My eyes are on the back of Kin’s head, his dark hair combed and oiled, his shoulders looking strong beneath a khaki shirt. He looks okay. How can he look okay?
A man in uniform with close-cropped hair is kneeling down, talking to him, his expression open and encouraging. Kin mutters something and the man in uniform chuckles, holds out his arms, and goes to hug Kin.
I slow. Stop. Don’t know what’s going on.
Kin leans into the embrace, and then the man pulls him to his feet. My throat crackles and dries out. I put my hand to it, rub my skin, and swallow. They’re not hugging.
Kin leans all his weight on the man and wobbles to his feet. A crutch is handed to him. He relies on it and the man’s shoulder heavily.
He is not okay.
They inch toward parallel, wooden bars with blue mats beneath them. One of Kin’s legs seems to move fine, but the other is dead weight, dragging behind him like the bat in a man’s hand as he’s about to beat you. My own feet are leaden in my sneakers. I tell them to move, but they won’t. They dig deeper into the grass until I’m sure I’m only two feet tall. I am so close to Kin, and I can’t move.
He hasn’t seen me yet. Kin’s eyes are on his own feet as he holds the bars and moves from one end to the other. Turning is difficult and he kicks one leg out with the other to shuffle one-hundred-and-eighty degrees. When the man offers to help, Kin shakes his head. A small smile creeps up my arm and lands on my face. That’s my brother. Always so proud.
Once he’s arranged his feet, he glances up and that’s when I realize I’m just standing there, staring at him. He takes one look at me, looks down at his legs, back up, and frowns.
Move your feet, I tell myself, and Kin as well. It’s selfish. But I don’t want to be responsible for this. I don’t want to be the reason he’s here.
I lift one foot and then the other, two things I’ve always taken for granted, and move.
Kin shuffles through the bars to meet me, lifting his eyes to mine every now and then. I wait at the other end, my eyes stretching over the large tree shading the yard. Then they rise to the city, to the sky, to a place where I don’t feel so ashamed of what I’ve done.
When he reaches me, his face is red and sweaty from exertion, his arms wobbling under his weight.
To me, he says casually, “Hey Kettle.” To the man in uniform, he says, “Kevin, let’s go again.”
Kevin nods and helps him turn around.
Through bursts of breath and curse words, he turns his head to me and says, “Walk with me.” Impossible humor in his voice. I move next to him and creep forward at his pace. My mouth is holding in all these sad, scary things. I want to tell him I didn’t think I had a choice. I didn’t want him to die. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. Before I can say any of these things, he grunts, “It’s not your fault,” as his hands jump forward on the bar.
“Huh?” I manage.
“Stop looking at me like that. I know you already have the weight of the world on your shoulders…” He pauses, breathes in and out, and slips his hand further along the bar. “But I’m not on that scale, brother.”
I shake my head and stare at the ground, my hand going to the bar to steady myself. “I’m so sorry, Kin. I really am. I wish I’d made it through the gates that day. I wish I’d gotten you help sooner. I wish…” I just wish things were different.
Kin sighs loudly and stops. “Look at me. Stop looking at the ground or the clouds. Kettle, I’m okay. I’m going to be okay. And that’s because of you. You did what you had to, to protect me and to protect our home and the boys.” This is a new voice, not big brother, not best friend. It is independent of those things.
“But…” Look at you, Kin. Your leg, your body…
He reaches the end of the bars, and Kevin hands him two crutches. “I think that’ll do for today, Mister Ikeda.” Kin nods and then winks at me, throwing one crutch on the ground.
“I’m Mister Ikeda here, not nip, not street kid, can you believe it?” he asks.
I laugh, throttling some of my anxiousness. “I really can’t.”
At this, Kin holds the bar with one hand and takes a swipe at me with his crutch. I jump back, but he connects with my shins. “I might be slower these days, but I can still beat your ass.”
A door slamming shut and a rush across the grass.
Nora’s panting breath hits my ears. I watch as Kin’s eyes widen with surprise and then settle into a smug smile.
