Little insomnia as I sit here... waking up 2 hours early. Figured I'd post this while I was coherent for a while. Tactical emotional bombing ahead, fair warning. Weighty, though it isn't a particularly long chapter.
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Chapter 8 – Rhythmic Breathing
The morning air is brisk, and sweet with the smell of rain still caught in the air after an early shower. The ground is still wet, but the rain stopped some time ago. There's a light mist hanging over the school grounds, lifted by the slowly warming air. The chill is slowly lifting away as the mist rises, but I'm still shivering.
This is Hisao's fault.
Summer may have just started, but the spring air still makes most mornings feel bitingly cold. It wouldn't be such a problem if I weren't wearing just a bathing suit and a bathrobe, but I have an appointment to keep. I had slept reasonably well and woke up early to shower and get ready to come down here. In the back of my head, I wonder why I bothered to shower first, but that seems frivolous.
Morning routines are hard to change.
I look down at my watch as I plop down on the bench in the little breezeway outside the pool building and sigh inwardly, wrapping the robe around me a little tighter and leaning forward to hold in some body heat. It's eight minutes past seven - he's late. I close my eyes and try to relax. He's probably nervous about this as much as I am, but his tardiness is worrisome.
I make a mental note to bring my phone next time – to send him a wake-up call if nothing else. Yesterday's rainy escapade lead to some surreal conversations; the most relevant of which occurred when I somehow talked him -or he talked me- into swimming together five days a week. I hadn't planned it, but once the momentum got going, we were quickly settling on a schedule to meet every day, other than Thursday and Sunday, for a morning swim at seven.
He better show up.
As a sharp gust whistles by, I silently curse my own stupidity. I've never been particularly comfortable with my figure even if I usually only get compliments – it makes me uneasy. Still, the one-piece suit issued by the school is reasonably conservative. The maroon and white girls swimsuit wraps around the neck and covers the whole torso, ending in a cut like boy-shorts that doesn't reveal any hip. Still, my legs are exposed and I feel rather naked without nylons hiding them.
Not to mention freezing in the morning air.
I find myself absently fiddling with the bottom of the suit trying to adjust it constantly – but I think it's nerves more than the tight fit or the cold. Frustrated with myself for being so self-conscious I lean back and press my head against the wall. I lay my towel across my lap like a mock-blanket in an attempt to cover my legs.
He's probably laughing at me right now... I can sense it.
I can't help but feel like there's something strangely intimate about this whole idea. We'll be in a big empty building wearing swimwear, alone in the water together – relatively alone. I imagine Joyce will be hanging around to keep us in line, but there was a whole crowd of people at the festival who seemed to completely disappear when-
No. Don't go there. Bad Kurai. Dirty mind bad.
The memory of that event refuses to fade even though we agreed to start over. Amaya thought it was a strange idea, but she nodded in agreement when I explained we needed a reset; like in a video game. Delete the save file and start over at the beginning because you forgot what was going on, or got lost, or missed something important – or something like that. She shook her head at the metaphor, telling me I need to stop gaming so much, and I agreed.
I've been working on that, honest.
Now, though, Hisao and I are about to start meeting for a swim -good clean exercise- almost every day and the thought is a bit unsettling. I didn't even tell Amaya about my liking swimming until near the end of our first year. It's just something I like to keep to myself, I guess. It reminds me of my dad, the beach, my tenth birthday and-
And dad's disease.
That thought usually stays out of my head – or I keep it out. Right now, though, I'm too preoccupied to push it away. He and I used to swim almost every day after he got home from work, and he taught me everything I know about swimming. Breath control, muscle memory, different stroke patterns – even the basics like treading water. They're good memories up until shortly after my tenth birthday.
His condition caught up with him later that summer, and he started changing. He became temperamental and moody, stalking around the house, barking grievances at my mother, my little sister and myself - seemingly at random. Of course, that was just the beginning. Within a few years his motor control started to slip and he found himself in a wheelchair most of the time. His good days were when he could make it outside to watch me swimming -something he no longer had the ability to do- and smile for a little while.
We really didn't understand what was happening as well as my mother, but we heard them talking enough times to learn the name of the condition – Huntington's Disease. It was slowly rotting his brain; making him lash out indiscriminately, making him depressed and angry all the time, and slowly turning his body against him. Over the years, the illness wracked his body, he became a terrifying, twitching nightmare and I remember hating him when I was sent to Yamaku.
He sent me away to avoid my seeing the worst of it, I know now.
