Re: Home (Complete)
Posted: Wed Aug 28, 2019 8:32 pm
Chapter 6
My mother packed us a couple of bentos to take with us on the train, even though the trip was barely two hours long. At least it would save us from having to buy lunch, which was nice. We hugged both of my parents good bye early in the morning before they headed off to work, and a while later we headed to the train station.
Once we arrived at Hanako’s home town, we checked into the small hotel I’d found listed on-line. Affordable, clean, but a bit run-down and shabby. Perfect for college students on a budget. We left our bags and set out for the cemetery, getting directions on which bus to take from the desk clerk. There was an Aura Mart by the bus stop, and Hanako went in and bought a large assortment of flowers, as well a small scrub brush and some paper towels with which to clean the tombstones.
Once we got to the cemetery where Hanako’s parents were buried, it took us a while to find their markers. “It’s been over f-five years since I was here last,” she said defensively. “I…think they w-were near a stand of bamboo.” The only problem being, there were many such stands in the cemetery.
We wandered for a while, systematically working our way up and down the long lines of stones. I passed a marker for someone named Hisashi Nakai, and shuddered. That was too close to home. At least he had lived to a ripe old age of seventy-seven. Maybe I could take that as a good omen. I doubted we were at all related, but I paused and gave him a brief bow, just in case. As I continued searching, I tried not to think about how soon I might be residing in a place like this. Then another marker caught my eye.
“Hanako?” I called. “I think I’ve found—oh. Never mind.” I’d found a pair of markers with the name Ikezawa, but the dates were wrong, much too old to be Hanako’s parents. But Hanako came over to me, drawn by my call, and she stopped and drew in a sharp breath. I turned to her, and she was standing at the plot next to me. Another pair markers engraved Ikezawa, these the right ones.
Hanako stared at her parents’ graves for a long moment, then tore her attention away and looked at me and where I was standing. “Oh. Yes. M-my grandparents. I b-barely remember them, th-they died when I was very young.”
“Ah. Well, now it’s a good thing we bought so many flowers. We can spruce up their graves, too.”
Hanako nodded. “Yes. Th-that would be good.”
Apparently Hanako’s parents had pre-purchased their plots and stones, because they were fairly nice ones. I was surprised to see how tidy they looked. The cemetery grounds keepers did a nice job of keeping everything generally neat, but it seemed to me that someone had paid some personal attention to the grave sometime in the last few months. It was much neater than the grandparents’ grave, and did not have five years worth of moss or dirt on it.
After we had tidied both pairs of graves and placed fresh flowers on them, Hanako and I knelt in front of her parents’ stones. I bent forward at the waist and bowed deeply. “Mr. and Mrs. Ikezawa. We’ve never met, but I shall be grateful to you every day of my life for giving Hanako her life. Not only once, as most parents do, but twice. I want you to know that your great sacrifice has been rewarded, for she has grown up to be a wonderful, strong woman, with a kind and generous heart. I promise I shall always do my best to care for her, just as she cares for me.” I paused for a moment, trying to think of what else to say, then simply added, “Thank you.”
As I sat back up, I looked over to see Hanako looking at me with a gentle smile on her face and brightly shining eyes. “Thank you,” she said quietly. Then she wiped at her eyes, and also bowed.
“Mama. Papa. I love you and miss you. But I want you to know that I’m finally happy, now. And although I’ll always wish you were with me, I am grateful to you for your sacrifice, for giving me my life. Twice. For giving me a chance to meet Hisao, and Lilly. For giving me a chance to live. And love. Thank you.”
As she sat back up, my cheeks were wet, too. I put my arm across her shoulders, she slipped an arm around my waist, and we knelt there for a while, just being there.
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Eventually, I stood up, my knees protesting a little at kneeling for so long, and I gave Hanako a hand in getting up too. I put an arm across her shoulders as we continued to regard the grave.
“Did you know the Ikezawas?” came a voice behind us.
Hanako flinched slightly, and we turned around to see a slim older woman, her short black hair shot with silver, regarding us with a friendly, curious smile. Her smile disappeared and her eyes went wide when she saw Hanako, and I felt Hanako tense under my arm in anticipation of the stares and pity her scars sometimes engendered. But the woman’s next word put that worry to rest immediately.
“Hana?”
Hanako froze entirely for a long moment, staring at the woman, then she stammered out incredulously, “M-mrs. M-matsumoto?”
“Oh, Hana, it is you! I’d recognize that beautiful face anywhere.” Mrs. Matsumoto beamed at her. “Good heavens, how you’ve grown.”
Hanako swayed slightly under my arm, and I gave her a worried look. “Do you need to sit down, Hanako?”
“Yes, I th-think I’d b-better,” said Hanako faintly, and she plopped down on the ground, looking stunned. She stared up at Mrs. Matsumoto.
Mrs. Matsumoto frowned, looking worried. “Are you all right, dear?” She crouched down beside Hanako, and rested a concerned hand on Hanako’s knee. I joined her, kneeling beside the two of them.
Hanako nodded mutely, just staring at Mrs. Matsumoto. Since it didn’t seem I could count on Hanako to make introductions just now, I bent forward in a brief bow and said, “I am Hisao Nakai, Hanako’s boyfriend.”
Mrs. Matsumoto took her attention from Hanako, and nodded to me. “I’m Mrs. Matsumoto. I lived next door to the Ikezawas for years. Until that dreadful fire.” She turned her attention back to Hanako. “I never could find out what happened to you, after. Because I wasn’t family, they wouldn’t tell me where you were sent.”
“Oh. I…I spent most of n-n-nine months in the h-hospital. Before b-being sent to an, an orphanage.”
“An orphanage? You had no other family to take you in?”
Hanako just shook her head mutely, then closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She sat up straighter, and gave Mrs. Matsumoto a hesitant smile. “Y-you used to b-babysit me. I remember p-playing with y-your cat…Momo?”
“Why, yes, dear old Momo. She died long ago, but I still have one of her kittens—now an old cat himself—named Reo.”
This exchange of commonplace memories seemed to steady Hanako, and she stood up. “I’m s-sorry for my behavior.” She bowed to Mrs. Matsumoto. “I was j-just surprised t-to see someone…I knew. From before.”
Mrs. Matsumoto smiled as she rose to her feet too. “That’s quite all right dear.”
“Do we have you to thank for the care of the Ikezawas’ graves?” I guessed.
Mrs. Matsumoto nodded. “I come here regularly to visit my husband’s grave. It seemed a shame that no one was taking care of their grave, so I clean it up a little when I have the time.”
