Chapter 23
T he next morning, Ivy prepared herself to lend support to Kiko. The younger woman was alone, and Ivy wanted to see her through the unraveling of what had been so important to her grandmother, and now, to her. They walked up the path to Ken’s front door.
Ken met them at the door, wearing a white linen shirt that set off his dark hair.
“Come in,” he said. “I’ll make tea. Bennett called with his apologies. I’m sorry he couldn’t join us.”
There had been a calendar mix-up, and he was previously scheduled for a restaurant’s grand opening ribbon-cutting ceremony. He didn’t want to let down the new owners, who had chosen Summer Beach for its local support.
Ken led them through the house to the rear patio, where a low table held a ceramic teapot setting. Two unusual orchids graced the table.
The patio overlooked the garden, and from here, the entire landscape unfolded before them.
Ivy gazed out over the raked gravel, the koi pond with its arched bridge, and beyond it, the sculpted pines that Takeo had been shaping for decades.
Although she had seen it yesterday, she observed more details than she had with so many people around.
Kiko sat on a wooden bench. “Thank you for having us back. Yesterday was overwhelming, in the best way.”
“I’m glad you were here for it. That meant a lot to me to have my father and grandfather honored for their work. I’m only beginning.” Ken poured tea for them, then set the pot down. “There’s something I would like for you both to have.”
He gestured to the orchids on the table. Each had a few flowers, with tight buds yet to open. They were healthy, with dark green leaves and the beginnings of another flower spike.
The distinctive coloring and petal shapes caught Ivy’s attention. It was like the one in Kiko’s sketchbook. That was so long ago. How could this be? she wondered.
“My grandfather created this hybrid,” Ken said. “The yellow petals with scarlet edges and pink spots were his favorite.”
Kiko stared quizzically at the orchid. “My grandmother worked with orchids, and this looks like one she loved, too.”
“Orchids can take time to reproduce a new variety, up to several years. My grandfather learned to care for and cross-pollinate orchids during his convalescence after being injured in the war.
“He was so seriously injured that he underwent a series of surgeries and convalescences just to function again. He told me that when he was finally well enough to be released, this orchid bloomed for the first time. He named it Hana after the nurse who cared for him and taught him everything he knew about orchids. He said he worked with her on this one.”
The words hung in the air between them.
Kiko’s face went white. She stared at the orchid, then at Ken, then back at the orchid.
“It’s stunning,” Ivy said, filling the silence. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like it.”
Kiko reached into her tote bag and brought out the small, mildewed sketchbook she’d found in the greenhouse. She opened it to the last page and held it beside the potted orchid.
The sketch and the emerging bloom were the same hybrid. The same unusual petal structure, the same distinctive coloring.
“This is my grandmother Hana’s notebook,” Kiko said, her voice barely holding. “She created this orchid in the greenhouse at the inn. She named her version Basil.”
Ivy cut in. “Kiko, Arthur told me he looked at the name on the back of your photo with a high-powered magnifier. It wasn’t Raul. The cursive was rushed, and the letters were hazy, but under magnification, it’s clear. His name was Basil.”
Kiko’s lips parted in surprise.
Raising his eyebrows, Ken set down his teacup. “Basil was my grandfather’s given name. Most people in town called him Buck.”
Kiko blinked several times. “Was your grandfather recovering at Las Brisas del Mar during the war?”
“That’s how he came to live here.”
Kiko pressed a hand to her heart. “Then, unless there was another man named Basil, my grandmother was more than his nurse. They fell in love, and they would meet in the greenhouse.”
Ken looked amazed. “Are you sure?”
“We saw their initials carved into a bench,” Ivy said.
Kiko sipped her tea, composing herself. “Her father died at Manzanar, and after the war, her mother didn’t trust anyone outside of their community. She forbade Hana from marrying him, and they left.”
Ken leaned forward, his hands on his knees.
He looked like a man whose floor had just shifted beneath him.
“My grandfather searched for her. He wrote about it in his journal. He described a woman he’d met during his recovery.
He said being with her was the only pure peace and love he’d ever known. He created this garden for her.”
Kiko sighed, looking out at the landscape before them. “I wish she had known.”
“He fell in love with Japanese culture because of her.” Ken’s voice was rough. “He labored over this garden to ease his broken heart, always hoping that she might return someday.”
Ivy saw Kiko’s hand shaking in her lap. She touched her shoulder in support.
“There’s a lot more to their story,” Kiko said, summoning her courage. “You see, Hana was pregnant with my mother. Yet, her mother insisted they raise her alone.”
