A Year and Change - Part Four
A Sailor Moon fan fiction by Thomas Sewell (sewell_thomas@hotmail.com)
...... Thought quotation
Chapter 14: One of Sarah's Longer Days
"MS. OO-ER? SARAH OO-ER?"
Sarah became aware that the substitute teacher was calling on her now.
"Sarah Ami Usagi Uer?" he said, reading off her full name from a list on his lecturn, mispronouncing three of its four parts. "Are you with us?" He used a "sophisticated" accent that had grated on Sarah's ears with the sour notes of pretension. Perhaps he thought it he sounded English. Sarah had spoken with too many real English people to be fooled by it. "Ms. Uer?" He pronounced it "ooh-er."
"My name is pronounced 'wear,'" said Sarah.
"Oh. Well, Ms. Uer, can you answer my question?"
Sarah said, "I didn't hear it . . . Sorry, I had my mind on something else."
"Apparently . . . " The substitute eyed Sarah a little too long before glancing down to write something. It was then that Sarah broke her usual discipline and read him. She had hoped just to get the question he had asked and she had not heard, but found his mind filled with quite another matter. He finished writing his note, and then called on another student, reading off the name from his list before looking up.
Sarah pulled down her skirt as quietly as she could, glancing over to Pleione, who was giving her I tried to tell you shrug. There was some giggling, but she could not quite catch the culprits by looks alone.
Since her first month of middle school, Sarah had usually shared her lunchtime with Pleione, Pleione's friend Johnny Brown, and three girls: Joline Davis, Paula Chin, and Valentina Petrov. The first year there had also been Zoë, who tended to mother everyone like Auntie Makoto (and also menace annoying boys), but she had moved on to high school after that. But Zoë's place had been taken by Deja, Auntie Rei's daughter--anything but an improvement, in Sarah's opinion.
Today Sarah had begun her lunch alone. Pleione, Joline, Paula, and Val all had classes that lasted into the first half-hour of her lunch break. Johnny was sitting with another girl, at another table, bashfully enduring jibes from her girlfriends. Sarah tried to watch without being too obvious. Pleione would be asking about it later, because she wouldn't grill Johnny . . .
"I heard about you and Mr. Ossining this morning."
Sarah cringed. Deja had come up while she wasn't paying attention. Sarah turned to her, glared for a moment, and then softened, because Deja was offering her a sashimi and a cup of sauce for it. Sarah took the artfully-sculpted morsel, dipped it in the fiery sauce, and ate it. Then she said, "Tell your father thanks for me."
Deja said, "I will. You know, if you are going to fall asleep all the time, you shouldn't wear a skirt. At least not a short one like that."
Sarah muttered, "You should talk about short skirts."
"I stay awake, and I know how to sit in one." Deja ate a sashimi, and paused. Switching to Japanese, Deja asked Sarah, "Did you have another nightmare last night?" Her tone had changed, and she had a different look on her face.
Sarah replied in Japanese. "Kimi-chan was in this one . . . It was bad. I could not sleep for a long time."
Sarah was waiting for Deja to reply, and feeling warmer toward her usually annoying shadow, when two muscular boys sat themselves down at her table. They were wearing school jackets, but not from Sarah's school. One of them said, "Mind if we sit here?" It wasn't really a question, because they were already making themselves comfortable.
They were also both good-looking.
In fact, they were great-looking. Sarah noticed that Deja was slipping off her glasses, a sure sign that she had noticed how handsome the strange boys were. Sarah thought, You're just as bad as me! But when Sarah looked at the boys again, she realized the boys weren't paying attention to anything but their food.
Deja began asking them questions, to which they gave one word answers, or grunts, as they continued to attack their food. Sarah, however, didn't say a thing . . .
There was a reason Sarah Uer had been sitting alone in a pretty crowded lunchroom until Deja Kumada had joined her. It was her third year, and everyone who mattered knew it was not a risk-free proposition to sit with Sarah, especially if she was in a mood . . .
"Sarah Uer, I'll see you now," said the Vice Principal as she walked by and in to her office.
This was a very familiar phrase to Sarah Uer. The Vice Principal—this year it was a woman named Barbara A. Fuhrmann—pronounced Sarah's surname exactly as it should be pronounced, perhaps from practice, perhaps from a briefing she had gotten from her predecessor.
Sarah came in and stood in front of Ms. Fuhrmann's desk. This wasn't a gesture of penitence, feigned or sincere. Sarah was afraid to read this Vice Principal, because she was one of those people who had a touch of power. Not enough power to really do anything, except maybe have some intuition, but enough to feel different when Sarah tried to read her, and enough to sense that that different feeling was not like anything else. But Sarah guessed that this woman was very sensitive to "acts." Therefore, Sarah had never tried any of the techniques that had gotten her out of trouble before. Instead, she would tell as much truth as Ms. Fuhrmann could be trusted to believe.
"You can sit down," said Ms. Fuhrmann.
"Is this going to take a long time?" Sarah asked. "My mom is waiting for me."
Ms Fuhrmann looked up from the folder she was looking through, straight into Sarah's eyes. "I know about your mother's disability. Now, first, would you tell me what happened in the lunchroom today?"
Sarah sucked in her breath, and said, "I started it."
"Explain?" insisted the Vice Principal.
Sarah said, "A couple of jocks from the visiting team sat at our table. I was with my friend Deja. Deja tried to talk to them but they didn't really want to talk to her. So, I didn't try to talk to them myself. I was trying to see how Johnny was doing at another table, because I knew my friend Pleione would want to know . . . anyway, I got really p—really mad at the two jocks when they wouldn't pay any attention to us. Deja was being really sweet, you know, and they were acting like pigs, even sounding like pigs. So I played a joke on them. I kept touching one of them on his butt. He thought the other jock was doing it. Anyway, after a few minutes, they started arguing with each other, and then they started throwing punches at each other. Johnny Brown and some other guys tried to break up the fight. One of them started hitting Johnny just when Pleione came in. Pleione saw that and she ran over and whipped on that guy. Johnny and I pulled her off."
The Vice Principal said, "You didn't hit the boy who struck your friend Johnny?"
Sarah said, "No, Johnny was handling him pretty well. If he had really hurt Johnny, I would have cleaned his clock worse than Pelly did."
"Pelly?" asked Ms. Fuhrmann.