Amaya picked me out of that hole and slung me on her back -figuratively- like that backpack she always carries. Later, Tadao came to Yamaku and he became my secondary life-support system – he had experience with losing parents. They got my spirits back up when I got bad news about his condition, and even made me smile sometimes. I'm eternally grateful for their help, even if it was only an ear to listen, and a shoulder to cry on when I started pacing around, furiously yelling about how unfair everything had been.
No amount of consolation could have prepared me for the call I got almost two years ago. I guess I had been expecting it -dreading it- but actually talking to my mom on the phone about it nearly caused me to collapse. Finally, after five years of torture, his vital systems started failing and I was being called home from Yamaku to-
To watch him die.
My dad was dead. Stolen by a horrifying disease; he went from the kindest most loving man I've ever met into a twisted, melancholic whisper of his former self, and finally into a cold, lifeless corpse resting in a black box on a pedestal. I remember the look on his face in that box was the most peaceful I had seen him since my tenth birthday.
I was furious and beside myself with grief for months. I missed three weeks of school; locking myself in my room and sitting in a corner with my arms wrapped around a blanket. Some days I sobbed uncontrollably and my mother tried to offer comfort, but I pushed her away. My sister sat with me on other days and we would try to laugh and giggle about the good times before our father started to disintegrate. We usually ended up hugging and crying together on the floor.
He found peace in the end, they said. I forced a smile and inwardly cursed their words. Cousins and aunts and uncles tried to console me, but their words felt so empty compared to what had happened. To me, at the time, all that mattered was that he wasn't going to be around anymore – ever again. That's when I decided to focus and follow his footsteps – so to speak. Well, after three weeks of uncontrollable crying, anyway. I pushed on and dug into mathematics with fervor when I returned to Yamaku.
Am I just distracting myself?
Sitting here in the morning air thinking about the past, I start to sing a tune to try and clear my head. It's an old lullaby my mom used to sing and I barely recall the words, so I just hum the melody softly to myself. My voice bounces around the breezeway and I get lost listening to the acoustical barrage with my eyes closed and my head back.
Lost in my song, I don't notice the figure standing in the breezeway across from me until I'm nearly finished the song. Hisao's face looks contented as I turn to see him smiling at me pleasantly. I stop singing immediately, widening my eyes and standing up fast enough to send the towel off my lap and onto the ground a few feet away.
Now he's laughing, and I'm standing there, barefoot, with one hand on my mouth and the other holding my bathrobe closed, blushing fiercely and scowling. “Hisao!” I yell, the echo bouncing around and making it sound like a hundred voices barking his name.
He stops laughing and leans back with a half-smile and starts apologizing, “Sorry I'm late, I uh-” He stops. Whatever explanation he was going to offer for his tardiness seems less important to him than commenting, “you have a lovely voice.”
I'm angry that he found me singing, but I'm also happy to get the compliment and I find my whole body is blushing. I consider looking away, but that seems futile. Instead I take a sharp breath and kneel down to pick up my towel, mumbling, “thanks,” as I stand back up. The thought occurs to me that I should be thankful he found me singing instead of wearing the sullen expression I had while remembering-
Yeah, let's not tread water on that topic.
Looking him over, Hisao is wearing a white t-shirt and a pair of loose-fit, black track pants, carrying a folded blue towel in one hand.
Track pants... why the hell didn't I think of that?
I haven't seen him dressed so informally before, and it looks a little strange. I half expected him to show up in dress pants and a sweater vest, but that wouldn't make much sense. We're going for a swim, and sweater-vests usually get stretched out with too much water.
Don't they?
The crooked smile he's making as I brush my towel off lets me forget how odd the rest his expression looks; scanning his eyes up and down nonchalantly, like I wouldn't notice. My bathrobe hangs just above my knees and it's very form-fitting, though plush, so it highlights my curves almost as well as the yukata. He's never seen my bare legs, so I'm sure his eyes are lingering there.
Is he a leg man?
Damnable thoughts making me blush again, and I blow out a sigh, “I was starting to think you forgot.”
He holds up the hand with the folded blue towel in its grip. “I had to borrow a clean one from Kenji... that was an ordeal,” he says with a weak smile, “forgot to do laundry, I guess. I tried to call, but...” he trails off as he drops his arm back down with an apologetic look.
“I didn't bring my phone,” I admit. “I'll have to remember to, next time,” I say, offering a chipper smile, trying to imitate Emi.
