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Kanae wakes up in a hospital room and knows nothing.
No, she knows her name, Kanae.
Long minutes of staring at the ceiling pass before she remembers her surname: Ohtori. The beeping of a machine disrupts her fuzzy attempts to remember anything. She feels weak, like her bones have turned brittle, her stomach an aching, scraped-out hollow. She has the room to herself, her peripheral vision tells her. The curtains have been drawn. The space is dim, restful, but also, perhaps, forgotten, like the interior of a cupboard long kept closed.
Ohtori Kanae. The Chairman’s daughter.
No, the former Chairman’s daughter, and the current Chairman’s fiancee.
Now that she’s situated herself in life, she begins to wonder about when. How long has she been here? Lifting an arm, the silhouette of wristbone looks thinner than before. The weakness in her body tells the same story. A week has passed, or much more.
Kanae closes her eyes and does nothing more than breathe. A cloying floral scent threads through the sterile hospital smell. She turns her head to search for the source, or a conveniently placed calendar.
On the bedside table, a vase bursts with red roses. Akio must have sent them. How sweet of him. At this point, though, they’re past their prime, browning and curling. Why hasn’t anyone removed them?
There’s no calendar on the table, or even a clock. The last thing Kanae can remember is a stretch of ordinary life: going to class, visiting Akio in the soaring Chairman’s residence. Blank patches cut through the images in her mind.
Vaguely Kanae recalls beginning to worry about her memory during those days. Gaps in time, a languor in her body. Discomfort in her stomach, so that she couldn’t finish her box lunch.
Still, she’s shocked to find herself in a hospital cot.
The door opens. A doctor rushes in, and two nurses.
“You’ve finally decided to rejoin us,” the doctor says, beaming, while a nurse wraps a blood pressure cuff around Kanae’s limp arm. “No, no, there’s no need to sit up. Keep on resting.”
“What day is it?” Kanae asks. The words emerge in a whisper from her dry throat.
Brow furrowing, manner sympathetic, the doctor gives the date.
Weeks. Over a month.
These people, these machines, have been keeping Kanae alive while she slept and knew nothing of the world. Until today, she’s been buried in smothering darkness.
Kanae’s parents are called. Her mother arrives in a sleeveless dress, goosebumps on her arms, her shawl inadequate for the chill of the hospital corridors. The stiff shoulders of Kanae’s father in his suit slump with relief when he sees Kanae’s open eyes.
Trying to sit up makes Kanae’s head reel. Instead a nurse raises the upper half of the hospital bed and, thankful, Kanae rests on the incline. Her father and mother in turn give her brief embraces, tight around her shoulders. Their smiles are delighted, overjoyed, with a lingering edge of anxiety.
“Thank God you made it,” says her father.
“I couldn’t sleep from worry,” her mother says, smile crumbling into an overspill of tears.
It’s the most emotional Kanae has seen her parents since she was small. Dragging tubes and wires, she folds her hands in her lap and manages a weak smile, grateful for their care.
“What happened to me?” she asks.
“You were very ill,” her father says.
This, being obvious, does not relieve her concern.
“With what?”
Her mother, wiping the corner of an eye with her handkerchief: “Well—you see—”
“The doctors aren’t sure,” her father says firmly.
Consternation flares in Kanae’s hollow chest. What has baffled the doctors? Is her sickness so strange?
The nurse, busy checking figures on a monitor, doesn’t comment. A line shifts to reflect the pattering of Kanae’s heart.
Her mother pulls over the room’s single chair and seats herself, resting a calming hand on Kanae’s upper arm. Kanae’s hearbeat calms, and so does the line on the monitor.
“What’s important is that you’re alive,” her father declares.
On this, they can all agree. But something in the finality of the statement makes Kanae wonder if he’s concealing the truth about her illness. Her family is no stranger to illness, as her father has bouts of poor health, but he’s never fallen unconscious or been hospitalized for this long. If a hereditary condition had flared up, surely her parents would be matter-of-fact about telling her.
“We do have some unfortunate news,” her mother says, biting her lip, “but not entirely unfortunate.”
“Unfortunate?” Kanae echoes. She can't imagine what could be significant in comparison to her life or death. Has her health been ruined long-term?
