For you, Grandfather. I will always remember you as you were, strong and proud. Thank you for your stories, and your memories. I will miss you, but I'll meet you by the roses someday. Oyasumi, 祖父. 蜜子.
John Morozumi 1924-2009
Cherry blossoms filled the air around the multitude of people, a pale smattering against the dark backdrop of the mourners. The small child that stood so stiffly at her father's side took no notice of the pretty petals as they fell around her; her gaze never wavered from the patch of ground newly turned. A pretty child; her hair black as oil, her eyes the colour of velvet twilight, she looked like a little porcelain statue beside the solemn grandeur of Sadao Hino.
When the last words resonated over the crowd, they began to disperse, and make their way to the shrine, where the food and drink awaited them. Sadao joined three other men, all dressed well in black business suits, and strode off with them, sparing not a glance backwards until one of them mentioned the little girl that still stood by her mother's grave. "Shouldn't you bring your daughter, Hino?" Takeo, one of his associates, looked over his shoulder at the motionless young girl, his head filled with doubt that it was proper to leave the girl there by herself.
Sadao didn't stop walking, but his mouth tightened. "She'll be fine. She'll come in when she's needed; right now I want to talk to Hiroma about the bill he's trying to pass." The decisive tone he took brooked no argument, and Takeo dropped the issue, though not without one more look back at the small, lonely figure, and the brief thought that if it had been his wife who had died, his daughter left grieving beside her grave, he would not be so brusque.
Rei stood silently, her face set in a calm mask of ivory cool. When hands came down gently on her shoulder it didn't surprise her, and she didn't move. The warmth of those hands, however, did something; without turning her gaze, she spoke softly. "Mama's gone." The blunt statement was delivered with a belying detachment that the owner of the hands saw right through.
"Yes," her grandfather told her simply. He looked down at the shining softness of her hair; she was shorter than him still, though he knew she would grow tall and beautiful. He flickered a look at Sadao as he entered the shrine, and frowned slightly.
"She's never coming back…?" The almost-question lilted in a way that brought his attention back to her, though she hadn't yet taken her eyes off where her mother's ashes were interred.
He stroked a hand down her hair, and gently turned her so that she faced him, though her eyes were still far away. He shook his head, his own dark eyes fixed on hers as he tried to make her see him. The moment she focused on him, however, he almost regretted it, for it seemed to make things more real for her. Violet eyes brightened with emotion, and she whispered, "I'm all alone."
His heart ached for his little granddaughter, this tiny girl already so wise and grown in ways she shouldn't have to be. "No," he said, voice hoarse with his own unshed tears for the daughter he'd loved. "You are never alone, Rei. I'm always here."
For a moment Nobuyuki thought she would simply stand there without acknowledging his words, and his heart not only ached, it broke for the control forced upon this child. Then, tears started to fall, and she slowly wound her arms around him tightly. He wrapped his own around her and let her cry, her tears falling silently. "I am always here for you, my heart. No matter what. Even when I drive you mad with my silliness, right?" He teased gently, knowing how his own levity often annoyed the somber girl, and wishing she'd let go enough to join him now and then; her mother had been the only one able to call her smile to the surface without fail. His joking brought forth a small smile from her, and he smiled at her in return. When she released him from her grip, reluctantly, so reluctantly, he took her hand and started to lead her towards the shrine.
"Grandpa," came the whisper, "I don't want to go back without her. Can I stay with you?"
His throat closed, but he managed to speak around it. For her. Of course for her. "Yes, Rei, for as long as you need to." They passed through the doors, and he saw Sadao speaking of business in a corner, and knew. As Rei walked across the room, accepting people's murmured condolences with cool poise, he felt a pang of regret. Regret that this little girl was so grown and composed at so young an age, regret that his daughter wouldn't be here to temper that poise with joy and lightness.
He would talk to her father later, he decided, and they could work out the details. Sadly, he was sure her father wouldn't object. And perhaps that was the biggest regret of all, that this man couldn't see the fiery heart of his daughter underneath the diamond shine of her imposed propriety. And from the way he was acting, he couldn't even claim grief over his wife as a distractant, unlike Nobuyuki Miyamoto, who grieved over Akane's death horribly. His only child gone; Rei was all he had left. And he, Nobuyuki vowed to himself, would never lose sight of that precious heart. He would cherish it, and feed it bits of laughter and nonsense until she was near to bursting with the joy of it if he could.
From across the room Rei looked back at her grandfather, and when he grinned and waved at her she rewarded him with a sweet smile, and for a moment, he saw his daughter, and he had no regrets.