Yuri now and then indulged in a little alcohol, but Tabuki couldn’t see what was so good about it. Once he tried to lose himself to drink, hoping to bury away the fact that Momoka was gone, but all it did was leave him feeling empty. He hadn’t drunk much since then, just occasionally when he and Yuri were having “couple time” like this.
“Naturally, I refused. We have different goals. Plus, it doesn’t seem like those children even know the true value of the diary.” Yuri drained her glass in one big gulp.
“You and I are the only ones in this world who know that,” said Tabuki.
“That’s true.” Yuri often wondered just what Momoka found so appealing about such a boring man. Her eyes fell on the lit-up Tokyo Tower outside the clear windows. Winter was here again. Another winter without Momoka. “You know, I really can’t bring myself to forgive the Takakura family.”
“Are you still going on about that?” asked Tabuki, though his tone was soft. “It happened a long time ago. Plus, it’s not like those kids had anything to do with it directly.”
What had Tabuki hoped to achieve in becoming a teacher? The plain appearance and lifestyle suited him, but did he really think Yuri would still accept his banal moral ramblings after all this time?
Yuri placed the diary on the table, and poured more champagne into her own glass. “Ringo-chan is in love with Takakura Shoma,” she said.
“I know.”
“You’re fine with that?”
“Ringo-chan is Ringo-chan. She isn’t Momoka.”
She laughed mirthlessly. “I know that well enough.”
“The perpetrators and their family are different people. I don’t harbor any hard feelings toward them anymore.”
“So you forgive them? The Takakura family stole countless innocent lives. I’m sure Momoka was trying to stop…” She trailed off. Momoka probably took some action to try and halt the accident. Either by changing fate, or by some other special means that Yuri wasn’t aware of.
“Mourning her or hating them isn’t going to bring her back.”
Yuri felt her hackles rising at the lecturing tone of his voice. “You’re just soo upstanding. You’ve always been this way.”
“I haven’t forgotten about Momoka, you know. There’s no way I could ever forget her. Nor could you.”
Both back then, and now, Momoka was the glue that bonded them together. Back then, they each gripped one of her soft little hands, the three of them standing together. Had that accident not occurred, the three of them would probably still be together today.
For both Yuri and Tabuki, Momoka had been dearer to them than their own blood relatives, even kinder than God. Momoka was innocent, earnest, and full of love. She’d been the only person in the world who told them, time and again, that she truly loved them with all her heart.
“Those days when we were with Momoka were my only real childhood.”
“Mine, too.” Tabuki finally sipped his champagne, just enough to wet his lips.
In that case, how could he say that he didn’t feel anything? That he could forgive the members of the Takakura family? Yuri stared at the side of his face, far too quiet.
“Even if her life was snatched away senselessly, Momoka would never want us to take revenge,” Tabuki added.
Yuri glared angrily at him. “Momoka isn’t dead!”
Tabuki looked sadly at Yuri, who burned with vengeance. “Of course,” he murmured softly, placatingly.
Yuri herself might not even have thought it, but she was overflowing with life and vigor. That was why she was beautiful. It was obvious that she lived in a different world from Tabuki, who spent so many years trapped behind so many thin shells.
“I’m cold. We need some curtains in this room,” Yuri said abruptly. When the pair of them were silent, she became far too aware of the spaciousness of the room.
“Should I bring you something to wear?” Tabuki hadn’t noticed the chill at all. He wondered if it was because of the champagne, but he didn’t say anything about that.
Yuri did not reply. She only embraced herself, and took another sip of champagne.
I’m going out to do some shopping. I’ll be back soon. —Himari was all that the tiny paper scrap read.
“Well, that’s a problem,” Shirase said quietly and tilted his head, his red velvet ribbon pointing straight up.
“It’s time for her medicine,” Souya added, also tilting his head, his own red velvet ribbon at a lazy lop.
Himari’s bed was empty, the sheets made. Her nightgown and dressing gown were neatly folded atop the sheets.
“Seriously, what is she thinking? Just because she’s feeling a little bit better…” Kanba said bitterly, gazing at the memo.
Her medicine was administered every day, but I wondered if it was something that needed to be given at a precise time. I’d heard no report of it being that sort of illness, though. At the very least, not from Dr. Washizuka.
“This is bad,” Shirase said flatly, expression soft.
“She needs to have her nightly injection,” Souya continued.
“Um, when you say it’s bad, what’ll happen if she doesn’t get it?” I reflexively asked.
The boys’ red eyes flashed toward one another, and they fell silent. Shirase plucked flatly at one of his garters, which gave a snapping sound.
“Will it be okay if she’s back before nightfall?” I pressed. Their peculiar appearance and cold manner put both Kanba and me on edge.
“As long as she’s back,” said Shirase, conspiratorially.
“As long as she can come back,” Souya replied, likewise.
“What do we do? Where did you go, Himari?” We really should have left a cell phone with her in case of emergencies.
For now, I opened the closet, trying to determine what she wore out. Her flower-patterned dress with the puffy bright blue and beige skirt, and a ribbon of the same material that tied at the waist, were both missing from her wardrobe. Judging by the temperature, she probably went out with a knit cardigan as well. No doubt she was also wearing her favorite cowboy boots. However, this wasn’t much to go on. What could she possibly need to purchase that she would have to leave the hospital for?