"Pleione," Sarah explained. "We've been friends since we were babies . . . anyway, that's what happened. So do whatever you want to do to me. Pelly just saw someone beating on Johnny and hulked out for a few seconds, but I started the whole thing."
The Vice Principal did not look away. She said, "I just watched the tape. I didn't see you do anything to either of the Stanislaus boys before the fight started."
"Well, I'm pretty good at that joke. But I did it." Sarah looked very deeply into Ms. Fuhrmann's eyes. "I'm telling the truth."
The Vice Principal said, "I believe you." Then she swiveled in her chair, putting her back to Sarah. After a pause, she said, "Some people were asking questions about you a this morning."
"People?"
"Some people from the FBI."
Sarah could not but help read for a moment, getting an image of two stonefaced men in dull suits. She saw the Vice Principal shiver slightly. "Was it about my sister?"
Ms. Fuhrmann said warily, "Some of it . . . They asked me what you thought of the President."
Sarah thought a moment, forcing herself not to read. "I think I know what that's about."
Ms. Fuhrmann turned back to face her. "Really?" She did not sound very credulous.
Sarah said, "It's about Auntie Michiru. She's going to perform at the White House this summer sometime. She told us she would try to get us invitations. I guess they are checking up on us all because of that. Did they ask about Pelly? Pleione?"
The Vice Principal said, "They asked a few questions about her. And a few about Ms. Kumada."
"Deja?" Sarah shook her head. "Paranoid."
Ms. Fuhrmann looked to Sarah as if she wanted to ask many more questions. But, instead, she wrote out a slip and handed it to Sarah. "Give this to your parents, Ms. Uer. I want to see your mother and your father as soon as they can arrange it. But I won't keep your mother waiting any longer today."
Paula, Val, and Joline used to ride home a lot with Sarah and Pleione. Now they usually didn't. Of course today, Sarah's mother was picking Sarah and Pelly up. Her mother's van was too small to fit the whole gang, really, along with Auntie Naru's and Auntie Mako's kids from their primary schools. But her friends had been happy enough to shoe-horn in before, thought Sarah, as she walked up to the van, and into her mother's eyes. Before Kimi was hurt. Sarah couldn't find a good word, so she simply handed to her mother the slip Ms. Fuhrmann the Vice Principal had written out, and waited for her mother to say something.
Her mother took a moment to read the slip, then tucked it away. She said, quietly, "Would you like to stay for the soccer game and come back with Pleione? I have to come back for her, anyway."
Plain Pleione was, somewhat incredibly, a cheerleader. She had become one so she could follow Johnny Brown to all his games. And she never tells Johnny why she really does it, thought Sarah. Sarah answered, "No, I'd better come home. I don't want to see those boys from the other school now."
Maia Umino, the next-oldest of Naru's brood, leaned out from the back behind Sarah's mother's seat and said, "Please, take me? I want to see Pelly." Maia went to a different school, one of the very few with a decent art program; otherwise she would have been in Deja's class. As if to remind Sarah of that, Deja somehow squeezed up behind Maia, and echoed her. "Please? I want to stay, too."
Sarah's mother said, "Hotaru-chan is at the game now. She came with Michiru and Haruka. They are showing Mr. Descartes what one of these games is like."
With her mother and Deja being so nice to her, Sarah wanted to scream, Yell at me! I screwed up and got somebody hurt! Again! But she said, "All right. Thanks, otousan. Come on, brats!"
High-school soccer, in this year in California, had forty minute games. But there were almost always two games played, one for the girls' team and one for the boys' team, so the two together ran about as long as a professional game. The girls's game was beginning its second half as Sarah Uer shepherded Deja and Maia into the stands. It did not take Sarah any time at all to spot Hotaru-chan, because she was sitting with Michiru and Haruka and the man in their lives. Where else would the Roland Descartes sit but in the front row?
Roland Descartes was not a great fan of spectator sports, but found he thoroughly enjoyed the spectacle of this event. The enthusiasm of the small crowd was exhilerating. Especially amusing was watching Michiru struggling to keep her reserve--to someone who did not know her intimately as he himself did, she looked as notoriously cool as ever. But Roland was close enough, and knew to look for, the tell-tale flush on her neck, and the sweat on the backs of her hands. It was an almost sure indication that she would be receptive later . . . and between anticipation and the wholesome eroticism of the cheerleaders, Roland's attention was entirely diverted until he caught those eyes glaring at him.
It was Sarah, Mrs. Chiba's unsettling oldest child, staring at into him. But only for a moment. The child was polite enough to turn away when noticed. People on the front bench got up and moved over to make room for her and the two latecomers she had brought--the Kumada girl and another Umino girl, considerably more attractive than the one cheerleading. Not favored of face, that one, thought Roland as he moved down. It was crowded now--but at least he was squeezed in between Haruka and Michiru. Roland looked past the cheerleaders and the players to the opposite tier of seats, and saw one girl pointing at him, saying something to the girls around her, bending close to hear.
The next time a cheer began to rise, Roland took Haruka's hand in his right and Michiru's in his left, and raised his arms high as they stood up. There was quite a lot of pointing from the opposite gallery after that . . . and, Roland saw, the big video camera had caught it. It will be on the news tonight . . . I hope Andrea sees it. At that thought, Roland chuckled. Then he glanced past Michiru for some reason, some feeling . . . and looked into those eyes again. For a moment, he felt a chill . . . but only a very short moment, before Mrs. Chiba's girl looked away again. Another cheer began, and Roland prepared to repeat his performance, his unsettling intuition already forgotten. The pointer he had first noticed was pointing again.
Sarah Ami Usagi Uer looked into the crowd on the opposite side of the field and waved back to Paula, Val, and Joline. She thought of going over to them, but Hotaru had brought Rhea so moving over would be a big deal if Hotaru came . . . and she did not want to leave Hotaru. So here she was, and there they were.
The people rose to cheer, and Sarah noticed that Mr. Descartes was making a big deal of it. What a ham, Sarah thought as she looked at him. Why do Auntie Haruka and Auntie Michiru put up with him? He looked at her, and she turned back to watch the game, more or less.
As the crowd flowed off the field after the end of the boys' game, Sarah spotted one of the boys who had fought. It wasn't the one Pleione had given a bloody nose; it was the other one, the one who had hit something with his fist and hurt his hand. Sarah ran up to him. "Hey, wait a minute!"
The boy looked puzzled. "Who are you?"
"You don't remember?" asked Sarah.
He shook his head.
