Texas fury (51 page)

The following day on her lunch hour she took the time to purchase a witty, cheerful get-well card for Amelia. She stood at the mail desk in Macy's and penned off a short message.

Dear Amelia,

Please get well soon. I'll look forward to seeing you dance the night away at Sawyer's wedding.

Affectionately, Julie

Wasn't love putting the other person first?

UUiUU CHAPTER EIGHTEEN ))»)»»

Winter, spring, summer — where had they gone? Cole wondered. He sat in his car, on land between the Jarvis ranch and Sunbridge. He'd taken to checking out Adam's house, more for something to do than for any particular reason.

From here he could see his great-grandmother's rose garden at Sunbridge. The house looked mellow somehow, softer

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in color, bleached by the summer's sun, more pale than a prairie rose. He hadn't been back to Sunbridge, and he didn't miss the old pile of bricks. He was glad that he owned no part of this vast place.

He looked across the grazing lands that were lush from the spring and summer rains. It still held no appeal for him.

Six more months and he'd be ready to leave. He didn't know what he'd do or where he'd go, but he knew he was going. He'd set his own time schedule, late one night when he sat alone, watching the David Letterman show. He was taking charge of his life. His plan included telling the family over the Christmas holidays when they all gathered at Sunbridge. He hoped they'd understand. If they didn't, there wasn't much he could do about it.

He really shouldn't take all the credit for finally coming to his decision. Nick had helped him over the past months. He'd made the time to fly to New York several times, staying four or five days at a time, seeing Nick for a couple of hours each day.

Time was moving too fast in some areas, too slow in others. Time was fleeting for Aunt Amelia and Shadaharu Hasegawa; it was dragging for Riley, and probably for Sawyer, trying to wind things up so she could get married. He had to think about doing something special for Christmas for his Aunt Amelia, making the holidays really festive. With things so slow at the office, he could make all the arrangements. If he read the situation right, his beloved aunt didn't have ... He swiped at the tears in his eyes. The doctors had said she had a year at the most; and that year would be up next March. This would be her last Christmas. It had to be a good one, as good as he could make it.

Cole got out of his car and looked around. It was something to do, something physical, but his thoughts wouldn't be still. When he was little, in the military school he hated, he used to lie in bed and pretend he had three wishes. First, he'd wish for his parents to come and whisk him home, saying they'd made a mistake in sending him to the school. His second wish was for a motorcycle. The third was for all the blackberry pie he could eat, every day of his life. He played the game now. His wishes were more serious, and for the most part hopeless, except perhaps the last one. He wished for two reprieves—one for his Aunt Amelia, one for Riley's grandfather. His third wish was for Riley to slap him on the back and say, "It's history. I overreacted."

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Cole looked at his watch. His lunch hour was over. It was time to go back to the office and tie up some loose ends. Three more cancellations had come in for the DM. Tomorrow there would be more, and the day after that, still more. When prosperous oilmen couldn't make their payroll, they couldn't afford to pay for the jets they'd ordered from Coleman Aviation. Back to a virtually empty office with only a skeleton crew working at a reduced salary. Back to nothing.

It was a sweltering day in late September. Cole sat at his desk way past closing time, going over the reports that came in on a regular basis from Sawyer in Japan. He was tired and he was frightened. Everything was in the red. Two of their best holdings were on the block. Whatever profit they made would only keep them afloat another couple of months.

The rise and fall of the Coleman empire. They'd done about all they could. Soon the vultures would be circling. No more long shots, no magic cures. No one to blame.

It wasn't Riley's fault. He'd done his best. More than his best. Old Seth's bones must be rattling in the ground at what was happening. What would he say? Cole almost thought he could hear the gravelly voice that had been described to him hundreds of times. "Bail out, boy; cut your losses and start over. Use your back, your muscle, and the bank's money. You go belly-up, boy, and there ain't no bank nowhere that will loan you money. Bail out!" Yep, that's what old Seth would say. Riley didn't see it that way. Sawyer was fast coming around to Seth's way of thinking, though; he could tell by the notes she included with her reports.

