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its purpose. I stuffed the baseball cap in one of the windbreaker’s pockets. I waited. A few minutes later, a cab approached from down the street. I started walking toward it.
    The cab stopped in front of Midori’s building. The door opened. I paused ten feet away on the sidewalk.
    Midori got out. She thanked the driver and closed the door. The cab pulled away.
    Midori looked up and saw me. She froze.
    I tried to say something, but nothing came out. A long moment went by.
    Finally I said, “Midori.”
    She watched me. I wanted to look around, to check my surroundings. I fought the urge. She had always hated that kind of awareness. It made her distrust me.
    â€œWhy are you here?” she asked.
    â€œYou know why.”
    â€œHow did you…” she started to say, then stopped. She’d probably decided it didn’t really matter. Or that she didn’t want to know.
    â€œCan I come up?”
    She was silent.
    â€œJust for a minute,” I heard myself saying.
    After a moment, she nodded. We went inside. Although I hadn’t seen any cameras, I assumed they would have some sort of remote security in the lobby and I kept my head down. Midori said, “Hello, Ken,” to the doorman, and we got in the elevator. She didn’t look at me on the ride up. We didn’t speak.
    We got out on the seventeenth floor and walked down the corridor. She unlocked a door and we stepped into a nicely furnished living room. Dark wood floors, Gabbeh rugs, black-and-white photos of leafless winter trees. Comfortable-looking upholstered chair and couch. Some sort of indoor infant swing set was parked in a corner, surrounded by brightly colored toys. We took off our jackets and shoes and moved inside. I peeled off the double fleece, too. I didn’t need it now and it was warm in the apartment.
    A pretty brown-skinned woman emerged from behind the door to what I assumed was a bedroom. She glanced at me, then looked at Midori.
    â€œEverything okay, Digne?” Midori asked.
    The woman nodded. “The little angel is sleeping. I give him a big bottle before he goes to sleep.”
    Her accent was Latina. I guessed El Salvador.
    Midori nodded. “Thank you. I’ll see you tomorrow night?”
    â€œOf course.” The woman picked up a coat from the couch, slipped on her shoes, and paused at the door. She smiled and said, “Oyasumi nasai,” with a passable Japanese accent. Good night.
    Midori smiled back and said, “Buenas noches.”
    The woman closed the door behind her.
    We stood there. I heard a clock ticking on the wall.
    â€œHow…how old is he?” I asked, after a moment.
    â€œFifteen months.”
    That would be about right. Almost exactly two years since our last night in Tokyo.
    â€œI heard you call him Koichiro,” I said, remembering my conversation with Tatsu.
    She nodded.
    â€œIt’s a good name.”
    She nodded again.
    I tried to think of something that wouldn’t sound banal. Nothing would come.
    â€œYou’re happy?” I asked.
    Still just a nod.
    â€œDamn it, Midori, will you at least say something to me?”
    â€œYour minute is up.”
    I glanced away, then back to her. “You don’t really mean that.”
    â€œMaybe you forgot. You killed my father.”
    I imagined myself saying, Come on, haven’t we been over all that? I decided it would be the wrong approach.
    â€œThen why did you have the baby?” I asked.
    She looked at me, her expression frozen in neutral. “When I learned I was pregnant,” she said, “I realized I wanted a baby. The fact that it was your baby was incidental.”
    She was being so hurtful, it occurred to me that maybe it was deliberate. That she was protecting herself from something she was afraid of.
    â€œLook, I can imagine how you feel…” I started to say.
    â€œNo, you can’t.”
    â€œI’ve told you, I’m sorry for what happened