Sarah was tempted to drop the whole thing, but it was her fault--and it would probably get back to the boy or his parents because she had told Ms. Fuhrmann. She said, "I was in the lunchroom today. You sat at my table."
"Oh . . . " He looked at her. "Oh, you were with her." He pointed at Deja, who had come up with her other friends. "Did I hurt you or anything?"
Sarah said, "No . . . I wanted to tell you I'm sorry."
He held up his right hand, which was bandaged. "Oh, it's nothing big. Stupid, but nothing broken."
Hotaru unexpectedly broke in. "Will you miss your next big game?"
"I dunno."
"Could I see your hand?" asked Hotaru.
"I guess." He extended it.
Hotaru took it and examined it. Sarah thought she saw a glow under the bandage for a moment. She looked around. Joline had Rhea and was absorbed with her; Paula's face showed nothing special--but Val's eyes were a little too wide. She caught something.
Hotaru took her hands away and said, "I hope you won't miss your next game."
"Oh, it's no big thing, not like we can make the playoffs now."
The idiot doesn't notice he's been healed! Why am I going through with this? But Sarah had come this far. She drew herself up and said, loudly enough to get his attention back, "No, what I meant is, I'm sorry. I apologize. You see, I started your fight."
"What are you talking about?"
Sarah said, "I . . . played a joke on you. It was me touching you, not your friend."
"You?"
Sarah nodded.
The tall boy laughed. "Jeez, that was pretty good." Then he turned around, and walked away. Sarah read his thoughts for a moment then. He was thinking about the game that had been played. He had already put Sarah out of his mind.
Suddenly he stopped and whirled around. Then he spotted Sarah looking at him. Sarah smiled, turned around, and said, "Let's go home now. Jo, Val, Paula, you want to come over to my place for awhile?"
Roland Descartes' anticipation had been fulfilled. By all rights, he should be still asleep. He was not, after all, in his youth. But, here he was, awake, while his wives were asleep. They were very soundly asleep, he knew, and it would not be wise to wake them, even if . . . He smiled to himself. He had no third act within him tonight.
But, still, he was awake now.
Stealthily, carefully, he eased himself up. Presently he made out the face of the clock. It was past midnight--not as late as he had guessed. Too early to steal an early start on his day. But he was out of the bed, and fully awake.
He decided to explore the house for awhile. He had crept through many a mansion in the wee hours before, and there had always been something interesting to find, something he would never have found in the day. He slipped on pajamas and a robe, and stealthily left the room.
Sarah was in the theater with her friends--and Kimi, who insisted she had enough energy to sit up for a late show. Joline and Paula had fallen asleep in their chairs, and Kimi was beginning to nod, but she kept waking herself up. And Valentina was awake. Val was awake, and she kept looking at Sarah in an odd way, the way that said, I want to ask something. Sarah did not read her thoughts--not so much because reading friends all the time was not polite, but because she suspected that Val could feel her mind being touched. That was common enough, Sarah knew. Few people knew what it meant, but Valentina Petrov was the smartest of her non-senshi friends.
And, besides, Sarah was tired, and reading thoughts was work.
Auntie Naru wheeled in Sarah's mother in her wheelchair. That was a sign her mother was tired; she usually insisted on wheeling herself. Sarah's mother said, "Isn't it about time you should go to bed?"
"I'm all right," said Kimi, sounding very tired. Sarah saw that Kimi did not bother to open her eyes.
Sarah's mother and Auntie Naru waited quietly, as did Sarah. They did not wait long. Kimi fell asleep in her wheelchair.
But Val was wide awake, Sarah saw, still with that unasked question. Sarah spoke in the most appropriate language--the Old Language. "Mama, she saw Hotaru healing someone today."
"She is a sensitive?" asked her mother.
Sarah nodded. "I do not want her to be scared of us. I do not want Valentina to go away."
Auntie Naru could also speak the Old Language, even if she did not know of her old life. "Are you sure you want to do this?"
"Yes, Auntie. Yes Mama."
Auntie Naru made some very slight gestures. "They will stay asleep."
Sarah looked into Valentina's widening eyes, and asked, "You saw something when Hotaru was with that boy today?"
Valentina said, "Yes . . . I think. I don't know."
"Are you starting to believe some of the stories they tell about Sarah?" asked her mother.
Valentina said, "Maybe . . . "
Sarah sighed. What can I say? Instead, she looked over at Kimi's slumped form. She went to Kimi, and picked her up. She transformed, and folded Kimi into the safety of her dark wings, and willed some of her energy to flow into her sister. Then she returned Kimi carefully to her wheelchair. She transformed back, and staggered--she had given Kimi more than she'd thought.
But Valentina did exactly the right thing: she ran to Sarah to hold her up.
"Thanks," said Sarah. "Our secret, OK? Pinkie swear?"
"Pinkie swear."
Sarah hooked pinkies with her friend. Then she looked back to her mother and Auntie Naru--and beyond them. Standing in the doorway was Mr. Descartes . . .
Andrea Besson found Roland in an unsufferably good mood when he came the next day. She guessed why, and hoped Roland wouldn't force the details into her unwilling ears. But, when they finally had a really private moment in the incredibly busy house, Descartes launched into his story--not of his connubial interlude, but of a dream he had had. "What do you think of it, my friend?"
Besson shrugged. "I am your business manager. Should I hire you a psychiatrist to tell you what it means?"
"I will let you know . . . now, tell me again why you want me to cancel the Sydney performance and go to . . ."
Chapter 15: A Mismatched Woman
ONE DRIZZLY APRIL SATURDAY, when Laura was in San Francisco representing her company at some convention, John Elder Shaw piled Brandy and Doris in his car and drove to one of Orlando's older malls, where a movie they just had to see (again) was still playing. John discovered that parking was very tight; much of the lot was torn up and fenced off. He had to park quite far away from an entrance.
As he got out in the rain, and waited for the girls to scoot out under his umbrella, he saw a woman with a girl about Brandy's age and an infant. They were getting out of a car with some custom work, in the next row over. The woman didn't seem to match anything. She didn't really match the car. She didn't match her youthful clothes, though she was not farcical in them. And, she didn't match her children--she was white. She noticed him staring at her. He smiled, and nodded. She nodded back; he couldn't really guage her reaction, except that it wasn't particularly guarded. Brandy and Doris finally got out, and they more or less followed the woman into the mall.
