Chapter 42
CHAPTER 42
S hinji
Takeshi and I wait in the back of the car in silence as we wait for Lakeshia to make the first move. We’ve been sitting in front of a suburban property on the outskirts of Minneapolis, waiting for the company our wife hired to appear.
Located in a densely wooded residential neighborhood, there are two buildings on the property, a main two-story house and a smaller mother-in-law suite. Quaint comes to mind as I look over the semi-private lot, the trees soaring in the background, and the colorful flower beds. The closest neighbor is a fair distance away, and I’m sure we won’t cause any ruckus once the heavy equipment arrives.
“Are you sure the owners won’t have a problem with you digging up their garden?” Takeshi asks.
Lakeshia grabs the door handle and spares him a sparse smile. “Doubtful since I own the place.” She exits the car and Takeshi and I follow close behind.
“Have you been back since...” I trail off not knowing how to finish my question.
“Since the night Tomasso murdered my father? No. I swore I’d only return once I avenged his death.” Lakeshia leads us to a flower bed full of wildflowers. “A property manager maintains the grounds and the buildings, though I couldn’t care less if either house burned down. This area right here is all that matters.”
A two-man crew arrives, one behind the wheel of a grave-digging machine, the other in a hearse. We oversee them as they dig near where Lakeshia buried her father, D’Angelo. When they get close to six feet, they switch the heavy machinery for shovels.
The piles of rich earth scent the air and drive our anticipation the longer it takes the men to find D’Angelo’s remains.
Her body becomes more rigid as time passes and daylight turns to dusk. We turn on the outdoor lights to help with visibility.
Although Lakeshia remains quiet, I sense her desperation. She’s waited so many years to give her father a proper resting place, and now that she’s fulfilled her promise to him, if his body isn’t here, she’ll be devastated.
“We’ve got something over here!” A crew member shouts from the large trench in the ground.
Lakeshia, Takeshi, and I surge forward without getting too close to the edge.
The men brush debris off a dulled black tarp.
“That’s him,” Lakeshia whispers. Sadness and relief leave her vulnerable, and Takeshi winds his arm around her waist.
She relaxes into his hold without taking her attention away from the proceedings.
The two men leave the ditch and retrieve a casket from the hearse. Under our monitoring, they handle D’Angelo with respect as they transfer him.
Once the men finish, we travel to the airport and watch the men load the remains onto the plane we chartered for our return to Serenidad. Tonight, D’Angelo will rest in a funeral home, and tomorrow we’ll give him a proper final resting place, one reflecting his importance to Lakeshia.
At the house, we head to the bedroom, exhausted by the emotional day. As soon as we enter, I spy Marmalade and Creamsicle digging under the pillows. I nudge Lakeshia and she gives the kittens a weary smile.
“I think you need to find a new hiding place for your blankie.” The moment the last word leaves my mouth, Marmalade backs up, revealing the item in his mouth. His body is too small to properly retrieve it and he falls over more times than he stands to drag it from its hiding place. In solidarity, Creamsicle takes up where Marmalade fails.
Their antics draw smiles from the three of us.
“Maybe it’s time I stop hoarding it. I don’t need it to feel safe when I sleep anymore.” Lakeshia sits on the bed, spreads the cover, and places the kittens on top.
They circle each other and end up curling together in a cream and orange yin yang shape and yawning before immediately closing their eyes.
“Are you sure? They might scratch and shred your mother’s hard work.” Takeshi pets the sleeping animals, more concerned with the impact of today’s events on our wife.
“Yeah, I am. There’s a lot of guilt woven into my need for the blankie.” She rubs the soft yarn between her fingers. “Although this is the only item I have to remember my mother, I always questioned if I hadn’t demanded it as a kid if my father would be alive today. I’m ready to stop beating myself for a decision I made as a child. And honestly, I think the kittens’ attachment is a sign. I’m not throwing it away, but it’s time to pass it on.”
“But don’t you want to pass it on to our baby?” I ask, sitting beside her and holding her hand.
“I thought about that…”
“But?” Takeshi asks.
Lakeshia hums. “I’d like to remember my mother another way. Make what she started a tradition.” She raises her face to look at me and Takeshi in turn. “I want to crochet a blanket for this baby and if we’re blessed with more, for everyone that follows.”
