Their steps soon led them away from the village proper. Irene had switched gears and decided she needed some bulbs to plant in the window boxes. She wanted to go out to Marimba Farm and see what they had. Jin didn't mind. He was up for a walk.

Harmonica Town was a wonderful place. Jin was happy to be there, tucked away amidst the stacked streets. Sometimes he wondered what it would have been like if he stayed in the city where he studied medicine, but that wouldn't have been good for Irene. Since his parents were always back and forth career people, she had taken the helm in bringing him up, so he wanted to do what was best for her now that it was his turn to make the decisions. And they were close. Jin couldn't remember a single day of his life passing by where she wasn't in it. It was only natural that he'd set up a practice with her somewhere, someday. His knowledge and her skill made them an unmatched duo. And Castanet just happened to be the perfect place to do just that.

But she was getting old. Too old. He worried for her. What she was still capable of doing, what she shouldn't be. Jin himself had reached the vague age where people stopped counting for him, but it was going to start showing in his face. Irene was forever in that same limbo to him. She was the adult, and he was the child. But there was no denying the crow's feet around her eyes, the drawn out lines around her mouth and chin, her knobby hands, the way she hunched. She was timeworn. Hell, it was only natural. That's the way life worked. And there was true beauty in growing old. A certain, dignified grace.

Yet Jin knew the true ugliness of aging as well. The kind that wasn't seen with the naked eye. That which deteriorated and decayed and destroyed. The steady passage of time bestowed elegance and wisdom, but it was cruel. Cruel… what it took. He hated it.

She wouldn't admit she was tiring out after their long day, and he wasn't going to let her think she was a burden. Irene was in step beside him, slow and steady. He was used to the gradual pace, but an outsider would see that she struggled at a shuffle, and he meandered for her sake. Lingering, so she could take it easy. The tortoise alongside the hare.

She was taking in the scenery one footfall at a time, noting the cranberries growing in the thicket. Her shoe caught on the trail, and she stumbled. Jin caught her arm with lightning fast reflexes, proving to her how he was always on the alert. "Obaa…!" he scolded, his voice concerned. "Careful…"

"You worry too much," she simply stated, falling back into the rhythm of her stride. She focused on the path ahead, the worn cliff side, and the flock of birds flying high overhead towards the forest. Her eyes were distant. "The flowers will be blooming soon… and there will be ducklings in the cove. And I'll make those potato pancakes with the omelet rice… You like potato pancakes, don't you, Jin?"

"Mm… yes, of course," Jin hummed quietly in return. He stopped short when she did, looking to her in alarm.

They had crossed the bridge and were before Flute Fields. The grass was turning brown after a few, consistent nights of frost, the dew icing into crystals and revealing the dirt in uneven patches across the landscape. Marimba Farm was just ahead past the houses that dotted the hill. The fields were full to bursting with crops to harvest, all ripe and ready for the picking. The festival that celebrated the bounty was just around the corner.

Irene took it all in with passivity. She turned off of the dirt path and stepped through the grass, careful to pick the places for her feet. Jin's hand left her arm as he let her go, watching as she made her way down the glade.

Finally, he asked her what she was doing after she seemed like she was looking for something. "What are you doing? Didn't you want to go to the farm?"

Irene stooped once she was far enough away, plucking up a deep yellow plant. "I do, I do! I just thought I'd collect a few of these herbs first. They're just lying about, and I don't see any signs telling the public to scram! I could use them for the stamina elixirs. So hold your horses! Always in such a hurry…"

His face softened as he stood back and waited, putting his hands in his pockets as he watched her fill her purse with the plants. Weeds, to most people. But Irene had a magic touch. She'd keep her promise – they'd be ground in her mortar and pestle until they were ingredients key in making energy boosters and vitamins. Things people needed and wanted and loved. Her hands were practiced, working almost separate from her mind as she went about her task. Impossible to forget something so ingrained.

But he worried. Worse and worse every day. He wondered what she'd forget next. How bad it would get. What that pivotal point would be where he would have to acknowledge it aloud. No more games or secrets or nods of understanding with those close around them – those little people with their little problems that they were a part of. When would their little problem become a big problem? A bigger problem? Would she hurt herself? Someone else? Forget to turn off the stove, making potato pancakes? Turn a medicine into poison on accident from a miscalculation?

What if she forgot him? His face? His name? Her own name… or her own…

Anissa had stopped down the path, recognizing him from a distance. She watched for a few moments before hefting her loaded basket up in her arms, finished checklist tucked away in her pocket. Though her steps were quiet, Jin still heard her approaching closer and closer but didn't react.

She stood beside him and looked down where he was staring, finally spotting Irene bent down in the grass. The old woman had her hands full of yellow and red and green herbs, and she was busy in her work. Like she was someone different. Someone focused… younger.

"She thinks it's spring."