Once inside, Shaw discovered he was at the far end from the theaters. Brandy whined that they would be late. Shaw had a painful forced march to the ticket line. He didn't remember passing the woman, but she got in line behind him and the girls. She smiled courteously to him. Brandy struck up a conversation with the girl because they had the same pendant.
Soon they were up to the ticket booth. Shaw shoved his card through and said, "One adult, two children."
The pimply boy behind the window said, "I'm sorry, cash only." He shoved the card out.
"Cash?" said Shaw.
"Our card readers are down," said pimple-face.
"D . . ." Shaw caught himself. He turned to his girls. "I'm going to have to go to the ATM."
"But we'll be la-a-a-te," said Brandy.
"I'll cover it," said the woman, pressing up to the window. "Here. For me and Jarma, and them. Enough?"
"Yeah, sure," said pimple-face.
Shaw wanted to protest, but the girls were so anxious to get in . . .
The movie the girls wanted to see was another of the "magic girl" movies. The theater was full of screaming kids, mostly girls, and it was not surprising that the woman took her baby back out after a fairly short interval. Shaw followed her out, but she went straight to the Ladie's room. He ducked out of the theater to visit the ATM. When he returned, he found the woman seated on a bench in the lobby, feeding the infant from a bottle. He went up to her, and offered her money. "Here."
"Oh . . . thank you . . . uh, just a second." She freed a hand to take the bill. "I'll get your change in a minute." She had a nasal twang to her voice, not severe, but noticiable.
"No, that's fine." Shaw felt himself warming toward the woman, not something that happened that often. "Let me guess, New York?"
"Guilty as charged," said the woman, grinning. "Want to sit?" She moved to one side of the bench.
"Yes, thanks." He settled down, and reached down to rub his sore knee and calf.
"Are you OK?" asked the woman.
"Oh, sure," Shaw answered, not liking her tone. I'm not that old! he thought. Sitting up, he said, "What do you think of the movie?"
The woman said, "The movie? Not much. I'm here because of Jarma."
"Same here." He shook his head. "Laura's out of town. I would probably be here if she was, though. She hates these matinees."
"Your wife?"
"No, my daughter . . . I'm a widower."
"Oh, I'm sorry," said the woman, with real sympathy in her voice.
Shaw said, "No need, Jean's been gone close to ten years now . . . I suppose your husband wouldn't come?"
"I'm not married."
"Oh . . . Sorry, I didn't mean--"
The woman shrugged. "Divorced. Jarma isn't mine; her mother's working today. And Persephone here, her mother's working too. Out of town; she won't be back until tomorrow."
Shaw felt awkward. Then he said, "My name's John Shaw . . . "
John Shaw spent the rest of that afternoon getting to know Lorraine Tiggs. It would be weeks before he admitted to himself that he was attracted to her, though.
By the end of May, it was routine: Every Saturday, Shaw would drive Lorraine's Suburban over to Lorraine's and pick her up for an afternoon at the movies, usually with the infant she minded and Jarma and one to three other kids belonging to Laura's friends or Lorraine's. Otherwise, Lorraine was a voice on the phone. Once she met the infant's mother, an absolutely gorgeous woman who was married to (but apparently separated from) Lorraine's ex-husband. Lorraine did not explain that arrangement much, though it was apparent she admired the woman--she was a pilot, flying mostly charters. But mostly what Lorraine liked to hear were anecdotes from his years on the Oakland PD. Shaw had an abundant store of them. He had nothing to hide, except for the last couple of years . . . and, while he could never forget that part of his life, he recalled it less and less.
One evening after the kids were in bed, Laura asked, "When are you going to have your girlfriend over for dinner?"
"Girlfriend?" Shaw protested. "Lorraine's no such thing!"
"Uh-huh," replied Laura, in exactly the same tone her mother would have used.
With that thought in mind, Shaw decided to give in gracefully.
When John Shaw came to pick up Lorraine at the apartment she shared with the other Mrs. Tiggs, Lorraine wasn't ready yet. Shaw found himself alone with the woman. She was polite, but she was absorbed in sewing something--a dress. With time and silence on his hands, Shaw took his first close look at the place. Inevitably, his eyes were drawn to the pictures scattered around. Picking up one, he said, "Do you mind?"
"No," replied the woman in her soft, crystal-clear voice. "Pictures are to be looked at." She had hardly glanced up from her work.
Shaw did not think he had recieved approval, exactly, but he continued to examine the pictures. Many were of children; there were also some of adults, often with children. There was one that struck him, for some reason: a blond woman with dark-skinned children. He thought, I've met her somewhere, but . . . where? When?
"Mr. Shaw?"
Shaw had been so lost in thought that he did not notice that the sewing machine had stopped. The woman was standing beside him, holding the dress she had been working on. He showed her the picture and said, "I think I've seen her before. Family?"
The woman replied, "Aino-san is an old friend, almost like family. You were a policeman in Oakland?"
Shaw nodded. "You heard that from Lorraine?"
"Yes . . . Aino-san is a nurse there. Perhaps you met her when you were at a hospital."
Shaw frowned as he set the picture down. "I was in and out there . . ." He saw she did not understand. "In and out of consciousness . . . You don't know about that, do you?" The woman shook her head. Shaw told the tale of how he had gotten caught in a shootout when the druglord Marvell Jones had been assassinated in Oakland's Highland Hospital. It was a familiar spiel to him; he was telling the short, sardonic version to the woman. But she interupted him.
"So, you were there when Aino-san was made a widow," said the woman.
"I was?" blurted Shaw, not understanding.
"Aino-san was married to the brother of your gang leader. He was killed there, too. And his sister, who had done no wrong." She cast her eyes down. After a silent moment, she said, "The dress is ready. I will give it to Lorraine, and you can go in a little while."
The dinner went off well enough--in fact, better than Shaw had expected. Lorraine answered Laura's grilling without resentment, winning sympathy for her losing fight to have children of her own. Lorraine, in fact, was quite talkative on her own as the evening went on, revealing more about her ex-husband than she ever had to Shaw.
The children were in bed when Laura asked the question Shaw had never allowed himself to ask Lorraine, heretofore so sensitive about her ex. "So, why did Mr. Tiggs leave the FBI? If I may ask."
Lorraine glanced at John in a way she rarely did, and took a long sip of her drink. Then she turned back to Laura and said, "Something went wrong in that big undercover assignment I told you about."
"Went wrong?" Laura bored in. "What went wrong? Do you know?"