While Ken listened, Kiko lowered her eyes. “If your grandfather was Basil, and my grandmother was Hana, and they were together at Las Brisas, then we’re related. Even if your grandfather married someone else, which is obvious, because here you are. At some point, he stopped looking for Hana.”
Ivy kept still, letting the details of the past settle in. She’d guessed the truth when she’d stumbled into Ken’s office and discovered that old photograph. But watching Kiko and Ken piece it together and seeing the ache on her face reminded Ivy of how painful love could be.
Ken straightened. “No, he didn’t.”
Kiko looked confused, and Ivy certainly was.
“Basil never married.”
Kiko inclined her head. “Then how are you here?”
“In searching for Hana,” Ken began, “Basil contacted a librarian in San Diego that he knew had been corresponding with some imprisoned in Manzanar. Clara Breed tried to help him, but she couldn’t locate Hana or her mother. To his knowledge, anyway.”
“What a shame,” Kiko said. “And your father?”
Ken sipped his tea and continued, “A little while later, Clara told my grandfather of a baby who’d been orphaned from the Poston internment camp in Arizona.
My dad’s birth father had served in a Japanese regiment overseas and was killed in action, and his mother died of pneumonia.
The dust storms at that camp damaged people’s lungs.
So, Basil adopted my father as a baby. Out of respect for his heritage, he retained my dad’s last name, Fujiwara. ”
“Meaning wisteria fields,” Kiko said, gazing at a delicate purple blossom that draped an arbor in the garden.
“That’s how my father grew up here in Summer Beach,” Ken said, reaching for Kiko’s hand. “He went to medical school in Los Angeles, became a surgeon, and then married my mother. So I have no blood ties to your grandmother, or to you.”
Kiko pressed a hand to her face, dabbing tears of joy from her eyes. “I was so concerned about that.”
“So was I,” Ken said, and a smile broke through his composure. “Not that I wouldn’t mind being related to you, but I’d rather get to know you on a different level.”
He reached across the table and laced his fingers with hers.
“I’d like that, too,” Kiko said, breaking the tension between them.
“Thank goodness for that,” Ivy said, wiping her own eyes. “Kiko, I must confess that when I was here yesterday, I took a wrong turn and saw your grandfather’s photo here.”
“But how did you know it was him?” Ken asked.
“We have some photos of him in old albums at the inn. I’m sorry I didn’t tell either of you right away, but it didn’t seem like the right time.”
Ken kissed Kiko’s hand. “Maybe you’d like to see that photo of your grandfather. I know he would have loved you. I’m sure our grandparents would be happy to know we found each other.”
“Maybe this is what my grandmother intended,” Kiko said. “It all fits now, from her letter and the psychic to the greenhouse. She was leading me here not to dig up old memories, but to find a future.”
“For both of us, I hope,” Ken said. “But what does a psychic have to do with it?”
Kiko glanced at Ivy and laughed. “I was out with my best friend. Let’s just say there were Bloody Marys and a dare involved.”
“I’ve been there myself,” he said, chuckling before excusing himself to get his grandfather’s photo.
While he was gone, Ivy noticed how alive the garden was, with koi fish splashing in the pond, and the birds chirping in the trees. Life was all around if you took the time to notice it, she thought. She looked back at Kiko.
“Are you happy with the way this is working out?”
“I am,” Kiko replied. “I already felt something very special about him, and now we discover this. I really like him, Ivy. And thank you for coming here with me. That means a lot to me.”
Ken brought out his grandfather’s photos and journal to share while Kiko opened her grandmother’s sketchbook. They compared notes and matched entries in the two volumes, aligning dates and events.
Before they left, Kiko told Ken what she’d already told Ivy.
“I’ve decided to stay in Summer Beach for a while. Since I’m freelancing, I can work from anywhere.”
Ken’s face lit with hope. “For how long?”
“I don’t know yet. Long enough to see what happens.” Kiko glanced at the serene garden as she spoke.
“I want to study some of the healing techniques my grandmother practiced, like Reiki and acupressure. She believed healing came from within the person, that a practitioner only guided the process. I used to think that was old-fashioned. Now I think she had special insights.”
“Summer Beach could sure use someone like that,” Ken said.
“That’s what Ivy told me.”
Ken tapped the table in thought. “If you’re looking for a place, I saw a cottage a few blocks from here that just came up for summer rental.”
Kiko smiled. “I might be.”
Ivy stood and excused herself. She carried the two orchids to the car and carefully secured them. Through the garden, she could see Ken and Kiko still on the bench, their heads close together, talking.
Was all this a coincidence? Or was it more?
Ivy didn’t have an answer, but she was beginning to understand.