Fifty Words for Rain(66)

He breezed past her, and she could smell smoke and something sharper beneath it.

“Don’t—” she started, and she regretted it before the word had fully left her mouth.

Will raised a blond eyebrow. “What?”

She flushed hot. “Don’t call me that. Nobody calls me that. Call me Nori.”

He shrugged as if it did not matter to him either way. “Well then, little Nori. Good night.”

Once he had gone, she stumbled into the chair he had left empty for her. Her heart was thudding in her ears and she felt strangely warm. Her knees were knocking together.

This felt like fear. But different. This was more dangerous. And less.

What’s happening to me?



* * *





Nori was careful not to be alone with him again. But from that night on, they danced around each other like characters in a masquerade. Never touching, but drawing ever closer.

At breakfast, his hand grazed hers when she passed him the sugar. Their eyes met, for just a moment, and when he looked away, she felt shamelessly caressed.

He was nineteen, just a year older than Akira but a lifetime older than she. He had traveled all over the world playing the piano. He spoke English, French, and German and he collected artwork. Nori could tell that he was no stranger to the company of women. He radiated a magnetic confidence that managed to draw her in against her will.

When Will and Akira would lounge in the sitting room and drink in the evenings, discussing politics or art or any number of things that Nori knew nothing about, she would slip into the room and sit in the corner.

Neither of them acknowledged her, but they also didn’t make her leave, so she counted it as a victory. When Akira was distracted, Will’s eyes would fall on her lips.

After Akira went to bed, Nori would climb up into her tree and try to count all the stars. Sometimes she would hear music coming from the house and she would know that Will had thrown open the windows of the music room so that she could hear him play.

She knew it was for her, as sure as if her name was written on the notes.

No one else knew she was not asleep.

But Will did. He had seen what everyone else around her had missed, and he stayed up in the nights with her. He didn’t say a word about it, but the sound of his piano let her know that she was not alone.

And that in itself was a gesture as intimate as a kiss. And maybe, just maybe, this feeling was a bit like love.

She’d never been looked at the way he looked at her. No one had ever drawn closer when she spoke, hanging on every syllable.

And certainly nobody like him.

One night she left her tree and went into the music room to find him perched before the piano. She stood there, trembling. It took all she had not to bolt from the room.

He turned to face her, his blue eyes calm as a frozen lake.

Nori felt her cheeks blaze. “You . . . watch me.”

He didn’t falter. “Of course I watch you. You’re beautiful.”

“I’m not,” she said, quick as a shot.

“Not like the girls back home,” Will amended. “Not even like the girls here. But you are to me.”

She felt herself soften at the praise. But it was not enough.

“Is that . . . the only reason?”

Will raised his sandy eyebrows. “Why are you here, Nori?”

She didn’t have an answer. Or at least not one she wanted to admit.

“I shouldn’t be here,” she whispered.

“But you are,” he pointed out. “Because you’re lonely. And curious. And a tiny bit afraid of me, but more afraid of what will happen if Akira notices. Because you watch me back.”

He saw through her like glass.

Nori looked down at her feet. “I’m . . . I’m here for the music. That’s all.”

Without saying a word, he got up and kissed her full on the mouth.

She let him. And the next night, she kissed him back.

For months it went on like this, until the frost melted away and the sunlight lingered on well into the evening.

She’d play the violin for him sometimes, and he’d tease that music must run in the blood. He always did most of the talking.

They met only in the nights. Come the dawn, she’d slip back to her room like a phantom, sometimes unsure if she could trust her own memory.

If anyone else noticed, nothing was ever said.

Akira was true to his word and spent more time at home. On the weekends, he would sometimes accompany her on her errands to the tailor for fabrics or to the docks for fish.

He taught her more English, though she was now nearly fluent, and sometimes Alice would join their lessons to pick up bits and pieces of Japanese or throw in a suggestion. She appeared to have grown bored with her endless shopping. She had taken to wearing yukatas around the house, though she always tied the sash wrong. Nori didn’t have the heart to tell her.

Nori began to serve the dishes of summer at their evening meals. Fish soups served chilled and brightened with fresh herbs, grilled unagi and somen noodles that she made from scratch. Will picked up the use of chopsticks with ease, but Alice continued to struggle.

The boys never said anything, but one day, as they were eating ramen, Nori decided to speak up.

“You can use a fork, Alice.”

Alice looked up from her bowl. Her pale cheeks were flushed. The front of her dress was splashed with stains. “Oh, could I?”