“The other day I found a draft of a letter I wrote you, and I was thinking about the time you did my homework for me—letting myself remember.”

When I stopped speaking I heard the faintest trace of a commotion on the other end of the line. A clamorous barrage of voices, as if a crowd of people was passing by in the background. Then it was silent again. And then, gradually, the sound of someone sobbing reached my ear, a tear-filled gasping that grew steadily louder and stronger. I shuddered.

“Sarah?” I said.

Sarah was crying. “I'm sorry. . . .”

The voice was faint, but it was definitely hers.

All right! We'll be able to talk!

“Sarah, are you in Japan?” I asked.

“Yes, but I can't come to see you,” Sarah said.

“Have you come with someone? A man? Aren't you able to call me from your room? You're in a hotel now, right?”

Sarah didn't answer. She just went on crying.

Then she spoke. “I just wanted to know how you're doing. Hearing your voice . . . everything came back to me, I remembered being in your house . . . how much fun it was being in Japan.”

“Are you happy now?” I asked.

“Yes. Actually I'm married.”

For the first time, Sarah laughed. “I'm fine, I'm really not unhappy. You don't have to worry.”

“Well, that's all right, then. I'm glad,” I said.

Suddenly Sarah changed the subject. “Tell me, Shi-ba-mi. Was Yo-shi-hi-ro alone when he died? I mean, I'm wondering it he had a true love, you know? I just want to know that.”

I realized that Sarah must have felt it back then. It must have been already apparent by the time Mari went to Boston—it must have been visible in the color of her eyes, and in my brother's gaze. Because he always had a peculiar light in his eyes when he looked at Mari. As if he was calming himself, clearing his mind, confirming that what he saw was true. Making sure that she was actually alive and moving. That she was really there, really laughing.

She must have sensed all that.

“Yes, he was still alone,” I said.

I put every ounce of strength I had into that lie.

“He had female friends, but there was no one you could call his true love.”

“I see. . . .” Sarah said. “Sorry to ask such a terrible question. I'm afraid I've kind of been losing it since I arrived in Japan. But I'm happy that we were able to talk. Thanks to you, of course.”

This was no longer the Sarah who was unable to stop herself from making phone calls and then not saying a word, who was hurt so much by her memories that she ended up crying. This was the levelheaded Sarah I knew.

“Well, take care. I've got to go back to the room,” Sarah said.

“Okay. . . . Good-bye then,” I replied.