Chapter 46

Hugh ignored the flashers of the motorcycle closing on him. He had been over the speed limit, but not by much. If the police found Kyle’s body, Hugh and Hanna would be the prime suspects. Pass us, Hugh prayed. Be on your way to an accident. But the cop remained on their tail. Hugh nudged the accelerator. If he kept driving, the cop couldn’t physically stop him. It would be one of those slow pursuits, and if Hugh got to the cemetery . . .

“Better pull over,” said Hanna.

“This fucking can’t be,” said Hugh. The motorcycle was on his ass now. Maybe ten feet away. Ignoring the insistent swirling light, Hugh sped up.

“There will be a million cops,” said Hanna. “Please, Hugh?”

“I’ll slow down, let you out.”

“You don’t—you can’t.” Hanna clapped her hand over his, squeezed.

Hugh groaned and pulled over.

The helmeted CHP officer waited by his motorcycle for a few moments, recording the Volvo’s license plate and calling in the information. These steps finished, he approached Hugh’s car.

“Sir, may I see your license and registration,” said the officer.

Hugh nodded. The officer bent his head, glanced at Hanna, and then removed his sunglasses. Hugh gazed at the cop.

“Sir, license and registration?”

“Oh, yes.”

It had been almost ten years, but as Hugh extracted his driver’s license and looked up, he recognized the young officer, who simultaneously recognized him.

“Hey, Mr. Mac!” said the surprised officer.

“Arash, right?” responded Hugh.

“Yes, Arash. Man, you’ve got a memory.”

“Cause and effect,” said Hugh.

“ ‘Cause and effect?’ ”

“Arash talks without permission. Arash gets paper pickup. Arash changes chairs without permission. Arash gets paper pick-up.”

The young officer threw back his head, laughed and clapped Hugh’s shoulder. “So how have you been? Still teaching?”

“Yes, same school, same classroom. And look at you. A policeman.”

“Rookie year. Can you believe it?”

Hugh turned to Hanna. “One of my former students: Arash. I had him in my class the first year I taught.”

“Cool,” said Hanna.

“Man, we gave you trouble,” said Arash.

“Ah, it was nothing.”

“No matter how pissed off you got, you never yelled.”

“Sure, I yelled.”

“I don’t remember.”

Hugh nodded. “I yelled.”

“Ah, a little, maybe.” Arash looked away, put his hand to his mouth as if he were about to cough. He met Hugh’s eyes, released his words. “You were my favorite teacher, Mr. Mac. You pushed us, but we learned a lot. I learned stuff I didn’t think I could.”

“That means a great deal to me,” said Hugh.

Arash nodded. “Yeah, yeah. So what are you doing in Simi?”

“A funeral. High Meadow.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Mr. Mac. Family?”

The police radio crackled. Arash excused himself and walked back to the motorcycle. In his rearview, Hugh watched Arash converse for several minutes on his radio. Arash was expressionless as he walked back to Hugh’s car. If they had found Kyle’s body and were looking for Hugh and Hanna, Arash would quickly put memories of middle school behind. Hugh pressed the clutch to the floor, started the engine and shifted to first.

“Hey,” said Arash as he came within an arm’s length of the car, “are you running late?”

“Excuse me?”

“For the funeral?”

“Well, yes, actually.”

“That’s why—” Arash grinned and put away his ticket book. “Need an escort?”

“Oh, you don’t have to—”

“Glad to. Where did you say?”

“High Meadow,” replied Hugh.

“Cause: Late for a funeral. Effect: CHP Escort,” said Arash with a grin. He returned to his bike, mounted and shot in front of the Volvo.

Hugh followed the motorcycle, siren blaring and lights flashing, as they continued into Simi.

“Wow, you lucked out,” said Hanna.

At the cemetery gates, Hugh shook Arash’s hand. “You’re about the same age as my sons,” said Hugh.

“You got sons? Never knew. Great.”

As Arash mounted his motorcycle he called out, “Watch your speed. We don’t mess around in Simi.”

“Back again?” asked the gate guard.

Hugh nodded. “The Kazuki Ono services?”

“Oak Knoll section. Just drive—”

“Thanks. I know . . .”

Dozens of cars had parked roadside. Hugh pulled up behind a Lexus with a license plate frame reading Japanese Consulate.

As Hugh exited his car, a hearse drove up, braked, and then slowly backed into the space behind Hugh. The hearse’s license plate frame read Nakamura Reality: Funerals for all Occasions. Hugh glanced up. The hearse’s driver, wearing sunglasses and a cap, nodded twice and then smiled pleasantly at Hugh.

