As sultry as a Siamese cat, Tomiko slid the straps off her shoulders, letting the navy satin gown slip off her lithe body. Her eyes penetrated his as she stepped inside the shower and let the pulsating water splash all over her body. She felt the heat of him as he joined her, and closed the door behind them.
“You feeling any better?” she asked her husband, her face strained with worry.
Wrapping his arms around her svelte figure, he held her tight, then whispered in her ear, “I was scared that I wouldn’t make it home.” He closed his eyes and placed his chin in the center of her neck, then kissed her. “I was trying to make it back to you.”
“Hush, baby. Hush,” she whispered, sinking deeper into his embrace. “I never realized until now how good it feels for you to just hold me.” She wilted against him. “Does that sound childish?”
R.C. looked at her for a long time before he said, “You’re not a child. You’ve proven to me how much of a woman you are by your patience. I’m even beginning to enjoy the sex games you can’t seem to stop playing.” When he looked at her, the smile from a second ago had faded. “I’ve been an ass, Tomiko.”
His kiss on her eager lips felt like strange star-pulses, throbbing through every vein in her body, and seemed to last an eternity. The strength of it made her weaken. From six angles water streamed over their skin. They rarely took a shower together, their schedules were so hectic, and now Tomiko couldn’t have been happier.
She was enjoying this small moment of pleasure, the first she’d had in months—maybe the first ever. It didn’t matter. He was here with her now. In the end, that was all that really mattered.
Reaching for the shower gel, she squeezed the cool liquid on a purple sponge and shampooed him with spicy sandalwood scent, using a stroke that was a cross between massaging and washing. She felt pleasure and tenderness as she lathered his body. R.C. relaxed against her as she adjusted the shower jets to rinse him clean. Even without the benefit of the sandalwood filling the air with its spicy aroma, she still knew the natural scent of his body and she took pleasure in inhaling the raw smell of him. She felt her body become aroused and wondered whether she’d feel close enough to R.C. one day to tell him how his scent turned her on.
Tomiko dried her husband’s body, rubbed him down with lotion, and oiled and brushed his little Afro. Afterwards, she helped him ease on a pair of pajama bottoms and slipped into bed beside him.
“Tomiko?” he said ever so softly. “I need you. Please tell me you won’t ever leave me.”
She could hear the tremor in his voice. It was the first time he’d let his vulnerability show. He’d never exposed himself, his fears, to her before.
“I’ll always be here, R.C. Right here.”
And they fell asleep, her back against his belly, two spoons, a peaceful satisfaction on their faces that only love can provide.
* * *
“I don’t know whether to laugh or cry.” R.C. looked down at the woman’s picture in Tuesday’s early edition of the newspaper.
“What is it, R.C.?” Tomiko asked as she took a bite of toast.
R.C. lifted the corner of his mouth in a half smile. “This bit—” He cleared his throat. “Thyme Tyler, the woman I told you about at Champion that cost me all that money. Well, she’s in the paper. It’s her turn now.” He handed her the page, which showed a woman’s horrified face and the headlines that began with the word MURDER.
It was just past eight in the morning, and they were enjoying breakfast. R.C. had called his office and said he wouldn’t be in until this afternoon. Tomiko’s photo session didn’t start until three o’clock.
Tomiko could smell the champagne in his orange juice. She knew from the young people in Japan that they called the mixture mimosa, and how much Americans enjoyed the drink at brunch. Somehow she felt that if she and R.C. were ever going to have a good marriage, he would have to cut down on his drinking. It was key to their commitment. Next was his gambling habit. She couldn’t say which one was worse.
Even though everything appeared to be going well with them today, she knew if he was drinking this early in the morning, things were still not all right in his world.
When R.C. was through with the paper he left the room to shower. Tomiko picked up the paper and scanned the article about the murder at Champion Motors. She shook her head at the thought of such violence. She placed the paper back near R.C.’s favorite chair and went to find him in their bedroom suite, where he was dressing.
“How awful about the murder at Champion. That’s why I never wanted to go inside a factory. The people there seem vulgar. Especially the women. Maybe this woman did something to get killed,” Tomiko said, sitting on the edge of the bed as she watched R.C. dress. “Some people say the women in factories act like whores, fighting over men.”