That and track pants.
He grins weirdly at me and raises an eyebrow, commenting, “you do a pretty good impression of her.”
I roll my eyes, “well, I end up running into Emi early in the morning a lot. How'd she take the news?” I ask, immediately wincing at Hisao's frown.
He pauses for a moment, thinking, and then just sighs, “she was disappointed, I think. It's hard to tell with her, y'know? I think if I told her I killed a puppy she'd still come up with a way to make it sound like a good thing.”
I suppress a laugh. Emi probably wouldn't react that well, but I saw his point. “She's good at putting on a happy face,” I say.
Now we just stare at each other. It's not quite as awkward as previous encounters, but suddenly having nothing to say seems to suck the air out of the school yard. He fidgets and switches hands with the towel, and I see him reaching for his sternum, but he arrests his hand and tries to shove it into a pocket. His track pants have none, so puts the hand on his hip and opens his mouth with the intent of speaking.
I interrupt, “we should get started. We're already running late.” I grin and add, “rather, swimming late.” As I finish the explanation, he's already walking toward me, so I turn and start leading him through the locker room and into the immense pool room. I glance over my shoulder as we walk in to observe his reaction – he doesn't disappoint.
His child-like gaze immediately points upward toward the ceiling, then he starts glancing all around. I giggle and ask, “Hell of a room, isn't it?” He's still looking around dumbly and doesn't answer.
I decide this is as good a chance as any to remove the bathrobe; while he isn't looking. I toss it off my shoulders and roll it up, holding it in front of me as I watch him pivot around. I wonder if I looked that way the first time I saw this place; eyes beaming, mouth agape, and a giant, toothy smile on his lips. He looks so innocent in his wonderment.
Suddenly he stops, his gaze settling on me and I see him flush red instantaneously. I feel nervous and a little unsettled by his interest, but I'm actually comfortable as looks me over like a piece of meat. Not really knowing what to do with myself, I sling the bathrobe around behind my back and hold it there with both hands, knocking my knees together and trying to fight my own blush. After a few seconds, he realizes he's staring and looks away. Grabbing at his collar, he winces terribly; comically – it's adorable.
I let out a giggle to signal that I don't mind the attention; the weird thing is, for some reason, I really don't mind. After a brief silence, I give him an expectant look, grinning wickedly, and the sudden shocked look on his face tells me he knows what I'm expecting.
Your turn, Hisao.
He looks at me nervously and sighs, but doesn't move to disrobe. Instead he looks around the room with a grave look on his face and he goes from bright red to pallid in less time than it took to blush. As I notice this change, I abandon the wicked grin and offer a concerned furrow of my brow instead.
He motions over to one of the nearby benches with his free hand, and I follow him over to sit. I'm not certain, but I think I'm about to find out what his condition is – it's just an intuition, though. As much as I'm relieved by that thought, the look he's giving me makes me want to wrap a hug around him and tell him he doesn't have to say anything. He almost looks as bad as Tadao did when he explained about his parents, and I quietly hope that's not where this conversation is about to lead. I doubt it, but the thought is still disturbing.
He leans back, resting against the wall and narrows his eyes again, thinking. I let him think. It's probably hard enough for him to say without being prodded into answering. He fiddles with his towel as he sits there and slowly turns to me. His mouth starting to move slowly, he begins to explain, “you don't know why I'm at Yamaku, but if we're going to be swimming together, you probably should.” I nod, not wanting to break his rhythm by saying anything.
He continues, “four months before coming here...” he trails off, looking away. I want to pat his arm or lead him with an uttered preposition, but I can't move or talk. I figured it had been recent, and four months definitely falls in that category. Finally I offer another reassuring nod and that gives him the resolve to continue – at least that's what I think.
“I had a heart attack,” he says flatly.
Wow. That's um... wow.
I can't keep the confused look off my face as the realization hits me and I reel backwards. He looks so healthy, he played soccer and hung around with friends, he isn't overweight or anything –he's underweight if anything- so a heart attack seemed like the least likely thing. It would certainly explain rubbing his chest all the time, though. A few hundred questions hover through my mind, but I stop myself from asking any of them; he isn't finished explaining.
A few seconds pass while he lets the dust settle from that bomb before he continues, “I had surgery, and they saved my life, but they found I have an underlying heart condition that caused the attack...” he sighs and leans forward. “Arrhythmia,” he says. His voice is in monotone throughout the explanation, but he barely whispers that last word.