Her father, hands on the chair back, clears his throat. “Would you mind giving us some privacy?”
The nurse inclines her head and hurries out.
At the click of the latch, Kanae’s father faces her. “While you were...under...Akio canceled the engagement.”
The shock is like a rockfall, a boulder squeezing her chest. How could he do this to her? Akio was such a wonderful man. So why…?
“But when you woke up again,” her father hurriedly continues, sweaty and uncomfortable, “he asked to resume the engagement. So there’s really no problem.”
Akio had thought Kanae would die. That must be it. At the same moment, her gaze and her mother’s flicker to the sickly roses on the side table. Then the glass of water beside the vase distracts Kanae.
Kanae’s mother withdraws her hand from Kanae’s arm, and her fingers flutter at her throat. “Akio is such a fine young man. There’s no reason to ruin this over a misunderstanding.”
A misunderstanding?
Of course, Kanae’s mother is right, but Akio was the one who’s called it off, and her father doesn’t help.
“I mean, what will people say if the engagement is canceled, and not by our side…!”
“Dear,” her mother warns.
“I’m thirsty,” Kanae whispers.
At once her mother is solicitous. She brings the glass of sweet, soothing water to Kanae’s lips, saying, “Oh, honey, here you go,” and Kanae remembers being five years old beset by the flu, and drinks. All the awful talk of broken engagements is forgotten.
After drinking her fill, Kanae is too tired to keep her eyes open. Her parents again express how overjoyed they feel that she’s awake, alive, recovering, and she rests.
The day after she wakes, Kanae’s stomach is too delicate for solid foods. A feeding tube, since removed, had kept her alive during her long period of unconsciousness. She finds the thought of the feeding tube unrefined, food stripped of dishware, companionship, and even awareness, meant only for survival. She’s glad it’s gone.
This afternoon the nurse brings her applesauce. Glad she can sit up and feed herself, Kanae lifts the first spoonful to her lips.
The apple smell floods her nostrils and blocks her breath like a wave. The spoon falls to the tray because she’s gagging, she can’t feel her fingers—her throat’s stopped up, she can’t get air into her lungs—
Kanae curls over the side of the bed, retching, and in some bodily miracle, her throat opens to air. Her chest heaves with desperate, wonderful inhalations.
With shaking hands, Kanae sets the tray onto the side table next to the vase of roses. Their mingled smells call forth a pounding headache. She avoids looking at them directly.
Instead she presses the call button on the bedside monitor and tells the nurse, “I’m sorry, but I seem to have had some sort of reaction to the applesauce. Would you mind bringing soup instead?”
“Of course,” says the nurse, picking up the tray with its dreadful bowl. “By the way, a visitor has asked to see you at around three. Would that be all right?”
Akio, Kanae thinks, heart leaping, though she remains baffled and angry. Coming to explain—to apologize.
The visitor isn’t Akio; perhaps it’s just as well. Kanae will have more time to recover before she sees him again.
Her visitor is Arisugawa Juri. Kanae has brushed her hair and pulled the sheets over her knees, but she’s underdressed in her hospital gown. Juri wears a ruffled top and black pants that hug her hips. She brings a gift of cookies from Hokkaidō, their cream filling thankfully not apple, but canteloupe. Something to look forward to when Kanae’s stomach recovers.
Kanae doesn’t know the other girl well, except that she’s a member of the Student Council, an elite fencer who occasionally models for high-end fashion brands. Like all the Student Council members, she has a reputation for eccentricity.
“Thank you for coming all this way,” Kanae says.
“It’s no trouble. We were relieved to hear you’d woken up.”
Other people had known about Kanae’s unconscious state for a month, perhaps, while she only found out yesterday. If only she’d paid attention to the signs, the exhaustion and fuzzy-headedness that she seems to recall feeling on the far side of a chasm.
Had Akio told the Student Council that she’d been hospitalized? That she’d woken up? Does Juri know about the broken engagement?
Kanae searches Juri’s face for a sign of pity, but she finds only calm sympathy. “Well, now that I’m awake, the only thing to do is recover,” she says as brightly as she can.
The two of them chat about the weather and exams. Kanae will have to catch up on her schoolwork. Graduation had been, to her, the prelude to a wedding, but it’s been reduced to mundanity unless the engagement is restored.