R.C. laughed. “Where did you hear that nonsense from?”
“Oh, from some of my friends in Japan. And reading the American newspapers. These women have no pride. They have no knowledge of how to take care of their man. They think that making the same amount of money that they do will make them equal.” Tomiko shook her head. “That will never happen. Stupid women.”
He finished tying his necktie and came toward her. R.C. reached out and touched her hand. “You’re special, Tomiko. It’s what I love about you.” Releasing it, he added, “But you’ve got a few things to learn about American women. There’s such a thing as survival. My father worked at Chrysler for thirty-eight years. And my mother worked at the same plant for thirty-two years. Both of them retired from Chrysler in nineteen-eighty.” He stopped and looked out the window. “All their hard work was for one goal: They wanted me to have a better life than they experienced. And it was especially important for them that I didn’t follow in their footsteps and work in a factory like they had.”
Tomiko was fascinated. He’d never spoken about his past to her before. It made her think it was time she shared her own dilemma with him. “R.C.?” she asked in a timid voice.
“Yeah.” His back was to her as he adjusted his tie.
“If someone from your past was trying to contact you . . .”
“Tomiko, are you speaking about yourself? If you are, be direct.”
Her almond eyes widened but she kept silent.
R.C.’s tone was conciliatory. “You’re not old enough to have had a past. But then again, let’s say someone was trying to get ahold of you. Generally, most people have an ulterior motive. I don’t care how genuine they appear to be. There’s something at stake that they stand to gain.” He shrugged. “Otherwise, what’s the point?”
“But what if they were trying to find someone they lost?”
R.C. clicked off the television set. “You’ve seen too many made-for-TV movies.” R.C. patted her head and left the bedroom. “I have some errands to run. I’ll be back by noon. We can have lunch.”
After Tomiko said good-bye to her husband, she didn’t have a clue what to do.
Her need to get the truth about the letter ebbed and flowed. She was scared to pursue the truth, but she also couldn’t walk away from it.
The best place to start was home.
Tomiko checked her watch. It was nine-thirty. In Kyoto, it would be late, but her parents were still young enough to stay up, she thought, and didn’t mind her calling at such hours.
“Mother, how are you?”
“Tomiko! We’re all well. It’s so good to hear from you. And how is your husband? Are you helping him with his horse farm?”
“I’m trying, Mother. I called for something else, though. I wanted to know about my father, my real father. What happened to him?”
“Tomiko, what’s happening to you there? You are Japanese. Nothing about your so-called father matters.”
“But Mother, I am also dark-skinned.”
“You are Japanese first. What is this about?”
“I want to know about my father, what happened to him. You’ve never told me.”
“I told you that he died and left us. He didn’t love us. That’s all you need to know.”
“Did he have any parents?”
“Well, everyone has parents.”
“Mother, did you know my father’s parents?”
“What kind of question is that? Of course not. They are from America. They never cared about us. Now you focus on your marriage and making your husband happy. He is a good husband.”
“Okay, Mother.” She still hadn’t worked up the nerve to be honest with her mother. But one day she knew she would.
“Good-bye, Tomiko.”
When Tomiko hung up the phone, tears brimmed in her eyes. All she had been told was that her father was Afro-American and that he had died. She had always suspected that her mother withheld information. Now she was convinced.
But why would my mother lie to me?
Maybe she had a whole other family to love. Tomiko looked at the mysterious photos. She stared into her mother’s young face and the face of the young handsome black man dressed in a military uniform.
Finally, moving quickly so she couldn’t change her mind, she got in the car and drove past the Johnson’s house in Holly. It was just approaching noon when she drove up to the house. The neatly manicured lawn showed that the owners took pride in their home.
Could these people be my grandparents?
When she rang the doorbell, she thought her heart would stop. It was as if her heart’s blood were turning to tears. She suddenly felt as if her entire future, not simply her past, depended on this one moment.
An elderly, gray-haired woman with cheeks like apples answered the door. “Yes?”
Tomiko froze. Up close, she didn’t look like the woman she’d seen in the photograph. She gulped. “I’m sorry, I’ve made a mistake.” Turning, she ran down the steps, her hair flying behind her.