“Th-thank you. Very much,” said Hanako, bowing again, deeper this time. “I ap-preciate your care and c-concern.” She glanced guiltily at her parents’ graves and explained, “I’ve been at s-school, too far away t-to visit regularly.” Then she frowned. “When did Mr. Matsumoto p-pass away?”
“Almost five years ago. Of karōshi.” Her smile faded. “He worked so hard to provide for me and the boys, and he never got to enjoy the fruits of his labors.”
The notion of working oneself to death, usually by heart attack, sobered me. There was more than one way my heart might betray me, if I wasn’t careful. Apparently Hanako had similar thoughts, because she took my hand in hers and squeezed it.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” I said, and Hanako murmured the same.
Mrs. Matsumoto shook off her brief gloom. “Thank you, dears, but it was a while ago, and I’m used to it by now. At least he had enough foresight to invest wisely, so that I might continue my work as an artist.” She smiled. “It is rewarding work, but more so emotionally than fiscally.”
“What kind of art do you do?” I asked, thinking of Rin.
She put her hand behind her and pulled a fancy camera on a shoulder strap around to the front of her body. I had assumed the strap over her shoulder was for a purse. “I’m a photographer.”
“Th-that’s right. I re-remember you let me watch you d-develop photos in your d-darkroom a few times.” Hanako smiled. “It seemed like m-magic, the way the pictures b-blossomed on the page.”
“Hah. Blossomed on the page. I like that,” said Mrs. Matsumoto. “Alas, these days, I’ve given in to the march of progress, and I work digitally. A different kind of magic. Though I do miss the darkroom, now and again. Seeing peoples’ faces peering up at me as they ‘blossomed.’ ”
Hanako’s hand suddenly clenched my hand tighter. I glanced at her, and she had gone pale. “Mrs. Matsumoto. D-do you think…might you have…any old pictures of…my p-parents?”
“Oh, yes, I'm certain I do somewhere. And of you. From neighborhood parties, or festivals.” She noticed Hanako’s stunned stare, and asked “Would you like to see them, dear?”
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Perhaps fortunately, Mrs. Matsumoto had moved to an apartment shortly after Mr. Matsumoto’s death. I’m not sure how Hanako would have reacted to visiting her childhood neighborhood, even though her family home had, of course, been replaced by a newer structure. But the prospect of finally having some decent photos of her parents was probably shock enough for one day.
“This may take a few minutes. When I moved into a smaller place, I had to compact a lot of storage. My formerly tidy archive files are now packed into stacks of boxes.” She led us to what would probably have been a second bedroom for most people, revealing a room lined with shelves on two walls, stacked high with boxes. The third wall held a large window and filing cabinets, and the fourth wall was taken up by a large desk with a computer system and three huge monitors.
The boxes were all neatly labeled and dated, and I noticed that they were all marked “Archival and Acid-Free.” If these orderly ranks of boxes were her archives in disarray, I could only imagine what they had been like in her previous residence.
“I may miss the darkroom at times, but I must admit that storage, search, and retrieval are much easier in the digital age. Provided that I label and tag everything properly. Now, let’s see, your family moved here just after you were born, so we should start looking around twenty years ago.” She scanned the labels on the boxes, then nodded.
“Young man, would you be so kind as to bring down that box up there?”
I reached overhead and pulled down the indicated box. I was surprised at how heavy it was. I set it on the desk where she indicated, and she folded back the top lid. Hanako just stood silently by, staring intently at Mrs. Matsumoto.
The box was filled with a mixture of photos and plastic sheets, which I realized were filled with rows of negatives. Tabbed cardboard dividers organized everything. Mrs. Matsumoto pulled out a stack of black and white photos from the front of the box, each page covered with many tiny pictures.
Noticing my puzzled look, Mrs. Matsumoto explained, “These are contact sheets, a single roll of film printed on a single page. A way to index what’s in the box.” She flipped through the pages rapidly, too quickly for me to get more than a general impression of what she was looking at. Most of the photos seemed to be of people. “No, not this box.” She returned the contact sheets to the box and closed it. “If you would replace this and take the next box below it down?”
It took five boxes before Mrs. Matsumoto paused in her quick flipping through the contact sheets to examine something closer. The images were so small, I was amazed she could make out any details at all, but I supposed it was partly a matter of experience. “Ah. Yes. That’s right,” she murmured. She replaced the contact sheets and began to flip through the rest of the box, referring to the index tabs with dates and notations written on them. She at last pulled out a single photo, glanced at it and nodded. “Here you go, dear. This was shortly after you all moved in next door.”
She handed the photo to Hanako, and I moved beside her. I watched her face instead of looking at the photo, alert for any sign of impending breakdown. She stared hard at the photo for several seconds, and then she slowly smiled as her eyes filled with tears. “Papa. Mama,” she whispered.
I shifted so I could look over her shoulder. I had always assumed that Hanako’s mother would look like an older Hanako, and her father like a typical salaryman. But as it turned out, Hanako favored her father. He was a tall slim man, with long hair tied in a tight braid. The braid was clenched tight in the chubby hand of baby Hanako. Her mother was a full head shorter than Mr. Ikezawa, and round of features. They both looked a touch tired, as the parents of a baby might, but also happy.
Hanako wiped the tears from her eyes with the back of her wrist. “I d-don’t remember Papa having l-long hair.”
“He cut it off shortly after this photo was taken. Part of trying to look more ‘respectable,’ I think.” Mrs. Matsumoto sighed. “The sacrifices we make for our careers. It was lovely hair.”
Hanako looked up at Mrs. Matsumoto. “Could I m-make a copy of this?”
“You can have it, dear. I still have the negative, after all.”
Hanako stared at Mrs. Matsumoto like she’d just given her a million yen. “Th-thank you,” she whispered, her voice thick with unshed tears, and she bowed deep.
Mrs. Matsumoto looked puzzled at this reaction. “You’re welcome, Hana.”
As Hanako straightened up, it looked like she wasn’t going to be capable of speech for a few moments, so I explained, “All of her family photos were destroyed in the fire. The only pictures she has of them are a couple of blurry newspaper photos from their obituaries.” Looking at the photo in Hanako’s hand, I would never have recognized her parents from those grainy old newspaper photos.
Mrs. Matsumoto looked shocked. “Oh, my poor dear.” She glanced around the room. “If there’s one thing I have in abundance, it’s photographs. Let us see if we can’t find you some more.”
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After a half hour of searching, Mrs. Matsumoto had found another two photos, and an additional dozen or so images on contact sheets that she hadn’t printed. Hanako and I peered at the tiny pictures, but the faces were so small on some of them that I wondered how Mrs. Matsumoto could be certain who they were.