How could he? While I was sick, no less?
Kanae doesn’t ask about Akio, nor does Juri bring him up.
After a brief lull, Juri says, “While I’m here, I wanted to ask. Do you remember her?”
“Remember who?”
Juri’s eyes, deep green like her own, stare into Kanae’s, searching. Kanae has nothing for her to find. A month buried in a hospital room, forming no memories, and before that, confusion.
A wry smile appears on Juri’s face. “Ah, well, the thing is, I don’t remember. None of us do. All I have is a feeling—a feeling that there was a girl who…”
Kanae hears it in the cadence of a fairy tale: Once upon a time there was a girl who…
But Juri can find no words to finish the sentence. “I wondered whether you might remember because you were outside, but never mind.”
“Outside?” Kanae wishes she were outside in the sun. The curtains are open, sunlight slanting in, but the bed isn’t next to the window.
“Outside Ohtori Academy.”
How this relates to remembering and forgetting, Kanae has no idea. “I do hope I can return soon.” Schoolwork. Akio.
Unease roils in the pit of Kanae’s stomach.
It’s all right. He wants me back.
Why, then, had he rejected her at all? Kanae feels the indignity of an heirloom tossed out with the garbage.
“Yes. It must be rough, missing so many classes.” Juri sighs, then wrinkles her nose. “These roses seem to be past their prime. Shall I clear them out?”
“Please!”
Juri leaves bearing the heavy white vase. The smell of rotting roses lingers, but it’s less pungent. Kanae relaxes against the bed’s incline and gazes out the window at the warm blue sky. Akio hadn’t even left a card with the bouquet. Or else someone had removed it.
After a space of restful solitude, there’s a knock at the door. Juri returns with fresh flowers: violets and yellow gerbena daisies in a pale green vase. As she sets them on the table, Kanae admires them, how recently they’ve soaked up the sunlight.
“I appreciate it.” It’s been nice to see a visitor, but the conversation has used up Kanae’s low reserves of energy.
Juri, considerate, does not seat herself again, but pauses to touch the leaves of the daisies. “There are times when you have to stop clinging to something so hard,” she murmurs. “And when you do, it might grow back in a different shape, or maybe it’s meant to be gone.”
Kanae’s heart sinks. Juri must know about the broken engagement—in which case her advice is presumptuous. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean."
Juri’s eyes hold a distant look as she smiles. “Sorry. I was talking about myself.”
After wishing Kanae a swift recovery, Juri leaves. Kanae adjusts the bed to flat and closes her eyes.
Conversations are awkward when you’ve been in the dark for a month. When you almost...didnt’ wake up again, your illness was so severe. The word died hovers in Kanae’s mind despite her resistance. In the dark, Kanae repeats to herself.
She burns to know the truth about her illness after her father’s deflection. Once she’s rested, she’ll ask more questions.
At least Kanae isn’t the only one who can’t remember. Juri asked such an odd question. Kanae mulls it over, but she has only seconds as she drifts into the enticement of sleep.
Who was she?
Dormant. Kanae decides she likes that word. That’s what happened to her: she was dormant. Now that she’s woken from her month of dormancy, she only needs to recover, and her life will return to normal.
It’s another sunny day. Her doctor, accompanied by a nurse, checks in on her in the morning. Upon seeing her wistful gaze towards the closed curtains, he flings them open, humming. The sun shines on his white coat and the furrows on his face.
When he returns to Kanae’s bedside, she takes the opportunity to ask, “What was I sick with, exactly?”
“You went into renal failure,” the doctor says
Something was wrong with her kidneys? “Why did…but it was so sudden. What caused it?”
The doctor freezes for a moment, his grave expression appearing stuck on. “Now, there’s no need to worry about that. You’re recovering now.”
So her father had been lying when he’d said the doctors didn’t know what her illness was. Kanae frowns and says, “I’m nearly an adult—surely you can tell me what’s wrong.”
The doctor’s mouth flattens into a stern line. “That may be true, but I’m afraid I can’t discuss the details.”
The details of Kanae’s own life and health. A sigh escapes her as she leans back, defeated. Her father must have instructed the doctor not to tell her anything. Why? What does he want to hide? Her curiosity grows stronger, almost desperate.