Lorraine drained her glass and set it down, shaking her head. "I don't really know anything for sure. Martin will never talk about it. But what I think happened is that someone ratted on Martin. And instead of killing him, Mr. Jones figured out a way to frame Martin. Make it look like he was really working for Mr. Jones instead of the FBI."
"Mr. Jones?" asked Shaw.
"Yeah, the same Mr. Jones you knew. Knew about, I mean." Lorraine poured another drink, and drank some of it. "All I really know about him is that he ruined Martin." She drank a little more, and turned to Shaw. "John, you never told me much about Marvell Jones. Is it because he got you all shot up?"
After a moment, Shaw shrugged. "Maybe so . . . I spent a lot of time following him around when I was in the OPD the last couple of years." He shook his head. "Never got anything out of it. He was maybe the smartest drug boss we ever had. Lucky, too, until the end." Shaw took a drink of his own.
There was silence. Laura looked at Shaw, then at Lorraine, and drained her glass. Then she said, "It's late for me. I need to get an early start tomorrow . . . Lorraine, would you like to stay over?" Laura picked up the nearly-empty bottle, subtly suggesting that driving was not a good option.
Lorraine set down her drink, without finishing it. "You are so kind, but I should go home. Setsuna has to leave early. I need to be home to look after Perry . . . I'll take a cab home."
Laura picked up the tray, and, with a glance, got her father to set down his glass. "Can I get you anything else?"
Lorraine said, "Well . . . do you have tea? The green stuff?"
Laura said, "I think so . . . yes. I'll leave it out in the kitchen for you. Do you want me to put a kettle on?"
"No, I'll do it," said Lorraine, getting up. "I'd better call for the cab now."
John Shaw let them leave the living room and sat alone for a few minutes, thinking about something he would never speak of. Laura came back, kissed him, and said, "I'm really going to bed now, Daddy."
"So, what do you think, is she a keeper?" he said lowly.
Laura nodded slowly. She leaned down, and whispered, "I like her. But you'll have to work to get her. She's really not over her ex." She shook her head, and said in a more normal voice, "Have you ever met Mr. Tiggs?"
"No . . ." He shook his head, and chuckled, inappropriately.
"Daddy?"
Shaw said, "I'm sure I saw him when he was with Jones. But I don't know who he was. Didn't know he was FBI, of course. Feds don't tell local cops anything they don't have to."
Laura kissed him again. "Don't stay up too late, Daddy." Then she left.
Shaw waited a few moments more before going to the kitchen. He found Lorraine standing up, sipping from a cup. She noticed he was there, and said, "Want some?"
He started to shake his head, but . . . "Yes."
She spooned loose tea into a strainer and poured hot water through it into a cup. Then she handed the cup to Shaw. "Setsuna uses powdered tea most of the time."
"Oh?" He was not terribly interested in tea.
"Not instant. Expensive stuff from Japan." She sipped, making a face. "I guess it's pretty gross at first, but you get to like it. Or you get used to it, anyway . . . "
Shaw sipped the hot liquid. It was no worse than half the bad coffee he had downed to stay awake, but its strangeness made him grimace for a moment. "I suppose you can get used to anything."
Lorraine got a faraway look, and a strange smile. Then she said, "I guess . . ." drawing out the phrase. Then she returned from whatever reverie she was in, and said, "I'm sorry I brought up Jones. I guess you don't like to think about that much. You never talk about it."
He took another sip. The tea was strong, and it seemed to clear his head. "I guess it had to come up sometime . . . did you ever meet any of Ms. Meiou's friends?"
Lorraine said, "Not yet, except for one of them . . . I've talked a little bit on the phone with a few of them. Do you mean the nurse? The one you recognized?"
The Meiou woman told her. "Yes. I suppose I do."
Lorraine said, "No, I've never spoken with her. Sarah thinks a lot of her. One of her kids is something like Sarah's half-sister."
"Sarah?"
Lorraine sipped some more. "Sarah's the daughter of one of Setsuna's friends. Setsuna used to fly her over here for a day sometimes when she had a San Francisco flight. Not for a long while, though . . . some creep almost killed her little sister. Sarah spends most of her time with her sister now, from what I hear." She finished the cup, and began to prepare another. "Nice kid. Pushy, but a nice kid. She's really got a touch with babies."
"What did she tell you about the nurse?" asked Shaw.
Lorraine said, "Sarah told me she's really broken up about losing her husband. He was some kind of cripple, I think."
Shaw said, "He was one of Marvell Jones' brothers. I did hear he married his nurse. But I didn't know who she was."
"Really? . . . Why do you want to know about her so much?"
Shaw took a long sip before answering. "I'm not sure . . . I almost remember something about her. I know I met her, but . . . that's all."
Lorraine didn't look entirely satisfied. "Well, I guess you can meet her if you really want to. Most of Setsuna's friends are supposed to be coming here to visit in a while."
"Really?" said Shaw.
"Yes . . . in July, I think. After school is out. Most of them have kids in school." Lorraine took a slow, perhaps contemplative sip. Her tone changed. "Did you see any angel girls in California? I heard a lot of stories. And I saw that French video. Wasn't that from Oakland? Supposed to be from there?" She wasn't serious now; Shaw thought she was trying to brighten the conversation up, and move on from an uncomfortable subject.
Shaw said, "Well, I suppose something really happened at the lake. I was miles away when it went down." That was true; he'd tailed Marvell Jones into the hills. "But there were a couple of times . . ."
"A couple of times?" Lorraine was really surprised.
"Yes . . . The first time I was working vice. We were working a sting, picking up Johns who were cruising San Pablo--that's one of the main streets there. We also had some hookers disappearing; found one dead . . . anyway, it was night, and I saw a couple of big things flying. Only for a second, but I saw them." He sipped, and smiled. "Didn't tell my partner. I think he saw them too, but we didn't tell anyone."
Lorraine reached out to hold his hand. "And the other time?"
He closed his eyes. "It was after I was shot. Maybe I was seeing things, but it seemed real . . . Three of them were over me, close, very close. One of them touched me, and I felt . . . something like nothing else . . . and there was another one further off. She was crying. She was kneeling down and crying . . . " He did not speak for a moment. "And that's it. The next thing I remember . . . that I really remember for sure was four days after I was shot."
Lorraine kissed him on the cheek. John Shaw opened his eyes--and saw not only Lorraine, but Laura, standing in her robe. Laura said, "I saw the taxi pull up."
