her head fast, which sent her braids spinning. “What is
track
?”

“You know,” I drew a circle on my jeans with my finger. “Run around the track at school or in races.”

“Why would I run in circles?” She looked at me as if I were an idiot. “I run if I have someplace to go in a hurry.”

“Right … Never mind.” Then I pointed at the black racket bag slung across her back. “But you play tennis.”

She hesitated. “Yes.”

I couldn’t help it—my eyes dropped back to her legs. Her right hand rested there now.

“That’s a cool ring.”

“Cool?”

I couldn’t strike out any worse, so I decided to plunge right in.

“Were you here yesterday?”

When she looked at me, her eyes had turned cold. “Why do you ask me that?”

“I just wondered,” I said, hesitant. “I saw a girl sitting here. She kind of looked like you.” I pointed toward the carriage house. “I was standing over there.”

She shrugged and turned her head back toward Grandpa’s house. “Is it … amazing inside?”

“Is what amazing?”

“Your grandpa’s house.”

“Oh, uh … yeah. There’s lots of wood trim and stuff,” I said, but I could do better than that. “It’s a Victorian, built in 1910 by a wealthy banker.”

“Victorian?”

“As in ‘Queen Victoria.’”

She stared at me, her face blank. Couldn’t she make anything easy for me?