I peer at my loves, an idea growing as I absorb the sentiment behind Lakeshia’s intentions. “I’d like to contribute to this new tradition we’re starting, if you don’t mind.”
She and Takeshi arch their brows in identical ways.
“I’d like to add a design to the blanket and Takeshi should, too. That way our child will have something symbolizing the safety all three of us will always provide them.”
“Dammit Shinji. I made it through the day without crying, and now look what you made me do.” Lakeshia pats her wet cheeks, swiping the moisture away. “I love the idea. A lot.”
Takeshi reaches behind her to squeeze my shoulder. “So do I.”
After yesterday’s emotional toil, we have another day to look forward to. Our car follows the funeral director’s hearse. We’re at Serenidad National Cemetery, traveling on a winding path. I haven’t seen a headstone of other burial sites for fifteen minutes. Instead, mausoleums on large expanses of land dot the landscape.
D’Angelo’s ultimate resting place will be inside the Kimura garden mausoleum Takeshi built years ago. Although his grandfather expects Katsuo to take over the global organization and eventually reside in Japan, Takeshi and I don’t intend to leave America. That’s not to say we won’t move from Serenidad, but we like this place better than most, have had many happy years here, and with Lakeshia and our future children, will want to be buried where we created our most precious memories.
Our vehicle stops behind the hearse, and we exit.
Lakeshia wears an electric blue color, her dad’s favorite, to commemorate the occasion. Takeshi and I wear matching ties.
Our mausoleum faces a man-made lake, hell to maintain during California’s droughts, but a feature Takeshi insisted on. Designed to be a miniature Buddhist temple, our family mausoleum has room for urns and full caskets.
We follow D’Angelo’s casket inside for the somber entombment. Floral arrangements line the path as we walk further inside. Once the director leaves, Lakeshia kneels in front of her father’s crypt and traces the epitaph.
“Daddy, It’s Haven or should I say Angel.” Lakeshia huffs a broken laugh. “I guess I should go by the name you and Mom gave me now since I finally did it. I a-avenged you.” Tears thicken Lakeshia’s voice and she sniffs. “I’m sorry it took so long, longer than I wanted, but I got Tomasso in the end. I didn’t do it alone, though.” She beckons Takeshi and me forward. “I want you to meet my husbands. You didn’t mishear me, I said husbands. They aren’t the most aboveboard, but I think you’d like them. After all, how can a father deny his daughter the kind of love that protects and shelters her? They build me up when I’m weak, remind me of my strengths when I’m on the verge of giving up, and jump up to be my superhero when the world thinks they’re supervillains.” She breaks into loud sobbing, and Takeshi kneels beside her to enclose her in his arms.
I clear my throat of the emotion stuck there. Despite knowing my wife loves me, she always humbles me when she describes the depth of her feelings. I can do no less in front of my father-in-law. Beside my wife, I get on my knees. “It’s an honor to officially meet you, Mr. Wilson, though I wish it could be under better circumstances. I’m Shinji Nakashima and I’d like to thank you for creating the precious life of the woman who’s accepted my heart and devotion and given me hers in return. Rest assured, your daughter’s life and happiness mean more to me than my own. And I promise I’ll help her find the joy in life as we build our future while never forgetting your influence.”
Lakeshia swings out of Takeshi’s embrace to wrap her arms around my neck. Her tears soak my collar as I hug her in commiserating silence.
“Mr. Wilson, I’m your daughter’s second husband, Takeshi Kimura. I’d like to echo Shinji’s sentiments and add a welcome to my family. You see, in a few months we’re expanding, and we’ll make sure your grandkids know who you are and what you mean to us.” Takeshi rests flowers before the crypt. “Also, you may have noticed, there’s a space beside you. At the moment, through no fault of your own, you’re separated from your wife, but I promise you I’ll find her and inter her beside you. Your family should be together because if you feel half of what I do for your daughter, which I think you do, your afterlife won’t be peaceful until you’re resting beside the love of your life.”
“Takeshi…”
He takes her hand and kisses her palm. “You deserve to have all your family close where you can visit to your heart’s content. And as much as I understand the sentiment, a blanket can’t compare to having your mother and father nearby, where you can visit and talk to them whenever you want.”
Lakeshia grabs our hands and turns back to her father’s tomb. “See, Daddy? You won’t have anything to worry about. Your sweetheart is finally doing fine.”