The first photo was taken at some sort of festival, and Hanako’s parents were sitting on a blanket in front of a tree. Her father had short hair. Six year old Hanako was little more than a motion blur in front of her parents, as they laughed at her racing past them.
“You never walked when you could run. Unless you were stopped to ask an adult innumerable questions, you were running.” I had a hard time imagining such a thing, but Hanako looked wistful as if she were remembering running like that. Running like Emi, the fastest thing on no legs.
The second photo wasn’t of Hanako’s parents, but of Hanako at around age seven, cuddling with Momo. It was odd to see her without scars, looking joyous and carefree. Innocent. Momo looked like she was tolerating being adored, just barely.
“You were adorable,” I said. Hanako shook her head, but she was smiling.
“I’m just s-sorry that Lilly won’t be able to s-see these pictures,” Hanako said. I nodded in agreement.
“Who’s Lilly, and why won’t she?” asked Mrs. Matsumoto.
“She’s our b-best friend, and roommate. But she c-can’t see the photographs b-because she’s blind.”
“Oh.” Mrs. Matsumoto shuddered. “I must confess, of all the possible injuries or disabilities in the world, blindness scares me the most.”
“Well, you’re a visual artist. That only makes sense,” I said.
“Lilly has been b-blind since birth, so…I can’t say she doesn’t miss sight, exactly, b-but…she’s used to it.”
“How did you meet?”
“We m-met at Yamaku, a high school for students with v-various physical disabilities. We were all s-students there, and met there.”
“Yes, I’ve heard of it.” She shot me a curious look. “You were a student there also?” Unspoken was the obvious question.
I tapped my chest. “I have a defective heart, an arrhythmia.”
“Ah. I’m sorry for prying, that was impolite.”
I shrugged. “It’s only natural curiosity. I’m not offended.”
Mrs. Matsumoto turned to the stack of contact sheets she had accumulated as we looked for photos. “For these images on the contact sheets, I just need to scan the negatives, then I can print them out for you. They won’t be archival quality prints, but they’ll be good enough for memories.”
“Would it be possible to have—could we buy”—I was keenly aware that she was a professional photographer—“the digital files after you scan them? Then we could get them printed more permanently.”
Mrs. Matsumoto waved aside any question of payment. “Good heavens, you have no pictures of your family. I couldn’t charge you for these. Besides, most of these photos are more of the nature of snapshots, not professional work that I would ever exhibit or sell.”
I didn’t know enough about photography to be able to articulate what it was that made her photos look different from standard family snapshots, but something about the composition and lighting made it clear that they had been taken by a professional, despite the casual subject matter.
Mrs. Matsumoto offered us tea, and we adjourned to the living room. She refused our offer of assistance, and as she worked on preparing the tea, we wandered around her living room, looking at the photos on the walls. Reo, Momo’s “kitten”, woke from his slumber in a sunbeam and weaved around our ankles as we walked around the room.
The photos on the walls were mostly black and white images, and most of them were of people. Not formal portraits, but more in the nature of candid images, from all over the world, by the looks of it. There were a couple of more formal looking portraits, including one by a small shrine, bordered in black, that I assumed was Mr. Matsumoto. He had been a handsome man, but even smiling in the picture, he looked tired. Or maybe I was just projecting, from what I knew of his death.
Mrs. Matsumoto brought out a tray with tea and cookies on it, and we sat down to drink. Reo immediately jumped into Hanako’s lap, and Hanako laughed. “Hello, h-handsome. You d-don’t look much like your mother.” She scratched his ears, and he rewarded her with a loud purr.
Mrs. Matsumoto smiled. “No, he’s definitely his father’s son. But he’s a good boy.” She poured the tea, and we spent a couple of minutes just drinking. Hanako and I told Mrs. Matsumoto about what we were doing in University, our studies and plans. Hanako in journalism, myself and Lilly in education.
After we finished our first cup of tea, Mrs. Matsumoto began to talk about her memories of her neighbors, the Ikezawas. Hanako sat petting Reo and she drank in every word, nodding from time to time as if something that Mrs. Matsumoto said sparked a memory in her. Listening to Mrs. Matsumoto, the impression I got of young Hanako was of a sweet, slightly spoiled, energetic little girl, who was always curious and asking questions.
After we’d finished two cups of tea, Mrs. Matsumoto glanced at her watch, and said, “I’m afraid I don’t have time today to scan and print all the negatives we found, but we can do at least one. I’ll scan the rest later this week and send you the files.”
“We d-don’t w-want to be a b-bother,” Hanako said. “We can wait and g-get them all at once.”
Mrs. Matsumoto smiled. “I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t actually have the time.” We went back to her studio office. She picked up the handful of contact sheets she’d found and held them out to Hanako. “Do you have one in particular you think you’d like to have right away?”
Hanako looked through the pages, peering closely at the tiny images, then said, “Th-this one, please.”
Mrs. Matsumoto looked at the frame Hanako was pointing at, and nodded. “Yes, that’s a nice one of the three of you.” She went to the box the contact sheet had come from, and pulled out a page of negatives. She pulled a pair of white cotton gloves out of a drawer by her computer, and put them on before pulling the proper strip of negatives out of its protective sleeve.
She mounted the negative in her scanner with the ease of long practice, and opened a scanning program. I had no idea what all the multitudinous on-screen controls did, but Mrs. Matsumoto made short work of scanning the negative, giving us a preview of the image to come.
Hanako and I stood by the printer, and watched as the photo slowly emerged. When the page finally dropped into the paper tray, Hanako carefully picked it up and looked at it more closely, smiling gently. I put an arm around her as I looked at it too.
The picture showed Hanako and her parents sitting on a couch, Hanako on her mother’s lap. It looked like Hanako and her mother were talking to each other, and her father was watching them, a loving smile on his face. I glanced at Hanako, to see her reaction to the photo. She looked happy. Which made me happy.
I heard a soft click, and looked up to see Mrs. Matsumoto with her camera pointed at us. “I hope you don’t mind, but you looked so beautiful, smiling at that photograph.”
Hanako put a hand up to cover her facial scars, an old gesture that she had mostly stopped doing. We had been standing with our right sides towards Mrs. Matsumoto, and Hanako’s scars had surely been visible. “I d-don’t usually l-like having my p-picture taken,” she said, sounding apologetic.
“Because of your scars?” Mrs. Matsumoto asked bluntly. Hanako grimaced and nodded. “But you’re a beautiful young woman. Those scars can’t change that.”
“That’s what I keep telling her.”
Hanako frowned. “You’re d-different. You l-love me.”
