Fifty Words for Rain(119)

Nori wrinkled her nose and did not comment.

“I think I have enough jewels.”

Akiko chuckled. “No, madam. These are the best of all. Wait until you see them—you could drown a cat with the rubies.”

“But the banquet is not for weeks.”

“But you’re fully booked until then,” Akiko reminded her. “You don’t have time to spit, little madam. Your grandmother is anxious that she transition everything to you while she still breathes. People need to know this is her will.”

Nori looked sulkily at her bare feet. “Is it always going to be like this?”

Akiko patted her cheeks. “It will get easier,” she promised. “And you have me to look after the child, so you needn’t worry.”

Nori flinched. “And is he well?”

“Very,” Akiko said, flashing a bright smile. She looked at Nori’s strained face. “Ah, my dear, no need for this guilt. He’s very well looked after. Your lady grandmother never troubled herself to visit the nursery either. That’s what servants are for.”

Nori went very still. Something shifted inside of her, like a boulder that was slowly but surely starting to roll downhill.

I won’t be like you.

How loudly she had proclaimed those words, but now they rang hollow and she was shamed to the depths of her soul.

“I’m afraid,” she confessed weakly. “I’m afraid to even touch him.”

“You fear because you love,” Akiko said. “To love a child is the greatest terror there is. It’s a lifetime of worrying yourself sick over every move they make. It is a torture and an immense joy all at once.”

“I never wanted it,” she whispered. “I always knew I’d fail.”

“You have just begun, my sweet girl. And as you can see—life is full of surprises.”



* * *





The days were lost to her now.

But when night came, Nori found herself alone. She moved silently through the house as if she were still a child with much to hide.

The nursery was on the far side of the west wing.

She slipped inside. The night nurse was there, fast asleep in the rocking chair.

Someone had painted the walls a deep blue, like the ocean at midnight. There were stuffed animals on the shelves and a charming mobile above the mahogany crib.

Without breathing, Nori peeked over the side.

The baby blinked up at her. His eyes were pensive, as if he could understand the significance of this moment. He balled his tiny hand into a fat little fist and offered it up to her. Then he smiled.

She tapped his fist with her index finger.

“Hello,” she whispered. “I’m your mother. It’s not a very good deal for you, I’m afraid.”

He giggled and held out both his arms to her.

Without even thinking about it, she picked him up, wrapping him in his thick blue blanket.

“I don’t know what to say to you,” she said piteously.

He popped a spit bubble and settled into her arms. He was the lightest and the heaviest thing she had ever held.

“It will be different for you,” she swore to him, brushing his wispy curls with her palm. “I’ll make sure that it’s different.”

He grabbed hold of her pinkie and shook it up and down.

“And I’ll tell you all about your name. Someday, I’ll tell you all about everything.”

He smiled, stretching out his toes, and then his amber eyes closed and he went still, save for the little chest rising and falling.

She laid him back down in his crib and left the room, knowing there was only one place for her to go.

The nights were precious to her now.

And this night, she found herself in the garden, staring up at a purple sky.

Though she wore nothing but a simple kimono, she was not cold.

She hoisted herself into the low branches of her favorite tree and looked up at the moon. Tonight, she felt large enough to snatch it from its perch and wear it around her neck like a pearl. She tucked this feeling away in her box of happy memories. Later, when she was feeling weak, she would call on it to make her strong.

Her perch was wet—it had rained earlier. And tomorrow, or the day after, it would likely do so again. She knew that this, the amaai—the break between the rains—could not last for long. She did not know what kind would come, but she knew that it would. And she knew that she would survive it.

The wind rustled, and she could swear she heard a knowing laugh. Though it was the middle of a December night, her skin was fiercely warm, kissed by an unseen fire.

And it was in these rare moments that she felt it: the burning light of her Kyoto sun.





ACKNOWLEDGMENTS


Thank you to my fantastic editor, Stephanie Kelly, for making this book the very best that it could be. Thank you for being such a wonderful champion for a story that means so much to me. Your talent is matched only by your patience. You’re amazing, and I could not have asked for more. To everyone at Dutton: thank you so much for all of your hard work, expertise, and faith.

My utmost gratitude to my agent, the one and only Rebecca Scherer, for being my number one advocate and fan. You made my dreams come true, and you believed in me when I doubted myself. To you and everyone at JRA: I owe you the world, and I thank you from the bottom of my heart.