Hanna and Hugh walked swiftly on the path leading into Oak Knoll, perhaps one hundred yards distant, where the mourners gathered. On the approach, they passed several smaller services, white placards identifying the loved one. On the second placard, written in large Gothic letters, was the name Juan Valdez. A black arrow pointed to the ceremony, already in progress. Among the handful of attendees, Hugh recognized Anna and Aaron. Anna turned her head, caught sight of Hugh, nodded solemnly and then, her arm discreetly at her side, spread her index and middle fingers to make the peace sign. Looking back toward the gravesite, she shook her head ever so slightly.

What pauper was going into that grave?

Hugh moved on.

Above an open grave, High Meadow’s most expensive casket swayed. None of the mourners looked familiar. Hugh feared he was at the wrong service until the crowd under pressure from the rear ranks reshaped itself, propelling forward Mr. Huddle, the bookstore proprietor, who met Hugh’s eyes and smiled sadly. Now Hugh saw others whom he recognized: Gina and her daughter, Lily; Kazuki’s confidant, Jack. Lily waved her hand at Hugh and mouthed boring. Hugh glanced at Hanna who clung to his side, the weight and solidity of her body comforting. Like tall grasses parting daintily at the passage of a snake, the mourners separated to permit the late arrival of a cassocked priest.

“I’m Father Maloney,” said the priest, edging his way to the coffin. “Please accept my apologies for being late, and when the collection plate for my speeding ticket is passed around, give freely.” The remark drawing no laughs, Father Maloney cleared his throat and raised his arms above his head. In his left hand, he held a Bible.

“Kazuki Ono was a latecomer to the Catholic Church, accepting its graces within the last beat of his heart, the last snap of synapse, the last metamorphosis of light into corneal impulse . . .”

A shadow fell upon the mourners. Hugh glanced up to see a raggedy cloud rushing north, so swiftly that blue sky returned before his eyes could turn away.

“. . . let us commend Kazuki Ono to the mercy of God . . .”

Tracing a circle in the blue, a solitary gull alternately dipped and climbed.

A motor droned.

“We therefore commit Kazuki Ono’s body to the ground; earth to earth, ashes to ashes . . . dust to dust . . . in the sure and certain hope of the resurrection to eternal life.”

The hoist whined loudly at the heavy casket, as if complaining.

Above, the gull screeched in reply.

Hugh was hardly aware that the service had ended. The house lights had come up, the concert was finished. Mourners broke past Hugh, stripping their jackets, returning to their cars, talking of dinner.

Someone had taken his hand. “Should we go?” asked Hanna.

The gull squawked again.

Hugh slipped his hand from Hanna’s. “Would you wait here a moment?” he asked.

Hanna shrugged, lowered herself to the grass, smiled up at the bright blue sky.

As Hugh came in sight of H. Mcpherson’s grave, the ground sunk beneath him as if freshly shoveled.

At the gravesite, two tall young men with long black hair set bouquets of flowers on the grass beneath the stone.

“Sons?”

The two men turned. The one who had retained his bouquet let it fall, scattering the flowers.

“Dad?” asked Hitoshi—for though twelve years had passed, Hugh was certain which twin addressed him. Takumi stepped back, clutching the gravestone.

“Are you a ghost?” asked Hitoshi.

“It’s not possible,” said Takumi. “Where—”

Hitoshi moved toward Hugh then stopped and jerked his head back as if to take in his father’s scent. His eyes grew big, liquid. Hugh touched his son’s smooth bare throat, and Hitoshi’s hand slipped over his.

“You’re all right, then?” asked Hugh.

“How are you alive, Dad?”

The giving earth now seemed to drop out entirely. Hugh reached up, but there was no ledge to grasp. Without purchase, he sank. Oh, how fucking black and cold it was. He gazed up, saw only nothingness. He had not come out of the sea then. But what was that sound? A shadow? A lighter shade of black? The clap of a hand against water. Swimmers. Someone swimming over him. The swimmers drew closer: Hitoshi and Takumi. He heard their voices and felt their strong arms around him, pulling him to the surface.

Beneath Mcpherson’s headstone, Hugh lay. Above him were his sons. He trembled, fought back a trickle of bile, dug his fingers into the soft grass and laughed.

He watched his sons study him in disbelief. Finally, Hitoshi bent and touched him. Assuring himself of his father’s flesh, Hitoshi said, “Then—then our mother is coming back too, from—”

Takumi let out a breath. “—the dead?”

“Your mother?”

Hitoshi looked toward Takumi, who pushed away from the stone. Takumi stood tall and threw back his shoulders. “Our mother is gone.”

Above them, the circling gull squawked. Hugh rose to his knees, followed the gull’s path.

“Gone Mama,” said Hitoshi.

“Dead? Setsuko’s dead?” asked Hugh.

Neither son said a word.

“But how?”

Takumi and Hitoshi exchanged glances. They would not tell him, for he would not believe it. But Hugh already knew and believed. Anyone or anything that tries to take what I love.

As his two sons lifted him to his feet, Hugh looked up toward the circling gull. But she too was gone.