Mrs. Matsumoto held up a hand. “I’ll tell you what. Let me load this picture up on the computer, and we’ll look at it together. If you don’t like it, I’ll delete it. But I’m hoping you won’t ask me to do that.”
“I suspect I’ll want a copy of it,” I said. I didn’t have many photos of Hanako, a fact that I sometimes regretted.
Hanako grimaced again, then nodded reluctantly. “Okay.”
“Don’t make any snap decisions just yet,” Mrs. Matsumoto said as the image first appeared on the screen. “Let me tweak this a bit, first.” Hanako frowned and made a quiet pained sound at seeing herself on screen, but she refrained from comment.
Watching Mrs. Matsumoto process the image was a bit like watching Rin paint. The image as uploaded from the camera was in color, but most of Mrs. Matsumoto’s work that I’d seen had been in black and white. She pulled up some dialog boxes that changed the colors of our image to ridiculously garish colors, then she did something else that converted it to black and white. The garish colors vanished, and a startlingly vivid portrait remained. Something about the way she’d adjusted it minimized Hanako’s scars. They weren’t gone, but they weren’t as prominent or obvious as they had been in color. Without their reddish color to give them contrast to undamaged skin, they just looked like slightly darker textured skin.
Hanako’s smile was warm and loving as she stared at the photo in her hand, and I was surprised to see that I was looking at her in much the same way. Mrs. Matsumoto rotated the image a couple of degrees, straightening it out, then cropped the picture in closer to us, getting rid of a lot of the distracting background. She did a few more mysterious things which slowly turned the image from a quick snapshot to a professional portrait.
Mrs. Matsumoto clicked one final button, and the editing program toolbars vanished, leaving just the picture of the two of us taking up the whole center monitor. “There. It’s not exactly finished, but I don’t have time to do a full edit just now.” She smiled at the image. “A portrait of young love.”
“That’s amazing,” I said. “I don’t think either of us has ever looked so good.” I glanced at Hanako. “Do you like it, too?”
She was biting her lip as she stared at the screen. “I…” She blushed. “I l-like the way you look. Are looking. At m-me.”
“And I love the way you look.”
Hanako gave a minuscule nod and continued to just stare at the monitor. “D-do I r-really look…like that?”
I put an arm around her shoulders and squeezed her for a moment. “If anything, you’re more beautiful. But it’s the best photo of you I’ve ever seen.”
That earned me an eye roll and a small smile. “Flatterer.”
“No. He’s not,” said Mrs. Matsumoto firmly. She smiled at us. “Hana. I knew you as a young child, and you were beautiful then, and you are beautiful now. Your life has marked and changed you, but that beauty remains. I’m sure your parents, wherever they are, are proud of the young woman you’ve become.”
Hanako closed her eyes took a deep breath. She opened them and smiled shyly at Mrs. Matsumoto. “Thank you.”
I wasn’t sure what Hanako was thanking her for—the photo, or her comments, or both, but Mrs. Matsumoto just nodded back and said, “You’re welcome.” She gestured toward the monitor. “So, does it meet with your approval? May I keep it?”
Hanako glanced at the photograph again, then nodded. “Yes. But p-please…could I—we—have a c-copy, too?”
“I was planning on it. I want to edit it more, when I have the time, but I’ll send you a copy of it with the scans of the other images in a week or so.”
Thus reminded of her earlier comment about needing to be somewhere else soon, Hanako and I made our farewells. I wrote out all of our contact information for her, and we thanked her profusely for all she’d done for us before we left.
As we walked away from Mrs. Matsumoto’s apartment building toward the bus stop, I said, “I never imagined our trip here would be so fruitful.”
Hanako nodded in agreement. She looked tired—the day had undoubtedly been emotionally draining, in many ways—but she also looked relaxed and happy. She hugged the envelope containing the four photos we had been given, and smiled.
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Less than a week later, Mrs. Matsumoto proved good to her word, and we received a large package in the mail from her. In addition to the dozen images we’d seen in miniature before, Mrs. Matsumoto had found another half dozen images of Hanako’s parents. She’d sent a CD with digital files, and prints of them all. Most were 6P-sized, about the size of a piece of notebook paper, but one was larger: the picture of the two of us. I couldn’t tell what additional edits Mrs. Matsumoto had applied to the image, but it was a stunning image of Hanako. And, I had to concede, it made me look pretty good, too.
Hanako kept flipping through the photos, stopping now and then to examine some detail, until finally she stopped and spread them out all over our living room table so she could see them all at once.
“It’s…an emb-barrassment of riches,” she said, sounding a bit overwhelmed. “I f-feel like I’m…meeting my parents all over again.”
“And I’m grateful for this picture into your past,” I said. Most of the photos had young Hanako in them somewhere, too.
“B-back when I was st-still pretty.”
I cleared my throat sharply and glowered reprovingly at that self-deprecation. “You were cute back then. You’re beautiful now.”
Hanako sighed, and leaned against me. I wrapped an arm around her and we stood beside the table, looking down at her past spread out before us. “I know y-you love me as I am,” she said quietly. “B-but I can’t help but w-wonder sometimes, what if…”
I kissed her cheek, and tried to find a way to express what I felt to her. “If there’d never been a fire, you’d never have come to Yamaku, I never would have met you. If that meant you’d still have your parents, well…that would be a worthwhile trade-off, because I want you to be happy. But…” I trailed off, uncertain of how to express how glad I was to have met her without making it sound like I was glad her parents had died.
She smiled at me. “I kn-know what you m-mean. I’m so grateful to have you in my life. I c-can’t honestly say for certain that I wouldn’t trade you and Lilly for my p-parents, but…since that isn’t really an option, I’m g-glad I found you and her.”
“Yes. My heart attack sucked, but you and she are the best things to come out of it.”
Hanako nodded. “No more what-ifs. Th-things are what they are, and I’m so l-lucky to have you both in my life.”
“I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
I stared at the scattered array of photos. “We need to buy some picture frames, so we can hang these up.”
“That’s a l-lot of frames.”
“Maybe we can find something at the hundred yen shop? They wouldn’t be pretty, but they’d at least protect the photos until we could afford something better.”
“Th-that could work. We also n-need to send Mrs. Matsumoto a th-thank you gift.”
I felt momentarily overwhelmed, imagining what almost two dozen large prints from a professional photographer would have cost. Traditionally, one would have sent a thank-you present of approximately a third of the value of her gift, but I wasn’t sure we could afford that.
Hanako looked at my dismayed expression, and said, “She knows w-we’re college students. It d-doesn’t have to be extravagant. Just nice.”
I reluctantly nodded. “I hope so. Maybe we can ask Lilly for a suggestion. She always has impeccable taste.”
“Yes. I can’t wait t-to see her again.”