"Thanks," said Lorraine. She turned to Shaw and said, "I'd stay, but I really need to take care of Perry. OK?"
"OK," replied Shaw, and watched her walk out.
Laura started to put away the tea, and said, "Do you want any more?"
"No."
She put away the tea, and said, "You never told me that, Daddy. About seeing angels at the hospital."
"No."
"Why?"
Shaw answered, "Like I told her, it probably didn't really happen."
Laura said, "But you told her. Why? Why now?"
"Damned if I know." And John Elder Shaw believed that wholeheartedly.
Chapter 16: A Prodigal Father
DEJA KUMADA entered her home with her mind set on a sour pickle. Finals were approaching, and she had a term paper to finish, but she deserved a small bribe to herself before knuckling down, and Deja had decided that it would be a sour pickle before dinner. Not a big one, necessarily, but a whole one . . . she headed for the kitchen without pausing or calling out.
And then she stopped. There was someone in her kitchen, a stranger. He was an older man, not menacing-looking in any way, but a stranger, alone in her kitchen, perhaps even alone in her house, because she had not found anyone else at home yet. Deja asked, "Who are you? One of Mom's clients?" Sometimes her mother brought one of her law clients home. It was unlikely he was a martial arts student of her father.
He spoke in Japanese. "You are already becoming a young woman?"
Deja asked again, this time in Japanese. "Who are you? Why are you here? I don't know you." She found her hand was on her watch, ready to press the studs that would summon help--Chibi Moon, almost instantly. The old man still did not seem much of a threat, but . . .
Deja started. Hands were on her shoulders.
"He has a right to be here," said her mother, in English.
Deja took her hand away from her watch slowly. "Okasan, who is he?"
"He is my father, Deja-chan. He is your grandfather."
The man opened his arms and smiled broadly. Deja went to him and accepted his embrace, trying not to blurt out the many questions suddenly in her mind. He released the girl and said, "You are a fine girl. You must be breaking hearts already, Deja-chan."
"Maybe I have broken a few hearts," replied Deja.
"Deja-chan is an excellent student," said her mother. "She is one year ahead of her age group."
Deja blushed. "Yes, Grandfather . . . I must do schoolwork now." She retreated from the kitchen and the grandfather her mother never spoke of.
Hino Saburo kept his smile as the child retreated from him. She knows little or nothing about me, he thought. That did not surprise him. When the child was gone, he turned to his daughter. "She is much older than I imagined."
His daughter said nothing for a moment. She refilled his teacup and replaced the kettle before speaking again, without turning back to face him. "Yes, she is a love-child, if that is what you mean. But she is Yuuichirou's, if that is what you were going to ask next."
"You are blunt as ever, Rei-chan." He took a leisurely sip, stretching out the moment before making his next point. "She is a fine child. More polite than her mother."
He saw his daughter's shoulders suddenly tighten, then loosen, slowly. She turned to face him. "My husband will be home soon. Let us settle our business before then, please?"
"Business? What business do I have here? I have not seen you for years. Is it so hard to believe that I just want to visit my family?"
She raised an eyebrow. "Tell me the truth."
He took another long "sip," really just wetting his lips, without taking his eyes off her. "I am to accompany our Ambassador to a White House performance. Michiru is performing with that Frenchman. I have discovered you will be present." He took a genuine drink. "It would be well if we were not discovered to be strangers there."
Rei regarded him for a moment, then sat down across the table from him. "I don't have my official invitation yet."
He said, "But you are not surprised . . . You are going, aren't you?"
Rei said, "Yes. It is a great honor for Keiou-san. Of course I will go . . . I must."
The veteran politician regarded his daughter. She seemed distant, in an unexpected way. He said, "It is a great honor for you, also." Taking another sip, he wondered what she was thinking. But she didn't seem to be angry with him now, so he put that question aside. Instead, he set his cup down and made a show of looking about. "This is a wonderful home. How did you get it? I understand real estate here is almost as bad as in Tokyo."
His daughter answered, still without quite looking at him. "It is not as bad as Tokyo, but it is for America. The woman who lived here passed away. My friend Aino-san the nurse cared for her earlier and became friends with her family. Her daughter wants to return here to live when she can, but now she works somewhere in Texas. So, she rents this place to us." She paused for a moment, seeming to grow a little more distant. "I suppose we should buy a home. Yuuichirou can afford it."
"You lived with your friends for a long time, I understand. Why did you decide to move out?"
Now his daughter seemed to return to the scene. She looked at him, making real eye contact, and actually smiled slightly. "I was arguing with the housekeeper all the time."
Deja did not find any strangers sitting with Sarah at lunch. But perhaps Sarah was more than enough. "What is it with you today? I heard from Val you fell asleep."
Deja was caught in the middle of a yawn by that, and she flushed with embarrassment. "I got hardly any sleep. I had to finish my paper."
"You tried to do it all at the last minute? What are you doing, picking up my bad habits?"
Deja shook her head. "I didn't have that much left to do, but I couldn't concentrate. I kept thinking about Grandfather Hino."
Sarah shrugged as she munched. "Why should he bother you so much?"
"I don't know . . . he is a stranger to me, Chibi-usa."
Sarah frowned; she did not like being called that by Deja. But she said nothing about it. Instead, after swallowing her next mouthful, she leaned over and whispered, "Do you think he has some secret? Do you want me to--"
"No, don't do that, please."
Sarah straightened up. "Okay, I won't . . . Hey, can I have part of that pickle?"
Hino Saburo watched his son-in-law make a showy yawn and listened to him say, "I'm for bed now."
His daughter glanced up from the book she was reading and said, "I'm going to stay up awhile." Her husband was already standing by her. He bent down to kiss her, and then left the room. Just as he exited, he glanced back for an instant, and Saburo saw something more complicated in his expression than he had seen.
When Saburo was sure that they were alone, he said, "He could make a good politician."
Rei closed her book and responded with some irritation, "Why would you say that? He is not like you."
He shifted so that his body more nearly faced his daughter's. "He knows how to talk around things. And he knows how to make a compromise." He smiled. "I saw him patch up a quarrel between that housekeeper you cannot abide and your friend Mrs. Urawa today. It was masterful. He got both of them mad at him, and they forgot they were mad at one another . . . I am sure that is what he intended to do."
Rei's irritation subsided somewhat. "There is more to my Yuuichirou than you think."