Cole looked around the office he'd decorated himself. He could either stay here and write to Riley's grandfather or go home to the condo and do it. If he did it here, he could leave it in outgoing mail for the morning pickup. He'd anticipated this very intention by slipping the latest letter from Japan into his briefcase when he left the apartment earlier.

He enjoyed the old one's letters, often reading them three and four times or saving them up and reading them one after the other. For some strange reason, he felt close to Riley's grandfather.

The crackly paper was unlike any other. Cole unfolded it and read slowly:

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Coleman san,

My weary eyes appreciated your last letter. It is most kind of you to keep up our correspondence. I look forward to your letters with as much eagerness as my ailing body can muster.

To be sure, your family is anticipating Sawyer's marriage to Adam Jarvis. Your kind offer of wedding pictures will be appreciated. I have come to love Sawyer as my own daughter, as you know. I pray she is blessed with many children.

My heart is full of sorrow for your aunt's frail health. Like all of us, she has become old. She is a remarkable woman with a strong spirit much like my own, I am told. I spoke once with her at great length. We talked of dreams and destiny. Her dream, she said, was fulfilled; her destiny, preordained. I, too, spoke of these same things, something I never thought of myself doing, especially with a woman. I felt a better person for sharing those confidences.

Your grandmother wrote me just last week and told me she is counting the days till January, when Thaddeus retires from his government office. Her plan is to take a trip around the world with her husband. She said she will stop to visit and bore me with all their pictures. My family is blessed to share your own family. East and West, as you are fond of saying. I recall a day many years ago when you and my grandson stood side by side and you asked me, very respectfully, if West could get top billing this one time.

I am proud, Coleman san, that you shared your dream with me. Man must have a dream to make life worth living. All things are within the realm of possibility. I shall pray that you never lose your dream. It is a life force that binds my spirit to this earth. I fear that my dream will go to the grave with me. It is my darkest secret.

Once again I must thank you for sharing your news of my grandson with me. I have received only one letter from Riley since his very brief visit in March. It was a brisk letter inquiring about my health. I searched for some sign of warmth and affection but could find none. I felt like a fighter in the ring who has lost fight. I share this with only you, Coleman san.

My busy daughters are fussing about me and want

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me to take a nap. If they knew about the monsters that invade my dreams, they would not insist, but I must make them happy.

Continue to dream, Coleman san, and one day your dream will be fulfilled. My spirit tells me this is so. You must never give up that which you hold close to your heart. I send to you, Coleman san, my American friend, my best wishes.

Shadaharu Hasegawa

Cole stared at the blank paper in the typewriter for a long time. What did he want to say to this wise old man? Many, many things, he decided, that shouldn't be put on paper. Maybe, instead of writing, he should take a vacation, go to Japan. He could visit and talk as much as the old man wanted. Right now he could use all the wisdom the old Japanese could offer. Anything was better than rattling around the office with no real work to do. He hadn't taken a vacation last year or this year; he was entitled. He could soak up some Eastern culture, dine on sushi, hang out with Sawyer, visit with Riley's grandfather, walk down the Ginza, snap a few pictures to prove to himself he'd really taken a vacation, and rest.

Cole covered the typewriter. The phone was so much quicker. His watch told him it was seven-thirty in the morning in Japan. Mr. Hasegawa was an early riser.

All he had to do was pack, file a flight plan, and he was off. Not wanting to disturb the old one, Cole left a message: Coleman Tanner would arrive by early evening.

Sixteen hours later Cole Tanner rang the bell on the Hasegawa gates. He was ushered in politely and escorted to the Zen garden, where Riley's grandfather sat. The light evening breeze wafted about Cole. He thought the garden the most beautiful spot he'd ever seen. He'd made no sound, yet the old one raised a frail hand and spoke softly.

"Coleman san, welcome to my humble home. Join me here in the garden, where it is so peaceful. My grandson used to play here with his mother when he was a child."

Cole walked over to the wicker chair, uncertain if he should hold out his hand or bow. When he was uncertain about anything, he did what he felt like doing; he dropped down to one knee and grasped the old Japanese's shoulders in both his hands. "It was presumptuous of me to call and announce my arrival as I did. It's good to see you, Mr. Hasegawa."