“Me neither.”
My mother packed us a couple of bentos to take with us on the train, even though the trip was barely two hours long. At least it would save us from having to buy lunch, which was nice. We hugged both of my parents good bye early in the morning before they headed off to work, and a while later we headed to the train station.
Once we arrived at Hanako’s home town, we checked into the small hotel I’d found listed on-line. Affordable, clean, but a bit run-down and shabby. Perfect for college students on a budget. We left our bags and set out for the cemetery, getting directions on which bus to take from the desk clerk. There was an Aura Mart by the bus stop, and Hanako went in and bought a large assortment of flowers, as well a small scrub brush and some paper towels with which to clean the tombstones.
Once we got to the cemetery where Hanako’s parents were buried, it took us a while to find their markers. “It’s been over f-five years since I was here last,” she said defensively. “I…think they w-were near a stand of bamboo.” The only problem being, there were many such stands in the cemetery.
We wandered for a while, systematically working our way up and down the long lines of stones. I passed a marker for someone named Hisashi Nakai, and shuddered. That was too close to home. At least he had lived to a ripe old age of seventy-seven. Maybe I could take that as a good omen. I doubted we were at all related, but I paused and gave him a brief bow, just in case. As I continued searching, I tried not to think about how soon I might be residing in a place like this. Then another marker caught my eye.
“Hanako?” I called. “I think I’ve found—oh. Never mind.” I’d found a pair of markers with the name Ikezawa, but the dates were wrong, much too old to be Hanako’s parents. But Hanako came over to me, drawn by my call, and she stopped and drew in a sharp breath. I turned to her, and she was standing at the plot next to me. Another pair markers engraved Ikezawa, these the right ones.
Hanako stared at her parents’ graves for a long moment, then tore her attention away and looked at me and where I was standing. “Oh. Yes. M-my grandparents. I b-barely remember them, th-they died when I was very young.”
“Ah. Well, now it’s a good thing we bought so many flowers. We can spruce up their graves, too.”
Hanako nodded. “Yes. Th-that would be good.”
Apparently Hanako’s parents had pre-purchased their plots and stones, because they were fairly nice ones. I was surprised to see how tidy they looked. The cemetery grounds keepers did a nice job of keeping everything generally neat, but it seemed to me that someone had paid some personal attention to the grave sometime in the last few months. It was much neater than the grandparents’ grave, and did not have five years worth of moss or dirt on it.
After we had tidied both pairs of graves and placed fresh flowers on them, Hanako and I knelt in front of her parents’ stones. I bent forward at the waist and bowed deeply. “Mr. and Mrs. Ikezawa. We’ve never met, but I shall be grateful to you every day of my life for giving Hanako her life. Not only once, as most parents do, but twice. I want you to know that your great sacrifice has been rewarded, for she has grown up to be a wonderful, strong woman, with a kind and generous heart. I promise I shall always do my best to care for her, just as she cares for me.” I paused for a moment, trying to think of what else to say, then simply added, “Thank you.”
As I sat back up, I looked over to see Hanako looking at me with a gentle smile on her face and brightly shining eyes. “Thank you,” she said quietly. Then she wiped at her eyes, and also bowed.
“Mama. Papa. I love you and miss you. But I want you to know that I’m finally happy, now. And although I’ll always wish you were with me, I am grateful to you for your sacrifice, for giving me my life. Twice. For giving me a chance to meet Hisao, and Lilly. For giving me a chance to live. And love. Thank you.”
As she sat back up, my cheeks were wet, too. I put my arm across her shoulders, she slipped an arm around my waist, and we knelt there for a while, just being there.
________________________
Eventually, I stood up, my knees protesting a little at kneeling for so long, and I gave Hanako a hand in getting up too. I put an arm across her shoulders as we continued to regard the grave.
“Did you know the Ikezawas?” came a voice behind us.
Hanako flinched slightly, and we turned around to see a slim older woman, her short black hair shot with silver, regarding us with a friendly, curious smile. Her smile disappeared and her eyes went wide when she saw Hanako, and I felt Hanako tense under my arm in anticipation of the stares and pity her scars sometimes engendered. But the woman’s next word put that worry to rest immediately.
“Hana?”
Hanako froze entirely for a long moment, staring at the woman, then she stammered out incredulously, “M-mrs. M-matsumoto?”
“Oh, Hana, it is you! I’d recognize that beautiful face anywhere.” Mrs. Matsumoto beamed at her. “Good heavens, how you’ve grown.”
Hanako swayed slightly under my arm, and I gave her a worried look. “Do you need to sit down, Hanako?”
“Yes, I th-think I’d b-better,” said Hanako faintly, and she plopped down on the ground, looking stunned. She stared up at Mrs. Matsumoto.
Mrs. Matsumoto frowned, looking worried. “Are you all right, dear?” She crouched down beside Hanako, and rested a concerned hand on Hanako’s knee. I joined her, kneeling beside the two of them.
Hanako nodded mutely, just staring at Mrs. Matsumoto. Since it didn’t seem I could count on Hanako to make introductions just now, I bent forward in a brief bow and said, “I am Hisao Nakai, Hanako’s boyfriend.”
Mrs. Matsumoto took her attention from Hanako, and nodded to me. “I’m Mrs. Matsumoto. I lived next door to the Ikezawas for years. Until that dreadful fire.” She turned her attention back to Hanako. “I never could find out what happened to you, after. Because I wasn’t family, they wouldn’t tell me where you were sent.”
“Oh. I…I spent most of n-n-nine months in the h-hospital. Before b-being sent to an, an orphanage.”
“An orphanage? You had no other family to take you in?”
Hanako just shook her head mutely, then closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She sat up straighter, and gave Mrs. Matsumoto a hesitant smile. “Y-you used to b-babysit me. I remember p-playing with y-your cat…Momo?”
“Why, yes, dear old Momo. She died long ago, but I still have one of her kittens—now an old cat himself—named Reo.”
This exchange of commonplace memories seemed to steady Hanako, and she stood up. “I’m s-sorry for my behavior.” She bowed to Mrs. Matsumoto. “I was j-just surprised t-to see someone…I knew. From before.”
Mrs. Matsumoto smiled as she rose to her feet too. “That’s quite all right dear.”
“Do we have you to thank for the care of the Ikezawas’ graves?” I guessed.
Mrs. Matsumoto nodded. “I come here regularly to visit my husband’s grave. It seemed a shame that no one was taking care of their grave, so I clean it up a little when I have the time.”