“Wait! Is that you, Tomiko? It’s me, Grandma Johnson.”
Stunned, Tomiko stopped, then turned around. The woman sounded so sure. Tomiko looked again.
“Please. Wait, Tomiko. Don’t go. I sent you the letter. Is that why you’re here?”
“I—”
At that moment a man using a beautiful cane came out on the porch. Except for the addition of the cane, he looked exactly like the man in the picture. It was all too simple. This was not a fairy tale, and she wasn’t the little girl in
Swiss Family Robinson
who lived happily ever after.
Tomiko stood still and took in the plea in the woman’s eyes. Her legs weakened. Then the man she thought might be her grandfather spoke her name with so much love she thought she would faint.
“Tomiko, it’s Papa. Please come on in. We’ve waited so long to see you.”
That sound. That voice sounded so much like one she’d heard before. Was it her father’s? It was so long ago she couldn’t be sure. No. Her father was dead. But the sound was comforting enough to take a chance.
When she went inside the home, she was uneasy. She wished that her husband were here with her now. R.C. would know how to relate to these people. Tomiko looked around the house. She could hear the soft sound of mewing kittens from the back of the house. Nothing seemed familiar, but there was an inviting warmth that made her begin to relax. Before she took a seat, a cat sauntered in from the back hall and took a seat beside the front doorway.
“That’s Ms. Tibbles,” her grandmother said, smiling. “Last month she had a litter of kittens. Would you like to see them?”
She took Tomiko in the back room and showed her the kittens that were just three weeks old, and beautiful. Afterwards, her grandmother made some sandwiches and brought out some iced tea on a pretty silver tray. She sat close to Tomiko on the sofa, while her grandfather sat nearby in a big easy chair. He lit a pipe. The scent of the sweet tobacco brought tears to Tomiko’s eyes. It calmed her.
When she looked toward the door, Ms. Tibbles seemed to be pondering her. Then her grandmother brought out several neatly cataloged photo albums filled with pictures of her father growing up. As Tomiko flipped through the pages, her grandmother began the story of Kip Johnson, Tomiko’s father.
Tomiko’s grandfather was in the navy during World War II. He and Grandma Johnson were stationed in Japan and stayed there after the war. When Kip, their only child, turned eighteen, he also joined the service and then married a Japanese woman. Kip’s parents were planning to return to the United States once Grandpa Johnson retired. But when Tomiko was born, Kip’s wife, Kumiai, wouldn’t leave Japan.
Tomiko turned to the whining sounds of the kittens in the back. Ms. Tibbles left, obviously to feed them, then returned to her same spot.
“Your mother wouldn’t turn her back on her country. She is a very proud woman, Tomiko. We understood this, so we decided to stay in Japan. We didn’t want to leave you or our son.
“Kip was sent away on duty a lot and we wanted to be around to help your mother with her new infant. But she wouldn’t let us. After a while Kumiai rarely let us see you. Then Kip died.” Grandma Johnson’s deeply lined face lost its composure and tears spilled onto her cheeks.
“He was our only child, our son.”
“But how did he die?”
“He died in a plane crash. He was on a mission to an undisclosed destination in Southeast Asia,” Papa Johnson said in a flat voice.
Grandma Johnson began again. “After Kip died, your mother refused to let us see you. Eventually, we moved back to our country. But we never stopped trying to reach you.”
The older couple sandwiched Tomiko on the sofa and hugged her. She knew their tears were full of love, remorse, and relief. And Tomiko cried with them.
Then Grandma Johnson handed her some letters. Sniffing back tears, Grandpa Johnson excused himself from the room. There were eight letters written in her father’s hand to her mother. Her grandmother insisted that she read them in privacy. She felt that because the letters mostly spoke of Tomiko they belonged to her. She would learn from the letters how much her father had loved her. Her mother had returned these letters to them after his death.
Tomiko thought of her mother telling her that she didn’t know her grandparents.
Her grandmother kissed her softly on the cheek. “We love you, Tomiko. My husband and I are old. We only want to do right by our son.”
Grandpa returned, holding a new kitten. He handed him to her, then stuffed his hands in his pockets. “He’s the only one we haven’t named yet.”