The nurse’s eyes meet Kanae’s, then flicker away.
Kanae meets a physical therapist who will help her regain her ability to walk. That will take time, with her leg muscles atrophied, so she asks the nurse to bring her to the garden. First she changes into a skirt and blouse; some of her clothes have been brought from home.
Wheeled down corridors, Kanae feels as if her weakness is on display. But the hospital is bustling with the business of saving lives, and some of the other patients are also in wheelchairs. Kanae smiles in gratitude at the hospital staff she passes, and at the patients in kinship.
The garden is a square surrounded by the hospital wings. Hydrangeas show off gentle blues and pinks and all the purples in between, while azaleas provide hot pink. Here and there, trees filter sunlight through their leaves.
At last Kanae is bathed in sunlight. She closes her eyes in bliss at the natural warmth on her skin. She’s been dormant in that hospital room for so long.
But she can’t forget everything in order to enjoy the sun. A question burns within her.
“Do you know what caused the kidney failure? What sort of illness I had?” Kanae asks the nurse. Blurred by lids half-closed, the brilliant green of leaves.
“I do.” The nurse moves to her side, hands twisted together behind her back. “You...didn’t fall ill. Not because of an infection or chronic condition, I mean.”
“What was it, then?” Kanae asks, unable to imagine an alternative.
“The doctor found poison in your system,” the nurse whispers. “You were poisoned.”
Kanae’s head reels, as if she’s about to plunge back into the darkness.
“Not—not food poisoning?”
“I’m afraid not. You ingested it, but it wasn’t a type of poison you’d normally encounter in in such a high amount. The doctor just managed to save you.”
“I’d...like to go back to my room now,” Kanae manages.
The nurse obliges. In Kanae’s room, cards have arrived from friends, relatives, her father’s business connections.
Who could possibly hate Kanae enough to poison her? Look at how well-liked she is. She opens one card after another, eyes glazing over at the kind words enclosed in each.
The revelation that she’s been poisoned exhausts her like a physical blow. Bad luck such as an illness is one thing, malice an entirely different matter. Chills shake her weak body.
Although her initial curiosity has been satisfied, worse questions now burden her.
“Mother, did you know?” Kanae sits in her wheelchair in an alcove, red hospital phone in hand.
“We—we didn’t want to worry you,” her mother’s tinny voice says in her ear. “All that matters is you’re alive.”
“So...somebody really did try to…”
“And if you hadn’t made it,” her mother declares with the sudden ferocity of a lioness, “we would have stopped at nothing.”
Kanae presses herself against the wheelchair back. “I’d like to go home for a while, I think. Once I’m released from the hospital.”
“Of course, dear. You should finish your recovery here.”
Ohtori Academy was where Kanae had been poisoned. She’ll complete her schoolwork at home and return to campus only for the final exams. As for Akio, if they repair their relationship, surely something can be arranged. A lovely home near campus. A grace period in which Kanae determines whether it’s safe for her to join Akio in the Chairman’s tower.
“You called at a convenient time,” her mother says, “because I have some good news. Akio reached out, and he’d like to visit you tomorrow.”
Often Kanae’s mother says things that match the wavelength of her thoughts. Maybe that’s part of being a mother.
“Oh—of course.”
“Perfect. Because I told him you wouldn’t mind. Now, your father and I simply must see you again soon, would this weekend—?”
As she and her mother discuss visit times, Kanae can’t stop dwelling on Akio. She misses him. She’s still upset with him. Tomorrow she’ll have the opportunity to hear his explanation.
Knowing her fiance as she does, there’s no doubt he’ll have an explanation. Breaking their engagement was horrible of him, but there must have been a good reason.
Tomorrow, they’ll clear up the mistake.
And Kanae’s life will return to normal.
Kanae arrays herself in white silk pants and an orange blouse whose vibrancy only makes her skin look dull and lifeless. There are dark circles beneath her eyes, she knows. Still, she sits up straight in the hospital bed with the dignity of a sickly princess holding court.
A clock in a porcelain frame shaped like an ivy-twined tree trunk now sits on the side table. Akio sent word via receptionist and nurse that he’d visit at 3:30, which happens to be half an hour before Kanae’s physical therapy session.
