In Plain View. Julie Shigekuni
starting a family. That’s great.”
Daidai hoped that Gizo was right. Flattered that he’d thought about her at all, she made her own concession. “Growing up, I always wanted to be part of your family,” she said.
“Really?” he said.
“My dad died two years ago,” she added, not remembering if Gizo had ever met her father. He’d worked long hours when she was growing up, which she supposed made him the Irish version of Danji: a hardworking, tough family man.
“I’m sorry about your father,” Gizo said. The sentimentality between them having become uncomfortable, Gizo eyed the bread, reminding Daidai of the child he’d been. “Do you mind if I try some of this?”
“Of course not!” she said, relieved. “I’ve got another loaf in the car. I’ll go get it.”
She was about to swing around when he grabbed her wrist. “Save the other loaf for Hiroshi. Dad’s not supposed to have too much of the sweet stuff, but a little’s okay. If I bring it to him like this he’ll eat the whole thing.”
Untwisting the wire from the plastic wrap that held the bread, Gizo reached inside and tore off a chunk for himself and another for Daidai. She could still feel the heat of his fingers on her wrist. The warmth of the expert hands that had repaired the rice sack caused her to imagine that time had looped back, or maybe it had never moved. The bread had a sticky sweet smell, its taste reminding Daidai how hungry she’d been.
Pulling away from Akai Electric that afternoon, Daidai had the sad feeling that part of her life had just ended. She doubted she’d see Gizo again any time soon; he wasn’t part of her daily life, and she dreaded returning to her husband. The wintry low that started the day had left behind a layer of clouds that hung over downtown Los Angeles, and the chill that rose up from her core vibrated in her teeth as she wrapped her fingers around the cold steering wheel. Checking the clock on the dash, she calculated that Hiroshi would still be on campus, which meant she’d have time for a nap before dinner. She needed a chance to let her feelings settle. But sleep was not to come that afternoon. She realized that as soon as her key turned in the lock and the door to the apartment swung open.
“Okaeri ni!” Satsuki poked her head up over the back of the couch, startling her.
Though she visited nearly every day, seeing her there, alone in the apartment, caused the blood to drain from Daidai’s face. “Is Hiroshi here?” she asked, worried over what could have brought Hiroshi home in the middle of the afternoon on the first day of classes.
“Isn’t he teaching today?” Satsuki asked, her response somehow not reassuring. “I was waiting for you on the doorstep, but I got cold. I hope you don’t mind that I let myself in.”
On the tabletop lay the spare key that Hiroshi and she kept in the planter outside the front door. Daidai had used it recently. She’d been with Satsuki when she’d locked herself out, but why would Satsuki let herself in? Was this something Hiroshi and she had discussed? A sense of decorum prevented Daidai from asking, and Satsuki seemed to understand this. Smiling over the back of the couch, she let Daidai’s favorite throw fall from around her shoulders. “I see you’re more prepared than I was for winter in sunny Southern California.”
Daidai was still puzzled, but seeing Satsuki’s bare arms, she decided to let it go. The unusual thing, after all, was not that Satsuki had shown up, but that on this particular afternoon Daidai had not been home. “I pulled my sweaters out from under the bed this morning. I can lend you something warm to wear,” she said, heading off to the bedroom, needing a moment on her own to think.
“So where have you been?” Satsuki called after her.
First she’d let herself in; now she demanded to know where Daidai had been. Daidai hadn’t planned to mention her visit the monastery, and now she resented Satsuki’s questioning her about her day. “I’m exhausted,” she said, without saying where she’d gone. “I was hoping to lie down for a nap.”
“Poor Daidai.” Satsuki rose from the couch and rushed to where Daidai stood in the entryway. “I understand. Do you want me to go?”
She appeared ready to leave, but instead began circling Daidai, the way she usually did upon entering the apartment. “What are you doing?” Daidai demanded. “Stop that!”
Leaning over to sniff at the bread she’d carried in, Satsuki seemed not to hear her. “Let’s start over.” She spoke sweetly, showing her irresistible smile. “Will you do me a favor?”
“What?”
“Go out and come in again.”
“Why?”
“Because I think it will put you in a better mood. Really. I wouldn’t ask you if I didn’t think it would work. Please try?”
“Are you joking?” Daidai said, getting irritated again.
“No way.”
After gently turning her around by the shoulders, Satsuki gave Daidai a little shove, key in hand, and shut the door behind her.
“Can you hear me?” she asked, and Daidai imagined her forehead pressed to the other side of the door. “This time, when you come in, say, ‘Tadaima!’”
But when Daidai opened the door the room was quiet, no Satsuki popping her head up from the couch to greet her. Could the woman have managed an escape while she stood waiting outside? In her fatigued state, anything seemed possible. She regretted having been so unwelcoming until she remembered her line. “Tadaima!” she called out.
“Okaeri ni.” Satsuki appeared from behind the door to the bedroom wearing Daidai’s favorite white cardigan, tying the sash around her waist. “That’s much better!” she praised Daidai, taking the ahn-bread from her arms. “Now sit down. I’ll make us tea.”
“That would be nice,” Daidai said, acknowledging that the possibility of a nap was over. “Let’s have the black stuff.”
“Not today,” Satsuki said sweetly. “This afternoon I’ll make genmai. Brown rice tea goes best with this bread.”
“What do you know about this bread?” Daidai asked, shocked.
“It’s a big ahn-pan, isn’t it?” Satsuki called over her shoulder, having moved into the kitchen to get the tea started.
“How do you know about ahn-bread?” Daidai asked again.
“Ahn-pan is my favorite,” Satsuki said.
Daidai recalled the events that led up to the brief transaction she’d had with the tall, old nun. When Hiroshi arrived home she served up what was left of the ahn-bread for dinner. Evidently he knew about the stuff, too, going so far as to claim it was the best ahn-pan he’d ever tasted and getting Daidai to promise she’d buy more.
“So you went downtown today?” he asked, assuming that she’d brought the ahn-bread back from J-Town.
“Mm-hmm.” Daidai nodded, watching Satsuki’s attention shift from her to Hiroshi, as if needing to gauge his response.
“See anyone?” he asked.
“I took some bread to Gizo to give to Danji. He’s been sick.”
Hiroshi stared at her from across the table, clearly waiting for something more. “If you were in J-Town, why didn’t you bring the bread to Louise to give to her father? The public defender’s office is right there on Temple, isn’t it?”
“I figured she’d be busy,” Daidai lied, stumped by her inability to explain her actions, even to herself. “And it was easier to find parking along East First.”
She felt relieved when Hiroshi shrugged. What harm could there be in a simple substitution? So