Ink and Ashes (6 page)

UNABLE TO SLEEP,
I woke up Wednesday morning at 4:47
A.M.
The past few nights had been plagued by the same restlessness.

The sky was black with splashes of purple and a thumbnail moon. The question surrounding my father’s death lingered in my mind, pushing out thoughts of much else.

If I could get a copy of the death certificate, I would know for certain how he died. My parents kept personal documents in a file cabinet in Dad’s office. Maybe there was something in there.

Since I’d already gotten in trouble for snooping around, I’d need a legitimate excuse to be in there. And I had the perfect one.

Mom was still asleep when I went into their room. Dad’s side was empty. He must have left for a business trip before I had woken up. I never knew when he’d be home or away on a trip—he traveled for work so often, and sometimes he didn’t know his schedule right away himself.

I tiptoed to Mom’s side and gave her a nudge.

Mom’s eyes stayed closed. “Mmmm?”

“Coach says I need to bring a copy of my birth certificate.”

“What time is it?” she mumbled.

“Almost five. I’m going to get it and make a copy in Dad’s office, okay?”

“Mmm,” she said. “That’s fine.” She rolled away from me.

I tried to make as little noise as possible when I left their bedroom.

The file cabinet in the corner of the office appeared locked, but this one never was because the lock was broken. All I had to do was jiggle the drawer until it slid open. I found the file labeled Favorite Scripture Passages. Mom always said if someone wanted to steal our identification, they’d find a way to do it, but this might deter anyone who broke into our house.

The documents were organized from youngest to oldest. Our Social Security cards, immunization records, name change documents when Dad adopted us, birth certificates. At the back were Mom’s copies of her marriage certificates to Dad and my father. The last document was my father’s death certificate in a weathered envelope.

I’d seen the certificate in the folder before, but I’d never had a reason to look at it. I slid it from the envelope and unfolded two pages, both blank on the backside. I fed both pages through Dad’s copier, returned everything to the file cabinet, and went upstairs to study what I’d found.

The sun hadn’t risen yet, so I turned on a lamp when I sat at my desk and read the first page: “Enclosed you will find the final, amended certificate of death.” I reviewed the next page.

Seeing my father’s life reduced to a file number on a sheet of paper made a hollowness inside me swell. I don’t know what I expected, but under Cause of Death, it said my father had died of an acute myocardial infarction.

I glanced out my window and stared at a black SUV parked across the street. The car started its engine and drove away, leaving a whirlwind of shadowy leaves in the light of the street lamp. I waited for the leaves to settle before I read the pages again. “Final, amended certificate” sounded like something on the document had been changed.

I opened my laptop and did a search.

In cases where the circumstances of death are questionable, an autopsy is ordered, and the cause of death is listed as “pending.” The final, amended certificate is issued once the full examination has been completed.

He couldn’t have known he might die early if he had died from a heart attack, so how could the circumstances of his death be questionable?

We had just gotten back from a movie when my father collapsed and died soon after. Nothing about that should cause suspicion, but if an autopsy was ordered, there had to be something I was missing. If I had the report, it might give me answers.

I searched again. The progress circle swirled until the results loaded. According to the instructions on the Hawaii government’s site, all I had to do was complete information on their website: date of death, his name, my relationship, address, and a few other things.

The fee was small but still caused a slight twinge in my chest as I removed my prepaid Visa card from my wallet. After the purchase, I would still have money on my card, but not enough to buy the soccer cleats I wanted. I’d have to hope Grandpa would be sending me another prepaid credit card for my birthday—I didn’t have time to work for spending money, between soccer practice and school.

I typed in the numbers and reviewed them to make sure I hadn’t made any mistakes. At the bottom of the page was space for a digital signature. I entered my mom’s name, Lynne Takata. The only thing missing before I clicked the submit button was her driver’s license number.

Mom had woken up. Even though Christmas was months away, she was in the kitchen whistling “The First Noel.” To get the information, I would need help.

My brothers would be up in about thirty minutes. I jumped in the shower and got ready for school.

Avery would never help me, so after I had dressed in a plain T-shirt and jeans, I called out to my older brother.

“Parker!”

He didn’t answer, so I yelled again. After several attempts, he finally stretched his head into my room, sleep still in his eyes.

“Distract Mom for me,” I said.

He grumbled, but I showed him the death certificate to explain what I was doing, and he made his way downstairs.

“I need advice on girls,” he said once he had cornered Mom in the kitchen.

Her face was hidden from me, but I could hear excitement radiating in her voice. Parker had bought me more than enough time. I stole into my parents’ bedroom, fished in her wallet, typed the number into my phone, then crept back upstairs.

At the bottom of the online form, I chose the option for an expedited delivery even though it was a little more, and submitted the request.

A car horn honked outside my window—Forrest’s Jeep. Forrest had become our designated driver because the Russos only had one car, and their mom needed it for work. Parker had totaled three different cars and had his driving privileges taken away by my parents. I was the only one left with a license, but I hated driving and avoided it whenever possible. Forrest was kind enough to absolve me of carpool duty.

In a dash to the car, I grabbed a bagel off the counter without stopping to toast it. The Russo boys were already there by the time Avery and I arrived, Nicholas in the passenger seat and Fed in the back, but waiting for Parker was part of the morning ritual. I slid into the seat behind Forrest, who was eating the usual banana Creamie for breakfast. He claimed it was healthy because it was like a frozen fruit smoothie on a stick. I argued that fruit smoothies weren’t necessarily healthy, but it never stopped him.

