Ink and Ashes Read Online Free Page B

have been—” I stopped. It was my dad, standing next to the younger versions of us.
    “Why don’t I remember him being there?” I whispered.
    Had my mom lied, or had she just forgotten Dad was at the funeral? There were a lot of people there.
    “I don’t remember anyone either,” Parker said. “But maybe it’s because our father was a judge. A lot of people knew him, and I remember there were so many people at his funeral that not everyone fit in the temple.”
    “This one on the far right doesn’t make sense,” I said. “Avery and I are passing something to each other with our chopsticks.”
    “Mom always gets mad at us when we do that,” Avery said. He studied it closer. “Says it’s bad manners. Kinda looks like we’re passing a . . . a bone.”
    I pointed to the next picture. “And in this one, Dad’s putting a bone into the urn with chopsticks. Look who’s behind him.”
    Grandpa, Dad’s father. And Mom off to the side.
    Mom hadn’t forgotten. She had just lied to us downstairs.

    My parents might be unwilling to give me answers, but I knew someone who could. I took out my phone and dialed.
    “Who are you calling?” Parker asked.
    “Grandpa,” I said. “Since he’s a Buddhist priest, he should be able to tell us what’s going on in those pictures.”
    “Hey, it’s Claire,” I said when my grandfather answered. Technically he was my step-grandfather, but I loved him as much as I loved my stepdad. “How are you?”
    His voice sounded groggy. I had forgotten it was four hours earlier in Hawaii, so I apologized when I realized it. He told me he was happy to talk to me at any hour, and I assured him I was fine.
    “Parker and Avery are here with me, so I’m going to put you on speaker.” I placed the phone on the desk and motioned for them to gather closer.
    “Uh, I’m here too,” Forrest muttered.
    I gave him a look. “Forrest’s here too.”
    “Hi, Grandpa,” Forrest said with enthusiasm.
    “Hi, Forrest,” Grandpa said.
    “I was going through some family photos,” I said, “and I saw you next to Dad in one of the group pictures at my father’s funeral. But . . . how did you even know my father?”
    “Ahh, Henry.” Grandpa sighed. “I loved him like a son. But the answer to that question is a little complicated. You’ll have to ask your dad to explain everything to you.”
    Maybe Grandpa wouldn’t be giving me answers like I had thought.
    “If you loved him like a son,” I said, “why didn’t we know you before Dad married our mom?”
    Grandpa chuckled. “You did,” he said. “You just don’t remember. Parker, ho, he was so kolohe , always getting into trouble. But you don’t remember because I left to spend a few years at a monastery in Tibet right after Avery was born. All of you were just babies.”
    “I see,” I said.
    “Grandpa, why are there pictures of us passing bones to each other with chopsticks?” Parker asked. “Mom always tells us it’s bad manners to do that.”
    “Mmmm. That I can tell you. It’s bad manners because the tradition is associated with death. You see, in Japan, bodies are usually cremated. And then the family picks the bones out of the ashes and passes them to one another with chopsticks to put them in the urn. We start with the feet bones and then work up to the head bones so that the dead can be upright.”
    “Only family do that?” Parker asked.
    “Or people considered family,” he said.
    Grandpa talked a little more about the funeral, and I made some mental notes, quiet rage simmering beneath the surface. I thanked him and promised I would call again soon. But before I ended the conversation, he cleared his throat. “Kids,” he said, “can I offer you some advice?”
    “Sure,” I said.
    “Before your father died, everything he did was for you. He loved all of you very much. And your dad now, he loves you as his own. Everything my son and your mother have done has been in your best interest.” He cleared