"I never doubted that. You expect a lot from a man."
His daughter nodded in a very American way, disturbing him slightly. Then, tapping on her book, she said, "I really need to read more of this, Father. I have a hearing in the morning."
"Will that really help? More than sleep?" He gathered up the Japanese papers he had been reading and started to get up.
Then Rei surprised him, by saying, "I think you are right." She sighed. Then she said, "Are you really interested? You haven't asked much about my work."
Hino Saburo settled back. "I'm ready to listen now."
As Rei began to talk, her father sensed she was looking a little past him. "It is a deportation hearing."
"Your client has committed some crime?"
Rei shook her head, again, in a way that showed she had picked up more American ways than he cared for. "Mr. Chu entered this country illegally and has worked without the proper permits, but that is all."
"That does not sound so bad."
Rei's focus clearly was on himself now, not peering past him to the hearing. "Our country is not so very welcoming of other people."
"Perhaps, but we are small and very crowded. America is not." He paused for a moment. "Or do I misunderstand? Do you mean 'America' when you say 'our country?'"
Rei smiled wryly. "You are sharp, Father. I meant Japan just now. But I am quite an American now. Perhaps I should change my citizenship." Her focus changed again, but it was not the same as before. "Deja certainly is American. She is more Japanese in her ways than any of her friends, the children of my old friends from Japan. But she will never be anything but an American. She could live in Japan for the rest of her life, but that would not change." She looked away, ostensibly to set down her book. "I have brought her with me to Japan several times. No one mistakes her for a Japanese."
A silence intervened. Before it went on too long, Hino Saburo said, "I suppose I could have visited you, also." He rose, and began to make his way to bed.
But Rei called out from behind him. "Do you want to come to the hearing tomorrow?"
He stopped for a moment. "Yes. I will come with you." He took another step, but then stopped and turned to face his daughter. "Could you answer a question, before I go?"
"You may ask."
"Since I have heard that you named your new child after your husband's mother, I wondered why you did not name Deja-chan after your mother."
Rei took a moment to answer, or perhaps to decide to answer. "I don't know."
He regarded her for a moment, seeing how much she looked like her mother, before the final illness. He began once again to leave, but paused again, and asked, "Why did you choose the name Deja? I have never heard of such a name."
After a moment, Rei smiled oddly, and said, "Some day I will tell you. But not now."
He took a longer time to get to sleep that night because of that odd smile. For some reason, it seemed important. At first he thought it was one of his intuitions, a gift of that sense which had generally served him so well in a long, slippery career. But, in the end, he decided it must just be the discomfort of having Rei pushing him off-balance. His intuition had not served him well enough for some time.
He finally passed into sleep mulling over one of the dirtier details of his career.
Rei was not able to save her client; Mr. Chu was to be deported, along with most of the others processed that Friday.
Usually, when she had business in San Francisco, Rei took a train to downtown and caught a cab. But because the hearing was supposed to be quite early, she had picked up Mr. Chu in her car and braved the morning commute to be sure he was not late. As it turned out, his hearing did not actually come up until well after the lunch break. Perhaps it would have gone better if Mr. Chu had had his hearing in the morning, when cases were not being rushed through as frantically.
When making her last farewell with Mr. Chu, who would be flown back to China after a night's detention, Rei lost track of her father. She had to call in the building security officers to find him. They did, after a long delay.
By the time Rei eased onto the lower span of the Bay Bridge, bound for home, San Francisco was well within the accustomed torture of the afternoon commute. Her father said nothing during the whole ordeal. Rei was sorely tempted to lash out, to fill the silence with things she had wanted to shout at her father for nearly two decades. But he was her father . . . and he hadn't asked her any more questions about when and where Deja had been born. If she allowed him to know the truth about that, more than her own life could unravel . . .
Yuuichirou asked Rei, "What are you doing?"
"Getting dressed. I'm going over to Usagi's." She paused to go to him and give him a comforting kiss. "Go back to sleep. I may be gone for a long while."
"What is it? A mission?"
"No," she said, gently pushing him down onto the bed. "I just need to talk with Usagi."
Yuuichirou asked, "Can't you wait until tomorrow?"
"I could, but I won't . . . unless Usagi isn't up. Then I'll come right back. Please, be quiet. I don't want to wake up the children. Or my father."
To Rei's relief, the lights were on in the back. But instead of Usagi's voice, or even Olivia's, Michiru answered. Rei went directly to the point. "I want to visit Usagi, if she is still awake."
"She is . . . Come in. There is something I want to talk with you about."
Hino Saburo had heard the front door open and close, and recognized his daughter's footsteps down the walk. But he didn't get up until the baby started crying, and he heard his son-in-law moving about. After a decent delay, he went downstairs, where he found Yuuichirou trying to tend to the baby. The baby was taking its bottle, but it was still unhappy, still making little grunts of protest, very much like another baby girl . . . who wasn't here to tend to her daughter. "I think she wants her okasan. Where is Rei-chan?" he asked of his son-in-law.
Yuuichirou said, "She went over to see Mrs. Chiba."
"Mrs. Chiba? At this hour? Whatever for?"
His son-in-law said, "Maybe to talk over losing her case today. Mrs. Chiba is her oldest friend. They were friends when I met your daughter." He began a long yarn about how he had first met Rei at the temple her mother's father ran, and how he had started studying the martial arts under the strange old man. By now, Hino-san knew that his son-in-law could stretch out such a tale for hours if he needed to. He also knew that Yuuichirou was trying to distract him. But the baby began to fuss worse and worse until finally, when Yuuichirou stopped his tale altogether to try to comfort the child.
Hino would have taken that opportunity to inject his own comment, but Deja appeared. It would not do to criticize Rei in front of Deja, so he held his tongue and observed. He watched and listened while Deja took the baby, which responded, though it was still not entirely satisfied.
Still, the baby was quiet enough for Yuuichirou to start his interminiable story again. He was still telling it over an hour later, when Rei finally returned. The baby at last fell into a satisfied sleep after a few minutes in the arms of its mother, and everyone went off to bed, leaving another question in Hino Saburo's mind: What was so important that Rei went off in the dead of night? There were so many questions: Why had Rei come to America? Why was crippled Mrs. Chiba so important? And, above all, how could she have had Deja without his knowledge? For Deja had to have born before Rei had left Japan. That was one thing that his son-in-law did not mention in his story. Perhaps it was out of propriety, but . . .