I've heard the word before in Biology class...
“It's a heart-rhythm disorder. My heart doesn't work the way it should all the time, and it can get worse if I'm too worked up, stressed out or...” he trails off again. “If I get knocked in the chest or fall over or punched or something like that, it can trigger another attack.”
That's horrifying.
I try to keep feeling of terror off my face, but, I'm so stunned by these revelations, I doubt I'm being successful. He looks at me and stands up, explaining, “I wanted to tell you that before I showed you this... didn't want you freaking out or anything.” I stand up with him, and watch as he pulls off the t-shirt. He tentatively pulls it over his head, keeping his arms in front of his chest as he does so; instead of just pulling it away. He awkwardly crosses his arms, blocking the view for a moment before letting them drop to his sides, revealing a garish scar running the length of his sternum.
I can feel myself staring, but I think that's the point of this revelation. He's allowing me the chance to stare as anyone might do normally; except without repercussions. I understand immediately why he wanted to tell me about the condition before showing me the scar as my immediate instinct is to recoil at the sight. Instead, I'm able to suppress that reaction, and even look at it curiously. It's clearly recent as it's still maroon in color and hasn't faded to a whitish hue. I take a step forward to get a closer look and say the first thing that comes to mind. “Does it hurt?” I ask.
That was a stupid question...
“After the surgery for a while, yeah. Not so much anymore,” he states.
As he stands there, shuffling back and forth, I can't take my eyes off the scar; as much as I try. For some reason I don't actually feel better knowing the state of his condition. The way he explained it, it sounds like he could keel over at any second, and I wonder something aloud before I can stop myself, “are you dying?”
Mental note: wire mouth shut.
For a second, I feel mortified at what I just asked, but the wry grin he puts on as he looks down to push off his track pants is strangely disarming. “Not today, I don't think. Why, are you already bored with me?” he asks playfully, kicking the pants up into his hands and grinning.
Realizing he's trying to brighten the mood after dropping some heavy news -and his pants- I take a step back, put my hands on my hips, and balk, “yes.” Thick with sarcasm, I turn away with a huff and crack a smile he can't see. "You're a bore, Mister Nakai," I chide.
“Hey, last one in buys lunch,” he says. A second later I feel something hit my back and look down to see his track pants on the floor. As I turn, I see him running for the pool and I let out an excited squeal. I start chasing him, but he was already dipping his toe in to check the water before I could find my feet. He faces me, folds his arms, grins wickedly, then unceremoniously falls backwards into the water making a giant splash.
A trickster, he be.
I dash forward and leap into a dive, landing behind him in the water with a gleeful smile on my face. I dive down while I'm at it and swipe my hand along the bottom before kicking off and surfacing a few feet from Hisao.
He's looking away from me, and the chlorine burning my eyes makes it hard to see, but he looks distressed. I quickly swim around front of him and notice that he's wearing a shocked expression with his eyes slammed shut, and his hands are down under the waves, clasping his chest.
OH GOD!
Unable to speak, I reach forward and grasp his shoulder, my face instantly going from gleeful to terrified. Here I just got him to tell me about his condition and he goes and gives himself a heart attack.
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
Not having any idea what to do, I figure the first thing ought to be getting him out of the pool so he doesn't drown. I quickly swim beside him and heft his arm up over my shoulder, but then I hear him laughing.
Why would he be laughing? He's having a-
“Gotcha!” he exclaims, then bursts into more laughter as he shrugs my shoulder off and starts backing away.
You son of a bitch!
I'm relieved, excited, shocked, terrified and furious all at once. I'm certainly not laughing. Stunned into silence, I stutter a few curses and end up glaring at him with my cheeks flushed as he slowly treads water and giggles.
I should slap him.
I don't slap him, but I do start tossing water at him. He responds by playfully splashing water back at me. We trade liquid rapid-fire for a few seconds before he holds up a hand in truce. “Sorry,” he says with a grin, “it was too easy,” he explains, stifling another guffaw. “I had to,” he states with a smirk.
“That wasn't funny,” I yell back at him, but I'm already laughing. Whatever horrible effect his condition has had, it hasn't taken away his sense of humor – or, maybe it only darkened it a bit.
Okay, probably darkened it a lot.
Our ruckus apparently attracted attention from Joyce, whom I see standing at the poolside with her arms folded. Her stern expression is somewhat strange given that she's actually smiling and frowning at the same time. “You two alright down there?” she asks.