When had Kanae last seen her once-fiancee? He’d gotten busier, hadn’t he—this is her vague impression. His voice, remembered: Oh no, I’d love to go to a cafe with you, but a lot came up today. Warm and apologetic. A lot of what? Kanae hadn’t asked or wondered at the time, whenever that had been. Chairman business, of course.
She’s seen Akio more recently than that, she’s sure of it. But a deadening haze replaces sound as well as sight when she tries to remember.
At exactly 3:30, Akio comes through the door with a vase of roses hooked under his arm. A nurse hovers behind him for a moment before the closing door conceals her. Kanae will be spared the embarrassment of a witness, at least.
The dozen roses, red and not long past budding, are in a large white vase that dwarfs Juri’s flowers and the other offerings. Together with a familiar whiff of cologne, the smell of roses overpowers the subtler scents. After setting them on the side table, Akio throws himself onto the chair by Kanae. His hair is disheveled, a couple pale strands escaping the bead holding his ponytail. He too has dark circles under his eyes. The poor man must have been losing sleep. Over her?
He takes Kanae’s hand in his own, strong and warm against her clammy skin. “You can’t imagine how glad I am that you’re alive.”
“I missed you,” Kanae says, because she has; she’s so happy to see him again, to hear the rich tones of his voice. See, he still loves her.
“I missed you too,” Akio says huskily. “Will you be well enough to come back to campus soon?”
“Not just yet, I’m afraid.” And, because he’s skipped over the broken engagement, Kanae, feeling almost sorry, brings it up. “Is our engagement back on?”
Akio gives her a smile. “If you want it to be.”
“Why—why did you break it?”
“I thought you were dead.”
“I wasn’t dead, though.” Kanae’s voice lifts in upset.
“The doctors said you were dying. I...I thought it was over.” Akio retracts a hand and presses thumb and forefinger to the inside corners of his eyes.
Agitated, Kanae shifts her knees. Had Akio broken the engagement because of a miscommunication, then, or because she’d been dying? He should have given her the dignity of waiting for proof. A death certificate, or a grave phone call from her parents. A funeral. Yes, he should have attended her funeral, somber in black, before severing their ties.
“I really think you should have waited. Until you knew I was dead.” Kanae sounds rather whiny. She forces a smile instead. “Well. Thank goodness I am alive.”
Both Akio’s hands cup hers again, and still their trembling. “Yes. And you’re right, of course—I should have waited. It’s just—so much was happening.” Akio slumps, hangs his head. “Please, you have to come back to me. I’ve lost everything.”
This too strikes Kanae as odd. Surely her father hasn’t fired Akio as his successor. As for Kanae, she never left him. Not of her own accord. “Everything?” she echoes.
“My sister walked out on me two weeks ago.” Akio lifts his head, revealing a deeper frown than she’s ever seen on his face before. “She left me!”
Despite her best efforts, Kanae has never gotten along with Himemiya Anthy. Her future sister-in-law has always been undeniably strange. Any reasons Anthy had for walking out on Akio were as opaque as what lay behind her eyes.
“I’m sorry to hear that…”
“And her only parting words were insults!” Akio’s hands tighten around Kanae’s, and she’s unable to pull free. So this is what her fiance looks like when he’s furious.
But he notices her wince and immediately releases her, his face calming like a pool settling back into stillness. “Oh, I’m sorry. You’re still in such delicate health.”
Although it’s true, and even short conversations exhaust her, she can’t postpone her second, far more serious question. She takes a slow breath. Her hands retreat to the inferior warmth between her lap and the bedsheet.
“The doctors found that I’d been poisoned.” Now Kanae is outwardly composed. “Who would have poisoned me, do you suppose?”
Akio’s head jerks up, eyes wide as if someone has struck him with the white vase. “That’s—that’s absurd. Who would want to poison you?”
His understanding gratifies her. “Exactly! I—I just can’t see why.”
“How awful,” Akio murmurs.
“But it happened while I was living on campus,” Kanae continues. “So I don’t think I should go back except for my finals. Not anytime soon, anyway.”
Akio is silent for a long time, staring at his lap with furrowed brow. At last he says, “What if I told you you’re not in danger any more?”