“Kettle,” she says breathlessly, her hand going to my shoulder, hovering and then clamping over the wooden bar instead. “What’s going on? Are you two fighting?” Her eyes dart frantically back and forth between us.
Kin laughs loudly, dramatically. “Even in my sorry condition, there would be no fight. Little brother wouldn’t dare!”
I grumble. Nora blushes and turns her eyes to the grass. “Oh, sorry. I was mistaken.” She glances up at me, warm honey eyes sort of smoldering. “Kettle, would you like me to leave?”
Kin hops toward the chair. He collapses and the wicker squeaks. Smiling widely, he says, “Please don’t,” in his best charming voice. “Thanks, Kevin. See you tomorrow.”
Kevin tips his chin and leaves. I roll my eyes.
“May I have the pleasure of your name?” Kin drawls as we approach him. He holds out his hand for her to take, and I’m way too happy when she doesn’t take it.
She whispers shyly, “Kite.”
Kin arches an eyebrow. “Kite. Well Kite, Kettle, have a seat.” He gestures to the grass. We both sit down at his feet, moisture seeping into our clothes. I watch Nora tuck her legs to the side, the skirt making it difficult to sit on the ground.
Enjoying his captive audience, Kin says with great drama and flair, “Let me tell you both a story.”
He starts at the docks for Nora’s sake, retelling the story in classic Kin fashion, with lots of comic-book style ‘bams’ and ‘whammos’. She listens quietly, her eyes wide, her mouth open, making shocked noises and touching her fingertips lightly to her mouth at the right times.
It’s not a story to me, and hearing it again makes my stomach turn.
“…and then I fell asleep in the sun, waiting for Kettle to finish his shift. The rest is a blank until I woke up at Mount View to a pretty nurse holding a clipboard.”
My arms straighten and I lean forward in disbelief. “You don’t remember getting back home… All the weird things you were saying?” I’m talking too loudly, and Kin puts his fingers to his lips to shush me. I start to whisper. “I guess it’s a good thing. If you did, you would remember how we got back to our station and you collapsed on the platform.” I shake my head as I remember. “I screamed and screamed for help, but no one would even look at me because some rich girl had fainted on the platform just a few feet away from us.” My head falls into my hands as I remember the hopelessness of it. The fear that he would die in my arms and no one would even care. “I’m sorry, Kin, I tried to get help, but no one would listen. They gave that woman priority and stretchered her away, telling me they would come back for you… but they didn’t come back.”
Kin’s back is pressed into his chair, his head nodding knowingly. “The doctors told me they wished I’d got to them sooner, that I would have had a chance at a full recovery if they’d caught the swelling early. But listen, you can’t blame yourself. Blame the rich chick who’d probably had one too many glasses of champagne with her fancy lunch. Don’t blame yourself. You did everything you could.”
I wish I believed him.
I glance at Nora and she’s as white as a sheet, her hands pulling clumps of grass from the ground. This is a lot to take in, I guess. Her hands are covered in dirt. The smell of crushed, fresh leaves should be calming, but I feel like I’m barely holding onto the surface of the planet right now.
“After the paramedics left with the woman, you woke up, but only for a few minutes. You begged me to take you home, and I did, but I couldn’t look after you there. I knew your on
ly chance was to get to a hospital. Even if it meant ending up in a Home, it was better than you being dead. You didn’t seem to think so, but I had to make the call, Kin.”
Kin leans into me and slaps the top of my head before I have a chance to duck. “You should know better than to listen to me.” He laughs. His eyes go to Nora’s lap, where she’s piled grass clippings and shredded roots onto her skirt without noticing, and I wonder whether he recognizes her.
She speaks, her voice a breath of barely audible air. “When did this happen?”
Kin taps his chin and says, “Oh, it’d have to be about ten days ago, right Kettle?”
I nod. “Sounds about right.”
45. BLAME
NORA
No.
There should be sinister music playing. A finger pressed down on this line in the play, this moment in time. Here’s the big twist! Everyone gasp.
It was me. It was me. Me. I’m the reason Kettle’s brother is partially paralyzed. I am the ‘rich chick’ who received priority over Kin. I try to think back to that day, but I can’t remember seeing him. I can’t remember anyone shouting out for help, which makes me feel even guiltier.