“Th-thank you. Very much,” said Hanako, bowing again, deeper this time. “I ap-preciate your care and c-concern.” She glanced guiltily at her parents’ graves and explained, “I’ve been at s-school, too far away t-to visit regularly.” Then she frowned. “When did Mr. Matsumoto p-pass away?”
“Almost five years ago. Of karōshi.” Her smile faded. “He worked so hard to provide for me and the boys, and he never got to enjoy the fruits of his labors.”
The notion of working oneself to death, usually by heart attack, sobered me. There was more than one way my heart might betray me, if I wasn’t careful. Apparently Hanako had similar thoughts, because she took my hand in hers and squeezed it.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” I said, and Hanako murmured the same.
Mrs. Matsumoto shook off her brief gloom. “Thank you, dears, but it was a while ago, and I’m used to it by now. At least he had enough foresight to invest wisely, so that I might continue my work as an artist.” She smiled. “It is rewarding work, but more so emotionally than fiscally.”
“What kind of art do you do?” I asked, thinking of Rin.
She put her hand behind her and pulled a fancy camera on a shoulder strap around to the front of her body. I had assumed the strap over her shoulder was for a purse. “I’m a photographer.”
“Th-that’s right. I re-remember you let me watch you d-develop photos in your d-darkroom a few times.” Hanako smiled. “It seemed like m-magic, the way the pictures b-blossomed on the page.”
“Hah. Blossomed on the page. I like that,” said Mrs. Matsumoto. “Alas, these days, I’ve given in to the march of progress, and I work digitally. A different kind of magic. Though I do miss the darkroom, now and again. Seeing peoples’ faces peering up at me as they ‘blossomed.’ ”
Hanako’s hand suddenly clenched my hand tighter. I glanced at her, and she had gone pale. “Mrs. Matsumoto. D-do you think…might you have…any old pictures of…my p-parents?”
“Oh, yes, I'm certain I do somewhere. And of you. From neighborhood parties, or festivals.” She noticed Hanako’s stunned stare, and asked “Would you like to see them, dear?”
________________________
Perhaps fortunately, Mrs. Matsumoto had moved to an apartment shortly after Mr. Matsumoto’s death. I’m not sure how Hanako would have reacted to visiting her childhood neighborhood, even though her family home had, of course, been replaced by a newer structure. But the prospect of finally having some decent photos of her parents was probably shock enough for one day.
“This may take a few minutes. When I moved into a smaller place, I had to compact a lot of storage. My formerly tidy archive files are now packed into stacks of boxes.” She led us to what would probably have been a second bedroom for most people, revealing a room lined with shelves on two walls, stacked high with boxes. The third wall held a large window and filing cabinets, and the fourth wall was taken up by a large desk with a computer system and three huge monitors.
The boxes were all neatly labeled and dated, and I noticed that they were all marked “Archival and Acid-Free.” If these orderly ranks of boxes were her archives in disarray, I could only imagine what they had been like in her previous residence.
“I may miss the darkroom at times, but I must admit that storage, search, and retrieval are much easier in the digital age. Provided that I label and tag everything properly. Now, let’s see, your family moved here just after you were born, so we should start looking around twenty years ago.” She scanned the labels on the boxes, then nodded.
“Young man, would you be so kind as to bring down that box up there?”
I reached overhead and pulled down the indicated box. I was surprised at how heavy it was. I set it on the desk where she indicated, and she folded back the top lid. Hanako just stood silently by, staring intently at Mrs. Matsumoto.
The box was filled with a mixture of photos and plastic sheets, which I realized were filled with rows of negatives. Tabbed cardboard dividers organized everything. Mrs. Matsumoto pulled out a stack of black and white photos from the front of the box, each page covered with many tiny pictures.
Noticing my puzzled look, Mrs. Matsumoto explained, “These are contact sheets, a single roll of film printed on a single page. A way to index what’s in the box.” She flipped through the pages rapidly, too quickly for me to get more than a general impression of what she was looking at. Most of the photos seemed to be of people. “No, not this box.” She returned the contact sheets to the box and closed it. “If you would replace this and take the next box below it down?”
It took five boxes before Mrs. Matsumoto paused in her quick flipping through the contact sheets to examine something closer. The images were so small, I was amazed she could make out any details at all, but I supposed it was partly a matter of experience. “Ah. Yes. That’s right,” she murmured. She replaced the contact sheets and began to flip through the rest of the box, referring to the index tabs with dates and notations written on them. She at last pulled out a single photo, glanced at it and nodded. “Here you go, dear. This was shortly after you all moved in next door.”
She handed the photo to Hanako, and I moved beside her. I watched her face instead of looking at the photo, alert for any sign of impending breakdown. She stared hard at the photo for several seconds, and then she slowly smiled as her eyes filled with tears. “Papa. Mama,” she whispered.
I shifted so I could look over her shoulder. I had always assumed that Hanako’s mother would look like an older Hanako, and her father like a typical salaryman. But as it turned out, Hanako favored her father. He was a tall slim man, with long hair tied in a tight braid. The braid was clenched tight in the chubby hand of baby Hanako. Her mother was a full head shorter than Mr. Ikezawa, and round of features. They both looked a touch tired, as the parents of a baby might, but also happy.
Hanako wiped the tears from her eyes with the back of her wrist. “I d-don’t remember Papa having l-long hair.”
“He cut it off shortly after this photo was taken. Part of trying to look more ‘respectable,’ I think.” Mrs. Matsumoto sighed. “The sacrifices we make for our careers. It was lovely hair.”
Hanako looked up at Mrs. Matsumoto. “Could I m-make a copy of this?”
“You can have it, dear. I still have the negative, after all.”
Hanako stared at Mrs. Matsumoto like she’d just given her a million yen. “Th-thank you,” she whispered, her voice thick with unshed tears, and she bowed deep.
Mrs. Matsumoto looked puzzled at this reaction. “You’re welcome, Hana.”
As Hanako straightened up, it looked like she wasn’t going to be capable of speech for a few moments, so I explained, “All of her family photos were destroyed in the fire. The only pictures she has of them are a couple of blurry newspaper photos from their obituaries.” Looking at the photo in Hanako’s hand, I would never have recognized her parents from those grainy old newspaper photos.
Mrs. Matsumoto looked shocked. “Oh, my poor dear.” She glanced around the room. “If there’s one thing I have in abundance, it’s photographs. Let us see if we can’t find you some more.”
________________________
After a half hour of searching, Mrs. Matsumoto had found another two photos, and an additional dozen or so images on contact sheets that she hadn’t printed. Hanako and I peered at the tiny pictures, but the faces were so small on some of them that I wondered how Mrs. Matsumoto could be certain who they were.