At the end of the street a black SUV, like the one I had seen hours earlier, appeared. A car like that was common in Utah, but no one on our street owned one. The driver wheeled past us slowly, but all I could see was a hooded man with reflective-lens sunglasses. The driver turned my way, almost like he’d sensed my stare by instinct, but a moment later he whipped his focus back to the road as if he hadn’t even seen me.

Avery laughed. “Maybe that’s why you don’t have a boyfriend. You scare them off.”

I caught my reflection in the side mirror. “Maybe I don’t have a boyfriend because my whole life has been spent with you guys.”

The car had come with specially installed rear-facing seats in the trunk area, and since Avery and Fed were the youngest, they always got banished to the back where the space was small. Avery climbed over the seat and joined Fed.

Still sour, I grew impatient with Parker’s daily tardiness. “Come on, Parker!” I shouted through the open front door. I didn’t know how he managed to be late when I had woken him up earlier than usual. Distracting Mom hadn’t taken
that
long.

Parker toddled out of the house with his shoes and socks balanced in one hand and backpack in the other. He hopped in and pushed me to the next seat.

The school was only a few minutes’ drive from home. We had all climbed out of the car when Chase Phillips pulled into the spot next to us in his Mustang convertible. I had heard quite a few girls at school mention how cute he was, but his nasty personality and self-absorption stood out more to me.

Before Chase stalked off toward the entrance, we shared our normal glares at each other, but his was marked by bags under his eyes. His bleached-blond hair was disheveled. If he’d had a bad night, it was certainly well deserved.

Nicholas dropped his brawny arm around me and began to walk me to class. The sleeve of his flannel shirt smelled musty. I tried to push him away, but his arm had a little more muscle than mine. A lot more. He hung on.

“Not that I care,” I said, “and not that I want Chase asking me out again. Ugh. But do you realize no one’s ever going to ask me out with you draped on me like this?” I hoped the irritation in my voice would cause him to feel at least a little bit guilty.

“Yep, that’s the plan,” he said.

“You’re worse than my dad,” I said.

“No one’s worse than your dad.”

“Okay, fine.” I’d only been to a few dances, but Dad had done a professional job of intimidating my dates.

Nicholas stopped and adjusted his Seahawks hat, letting me go for a moment. “Claire.” He caught me enough off guard when he called me by my actual name that I stopped too. I made a slow turn to face him, an eyebrow quirked.

“Parker and Avery may take you for granted,” he said, “but for the rest of us . . . well, you’re the closest thing we have to a sister. We’re guys, Kiki. We know how guys think. And we don’t want you dating anyone who thinks like we do. Trust me.”

Nicholas never really got serious with me. I hadn’t expected him to say something thoughtful.

He placed his arm around my shoulder again and resumed walking toward the school’s main entrance, pulling me along with him. “Worried you’re not going to get asked to the Halloween dance?”

“No.” I tried to brush him off again. “Only idiots ever ask me to these stupid dances.”

“That’s the plan.”

I stopped, squatted down, and leaned forward to shrug off his hulk of an arm. “What’s that supposed to mean?” When Dad taught me that move, he probably didn’t think I would need to use it on Nicholas. I turned around to face him.

“Uh, nothing,” he said. “I just meant that I’m surprised no one’s asked you yet, but I’m sure it’ll happen. I’d hate to think you were at home by yourself while we were having a good time. We would never want to be at a dance without you.”

I tried to process what he’d said. Something wasn’t clicking. “Why is it that I only get asked to dances? Why not regular dates?”

He looked above him, eyes searching the sky. “You had a date with that Adams guy once.”

“And none since then, unless it’s a dance, and that’s because you and Parker don’t want me to feel left out, right? You probably think it’s safe because you’ll be nearby and you’ve handpicked the guy that asks me to the dance and warned him not to touch me. Are you paying these people? What do they get out of it?”

“They get a date with a very fun, but very crazy right now, girl.” He smiled.

I blinked. “Crazy?” I said, shoving his shoulder. A few girls I didn’t know passed us and looked at me like I really was as crazy as Nicholas suggested.

Nicholas laughed and put an arm around me. “Aw, you know I’m just playing with you. You’re not crazy.”

A frustrated sigh escaped as we started walking again. “Is something wrong with me?” I asked in a quiet voice.

He shook his head. “Of course not. Why would you think that?”

“It’s not that I have anyone in particular in mind, and if all I cared about was going on a date, I could ask someone myself, but I hate that I don’t know if I’m not getting asked out on dates that aren’t dances because you and Parker are intimidating guys or if it’s because something is wrong with me. Aren’t people supposed to go on dates in high school?”

When we first moved to Utah, there were too many times I wished I had blonde hair so I could look like everyone else. Sometimes it seemed like every girl here was drop-dead gorgeous. Even now, I wondered every so often if I wasn’t getting asked out because I didn’t look like the group of girls Nicholas surrounded himself with. I hated myself for thinking that. Maybe I was just too awkward.

Nicholas shook his head. “Claire, nothing is wrong with you. You have some misconceptions, but nothing’s wrong with you.”

“Misconceptions?”

“About dating in high school.” He pointed to a group of beautiful girls gathered by the entrance. “Do you see those girls over there?”

“Yeah.”

“I promise you they don’t get asked out as often as you seem to think. No one really goes on dates. We hang out at parties instead.”

Yeah, everyone hung out; however, several girls on my team had boyfriends. I wasn’t sure I believed him. But I probed for the more important piece of information. “So are you saying you and Parker have never meddled with my dating life, dances or otherwise?”

He opened the door, and I went through and waited for an answer. The halls were loud and crowded.

Nicholas dropped his arm around my shoulder again. He took a deep breath and exhaled. “I’m saying there’s nothing wrong with you.”