Chapter 44B: The Legacy Begins

Kumiko arrived at BWI beneath a clear, cold morning sky, carrying one large suitcase, one smaller bag, and the careful expression of a woman trying not to let the length of the journey show on her face.

Kaito had checked the flight status three times before they left Timonium.

Once while he stood in the kitchen with coffee cooling beside the sink.

Once from the hallway while Emiko put on her coat.

And once in the driveway after he had already loaded the car.

Hana stood beside the passenger door with her arms folded.

“The plane’s still landing,” she said.

“I know.”

“You checked it thirty seconds ago.”

“I know.”

Midori leaned over the back seat. “He’s nervous.”

“I’m not nervous,” Kaito said.

Emiko adjusted the seat belt beneath the curve of her stomach.

“You’re very nervous.”

“I’m prepared.”

“That’s your version of nervous.”

Kaito shut the trunk with more care than necessary.

“It isn’t.”

Hana opened the passenger door for Emiko before he could reach it.

“Drive,” she said. “Before you check the flight again.”

The drive from Timonium to the airport passed beneath a bright, pale sky. Emiko sat in front beside Kaito, one hand resting low over her abdomen whenever the baby shifted. Hana and Midori sat in the back with a small bouquet between them—soft white roses, pale yellow tulips, and eucalyptus arranged in paper and tied with a ribbon Midori had chosen.

“They aren’t too much?” Midori asked.

“They’re flowers,” Hana said. “They might be too much after a long flight.”

“Then Kumiko can put them in water after she rests.”

Midori considered that.

“That’s reasonable.”

“It usually is,” Hana said.

At the terminal, Kaito parked rather than asking Kumiko to wait outside with her luggage. He stayed at Emiko’s pace through the arrivals hall, one hand resting lightly at the center of her back whenever the crowd pressed too close.

“I can walk,” Emiko said.

“I know.”

“You keep saying that.”

Midori smiled.

Kaito didn’t smile back, but Emiko caught the small movement at the corner of his mouth.

They waited near the doors as travelers emerged in scattered groups. A child ran ahead of his parents. A tired couple stopped beside a luggage cart. A man in a gray coat spoke sharply into his phone while pulling a suitcase behind him.

Then another wave of passengers passed through the doors.

Kumiko was among them.

For one moment, she was simply a woman in a dark travel coat, pulling a suitcase and carrying a smaller bag close against her side.

Then she looked up.

She saw Emiko, and her hand went to her mouth.

“Mom,” Emiko said.

Kumiko stopped.

The long flight showed in her posture. So did the months since she had last stood in the same room as her daughter at Hitori’s funeral. But when she saw Emiko’s pregnancy, her eyes filled at once.

Emiko moved toward her as quickly as she could.

Kumiko let go of the suitcase handle and met her halfway.

They held each other carefully at first because of Emiko’s belly, then tightly.

“You’re beautiful,” Kumiko whispered.

“I’m an elephant,” Emiko said into her shoulder.

“You’re beautiful.”

Kumiko pulled back only far enough to put both hands on Emiko’s face. Then she looked down at the fullness of Emiko’s stomach as if she couldn’t make herself look away.

“I should’ve been here sooner.”

“You’re here now.”

The baby moved.

Kumiko’s hand hovered above Emiko’s abdomen.

Emiko took her hand and placed it where the baby had shifted.

For a few seconds, nothing happened.

Then the baby moved again.

Kumiko went still.

“Oh,” she whispered.

Midori stepped forward, crying without trying very hard to hide it.

“These are for you,” she said, holding out the flowers.

Kumiko accepted them with both hands.

“They’re lovely.”

“I picked them. Hana made sure we didn’t choose anything with a strong scent.”

“That’s not the same as choosing them,” Hana said. “That’s helping.”

“It’s preventing a headache.”

Kumiko smiled at them, then looked toward Kaito.

He stood a short distance away, allowing the reunion to belong to Emiko and her mother. When Kumiko met his eyes, he came forward.

“Kumiko,” he said.

She looked at him for a long moment, then reached for him.

Kaito embraced her carefully, one hand across her upper back.

“Welcome,” he said.

Kumiko closed her eyes.

“Thank you for bringing me.”

“You’re family,” Kaito said. “You were always coming.”

He took her suitcase before she could object.

The ride back to Timonium was quieter than the ride out. Kumiko sat in the rear seat with Hana and Midori, the flowers resting across her lap. She watched Baltimore’s suburbs pass beyond the window—the pale winter grass, low gray stone walls, broad roads, small clusters of bare trees—as though she were trying to understand that she had crossed an ocean and arrived somewhere that had already made room for her.

The Colonial waited at the end of its familiar street, broad and warm beneath the late-morning light. Its brick front, white trim, and tall windows looked unchanged from the outside.

The house didn’t advertise what it had become inside.

A home preparing for a newborn. A household learning new routines. A place where the future was no longer distant enough to ignore.

Midori got out first.

“I’ll show you your room,” she announced.

Kumiko smiled.

“I believe your mother may want to see me first.”

“She can see you after the room.”

“Midori,” Hana said.

“What? The room’s ready.”

Kaito carried the suitcase through the front door. The guest room was downstairs, quiet and bright. Fresh sheets covered the bed. A quilt lay folded across the foot. There were towels in the adjoining bathroom, a robe on the hook behind the door, slippers beside the bed, and a small tray with tea, bottled water, crackers, and fruit.

Midori’s note rested beside the tray.

We’re happy you’re here.

Kumiko stood in the doorway.

For a moment, she didn’t speak.

Then she looked at Emiko.

“You did all of this?”

“We all did,” Emiko said.

Kumiko picked up the note and read it again.

“I haven’t been expected anywhere in a long time.”

Emiko reached for her hand.

“You’re expected here.”

Kaito set the suitcase beside the dresser.

“Rest first,” he said. “Lunch can wait.”

Kumiko looked at him, surprised.

“I can help with lunch.”

“You can help later if you want to,” he said. “Today, you rest.”

His tone was quiet, not commanding. Still, Kumiko seemed uncertain how to receive it.

Then she nodded.

“All right.”

Upstairs, Midori led Kumiko to the nursery before lunch despite Hana’s objection that Kumiko had just arrived and should be allowed to put down her bag.

“It’ll take two minutes,” Midori said.

“It won’t,” Hana said.

“It might.”

The nursery at the end of the upstairs hall was warm with afternoon light.

Rosewater walls carried the faintest flush of pink. The crib stood beneath the window, carefully assembled and checked so many times that even Midori had stopped teasing Kaito about it. The rocker sat near the lamp with a small table beside it. Folded blankets filled one drawer, tiny clothes another.

The pink rabbit remained in the crib.

Kaito had moved it twice.

Midori had returned it twice.

Kumiko stepped inside slowly.

She looked at the crib.

At the tiny clothes.

At the folded blanket beneath the window.

Then she reached out and rested one hand lightly on the rail.

“It’s beautiful,” she said.

Midori beamed.

“Kaito picked the paint.”

Kumiko looked over her shoulder.

“He did?”

“He took twenty minutes.”

“It was a serious decision,” Kaito said.

Hana folded her arms.

“He rejected six shades of pink.”

“Because they were wrong.”

Kumiko’s smile deepened.

She turned back toward the crib.

“For a little girl,” she said softly.

Emiko stood in the doorway, Kaito beside her.

“For our daughter,” Emiko said.

Kumiko looked at her.

The words settled over the room.

Then the baby moved beneath Emiko’s hand.

Kumiko saw the shift and reached out instinctively.

Emiko nodded.

Kumiko placed her palm over the curve of her daughter’s belly.

The baby kicked once.