CLAUDIA OPPENHEIMER WAS a tall and svelte German woman with platinum blonde hair and a body like an exclamation point. The fur about her neck had been brushed to a gloss and worn in spite of the warmth. Oppenheimer sat across from Daichi, who wore an oxford with the sleeves rolled up, and Deena, whose short-sleeved blouse was probably the most appropriate for the weather.
Oppenheimer was taller than both of them and looked down a beak of a nose as she spoke. The conversation they were having was completely irrelevant—what Deena thought of men who played polo or women who gorged on strawberries. When she confessed that she had no idea such women existed, Oppenheimer laughed as though Deena had a knack for comedy. Daichi sat through it all, pain-faced and quietly obliging, leaving Deena to do most of the talking.
In the end, Oppenheimer agreed to come on board. Deena’s aura was pleasing and her palate sensible, and with that, they could form a formidable team, she said. Deena and Daichi exchanged a look of curiosity, a look of “what-the-fuck,” as Tak was fond of saying, before smothering a laugh they would later enjoy.
That afternoon Tak, John and Kenji were out back tossing a Frisbee on the beach as Deena thumbed through a book on the art and architecture of Ancient Egypt on the terrace. Intermittently she looked up from her book to watch Tak, shirtless and hard-bodied, glistening with sweat and ocean water as he moved.
“Deena,” Michael said, appearing at the back door. “Just the person I was looking for. Mind if I join you?’
He took a seat on the swing without waiting for her answer.
Mike reached over and lifted her book for a peek. “Ancient Egypt, huh? That mind of yours doesn’t rest. Not even on vacation.”
Deena met Michael’s gaze. “I’m not on vacation.”
He nodded. “I’m sorry, I forgot.” He took a deep breath. “Deena, I’ve something to tell you. I—I think you’re breathtaking.”
She lowered her book with a sigh. “Michael, I’m not in the market for a boyfriend.”
He nodded. “No, no. I understand.”
He leaned forward and whispered in her ear.
“I know what it is that you want. And I want to give it to you.”
“Give it to me?” Deena echoed. She leaned back to place a buffer between them.
“Yes. I know what you need, and I’m man enough to give it to you. You want to be free. You want sexual freedom. And I can give that to you. I’d give you anything.”
“I want what?”
“Exploration. And I don’t mind. I should be honest with you. The moment I saw you, I was breathless. I’d do anything to be with you. I’d—”
“Mike, wait. There’s something you’re not understanding.”
“No, I understand. And I’m okay with it. You might not think it, but I can please you. Just give me a chance.”
Deena stood, her book clattering to the floor. “I don’t know what you’re talking about but I want you to stop talking about it.”
“Just think about it,” Michael said, kneeling to scoop up the book. He paused to dust it off. “I know your type, and I know that in certain circles, your lifestyle isn’t acceptable.”
“My lifestyle?”
“Yeah. I mean, I don’t use words like ‘slut’ or ‘whore’. They’re judgmental and sexist. But we’re missing the point. I won’t be cumbersome. We could start with a one night stand if you want—”
“A what? Oh my God! Get away from me!”
Deena pinwheeled into the porch railing, upturning a glass of lemonade in her descent.
Michael’s gaze narrowed in confusion.
A few yards away, the Frisbee glided to the ground as Tak stood, watching Deena fall. He took in her cowering posture, backed into the porch railing, and tore across the hot sand to reach them.
“What the hell’s going on?”
Deena’s eyes watered. “He called me a slut!”
“He what?” Tak turned on Mike.
Mike sighed. “That’s not what I said. All I said was that girls like her tend to prefer sexual freedom.”
Tak took a step closer. “Run that by me one more time.”
“I said that girls like her prefer sexual—”
Spittle flew with the insertion of fist in face. With a yelp, Mike toppled, blood spewing. He staggered to the ground as if dizzy, a hand to his face as he shrieked.
“Fuck!” Tak said.
With a grimace, he shook his hand—a hand streaked with blood.
“Fuck!”
His head dropped as he gripped his wrist, eyes squeezed shut.
Behind Tak, John and Kenji tore across the beach. When they got to there, John placed a hand at Tak’s chest to hold him in check.
“Feel better?” John said quietly.
“You better fucking believe it.”
John grinned. “Thought so.”
From his cowering position, Mike began to yell.
“You hit me! Why the hell did you hit me?”
Tak took a step, only to have John push him back.
“Cause you don’t listen, Mike! She’s my girl. Mine. And I warned you.”
Mike sat up with a whimper, a hand at his nose. Blood coursed between his fingers.
“Shit,” John said. He turned on his brother. “Why the hell couldn’t you just back off?” He went over to him and offered a hand. Mike slapped it away.
“You’re taking his side? I’m your brother! Your goddamned brother!”
“You’re an idiot is what you are.” John turned to Deena. “Do you see what happened? Didn’t I tell you that this would happen?”
Deena’s eyes widened. “You’re blaming me?”
“Shit yeah, I’m blaming you. The only reason it didn’t happen sooner is because me and Kenji have been running interference all over the goddamned place.”
“I was supposed to know Tak would break his hand on Mike’s face?”
“Yeah. I did.”