“I’m sorry?”
“I suspect I know who poisoned you. You see...Anthy was jealous of you for a long time. I”m so sorry.”
As the cloying scent of roses fills the room, Kanae’s head reels, and she falls back against the mattress. The top floor of the Chairman’s tower, projector looming over her, projecting nothing.
Anthy poisoned her. It makes terrible sense. Something has always been off about that girl, and her love of gardening, which seemed so charming at first, may have hidden an interest in more dangerous plants. The closeness between Anthy and her brother must have kindled a possessive streak that led her to see Kanae as a threat. That poor girl. She didn’t seem close to anyone except for her brother.
And that one—
That one—
Kanae has the vague sense that Anthy had been spending time with someone else, a classmate, most likely, but when she tries to picture that someone, there is only a rough silhouette cut away at Anthy’s side.
Do you remember her?
A warm palm rests on Kanae’s forehead. “Shh. It’s okay. I won’t let her hurt you any more.”
Akio is so kind to her, even when he’s going through a hard time himself.
“So it’s perfectly safe for you—”
Someone raps on the door, then opens it. The physical therapist is here for Kanae’s appointment. With an effort, Kanae opens her eyes and props herself up on her elbows. “Don’t worry, I’m well enough to go ahead today,” she reassures the therapist.
Akio squeezes Kanae’s shoulder and gives her one last smile. “I’ll come back tomorrow,” he promises.
Her lips tingling, Kanae sits up in a silent forest, its canopy dim and motionless. With the knowledge of dreams, she knows that few travel through this place, and those who do are adventurers. Here dwell foxes and rabbits who can talk, and deer who don’t bother.
How childish, she thinks, remembering picture books her mother read to her long ago.
Soft moss studded with tiny white flowers blankets the tree roots. Though pretty, what if it’s poisonous? Kanae shifts uneasily. She’s sitting on a surface more comfortable than moss, though something hard presses into her back and arms.
Kanae discovers that she’s in a box—no, a coffin—made of dark, translucent stone. The massive lid, marked with a bas-relief rose of pink quartz, rests atop it at an angle. Silk eiderdown cushions line the bottom.
Now why had Kanae gone to sleep in here? She looks around again. Shapes in the shadows between tree-trunks hint at ominous flowers.
Like a herald, an unseen bird gives a subdued, raspy call.
When Kanae turns, a person is standing next to the coffin. He’s clad in white with a half-cape over his shoulders, unmistakably a prince. Although his dark skin, pale hair, and green eyes are the exact shade of Akio’s, they otherwise look nothing alike. This young man’s eyes are filled with a gentle sorrow.
“I’m sorry for who I became,” he says.
“Who did you become?” Questions, questions, she’s tired of having so many questions, even in dreams. She’s tired of being exhausted, even in dreams.
“The devil.”
“I’m sure it’s not your fault.”
If anything, the prince looks sadder, which tugs at Kanae’s heartstrings. How desperately she wishes for him not to be sad.
Kanae debates simply lying down again. Asking why am I in a coffin feels embarrassing, because she of all people ought to know the circumstances that led to her sitting in a coffin.
But if she falls asleep here, a fox or rabbit could come along and close the lid, and her bed would become suffocating.
(Like choking on the taste of apples. Dormant, you can’t rise through solid stone.)
“Would you mind…” Kanae reaches a hand towards the prince, the type who will always reach out to aid a young woman, but he doesn’t move. Kanae falters. In its falling arc her hand goes through the prince’s hand at his side. It has no substance whatsoever. He’s a specter.
“It happens all the time,” the prince apologizes.
The bird calls again.
The prince looks off, and Kanae follows his gaze. In a distant patch of forest, a beam of sunlight catches flowing pink hair, the bright line of a rapier’s blade, as a figure turns away.
That’s when the dream ends with no resolution, like a story whose later pages remain unturned.
Kanae sits upright in her bed eating rice porridge and tangerine jelly from a tray. Thankfully, the nurses stopped bringing her applesauce after the incident the other day.
She adds last night’s dreams to the list of things she can’t remember—something about a forest, that’s all she retains—but real life is more important than dreams.
What concerns her far more are the poisoning and the broken engagement. Every time Kanae reaches for certainty in Akio’s words, there’s nothing to hold onto.