The statement seemed to be carried away by the water wheel behind them, like it was something one would say in passing. He never realized it before, but these seasons had so much in common. They looked the same. Jin couldn't blame her, he really couldn't. But it didn't make it any easier to swallow.

The time before the snow, after the heat of summer had ebbed… These months of fall were laced in nostalgia, the thick clouds overhead foreboding in their tranquility. How still and inactive, as if they were a blanket to hide under and relive the regrets of yesterday. The clusters of leaves like garbled memories ready to overwhelm him with the longing for the past. For Jin, autumn was a time of deep sorrow over the loss of what had been before the blank slate of winter's wind swept it all away into forgotten days, like the dead leaves tumbling around by his feet. This season of memories… Even if he was the only one left hanging onto them for them both.

Anissa stared up at the doctor's profile and at the troubled stitch in his brow. She didn't know it, but she was giving him the same look he hated. The one filled with pity. They all felt sorry for him. What he had to deal with. What she was going through. And they all wondered the same thing: did Irene even know what was happening? Or was she already that far gone? How much did she really know? Time was relative to her. There were days of the week, and bygone reminisces of the past, but… the present was a knot. Confused and clustered in odd bunches. Some days were better than others… but no one knew what she remembered anymore. It was a steady decay and it was surprisingly easy, the process of losing one's mind, like pencil erased from paper. She left lights on, forgot what errands she was running, left the laundry on the line. But she was forgetting big things, too. Like who she had just spoken with, or where she was if Jin wasn't beside her… and even the death of her friend, Shelly, who had passed before winter broke last year. Her ability to make new memories seemed to be nonexistent, and the memories she had left were fading away bit by bit with every new day.

She wanted to ask Jin if Irene was going to remember anything about their day out, but she already knew the answer. She wanted to let him know that he wasn't alone, that they were all scared for him. She wanted to tell him that the Alzheimer's wasn't fair to take a person like Irene, who was so resolute and shrewd and independent. Her mind was as sharp as a tack – it wasn't right to see her drifting so helplessly out to sea all on her own. But Anissa couldn't even tell him she was sorry. Sorry she was so useless. That there wasn't anything anyone anywhere could do. She couldn't imagine what it was like for him. Jin, at war with himself. The role of a doctor, his calling, telling him Irene was getting progressively worse. The signs and symptoms of dementia steadily increasing with no real way to combat them, and he was forced to watch as a practitioner – just as helpless as Irene was to the disease. Knowing there was nothing but an end. But that mindset conflicted with another. That of the grandson who was still clinging to some hope that her mind could just… bounce back. Somehow…

Anissa balanced her basket on her forearm and reached down for Jin's hand, taking it firmly in her own. The least she could do… was be right here. "I'm glad… she had a nice birthday today."

Jin's eyes fogged and quickly threatened to spill over. He bit his lip, but he couldn't stop it. Their voices were hushed, and they were a fair enough distance away, but he wouldn't know what to do if his grandmother heard him cry. He caught his involuntary gasp with the back of his wrist, his vision swaying in pools as Irene drifted into blurriness in his sight and the tears were released. He gave in to his momentary lapse of weakness and cried, relinquishing his worries and fears and despair to the fall leaves raining down from Fugue Forest across the valley. Anissa's hand as his only anchor to tether him there and remind him that even though his job was hard, there was no other choice. He had to keep fighting. He'd always be fighting. Even if she forgot it all. The shops and villagers and seasons and time. He knew in his heart that it wasn't all in vain. That these moments they shared really mattered. They meant something, even if they were locked in yesterdays. He'd keep every memory Irene couldn't, and he'd hold them for her until… until… forever.

The clouds were scattering at the end of the long day, the autumn sun sinking low and fast over the horizon. The hint of an orange harvest moon was peeking through the bare branches by the mountain, and the air grew cold and bitter. They waited, watching Irene collect the herbs until she was satisfied, and she rejoined them. Irene greeted Anissa like she hadn't seen her yet that day, asking how she was and what errands she had to do. And Anissa answered like she hadn't seen Irene that day either, repeating every last query with unconditional patience and support as Jin surreptitiously rubbed dry the lenses of his glasses on his sweater.

Though they hadn't been to Marimba Farm for the spring bulbs Irene wanted, she had changed her mind since she was excited to get so many good herbs. She wanted to start drying them right away. Anissa said her goodbyes, but she couldn't help but linger, watching in slight awe as Jin had returned to his usual, calm demeanor. Like nothing was wrong. Like he couldn't break down. She almost thought she dreamed it.

Irene waved to Anissa in farewell and turned to start the trek back home. Jin held his hand out to her. "Take my hand, baasan."

She looked on in an almost déjà vu as she recognized the gesture. Irene slowly, stilted, held out her hand and met his, taking hold.

Jin walked her home, their pace sluggish and weary once again. That was okay. No matter how tedious or frustrating or scary or disjointed the road, Jin would always show her the way back home. Because it was his turn to lead her by the hand.