John turned to Tak with a look of disgust. “Now what? You probably broke his fucking nose—and by the looks of you, your hand too.”
Tak winced. “I think you might be right.”
John brought palms together before his lips. “Okay. Just—give me a minute to think.”
“Think? Goddamnit, do something. He just—just punched me in the face!”
“Well, it’s not like you didn’t deserve it!” John said. “You see, Tak. This is why I told you to just tell him. You know how he is. He never quits.”
“I’m sitting right here,” Mike said, his hand slick from the blood.
“What are we going to do? We can’t just take them in the house like this,” Kenji said.
“I know, I know,” John looked at Tak, who clutched his wrist in an effort to steady the afflicted hand. “Are you alright?”
Tak shook his head. “The pain’s killing me. And my hand’s swelling up.”
“Never mind me, who’s bleeding to death on the floor,” Mike said.
John sighed. “You should’ve left her alone. Daichi told you to leave her alone. Tak told you to leave her alone. She turned you down every chance she got. I don’t know, Mike, maybe this is what you needed.”
John pulled his brother up and wrapped his arm around his shoulder.
“There something wrong with your legs?” he asked, wondering why it was so difficult to steady his older brother.
“I’m dizzy. I need to lie down.”
John sighed. “Shit. You guys need a doctor.”
Tak shook his head. “I can’t go to a doctor. If my dad finds out—”
“We’ll just have to make up something then.”
Mike balked. “And what if I don’t want to go along with your lies?”
Tak took a step forward. “Then maybe I can give you a little encouragement.”
Mike looked from his cousin Kenji, to his brother, each with gazes that weren’t all that sympathetic. He sighed.
“Fine. What’s the story?”
YUKIKO WAS NO longer listening to Takumi’s cumbersome explanation. She simply couldn’t, lest her migraine grow worse. They were playing football. Michael was playing football? Well, he was nearby. Close enough for an elbow to hit him yet not in the game? Yeah. And your hand? What about it? There’s nothing wrong with my hand. It looks disfigured. Oh that. Slammed it in a door earlier. And you played football afterwards? Uh, yeah.
She made her way to Daichi’s study with thoughts of Michael’s face and Takumi’s hand. Clearly the two had found one another, and she was certain she knew why. Michael’s advances towards Deena seemed to border on manhandling. Anyone with more than a passing interest could see the way Takumi squirmed when Michael made advances. Her son Daichi failed to have more than a passing interest.
Daichi met Yukiko’s tap on the door with a gruff ‘what’. She bristled, despite the knowledge that he would soften once realizing it was his mother. Yukiko stepped inside as Daichi set aside a legal pad riddled with careful print.
Daichi turned in his custom-made swivel chair, retail price three thousand dollars, and gave his mother a cursory nod.
“Afternoon, okasan. What can I do for you?”
Daichi didn’t smile at his mother, but then again, he didn’t frown either.
“It’s about Takumi,” she said.
Daichi’s face darkened.
“What is it now? I’ve a great deal of work. I can’t be bothered with trivialities.”
Daichi turned back to his desk.
“Takumi is not a triviality. He is your son.”
She shifted her weight, heavy-lidded eyes on the broad of his back.
“Are you here to lecture me, okasan?” Daichi’s fingers formed a steeple as he stared at his cherry wood desk. “If so, I’ve much work to do.”
Yukiko sighed. “What you do here is not work, Daichi. What you do here is chase ghosts.”
She took a seat on the mauve leather couch behind him as Daichi lowered his head.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“You are a brilliant man. I’ve no doubt you do.”
Yukiko nibbled on a wrinkled, painted lip as she thought about the lavish estate that was her home, designed and built by Daichi. She thought about the five vacation villas he owned and the juggernaut that was his architectural firm.
“Time does not rewind, no matter how hard and fast you wish it so,” she said.
Daichi studied his fingernails. They were manicured and shone with the clear polish of a pampered man.
“Your sons love you. Your wife loves you. But you must repair the bridge that divides you. No one can do this for you.”
Daichi stared through his desk, eyes glistening. He was the greatest architect the world had ever seen. Time said so. People said so. Two dozen honorary degrees said so. And yet, it was these words that pierced his heart.
“Time is escaping you, Daichi. Your stubbornness, your intolerance, your willfulness are the source of your unhappiness. And the stakes now are higher than ever.”
“Okasan, if you have something specific to tell me, please do so.”
“All right,” Yukiko stood. “I just left the hallway, where I found Michael with a broken nose and Takumi with a broken hand. They claim that football is the culprit, but I suspect the lie is for your benefit.”
Daichi sighed. He had no idea what she expected from him.
“Too often when our children lie we lash out without looking inward. Sometimes they lie because we’ve closed the door to the truth. They lie because we’ve made telling the truth impossible. They lie because we require it.”
Yukiko stood at the door, a hand on the knob.
“Whether you like it or not, Daichi, you are the head of this family. And your opinions affect everyone. In your quest for perfection, you’ve begun to see the world in black and white. You’ve made shades of gray impossible. But they will exist whether you acknowledge them or not. With your intolerance, you drive a wedge through this family. With your intolerance, you demand the lie.”