So many things had to fall into place for this to happen, for our paths to cross in such a way. If. If I hadn’t left the house at that time. If. If I hadn’t made the decision to go down that tunnel, to that platform…
Green juice runs through the cracks between my fingers as I squeeze grass in my fist.
“Anyway, I ended up here with tenpin and bowling ball,” he jerks his head toward the kitchen, “all because my father died serving our country,” Kin says with a large amount of sarcasm and I can’t say I blame him. “It’s not so bad here, really… I…”
“Tenpin and bowling ball? That’s pretty rude, Kin,” Kettle mutters. But Kin’s not listening, he’s staring at me, and then Kettle turns too. I’m under a spotlight of their gazes—one concerned, the other curious.
I squirm as their study of me intensifies. Guilt. Guilt is reaching up from the earth and trying to pull me under the earth’s crust. This polyester blouse is tightening across my chest. I need to take a breath, but the air feels poisonous. My lies, my life is poisonous.
I like being a part of his world. It has possibility. I feel safe. But if Kettle realizes who I am, that I’m the reason his friend is like this, he’ll throw me out and I’ll lose my place. The board will be turned up like a sore loser. The pieces will slide to the ground. I’m not sure I can go back to the start now, and I don’t want to lose my friend either.
I need to speak. I need to stop wringing my hands and losing blood from my face.
A toe touches my knee. “Kite, is it?” Kin dubiously asks.
Kettle runs his palm up and down in front of my face. “Are you okay?”
I sigh and sigh again; I forget to breathe back in and cough.
Kin’s toe is still on my knee, and he taps it once. I look up into his dark eyes, the sun splintering through the branches of the willow behind us. They’re stars. I blink. Stars caught in the net of rope-like branches. Stars are like secrets. They need to fall. Let them fall.
Kin squints and leans forward, his finger pointed accusingly at my nose. “I know you,” he says and the stars start tumbling to the ground, burning holes in the lawn and singeing my skin.
I flinch.
Kettle glances at me sideways. Kin’s finger still lingers in the air and I gulp, waiting for it to turn to a fist. I close my eyes. Anger equals yelling equals violence. That’s what I know.
I hear Kettle sigh deeply, exasperated. “Kin,” he starts with a worn sound to his voice.
“You. You’re the girl I was going to marry!” Kin exclaims, hands up in the air, like it finally all makes sense to him.
My eyes pop open. “What?”
Kin stands and we stand with him. He’s laughing, holding his stomach with one hand, the other supporting himself on the chair. “That little girl you were with snapped my suspenders. Kettle, remember?” Kettle nods like he does remember. My mind tracks back to that day, and then I stare at Kin more closely. The memory unfolds. Inside is a box full of lightbulbs. One lighting up for every lie I’ve told and every truth-bearing word they utter. I remember him. I remember Kettle too. A voice rich and dark like hot-poured coffee.
I place a hand on my heart and whisper, “Oh.”
“Yeah.” He looks me up and down, smiling. His handsome face is painted with a new emotion I don’t recognize. “Pretty girl like you… After our encounter, I thought I would seek you out… show you a good time… and then, you couldn’t help but fall in love with me.”
Kettle snorts and shoots Kin a look so dirty that he stumbles back a little and falls into his chair.
Relief doesn’t feel as good as it should. They don’t know it was me in the subway, but that doesn’t ease anything. Not a thing. My hand goes to my throat, which feels hot and flushed like I’ve fallen into poison ivy.
Kin is still talking, a big, amused smile on his face, “We would have beautiful mixed race babies you and me. They’d look like Kettle…”
My head snaps to Kettle, who crosses his arms and snaps, “Shut up, Kin.”
How do I make this better? How do I stop this strangling feeling?
Kin ignores him. “We’d be in the Times. High-society girl marries homeless Nisei,” he teases, but I can barely hear him. I’m seeing that day through Kettle’s eyes. Watching me being stretchered away while his brother lay dying on the platform. It’s killing me. I’ve hurt the only person who’s helped me.
