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The Other Woman
    Short Story by Paul Sean
Grieve
     
    The click of Hikari’s high heeled shoes on the
pavement echoed against the walls of the crowded houses as she made
her way along the narrow lane way as new fallen leaves swirled
around her feet in the stiff autumn breeze. The gusting wind was
all that remained of a typhoon that had blown over the island the
week before, taking with it the lingering remnants of the searing
Okinawan summer.
    Watching the dot move on the
screen of her iPhone as she walked, she rounded a corner and began
her ascent up the steep hill that led to the residence of the
wealthy socialite who’d invited her to a casual Sunday brunch. Her
steps lengthening as the hill became steeper, Hikari looked up,
feeling the still-strong sun on her face as she watched the white,
cottony clouds whisk across the deep blue sky. The phone buzzed in
her hand and, despite herself, she felt a twinge of naughty
anticipation. Was it him? She asked this question every time her phone
announced there was a new message waiting, and she cursed herself
for it. Flipping over to the mail screen, she felt a mix of
disappointment and relief as her eyes scanned the address bar. Not
him.
    She’d gone out twice with the American teacher
and both dates had been amazing. Her English was so basic she’d
feared she and he might have trouble communicating, but was
pleasantly surprised to find that his Japanese was far more
advanced than she’d thought. While he wasn’t completely fluent, he
had a way of saying so much with words he knew, and he worked hard
to understand her. Having met when she showed up for an
introductory English course sponsored by the government of Nanjo
City, the spark she’d felt for him on the first day had glowed
steadily throughout the four-week intensive, eventually flaring up
into a raging fire which consumed more of her time and attention
than she cared to admit. It was possible they could have a future
together, or so she told herself, notwithstanding the excruciating
fact that he was already married.
    Switching back to the map screen, Hikari
continued up the incline, her shadow rotating around her as she
turned a sharp corner. At the top of the hill, as the dot on her
screen approached the address Mme Kudo had sent via text, Hikari
stopped. Peering through the open gate at the well-pruned Niwaki
trees lining the stone path that led to the front door, she felt
butterflies churn in her stomach. Second thoughts began to
overpower her curiosity and she fought the temptation to turn
around. Of course she couldn’t do that. The impropriety of failing
to attend after accepting the invitation would be an insult to her
hostess. Yet, as she stood at the gate, the October wind tossing
her long black hair, feelings of shame over the deeply personal
matter she knew she’d have to discuss loomed large in her
mind.
    Of course, the other attendees
would also be sharing personal matters and Hikari was sure they all
felt the same trepidation. Mme Kudo had invited Hikari at the
behest of a mutual friend who had once attended her frequent Sunday
brunches for younger women and who felt strongly that Hikari would
benefit from participating in what had become known affectionately
among attendees as Mme Kudo’s Lonely
Heart’s Club , after the legendary album by
the Beatles. After hearing Hikari’s story from their common friend,
Mme Kudo had asked Hikari specifically to come on this particular
day in order to hear from the special guest she’d invited. So,
reservations aside, she set her phone to manner mode and stepped
through the gate into the small courtyard cordoned off by the stone
wall which ran the perimeter of the property in traditional
Okinawan fashion. She tentatively approached the wooden door and
rang the bell.
    As she waited, she tried to make sense of the
snippets of conversation that could be heard above the Okinawan
sanshin music emanating from within. As far as she could tell, all
the voices were of