The first photo was taken at some sort of festival, and Hanako’s parents were sitting on a blanket in front of a tree. Her father had short hair. Six year old Hanako was little more than a motion blur in front of her parents, as they laughed at her racing past them.
“You never walked when you could run. Unless you were stopped to ask an adult innumerable questions, you were running.” I had a hard time imagining such a thing, but Hanako looked wistful as if she were remembering running like that. Running like Emi, the fastest thing on no legs.
The second photo wasn’t of Hanako’s parents, but of Hanako at around age seven, cuddling with Momo. It was odd to see her without scars, looking joyous and carefree. Innocent. Momo looked like she was tolerating being adored, just barely.
“You were adorable,” I said. Hanako shook her head, but she was smiling.
“I’m just s-sorry that Lilly won’t be able to s-see these pictures,” Hanako said. I nodded in agreement.
“Who’s Lilly, and why won’t she?” asked Mrs. Matsumoto.
“She’s our b-best friend, and roommate. But she c-can’t see the photographs b-because she’s blind.”
“Oh.” Mrs. Matsumoto shuddered. “I must confess, of all the possible injuries or disabilities in the world, blindness scares me the most.”
“Well, you’re a visual artist. That only makes sense,” I said.
“Lilly has been b-blind since birth, so…I can’t say she doesn’t miss sight, exactly, b-but…she’s used to it.”
“How did you meet?”
“We m-met at Yamaku, a high school for students with v-various physical disabilities. We were all s-students there, and met there.”
“Yes, I’ve heard of it.” She shot me a curious look. “You were a student there also?” Unspoken was the obvious question.
I tapped my chest. “I have a defective heart, an arrhythmia.”
“Ah. I’m sorry for prying, that was impolite.”
I shrugged. “It’s only natural curiosity. I’m not offended.”
Mrs. Matsumoto turned to the stack of contact sheets she had accumulated as we looked for photos. “For these images on the contact sheets, I just need to scan the negatives, then I can print them out for you. They won’t be archival quality prints, but they’ll be good enough for memories.”
“Would it be possible to have—could we buy”—I was keenly aware that she was a professional photographer—“the digital files after you scan them? Then we could get them printed more permanently.”
Mrs. Matsumoto waved aside any question of payment. “Good heavens, you have no pictures of your family. I couldn’t charge you for these. Besides, most of these photos are more of the nature of snapshots, not professional work that I would ever exhibit or sell.”
I didn’t know enough about photography to be able to articulate what it was that made her photos look different from standard family snapshots, but something about the composition and lighting made it clear that they had been taken by a professional, despite the casual subject matter.
Mrs. Matsumoto offered us tea, and we adjourned to the living room. She refused our offer of assistance, and as she worked on preparing the tea, we wandered around her living room, looking at the photos on the walls. Reo, Momo’s “kitten”, woke from his slumber in a sunbeam and weaved around our ankles as we walked around the room.
The photos on the walls were mostly black and white images, and most of them were of people. Not formal portraits, but more in the nature of candid images, from all over the world, by the looks of it. There were a couple of more formal looking portraits, including one by a small shrine, bordered in black, that I assumed was Mr. Matsumoto. He had been a handsome man, but even smiling in the picture, he looked tired. Or maybe I was just projecting, from what I knew of his death.
Mrs. Matsumoto brought out a tray with tea and cookies on it, and we sat down to drink. Reo immediately jumped into Hanako’s lap, and Hanako laughed. “Hello, h-handsome. You d-don’t look much like your mother.” She scratched his ears, and he rewarded her with a loud purr.
Mrs. Matsumoto smiled. “No, he’s definitely his father’s son. But he’s a good boy.” She poured the tea, and we spent a couple of minutes just drinking. Hanako and I told Mrs. Matsumoto about what we were doing in University, our studies and plans. Hanako in journalism, myself and Lilly in education.
After we finished our first cup of tea, Mrs. Matsumoto began to talk about her memories of her neighbors, the Ikezawas. Hanako sat petting Reo and she drank in every word, nodding from time to time as if something that Mrs. Matsumoto said sparked a memory in her. Listening to Mrs. Matsumoto, the impression I got of young Hanako was of a sweet, slightly spoiled, energetic little girl, who was always curious and asking questions.
After we’d finished two cups of tea, Mrs. Matsumoto glanced at her watch, and said, “I’m afraid I don’t have time today to scan and print all the negatives we found, but we can do at least one. I’ll scan the rest later this week and send you the files.”
“We d-don’t w-want to be a b-bother,” Hanako said. “We can wait and g-get them all at once.”
Mrs. Matsumoto smiled. “I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t actually have the time.” We went back to her studio office. She picked up the handful of contact sheets she’d found and held them out to Hanako. “Do you have one in particular you think you’d like to have right away?”
Hanako looked through the pages, peering closely at the tiny images, then said, “Th-this one, please.”
Mrs. Matsumoto looked at the frame Hanako was pointing at, and nodded. “Yes, that’s a nice one of the three of you.” She went to the box the contact sheet had come from, and pulled out a page of negatives. She pulled a pair of white cotton gloves out of a drawer by her computer, and put them on before pulling the proper strip of negatives out of its protective sleeve.
She mounted the negative in her scanner with the ease of long practice, and opened a scanning program. I had no idea what all the multitudinous on-screen controls did, but Mrs. Matsumoto made short work of scanning the negative, giving us a preview of the image to come.
Hanako and I stood by the printer, and watched as the photo slowly emerged. When the page finally dropped into the paper tray, Hanako carefully picked it up and looked at it more closely, smiling gently. I put an arm around her as I looked at it too.
The picture showed Hanako and her parents sitting on a couch, Hanako on her mother’s lap. It looked like Hanako and her mother were talking to each other, and her father was watching them, a loving smile on his face. I glanced at Hanako, to see her reaction to the photo. She looked happy. Which made me happy.
I heard a soft click, and looked up to see Mrs. Matsumoto with her camera pointed at us. “I hope you don’t mind, but you looked so beautiful, smiling at that photograph.”
Hanako put a hand up to cover her facial scars, an old gesture that she had mostly stopped doing. We had been standing with our right sides towards Mrs. Matsumoto, and Hanako’s scars had surely been visible. “I d-don’t usually l-like having my p-picture taken,” she said, sounding apologetic.
“Because of your scars?” Mrs. Matsumoto asked bluntly. Hanako grimaced and nodded. “But you’re a beautiful young woman. Those scars can’t change that.”
“That’s what I keep telling her.”
Hanako frowned. “You’re d-different. You l-love me.”
Mrs. Matsumoto held up a hand. “I’ll tell you what. Let me load this picture up on the computer, and we’ll look at it together. If you don’t like it, I’ll delete it. But I’m hoping you won’t ask me to do that.”