At last he fell asleep. He dreamt of his wife. It should have been a pleasant dream; there were no nightmarish images, and his wife was as she was when they were courting, not wasted as she was at the end. But he woke feeling unrested, and uneasy. Hino Saburo was much too world-wise to let himself believe in omens. But he had noticed that when he dreamed of his wife, some change was likely to follow, some unexpected event would disrupt his life.
He would have rather slept in. But he appeared at breakfast, where Deja mentioned she was going to practice along with Michiru and the talented daughter Michiru's partner had had by the Frenchman. Titania was being mentioned in some of the Japanese papers now. He understood that this was something important to Deja, even if she did not possess the rare talent of the others. So Hino Saburo accompanied Deja and her parents as they set out for another visit to the mansion.
The "practice" was more of an informal recital this day. Rei and her family were not the only visitors to the mansion this morning. Some were neighbors; more were some of the old Mercurius bunch who had worked with Umino and Sumi when Mercurius was small enough to fit in the basement. There were actually enough people to form something like a crowd, even at one end of the enormous main room.
Nevertheless, Rei noticed that Usagi was slipping away. Hotaru was pushing her chair, which made no noise. Rei thought idly, Hotaru is using her silence powers as she herself began to slip back. Rei caught the eyes of Deja. She expected her daughter might be disappointed that she was leaving, or perhaps put it down to having to mind little Tomiko-chan. Instead, Rei suspected she saw understanding in her daughter's eyes.
Rei could not read her father's eyes; they were closed. He was asleep. Did Usagi or Naru put him to sleep? Or is he just bored?
Bigger questions than that were waiting. As soon as she was clear of the crowd, Rei made briskly for the elevator. Hotaru was waiting. Usagi was slumped, eyes closed. As soon as the doors closed and they started up, Rei asked, "Are you falling asleep?"
Usagi answered without looking up. "No, but I'm tired. Reading your father was very difficult."
Rei had exhausted her courtesy for the time being. Instead of offering the sympathy she felt, she asked her next question. "Why has he really come?"
Usagi answered, "As he told you. He does not want to be a stranger."
"Does he suspect--"
"No," said Usagi, bringing up her face and looking into Rei's eyes. "He does not really believe in the senshi. Especially the stories from here."
Rei laughed, not in a happy way. "So, the old pirate suspects nothing. I should have known. If he suspected the truth, he would be busy working to gain advantage from it." The doors opened; while Hotaru rolled Usagi out of the elevator, Rei took a moment to take out a tissue and blot her eyes. She took a bit longer than she wished; Usagi and Hotaru were staring at her when she finished.
"Why are you crying, Auntie?" asked Hotaru, politely, respectfully.
"Yes. Why?" repeated Usagi, with some urgency.
Rei considered dissembling for a moment, but only a moment. Usagi could read hearts well, even without using her special powers, and nothing stung Hotaru worse than a lie. So she answered: "It is so difficult being with my father . . . So many things I want to say, so many questions, and yet . . . I cannot." Rei caught sight of Chibi-Usa, as she always thought of her, through the nursery door, tending an infant. That brought another thought. "Should I tell him? Now, before . . . ?" Rei went to the rail and looked down. Her father still lolled in sleep while Michiru and the girls performed.
Hotaru rolled Usagi away, neither of them saying anything. Rei spent a few a few moments looking at her father down below. Then she went to the nursery, to check on Tomiko-chan and to rejoin Usagi. But Usagi was busy with her twins, and there was a neighbor, someone who did not know, there with her own baby, and the older Basque woman who looked after Michiru and Haruka's children. So there would be no more said of the problem she had with her father.
Luna was also there, probably hoping that the latest charms would keep Celeste from shapechanging, or at least keep people from noticing her . . .
Rei glanced at her watch, and did a mental calculation. She guessed that Mr. Chu must be somewhere near Hawaii now. No leis waiting for him, though. There would be police waiting for him in China, though, and perhaps some time in jail there.
She picked up Tomiko-chan.
Rei was rubbing linament into Yuuichirou's back when Deja walked into the room. Rei was about to remind her daughter of her manners when she saw how serious Deja's face was.
Deja walked up to the bed, covered with towels to keep it clean, and asked, lowly, "Are you hurt badly, otousan?"
"Not too badly," said Yuuichirou, stretching out a hand to pat her. "But my students are getting a little too good." Yuuichirou saw most of his martial-arts students on Saturday; that is why he had missed the little recital.
Deja kissed him, and then looked up at Rei, who was astride her husband's back. "Am I the reason you and Grandfather don't get along?"
Rei sucked in her breath. She had not expected this question, now. "No."
Yuuichirou said, "Your grandfather loves you very much, Deja-chan. He is always asking me about you."
"Then why do you never talk with each other, okasan?"
Rei kneaded Yuuichirou's back for a moment or two before trying to answer. "We haven't spoken much for a very long time, Deja-chan."
"Why?"
Rei hesitated again, but Deja was not going to let it go. "He was never around much while okasan was alive. And after . . . after okasan died, I saw him only a few times a year. Less, as I got older." She shook her head. "So, you see, your grandfather did not stay away because of you. He stayed away long before you came along, Deja-chan."
Yuuichirou spoke after Rei and Deja did not. "Being gone all the time isn't a big deal in Japan, you know. Especially for an important man like your grandfather. And I think . . ." He put his hand under Deja's chin. "I think maybe it was hard for him to see your motherbecause she is so like her mother. And you are a lot like your mother, you know?" Yuuichirou ruffled his daughter's hair. "But like I told you, he loves you very, very much. I think maybe he is very sorry he did not meet you before."
"Yes," said Rei, with a slight crack in her voice. "Maybe he is sorry." She climbed off Yuuichirou and the bed, knelt down, and embraced and kissed Deja. "It has been a long day. We are for sleep soon, and I think you should be, too."
Deja kissed her mother and then her father, and then walked out of the room, closing the door behind her.
Resuming her position, Rei spent several minutes kneading Yuuichirou's battered body before asking, "Do you think he is really sorry? After all this time?"
Yuuichirou shrugged, rather stiffly. "Why not? You saw how proud he looked when Deja was playing today, didn't you?"
After a moment, Rei said "Yes . . . but I didn't notice then."
"Maybe he didn't notice how sorry he was . . . until now."
Next: Dinner at the White House, and a performance. There are unexpected guests . . .
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