The Sarah before me now was fitted out in an extremely sharp navy blue suit, and she'd had her hair cut short. She was standing beside a large trunk, her back held perfectly straight, and there was a small blond girl hanging on to her, evidently unwilling to move away. The boy walked over and joined them, started talking pleasantly with the girl. They must be brother and sister. Then all of a sudden a young, sturdily built American man came walking over to them, having settled the bill, apparently sorry to have kept her waiting.

It was then that Sarah noticed me.

First suspiciously, and then suddenly with a look of relief and sorrow, she stared at me with her crystal-clear, sky-blue eyes. She kept blinking, again and again, as if she were trying to make sure it was me. And then it seemed as if she'd lifted the corners of her mouth ever so slightly in a smile.

I understood everything now. Even if Sarah wanted to come to see Mari and me, she couldn't—she couldn't talk to us. But having come to Japan, she'd been unable to refrain from calling. I understood why. I understood the anguish Sarah and that young man had struggled through. And so, after nodding firmly to show that I understood, I turned away. I'm sure the four of them walked out of the hotel not long after, a happy American family. Only Sarah must have kept turning back, looking my way again and again.

I turned around after a while to make sure they were no longer there, and then all the strength slipped from my body and I sank back down into one of the couches. My head was swirling, and my palms were still hot with the touch of that boy's tiny hands. It felt like something was starting to change there, like some transformation was blossoming out from my hands.

The lobby seemed utterly empty now that they were gone . . . it seemed as if nothing at all was left. The sounds of cups clinking together and the clump of people's steps just kept repeating, streaming on and on. That was all.

I arrived back home feeling completely worn out.

The interior of the house was dark and wrapped in silence when I opened the door—evidently my mother was out. I walked straight to the bathroom and slowly washed my face, gazing at the mirror, swearing to it that as long as I lived I would never say a word to anyone about what I'd just seen. And then beyond the edges of my reflection, those features so similar to my brother's—a recollection of those brown eyes. I've seen him, there's nothing I can do about it now. And we didn't just happen to run into each other, either. I went there intentionally, specifically for that reason. These thoughts made me feel even more exhausted than I had before.

I decided to change my clothes. On my way to my room, I passed the living room door.