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"And you, Coleman san, are a welcome sight for these old eyes. I am glad you came to visit me. Sit beside me and talk. If my fussy daughters see me engaged in conversation, perhaps they will allow me to stay up longer. Or you could intervene and tell them to ... to buzz off."

Cole laughed. "I can't do that, Mr. Hasegawa."

"That is my problem, too. They mean well, but they are ... pests," the old one said fretfully.

"I can relate to that." Cole laughed again. "Perhaps they will extend your bedtime. A compromise."

"I don't like that word, Coleman san. A compromise means someone wins and someone loses. It is a word I try to avoid. One gives up things and gains things. Winners and losers. I lose and have to go to bed, but I do not sleep."

They talked, intensely at first, and then quietly. West meeting East, and finally understanding. It was after eleven by Cole's watch when a Shadow fell across his lap. He almost burst out laughing at the expression on the old Japanese's face.

"You see what they have done? My daughter fears my wrath, so she sends in a child, whom she knows I cannot refuse. They call this little spirit Top Gun. She is a buzz saw, meaning she will swoop me up and carry me to my room if I don't follow her docilely."

Cole noticed that the old one rose with difficulty, rejecting the child's offer of her arm. He walked with a cane these days, but at least he was walking. In the dim garden light Cole thought he looked about the same as he had in November, with the exception of the cane.

"I rise at five. If you would like to join me at that time, I have my breakfast, if you can call it that, here in the garden," he said with a grimace.

Cole nodded. "I'll be here."

It was evident to Cole, when he walked to the garden for his early-morning breakfast, that the Hasegawa household revolved around Riley's grandfather. Never in his life had he seen so much quiet bustling. Everyone, it seemed, had her own job. The little girls tittered behind their hands as he nodded formally. He wondered if Riley knew all their names.

They all appeared to be school age. All the little girls were dressed in uniforms—no blue jeans and sneakers here. He doubted if any of the children were aware their counterparts in the United States dressed differently. The United States must seem like another world to them.

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"Mush!" the old Japanese said sourly after he greeted Cole. "You will, of course, have the traditional American breakfast of ham and eggs. One of my daughters tells me they prepared something called grits for you. The name alone would prevent me from eating it. You will have coffee and I will have tea. I will pretend not to see you eat, and you must not watch me consume this. .. this mess they say is good for my digestive system. Dig in, Coleman san."

He did. The ham was pink and succulent, the scrambled eggs light and fluffy. The toast was warm, with butter and blackberry jam. The coffee was a blend of aromas that did strange things to his nostrils. The grits, he forced down. He almost laughed when he remembered Riley saying that eating grits was like eating warm snot. His mother had reprimanded him, but she'd never served grits to Riley again.

Cole pushed his plate away. "That was one of the best breakfasts I've had in a long time. Your mush looks... awful."

"I know. I complain just to stay in practice. The food I like, I can no longer eat. It tears up my insides. I endure."

"All your family lives here, in this house?" Cole asked.

"Yes, all my married daughters have apartments of their own. I have twelve grandchildren living here. All but two go to school. In Japan space is limited. Children live with their families. It is our way. This house was meant for many people. When Riley was growing up, it was a very happy house. He was the first grandchild. You Americans say, the apple of my eye. Soon I will introduce you to all my family, save my youngest daughter. She is already at the paper, working. She will return late this morning to tell me what she has done right or wrong. Usually it is wrong. She does not want to marry. A career, she says. She wants to be a modern Japanese. When no one is about, she sneaks me a cigar or some sake."

Cole was on his third cup of coffee when the family parade started. First the children were introduced. They bowed formally and left. The daughters approached their father respectfully. He took each one's hand as he introduced them. Each was prettier than the next one. He was surprised; he hadn't expected beauty. He'd seen pictures of Riley's mother, and she'd been pretty, too. The last daughter was the only one to speak. She did so in halting English. "Your breakfast was satisfactory?"