Fifty Words for Rain(92)

We both know it won’t be long until my cousin realizes that he was right, and that he really did see her in Paris. We don’t discuss it. We just know.

Now that I have children, I can read her so much better, for she communicates much like a child. She doesn’t say much, but her eyes and the slight motions in her body tell me what she is feeling.

I don’t ask, but I know that she is afraid. She carries her fear with her like a second shadow.

I slide my hand in hers as we sit on my favorite park bench and watch the orange sun dip below the clouds. Today I helped her put in the paperwork for her to stay in London for good. I feel a warm sensation in my belly, and I drape my other hand over it, feeling the hard curve. I know that my son is happy too.

“We really must make a formal introduction for you.”

She laughs. “Don’t be silly.”

“I am quite serious,” I tell her. “The vultures won’t dissipate until they’ve had their fill of gossip. Half the city knows you are living with me; the rumors grow more ridiculous every day. Wouldn’t it be better to be in control of the narrative? Get a grip on things?”

She sighs. “I don’t care what they say about me.”

“They stare,” I point out, and she snorts.

“Yes, I’ve noticed. They must think I’m terribly ugly.”

I roll my eyes because she really believes this. I swear, I don’t know what they told her in that attic, but it lives in the very marrow of her bones.

But then, I am also to blame. I’ve always been shallow. I’ve always happily fed into a hierarchy based on looks. It was the only way I thought I could win anything. But now I see how it cuts. And I am ashamed of myself.

“We can throw a party,” I prompt. “Something small. Intimate.”

Nori withdraws her hand. “I’d rather not.”

“My dear, it’s really quite normal. All young women of marrying age have a debutante ball.”

She turns to look at me, slowly. I see her smile twitch.

“Alice,” she says gently, “I’m no lady. And there’s no need for this. I am content to live quietly with you and your children.”

But that’s just the problem. I am not content, and I feel an inexplicable sense of irritation with her. She doesn’t understand that it’s always better to be the center of attention on your own terms. For God knows they will talk about you anyway. I know this, and I know it’s true because I’ve learned that I’m not nearly as stupid as everyone has always tried to make me believe.

And since she is in my house, they will talk about me as well. I have already heard that Mary Lambert, my tennis partner, has been hinting that Nori and I are secret lovers. That I am hiding her out of spiteful jealousy and forbidden lust.

How ridiculous.

I turn to her and squeeze her hand.

“Won’t you please?”

Her brow knits, but I can tell by the tilt of her mouth that I have won.

“But it will be small?” she peeps.

“Oh, quite. And we’ll do it at my country house. It will be lovely.”

She folds. “As you wish.”



Windsor, England

June 1964

Small. Intimate.

Small . . . intimate.

Meaning two hundred people all packed into the grand ballroom of Alice’s country estate, a few miles away from Windsor Castle.

But the chatter around Nori was nothing more than white noise.

This was the way she had survived.

She retreated to a place, deep inside herself, where nothing could touch her. The years had stretched on, one cold winter into the next, and she floated along as best she could. It was all she could do to keep her head above water.

But she had made a promise. To Ayame. And to Akira.

Even now, to think the name nearly took her out at the knees.

Loneliness and exhaustion had finally got the best of her, driving her into the arms of the closest thing she had to family. But just now, she was wishing she’d stayed in the rented cottages and hotel rooms, the cabins on the sea voyages she took with no specific destination in mind.

She was a wanderer, and she was meant to be alone.

It was who she was, who she had always been destined to be. To deny that was disastrous.

But for the first time since her sun had set all those years ago, she was truly torn. She wanted, so desperately, to believe that she had been punished enough.

There was a flutter of motion above the surface. Someone was talking to her.

It was a large woman wearing a sparkling pink gown, long white gloves, and too much jewelry for good taste. She had Alice’s delicate features, but they were all but lost in the wide, white moon face.

Jane. Age: thirty-one. Alice’s sister, whom she hates. But not as much as the other one.

“And are you enjoying your time in London, Miss Noriko?”

“Oh,” she said. “Yes, thank you. Alice is so gracious for having me.”

Jane squinted. “And how did you meet my dear little sister again?”

This lie had already been repeated half a dozen times.

“We met in finishing school,” she parroted. “It was great fun.”

Jane nodded. She of course knew that Alice had never been to finishing school. But she let the comment pass.

“And what about you? What brings you here now?”