“We're fine. We're both fine here now, thank you. How are you?” I ask sheepishly. Hisao nods and smiles at me, apparently catching my reference.
She ignores my question and turns her glance directly at Hisao. “Nakai, right? Joyce Chambers,” she says, pointing with her thumb. She squints and looks up to the side as she asks,”You started... two weeks ago, right?”
Hisao nods and replies, “yeah, about that.”
“Making friends, I see,” she says cheerily, dropping her hands down to rest on her hips.
“Y-yes. I guess I am,” he looks over at me, and I suddenly feel like I should say something.
“He'll be swimming with me most mornings for the foreseeable future,” I explain.
“Ah, good. Your condition warrants some healthy exercise,” she beams, nodding to Hisao. He grins weakly, probably feeling a bit exposed by her flippant reference. All Yamaku staff are informed about the conditions of all the students – it's in their job description so they can deal with arising problems accordingly. Some of them are more careful about it than others; though I assume Joyce figured I had to know having seen the scar.
She smiles and folds her arms in front of her again. “Just don't let me catch you two makin' passes at each other,” she levies her narrowed eyes at Hisao as she speaks.
I wonder if she thinks I even have those thoughts?
I glance nervously at Hisao and he's sharing the same look.
Are we that obvious?
After a few awkward moments watching her walk away, I look over at Hisao and grin. “We should probably get started,” I say, and he nods in agreement. “You know how to swim right?” I ask rhetorically, being thorough.
In jest, he starts sinking into the water, holding up his arms and making a terrified face. A second later he bounces back up and grins. “I have some experience with it, yeah,” he says confidently. "Hey what was with the diving down before?" he asks.
“I always do that before a swim. Kind of a ritual my dad taught me,” I explain and he nods, though he probably doesn't understand the significance; nor do I think it's information he needs. “Well then, try to keep up-” I say, but quickly stop and look at him sheepishly, “or go at your own pace, rather.” He grins back at me, and I realize I should ask, “you know to stop if it's too much, right?”
“I'll be fine, Emi had me doing four laps a day at the track for the past week and a half, and I was about to move up to six,” he explains, and starts paddling over to the wall.
I explain, "Swimming is different from running, so don't kill yourself over it if you start... arrhythme-ating...?" realizing I lack the vocabulary a little too late.
"Having a cardiac event might be more accurate," he offers.
"Right, that. Whatever," I say, "If something bad starts happening-"
He chuckles a little, cutting me off, then turns a serious gaze at me. “If I'm really having trouble, I'll look like I'm trying to pass a gall stone through my chest, but probably won't ask for help,” he says without a hint of mirth.
“Noted,” I reply, understanding he would want to have his pride.
Men... Masculine Erroneous Neanderthals. I should write that down.
“End to end, right?” he asks, looking at me over his shoulder. I swim over next to him and nod, grabbing the wall and getting ready to kick off. He leans over and asks, "Is she always here?" indicating Joyce.
"Yeah," I reply, shrugging. "She's an EMT and a trained lifeguard - and she's nice," I explain. "And stop stalling," I chide.
Grinning at me sheepishly, he sighs, and I let out a little giggle. With that, we both kick off the wall and I pace next to him. He's a little clumsy with his breathing, but I don't think he's spent nearly as much time swimming as myself. Noticing that makes me think he switched to this just to spend time with me, and I can't help but feel happy at that thought. I'll have to help him get better at it, but I don't think I'll mind.
Breathe, stroke. Breathe, stroke. Breathe, stroke.
Whatever consternation I had about swimming with Hisao seems to melt away as I follow his leisurely pace back and forth through the refreshing water. After five laps, I can see he's struggling a bit, but I let him have his pride. At the end of our sixth lap, I grab the wall and he happily follows my lead. He's breathing heavily, but holding his hand up to ward off my concern. Evidently he's much more out of shape than he looks, but I'm not really bothered. The effort he's making to work through his condition is admirable.
As we collect our stuff and dry off, he leans over and grins at me. “Now, tomorrow will be the test,” he states, rather cryptically.
“Test?” I ask, not understanding.
“The commitment test. Emi explained it to me,” he replies, but I'm still not understanding. I furrow my brow and roll my hand, asking him to explain. “When you start a new workout, she said, you're worst day is the second one. That's when you're most likely to quit,” he makes a slicing gesture across his neck as he finishes explaining.
I'm already nodding. “Yeah, makes sense," I say, turning a raised eyebrow at him, "you'll be here tomorrow though, right?”