If Anthy had poisoned Kanae to get her out of the way, why had she left after Kanae was hospitalized? If Anthy were so possessive and dependent on Akio, why had she left at all? Why, without making sure she was dead, had Akio rushed to break the engagement?
Perhaps Kanae was simply too tired to think straight.
She even has a question that isn’t hers: the identity of the girl Juri can’t remember. Although the question isn’t urgent and has nothing to do with Kanae, her curiosity has been sparked. But never mind that.
She’ll resume the engagement, of course. She’ll return her life to its proper track.
It might grow back in a different shape, or maybe it’s meant to be gone.
Her wedding has been the subject of Kanae’s idle fantasies since before the engagement. She dreams of a life with Akio, the one she loves.
Her pulse quickens in anticipation of Akio’s visit and his hand touching her face. The racing heart of a body ready to run.
How silly. You can’t run from poison. That danger has passed, anyway. No doubt she’s restless from staying in bed for so long. Although she hardly has the strength to stand, all she needs to heal is time.
Akio arrives after lunch. His hair and clothes are neat, but faint circles linger beneath his eyes.
“Thanks for visiting again so soon.” Kanae smiles.
Akio seats himself. He’s holding a small jewelry case, and Kanae feels the straightforward excitement of receiving a gift. “Of course,” he says. “How are you feeling?”
“Better. A little better every day.”
“That’s wonderful.” Akio’s eyes flicker to the jewelry case. “I’d like to formalize our engagement again. I’ve brought you something as an apology. Will you accept?”
He holds the case out in front of her and flips the lid open. Inside is a coil of gold-filigree chain leading to the centerpiece: a charm shaped like an apple.
“Because you’re the apple of my eye.”
Kanae barely hears his words, because there’s a rushing in her head and her throat is closing up as she chokes on nothing, or a memory.
An apple stabbed by a circle of little forks. An almond taste on her tongue.
Oh no. Why must she have a fit now? Why must she ruin the moment?
Blackness encroaches upon the edges of Kanae’s vision, and she claws at her throat as her body tries to expel something. At the last moment she manages to suck in a thread of air. Her chest heaves for breath, and her throat clears. Unconsciousness recedes.
But she’s still gasping, distraught, unable to reply to Akio asking what’s wrong with such concern, and all her questions swirl through her mind. Her curiosity too is desperate.
And, unable to think straight, she latches onto the most mysterious question, and the instant she recovers enough breath, chokes out: “What was her name?”
Kanae has recovered just enough sight and presence of mind to notice how Akio freezes. The jewelry case has been withdrawn to his lap. It gapes open, displaying the apple charm.
“There’s nobody else,” Akio says at last. “There’s never been anyone but you.”
That wasn’t what Kanae had asked. Not at all.
So it dawns on her, with an awful creeping sensation on her skin, that there might have been someone else. Another woman. Another girl.
Saying nothing, she considers this, and how it would square with an engagement canceled before she was wholly gone.
“Kanae. Kanae, I love you. Will you marry me?” Panic fills Akio’s face and voice, and Kanae can’t stand it.
But she can’t make promises now. She remembers the first time he proposed, down on one knee after an elegant Italian dinner for two, and her joy, and her heart breaks to say, too conscious of her lips and tongue, voice as firm as she can make it:
“I’m very grateful for the thought, but I’ll have to think about it.”
Akio looks stricken—how could Kanae hurt the man she loves? He stands abruptly, chair screeching back. “I’ll call you,” he says. The jewelry case snaps shut loudly, jaws closing on empty air. With a final accusing glance over his shoulder, Akio leaves.
For long minutes, Kanae simply breathes. Tears bead in her eyes, and she brushes them away.
She’ll ask a nurse to remove the roses. Tomorrow, when her parents visit, she’ll tell them the news. She’ll set an alarm for her physical therapy appointment. These practicalities steady her. These she can handle.
Sun shines through the window, casting its patch of light on the wall across from Kanae. By the door waits the wheelchair. Kanae pictures soil, fresh leaves, and, eventually, blossoms.
When the nurse next checks on her, Kanae says, “Would you mind taking me to the garden? The weather is lovely today.”