His kindness will turn. It will turn.
“Kin, shut your trap,” Kettle warns, his voice rising in volume.
The words written in my mother’s will rise from the grass in smoky wisps of vapor. Until I turn twenty-one or marry, whichever comes first. That money could help us all. It is a clear solution. Marry Kin. Get the money. Take care of him, the boys, and Kettle. That would make it right.
“We could, you know,” I whisper, my words as tiny as the dewdrops kissing the skin of my legs.
Kin stops laughing, confused. “Could what?”
“We could get married,” I say warily and with regret.
More laughing from Kin. Kettle is silent but for his angry breathing mixing with the swish of the sad, sad willow branches.
“When I marry, I stand to inherit a great deal of money. It could help all three of us. It could solve a lot of our problems,” I say unconvincingly.
Kettle takes a deep breath in. He’s learning this all for the first time, and I can tell it’s upsetting him.
I turn to him. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” I’m sorry I’m lying to you, all the time. So. Many. Lies. But maybe if I do this, my father’s identity won’t be as big a deal. Maybe.
Kin’s eyes light up. He puts a hand on his heart and says in a breathy, feminine voice, “This is all so sudden.” Then more seriously, “Well, I do turn eighteen in a few days’ time.”
How did we get here so fast?
Kettle blows air through his nose slowly, and I count to ten. I don’t know why we’re both looking to him for permission but somehow, that’s where we are.
“No,” he says. “No way.” There is a look being exchanged between the two of them, a silent conversation and an understanding. Kin shuts his mouth and tries to stop grinning.
Kettle faces me, looking like a disapproving father, tapping his foot and shaking his head.
“But it could be the solution to all of our problems,” I say, only half-believing my own words.
He shakes his head again. From the kitchen, Miss Anna shouts, “Cookies!” Our heads all swing in the direction of the house and then fall back on Kettle.
Kin smirks. “Cookies sound good, don’t they, Kettle?”
Kettle won’t move. “You’re not marrying Kin,” he states flatly.
Kin’s eyes go from Kettle to me, Kettle to me. “Well, well, well…”
I blink at Kettle and
open my mouth to speak. He puts his hand up in my face, blocking my view of everything. “Don’t look at me like that. You’re not marrying me either.”
I frown. He’s being unreasonable. Not thinking it through. Am I?
The smell of chocolate chip cookies wafts over from the trays the women are carrying around the yard. “Well, there goes your chance to marry up in this world,” Kin says to me with a wink, pointing to the sky.
Kettle snatches a cookie from the tray and snarls at Kin. “Don’t wink at her. Just… don’t.”
It makes us both giggle, even though I know there’s seriousness to come.
Kin and I take a cookie each and nibble at them, melted chocolate smudging our fingers. “Thanks, Tenpin!” Kin says with a smile.
Miss Anna giggles and slaps at him with her praying mantis arms. Then she looks at Kettle and me. “He has a nickname for everyone around here.”
Kettle laughs, and I love the sound of it. “I don’t doubt it.”
The subject of marriage is dropped for the moment, although I can see it typing lines in Kettle’s brain. We talk about the ladies who run the place, Kin’s rehab, when he might come home. I observe them, saying little. Their interactions are easy. Brotherly. And my heart aches.
Frankie, I miss you so much.
“I can’t come home. At least, not to that home,” Kin says sadly. “Kettle, you know I won’t be able to get around down there. If I came back to the city, it would have to be to a real apartment. Preferably Eastside, ground floor, great view, hardwood floors…” he jokes.
He doesn’t mention my suggestion of marriage again, but I know he’s thinking about it. He’s hinting to Kettle.
“You’ll be fine. We’ll make it work, once you’re better,” Kettle says, lightly punching him in the arm. The action makes me flinch, and Kin catches my response. There’s something in those dark eyes. They see more than his mouth lets on.
When it’s time to leave, the ladies make us promise to visit again soon.
Kin manages to walk us to the door, taking a break halfway down the hall. It pains me to watch him struggle and to watch Kettle’s reaction to that struggle. I might as well have kicked him in the stomach.