Pushing through the crowd, Yoshiko and Masa somehow got away. They arrived home drenched. Once they got changed, they were so tired they collapsed on the tatami by the tea table without a word. They were going to need a second.
The faces of the crying girl and the pale man haunted Yoshiko. She felt a tightness in her face as the smell of blood transfused her, a sensation that she hadn’t felt or thought about for quite some time—for ages.
She had always been conscious at some level of how thin the wall had been between her quiet life with Masa and a living hell. It was just outside the door. The exploding car, the flames, they may as well have been the flames of hell, lapping at her feet. Maybe they wouldn’t die of old age after all. She was never into fortune telling, but maybe they were born under the wrong star, that kind of thing. Yoshiko leaned into Masa, pressing her forehead to his back. He was asleep, taking even, steady breaths. Yoshiko smiled sadly and let herself drift off.
A few hours later, they opened their eyes at almost the exact same time.
“Shhh.”
Masa held a finger to his lips.
More rain.
The development consisted of five single-story buildings, four units in each. Their place was at the far end of Bldg. #3, by the hillside, where it didn’t get much sun. As a tradeoff, it was also far from the street. The nights were quiet. Peaceful. That was the main goal, peace. It was their sole ambition, how they got this far. And yet, from the moment they decided to escape, they ran the risk of never knowing peace again for the remainder of their lives.
They closed the storm shutters on the front windows and sat facing each other in the dark. Unsafe to turn the lights on.
“Sorry,” Masa said.
“What are you apologizing for?”
“For messing up. I didn’t have to go with you.”
“There’s no use fussing about that.”
“Yeah . . . it’s just a shame, after we found such a nice place to live . . .”
Under the sound of rain, they could hear smallish bursts of thunder.
“No one even died. Small town like this, it might not even make the news—”
A flash came through the window by the sink. No thundercrack. And then another flash, and then another, in the sky.
Bom bom bom.
There was someone at the door. They had no bell.
“Hello? Anybody in there? We’re here from the prefectural news station? Looking to speak with Mr. and Mrs. Masaoka?”
They heard the cars, the voices, flashing cameras. Scrambling, they shut the fusuma so that no light escaped the living room, then turned on the TV.
Breaking news on multiple channels.
“Next up,” a young announcer said, “we have some footage shot today by an eyewitness to the crash. A heroic rescue, in the nick of time, just moments before the explosion. And the heroes were none other than a couple from the area! Here’s a clip of them, risking their lives to save lives.”
The footage introduced by the announcer showed Masa running with the girl in his arms as Yoshiko dragged the man to safety. A clean shot of their faces.
“Hello? Anybody home? Masaoka-san? You in there? Can you spare a moment for the local news?”
There were new voices and new footsteps in the yard behind the house.
“What should we do?”
Yoshiko sighed. Wiped out.
Masa squeezed her hand. “What are you thinking?”
Yoshiko held her breath for a full second. Up until now, they would have ditched everything, moved to a place where no one knew them, and started over from scratch. That was, as it had been, their only choice. But could that go on—forever? Did they have to keep on running, living in a state of fear, for the remainder of their lives?
“Hey, Masa.”
Yoshiko squeezed his hand back.
“I’m getting tired of . . . running all the time.”
She tried to smile for him. It was probably too dark to see. Though not too dark for Yoshiko to see that Masa was about to cry.
At this point, it was raining almost every day. The meteorologists were sorry to report they saw a front of heavy rain pushing up the coast of Japan, in what looked to be the rainy season coming early. Shindo’s job, of course, was unaffected by the rain or any kind of weather. Something had changed, though. She had started to feel like all of this was worth it, as long as she was helping Shoko. Bringing her breakfast, driving her to college, then to classes, then back home. And on occasion, skipping class to have a cup of coffee, just the two of them.
Shoko was curious about Shindo’s life and background, so Shindo told her more about the north country where she was born and raised, about her dogs. She told stories that her gramma told her from the old days, told her stories about her grampa, who was strict and strong, and who never smiled once in front of her. About the white sky and the blue ground that she saw when she was hanging upside down.
