Fifty Words for Rain(79)

He cleared his throat. “Actually, if you would do me the honor, I have a proposition for you. I’ve heard about your music, of course, such a talent you are. Such a credit to this fine city.”

Akira nodded. “Yes, well. Thank you.”

“I am having a small event on Christmas Eve, you see,” he said. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at his sweaty forehead. “Nothing too special. But there will be some important people there. Politicians and such. And I would be so honored if you would play. Your mother—God bless her—she played the piano at an event of mine. She moved the audience to tears. This was right before . . .” He coughed. The official story put out by the family was that Seiko had died, but almost everyone knew she’d run away.

“Anyway. I was hoping you would play at my event? I would pay, of course.”

Akira tried and failed to look remorseful. “I am afraid that won’t be possible. I have a prior engagement and will be away for some time.”

Hiromoto’s face fell. “Ah. I see. I understand, of course, I do. I just thought it would be nice to honor the memory of your mother.” He turned to Nori. “I hope you will attend? The more, the merrier.”

She waited for Akira to apologize on her behalf. He’d come up with some excuse, surely.

Akira hesitated. He looked vaguely sentimental, which was rare.

“Well, in that case . . . my sister could play in my stead.”

Nori looked at him, dumbstruck. She was sure she’d misheard.

Hiromoto beamed, revealing the rotten teeth towards the back of his mouth. “Ah! Could she? Why, that would be wonderful, just marvelous. I didn’t realize you had a pupil.”

Nori’s cheeks burned. “He doesn’t.”

“I do,” Akira corrected her. “I trained her myself. She is quite competent. And she has no shortage of free time.”

Nori shot him an irritated glance, which he tactfully ignored.

“She’d be happy to take my place.”

Hiromoto dropped his scrolls to the ground and seized both of her hands. “Would you? Oh, would you, madam?”

She gaped at him. “I . . .”

But she knew there was only one answer, between his pleading puppy dog eyes and Akira’s stern gaze.

“I will,” she said weakly.

He placed a wet kiss on her hand. “Perfect. Just perfect.”



* * *





The party was to be on the twenty-fourth of December, Akira’s twenty-first birthday. Neither of them spoke of it, but both of them felt the weight of it. When the summer months came, Akira would have to go back to Kyoto.

It was time for him to honor his end of the bargain. The bargain he’d made for her sake.

She had no words for the pain of it; it was like swallowing broken glass. Nori would have given anything for the power to stop it, for the power to change things. For any power at all.

Akira tapped his baton against the music stand. “Nori. Pay attention. We have one more day to get these pieces right.”

She rolled her eyes. Akira was leaving for Vienna tomorrow, but right now, all he cared about was making sure that she didn’t embarrass him.

Which would’ve been a lot easier if she had been allowed to choose all her own pieces. Hiromoto had chosen Mendelssohn’s Violin Concerto in E Minor, op. 64. He’d hired a small chamber orchestra to accompany her, and she was to play the solo. She’d only have a few hours before the event to practice with them. The thought made her want to vomit. Now, in addition to having never played in front of an audience before, she had to play with an orchestra. Her complaints had been met with a whap on the nose. Akira was hearing none of it.

There would be a pianist there too, to accompany her for her second piece. She’d played a handful of pieces with Will. It was the only time she’d felt . . . safe around him.

Akira had chosen the second piece: Vitali’s Chaconne in G Minor. She’d heard him play it many times with Will. It always reminded her of a dark love song. It was a beautiful piece, but it seemed . . . haunted.

And so Nori had been left to choose only one piece. She’d chosen Schubert’s “Ave Maria” without a second thought.

It was the Vitali piece that threatened to break her.

Akira winced. “Sharp. Play that passage again.”

Nori did.

“Do you know what ‘sharp’ means?” he snapped. “And ease off the bow. For God’s sake, you know better.”

She swallowed a lump of air. “Why did you pick this one? It’s not meant to be played alone, anyway; the arrangement has a part for piano. I should be practicing with a pianist.”

He ignored her question. “I have my reasons.”

“But, Oniichan . . .”

“Hush.”

He stood up and made his way behind the piano.

He sat down at the bench.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

He gestured for her to start playing. She did.

And then he did. And it was note perfect.

She nearly dropped her bow. “N-naze? Since when can you play the piano?!”

He didn’t stop playing. “I’ve always been able to play the piano, Nori.”

She stared at him like a fool with her jaw hanging slack. “W-what?”