“Count on it,” he says with a grin. He quickly drapes the towel over his neck and pulls his track pants back on. “On time, too, maybe,” he says with a hand raised. He hangs his hands on the towel and turns to start walking toward the exit.
I realize he forgot something and call after him, “Hisao!” I pick his t-shirt off the bench and toss it at him. “Forget something?” I ask as it flies through the air.
Catching it on his arm, he shyly fumbles with the shirt, looking down at his chest. Realization dawns on him and he quickly tosses the towel into his elbow and pulls the shirt on, grinning at me with gratitude. “Wouldn't want to make all the girls in the dorm fall over,” he says with a sly laugh.
Giggling, I walk by and he falls in step with me, grinning weirdly.
“I'm probably gonna be known as the Swooner by the whole school, aren't I?” he asks plainly.
“I don't think Amaya or Tadao have really mentioned it,” I say.
“You told Shizune and Misha, though,” he states.
“Well, true.” I look over at him and smile as we pass through the breezeway, “Misha always calls you 'Hicchan' though, and Shizune can't talk.”
He nods sagely and smiles to respond, “well, don't force them to or anything, but I'd rather that stay between us... I don't want people getting the wrong idea.”
Neither do I, really. It's bad enough fighting Shizune off...
As we step through the exit, a warm rush of air greets us and I smile at it contentedly. As we swam, the sun cut through the remaining cloud-cover and blasted away the mist. The ground is mostly dry and I don't feel a chill around my bare legs. In a few weeks, the mornings will be much warmer and I'll be happy for that.
A few feet out the door, Hisao stops and turns. I stop and look back at him, perplexed. “What's wrong?” I ask.
“I should go visit the Nurse. He wanted me to stop by after workouts to check things out,” he explains, offering an apologetic smile.
“That's fine,” I say, “I'll manage. You can't be the Swooner if you fall over and die, right?”
He shrugs and nods. “Remember you owe me lunch,” he says with a grin.
“I never agreed to that,” I argue.
He offers a weird frown that I might mistake for Emi's pout if not for it being so contorted. He looks like a basset hound having a bad day, and I grin stupidly. “Fine, whatever,” I say, wanting him to stop making that face, “no more faking heart attacks, though. You're liable to give me one doing that.”
He nods and turns to run off toward the medical section of the auxiliary building. As I watch him go I can't help but think about his condition again. Arrhythmia is such an alien-sounding word. It worries me that he's still hiding parts of the story, but at least I know what to type into Google the next time I make it to the library.
I don't think Hisao is quite as comfortable with it as he was acting; probably for my benefit. After watching him paw at his scar the past week and a half, I'd be surprised if I'm the not first person he's told about it other than the staff. He probably hadn't planned on telling me at all, but he had to take off his shirt to swim. Basically, he was forced into telling me, which makes it feel less significant.
He's self-conscious about the scar, that much is obvious, but there's something else about it – something he didn't tell me. The circumstances around the original attack and the time he spent in the hospital were omitted completely. Not that he really had any time to explain, but it's still strange he didn't mention what happened afterward – aside from his arrival here, which I already know.
Considering how he reacted to being asked about his friends last week, I wonder if it had something to do with them. Maybe they triggered his heart attack, or perhaps I'm just spit-balling wildly inaccurate ideas.
That seems most likely.
Noticing the time, I abandon the pointless self-inquisition and break into a run to get ready for classes. I think I'll suggest we move our time to six thirty so we have ample time in the future. Cutting it close like this probably isn't the best idea. I'll bring it up when I buy him lunch later.
One mystery solved, seven-hundred to go.
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These probably aren't spoilers if you just read this chapter... this is marked for people who read the end first.
Swimming with Hisao. I imagine many of you suspected Hisao would have to reveal his condition for this to work, so I had to treat it directly. His lateness and her thought process allowed me to reveal some things to the reader that I've only hinted at through tense early in the story - her father being past tense, while her mother is present tense.
I also wanted to make sure Hisao remained mysteriously aloof, so Aiko would still have unanswered questions about him. He abruptly ends their conversation once it gets past the superficial part, and he lightens the mood with some dark humor.
Really, I was afraid of the chapter feeling a little too dark, having it visit those two rather heavy subjects, so I tossed in Hisao faking a heart attack. I'm not entirely certain he would actually have done that, but it seemed appropriate to the situation. Did anyone pick up on Aiko's reference in the brief conversation with Joyce, by the way?
.