its purpose. I stuffed the baseball cap in one of the windbreakerâs 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 Midoriâs 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, âMidori.â
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.
âWhy are you here?â she asked.
âYou know why.â
âHow did youâ¦â she started to say, then stopped. Sheâd probably decided it didnât really matter. Or that she didnât want to know.
âCan I come up?â
She was silent.
âJust for a minute,â I heard myself saying.
After a moment, she nodded. We went inside. Although I hadnât seen any cameras, I assumed they would have some sort of remote security in the lobby and I kept my head down. Midori said, âHello, Ken,â to the doorman, and we got in the elevator. She didnât look at me on the ride up. We didnât 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 didnât 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.
âEverything okay, Digne?â Midori asked.
The woman nodded. âThe little angel is sleeping. I give him a big bottle before he goes to sleep.â
Her accent was Latina. I guessed El Salvador.
Midori nodded. âThank you. Iâll see you tomorrow night?â
âOf course.â The woman picked up a coat from the couch, slipped on her shoes, and paused at the door. She smiled and said, âOyasumi nasai,â with a passable Japanese accent. Good night.
Midori smiled back and said, âBuenas noches.â
The woman closed the door behind her.
We stood there. I heard a clock ticking on the wall.
âHowâ¦how old is he?â I asked, after a moment.
âFifteen months.â
That would be about right. Almost exactly two years since our last night in Tokyo.
âI heard you call him Koichiro,â I said, remembering my conversation with Tatsu.
She nodded.
âItâs a good name.â
She nodded again.
I tried to think of something that wouldnât sound banal. Nothing would come.
âYouâre happy?â I asked.
Still just a nod.
âDamn it, Midori, will you at least say something to me?â
âYour minute is up.â
I glanced away, then back to her. âYou donât really mean that.â
âMaybe you forgot. You killed my father.â
I imagined myself saying, Come on, havenât we been over all that? I decided it would be the wrong approach.
âThen why did you have the baby?â I asked.
She looked at me, her expression frozen in neutral. âWhen I learned I was pregnant,â she said, âI realized I wanted a baby. The fact that it was your baby was incidental.â
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.
âLook, I can imagine how you feelâ¦â I started to say.
âNo, you canât.â
âIâve told you, Iâm sorry for what happened
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