“I suspect I’ll want a copy of it,” I said. I didn’t have many photos of Hanako, a fact that I sometimes regretted.
Hanako grimaced again, then nodded reluctantly. “Okay.”
“Don’t make any snap decisions just yet,” Mrs. Matsumoto said as the image first appeared on the screen. “Let me tweak this a bit, first.” Hanako frowned and made a quiet pained sound at seeing herself on screen, but she refrained from comment.
Watching Mrs. Matsumoto process the image was a bit like watching Rin paint. The image as uploaded from the camera was in color, but most of Mrs. Matsumoto’s work that I’d seen had been in black and white. She pulled up some dialog boxes that changed the colors of our image to ridiculously garish colors, then she did something else that converted it to black and white. The garish colors vanished, and a startlingly vivid portrait remained. Something about the way she’d adjusted it minimized Hanako’s scars. They weren’t gone, but they weren’t as prominent or obvious as they had been in color. Without their reddish color to give them contrast to undamaged skin, they just looked like slightly darker textured skin.
Hanako’s smile was warm and loving as she stared at the photo in her hand, and I was surprised to see that I was looking at her in much the same way. Mrs. Matsumoto rotated the image a couple of degrees, straightening it out, then cropped the picture in closer to us, getting rid of a lot of the distracting background. She did a few more mysterious things which slowly turned the image from a quick snapshot to a professional portrait.
Mrs. Matsumoto clicked one final button, and the editing program toolbars vanished, leaving just the picture of the two of us taking up the whole center monitor. “There. It’s not exactly finished, but I don’t have time to do a full edit just now.” She smiled at the image. “A portrait of young love.”
“That’s amazing,” I said. “I don’t think either of us has ever looked so good.” I glanced at Hanako. “Do you like it, too?”
She was biting her lip as she stared at the screen. “I…” She blushed. “I l-like the way you look. Are looking. At m-me.”
“And I love the way you look.”
Hanako gave a minuscule nod and continued to just stare at the monitor. “D-do I r-really look…like that?”
I put an arm around her shoulders and squeezed her for a moment. “If anything, you’re more beautiful. But it’s the best photo of you I’ve ever seen.”
That earned me an eye roll and a small smile. “Flatterer.”
“No. He’s not,” said Mrs. Matsumoto firmly. She smiled at us. “Hana. I knew you as a young child, and you were beautiful then, and you are beautiful now. Your life has marked and changed you, but that beauty remains. I’m sure your parents, wherever they are, are proud of the young woman you’ve become.”
Hanako closed her eyes took a deep breath. She opened them and smiled shyly at Mrs. Matsumoto. “Thank you.”
I wasn’t sure what Hanako was thanking her for—the photo, or her comments, or both, but Mrs. Matsumoto just nodded back and said, “You’re welcome.” She gestured toward the monitor. “So, does it meet with your approval? May I keep it?”
Hanako glanced at the photograph again, then nodded. “Yes. But p-please…could I—we—have a c-copy, too?”
“I was planning on it. I want to edit it more, when I have the time, but I’ll send you a copy of it with the scans of the other images in a week or so.”
Thus reminded of her earlier comment about needing to be somewhere else soon, Hanako and I made our farewells. I wrote out all of our contact information for her, and we thanked her profusely for all she’d done for us before we left.
As we walked away from Mrs. Matsumoto’s apartment building toward the bus stop, I said, “I never imagined our trip here would be so fruitful.”
Hanako nodded in agreement. She looked tired—the day had undoubtedly been emotionally draining, in many ways—but she also looked relaxed and happy. She hugged the envelope containing the four photos we had been given, and smiled.
________________________
Less than a week later, Mrs. Matsumoto proved good to her word, and we received a large package in the mail from her. In addition to the dozen images we’d seen in miniature before, Mrs. Matsumoto had found another half dozen images of Hanako’s parents. She’d sent a CD with digital files, and prints of them all. Most were 6P-sized, about the size of a piece of notebook paper, but one was larger: the picture of the two of us. I couldn’t tell what additional edits Mrs. Matsumoto had applied to the image, but it was a stunning image of Hanako. And, I had to concede, it made me look pretty good, too.
Hanako kept flipping through the photos, stopping now and then to examine some detail, until finally she stopped and spread them out all over our living room table so she could see them all at once.
“It’s…an emb-barrassment of riches,” she said, sounding a bit overwhelmed. “I f-feel like I’m…meeting my parents all over again.”
“And I’m grateful for this picture into your past,” I said. Most of the photos had young Hanako in them somewhere, too.
“B-back when I was st-still pretty.”
I cleared my throat sharply and glowered reprovingly at that self-deprecation. “You were cute back then. You’re beautiful now.”
Hanako sighed, and leaned against me. I wrapped an arm around her and we stood beside the table, looking down at her past spread out before us. “I know y-you love me as I am,” she said quietly. “B-but I can’t help but w-wonder sometimes, what if…”
I kissed her cheek, and tried to find a way to express what I felt to her. “If there’d never been a fire, you’d never have come to Yamaku, I never would have met you. If that meant you’d still have your parents, well…that would be a worthwhile trade-off, because I want you to be happy. But…” I trailed off, uncertain of how to express how glad I was to have met her without making it sound like I was glad her parents had died.
She smiled at me. “I kn-know what you m-mean. I’m so grateful to have you in my life. I c-can’t honestly say for certain that I wouldn’t trade you and Lilly for my p-parents, but…since that isn’t really an option, I’m g-glad I found you and her.”
“Yes. My heart attack sucked, but you and she are the best things to come out of it.”
Hanako nodded. “No more what-ifs. Th-things are what they are, and I’m so l-lucky to have you both in my life.”
“I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
I stared at the scattered array of photos. “We need to buy some picture frames, so we can hang these up.”
“That’s a l-lot of frames.”
“Maybe we can find something at the hundred yen shop? They wouldn’t be pretty, but they’d at least protect the photos until we could afford something better.”
“Th-that could work. We also n-need to send Mrs. Matsumoto a th-thank you gift.”
I felt momentarily overwhelmed, imagining what almost two dozen large prints from a professional photographer would have cost. Traditionally, one would have sent a thank-you present of approximately a third of the value of her gift, but I wasn’t sure we could afford that.
Hanako looked at my dismayed expression, and said, “She knows w-we’re college students. It d-doesn’t have to be extravagant. Just nice.”
I reluctantly nodded. “I hope so. Maybe we can ask Lilly for a suggestion. She always has impeccable taste.”
“Yes. I can’t wait t-to see her again.”
“Me neither.”