Outside the car, their noses caught a distinct fragrance.
“Wow, you can really smell the tea,” Shouko said.
“Like the letter said, we’re tea growers,” Touko’s mother said. She led them inside the house. “Make yourselves at home.”
“Thank you.”
“Thanks.”
Sakuta followed Shouko inside.
They were led down a hall of lovely hardwood to a living room about ten tatami mats large. From the recessed space, they had a great view of the area between the house and the barn. You could easily park four or five cars there.
There was an altar on the side of the room.
“Um, I brought these,” Shouko said, handing over the dove cookies.
“That’s so nice of you. Touko loved these. She’ll love them. I’ll go put the kettle on; you wait here.”
“Do you mind if we pay our respects?”
“Not at all. Go right ahead.”
They waited for the mother to leave, then knelt down before the altar. They lit the candle, then each lit an incense stick. Shouko rang the bell, and Sakuta closed his eyes, putting his palms together.
He held that longer than he had at the grave.
Adding in gratitude for saving Shouko’s life.
The mother came back in with a teapot and kettle. First, she put some cookies on the altar.
Then she made tea for Sakuta and Shouko.
“Thank you for coming all this way to see Touko,” she said, repeatedly bowing her head.
“Not at all. I wanted to see her. Thank you for having me.”
Shouko did the same.
“I just couldn’t bring myself to write back for the longest time,” the mother said, eyes on the table.
“I was so happy you did,” Shouko said. “I was worried my letters were unwelcome.”
“At first…well, it took me a while to feel up to it. As time went on, I remembered more things…and I came to believe it was a good thing she went to a girl like you, Shouko.”
A tear ran down her cheek.
“Oh, pardon me,” she said, turning away and wiping her eyes.
All Sakuta could do was sit and watch. There was nothing for him to say here. That went for Shouko, too. They simply waited for the moment to pass.
“You’ve done nothing wrong, Shouko. I’m so, so sorry. Please, drink up before it gets cold.”
She smiled through her tears.
“Thank you.”
Shouko took a sip.
“That’s so good!”
“I’m glad you think so.”
The mother smiled and wiped her eyes again.
Sakuta took a sip himself. The tea had a gentle fragrance, with a bite beneath it. A hint of sweetness revealed itself at the end.
“Did Touko drink this tea a lot?” Sakuta asked, his first time speaking since they came in.
“Honestly, she never really had a taste for it,” her mother said with a chuckle. “When I asked if she wanted any, she usually said no. She and my husband argued about it a lot. ‘You don’t want the tea your mother makes?!’ Oh, he’s not here, I’m afraid. I told him you were coming, Shouko, but he just said ‘Gonna check the fields’ and went out.”
Sakuta couldn’t exactly say he knew how that felt, but he could imagine the man didn’t know what to do with himself around the girl who’d received his daughter’s heart. Like Touko’s mom said, it wasn’t Shouko’s fault. But seeing her was a forceful reminder of his daughter, and her absence—and memories from when she’d still lived. It might just hurt him—and he might just hurt Shouko. In which case, better not to see her at all.
“I feel like I’m doing all the talking.”
“No, go right ahead,” Shouko said. “I’m here to learn more about Touko. Please, tell me more.”
“In that case, let me show you her room. It’s just how she left it.”
The look on the mother’s face was equal parts glad and sad.
“I know someday I’ll have to pack it all up, but…,” she said, almost making excuses.
She got up, and they followed after her into the hall and upstairs.
Touko’s room was at the back of the second floor.
“Go on in,” her mother said. Sakuta followed Shouko inside.
It must have been the size of eight tatami mats, a bit larger than the average bedroom.
No real furniture besides the bed and desk—a pretty basic layout.
There was a small bookcase on the desk, and Shouko let out a little noise.
She pulled a Blu-ray disc off the shelf.
Someone Sakuta knew well was on the cover.
Mai.
Mai Sakurajima, in her junior high years.
This movie had been a huge hit.
She’d played a girl waiting for a heart transplant.
“That movie turned Touko into a die-hard fan. She was always buying fashion magazines for photos of her.”
The mother pulled open a drawer. Inside were magazines with Mai on the cover. All in great shape—Touko had clearly taken care of them. She had cared enough to store them in her desk drawer.
“And she loved music.”
After closing the drawer, the mother turned to the acoustic guitar by the mirror. With so little clutter, both Sakuta and Shouko had spotted it right away.
“She wrote her own songs, too. On the computer.”
“I don’t see a computer,” Shouko said.
The desk was largely empty. There were speakers on either side of it, attached to nothing—a conspicuous gap in the center.
“A good friend of hers asked for it. She still has it.”
At that, Shouko shot Sakuta a meaningful glance.
“Oh, I’ve got some photos! Take a look.”
Before they could ask about this friend, the mother moved on. She pulled an album from a shelf full of textbooks and dictionaries.
And laid it down for them to see.
Touko was very young in the first pages. Likely starting preschool. Dressed in an adorable uniform, looking ready to bounce off the walls. Holding her mother’s hand.
The next page had more preschool photos. Another girl in uniform was with Touko. They’d made origami, and Touko was showing it to the camera. The girl next to her was staring fixedly at the crane in her hand.
“This is the friend I mentioned. They got to know each other in preschool and stayed friends through elementary, junior high, and high school.”
As she turned the pages, this played out. There was a photo of their first day of elementary school. Touko with a red knapsack on, standing next to that other little girl outside the gates.
Each time the page turned, those two girls showed up.
At the aquarium—a field trip?
Photos from the school trip, smiling at their graduation ceremony…
They stood together at the entrance ceremony for junior high, were dressed as monsters for the culture festival, had matching face paint for the sports festival…
On every page, Touko was with this friend.
And as Sakuta looked, as the pages turned, as the two girls grew up…disbelief began to swell within him.
His eyes were caught less by Touko than by her friend.
She looked like someone he knew.
His mind playing tricks?
He kept telling himself that it made no sense.
But as the girls got older, he could no longer deny it.
Touko’s friend looked just like her.
“……”
He reached for the page and found his hand shaking.
His mouth was dry as a bone.
By the time he flipped to the junior high graduation, he was almost certain.
He knew the girl in the photos with Touko.
“How can that be?”
Unable to stop himself, lips quivering with surprise—the words slipped out. He could tell he’d gone white as a sheet.
“Sakuta?” Shouko asked, puzzled and concerned.
“I think I know her.”
He pointed to the girl at Touko’s side.
“Oh?” Shouko said with surprise. She’d seen a lot of different futures but must not have expected a coincidence like this.
Sakuta himself found it hard to believe.
There was no room for doubt, yet he still found himself saying, “Probably.” To turn that into certainty, he flipped another page.
That brought him to the two girls in high school.
Likely taken outside this very house.
Touko was in her brand-new uniform, grinning, throwing a peace sign at the camera. Her friend was doing the same pose, clearly roped into it.
And the look on her face was all too familiar.
She still wore her hair half up.
He spotted the teardrop mole beneath her left eye.
She looked just a bit younger than the girl he knew.
But she was now old enough that he could not refute it.
“Mitou…”
The name of a potential friend from college crossed his lips.
“Oh? You know Miori?” Touko’s mother asked, looking surprised.
“Yeah, we go to the same college.”
Sakuta was far more shocked than she was and barely managed a reply.
She asked something else, and he said something in return, but wholly on autopilot. No conscious thought was involved. Shock had filled every crevice of his brain.
“Touko Kirishima” was the last person he’d expected.
Someone so close by.
Miori Mitou.