Page 17 of Fumiko and the Finicky Nestmate
“Go on, Akira,” said Colt. “Check the additional room. We’ll get a start here.”
So he offered Fumiko his hands. “Show me?”
“Where’s Zuzu?” asked Akira.
Fumiko led him to the lighthouse tower’s wide front door, but she paused to wave a hand. “Here. All around us.”
Which might apply to a sizeable section of the neighborhood, given the spread of root and branch. “I meant her speaking form. Does she live with you?”
“Sometimes.”
Fumiko ushered him into a large, circular room ringed by tall, narrow windows. Before them was a long, narrow table flanked by benches and stools. There was a sink, appliances, and some blocky cupboards. Baskets held fresh produce. Canning jars, platters, and crocks lined two long shelves with decorative guard rails.
“Our gathering room. This is where we share meals. And talk.” Fumiko wove past an empty birdcage and a stack of coffee table books as tall as she was.
Mismatched furniture had been pulled into a rough circle around a low table dominated by a vase of fresh flowers and several candlestands. Akira thought the space was cheerful. Yes, it was crowded, but it was clean. However, as he bypassed a rolling cart stacked with dozens of coffee cups, he couldn’t deny that this didn’t bode well for Juuyu.
Fumiko climbed a staircase broken into short flights. “Four floors. Five, if you count the gallery at the top.”
Akira paused at each window to check the view, but he had to mind where he put his feet. Things had been stacked along either side of the steps. Mostly books and boxes, but he spied a soup tureen and a gramophone. He couldn’t discern any rhyme or reason to the accumulation—roller skates, dog collars, terra cotta figures.
On the third level, past a bamboo screen, which appeared to be the only nod to privacy, was another roughly circular room. “Doors?” he asked, surprised to find double doors set into the thick stone walls.
“A balcony.” Pushing aside a box of holiday decorations, she swung the doors wide. “We added it a while ago. It makes things easier for the interns.”
He stepped into dappled sunlight. To the right, he could see sunlight on water. “Facing south,” he murmured in Japanese.
“I’ll tell Antigone you’re here.” Fumiko indicated another balcony above, half-hidden by the tower’s curve. “During your stay, she can use my room for observation.”
“Observation,” he repeated, peering up into Zuzu’s swaying limbs. That was a kind of studying. “What does she watch from here?”
Fumiko gave him a puzzled look that slowly softened into pity. “You’re not a reaver,” she repeated, nodding to herself. “Antigone is a preservationist, but her specialty is Ephemera.”
“Oh! Yeah. I’ve heard a lot about them. Do you get pretty ones here?”
“They’re certainly amusing.” She cast a final look into the air, then stepped back inside. “Will this work for you and …?”
“Juuyu.” Akira made a slow turn. Fumiko had called the room empty. Maybe it was empty of people, but it wasn’t empty of stuff. Still, it wasn’t nearly as crowded as the guesthouse had been. He was mentally rearranging when Fumiko spoke again.
“We usually only use this room after I choose.”
Something in her manner tipped him off that this was embarrassing somehow. He reviewed her words, trying to decide if he’d missed some American euphemism. All the words seemed safe on the surface, so he asked, “What do you choose?”
“There has to be a father for me to fulfill my contract.”
Akira glanced around more carefully. “Are you saying this is your husband’s room?”
“Sometimes.”
She was looking for a husband? Akira slowly raised both hands. “Not me?”
“No.” Fumiko smiled and shook her head. “I offer this room in friendship.”
“Friends.” Hoping his posture would help convey his meaning, he went for a flat-out helpless stance. “Could I ask questions? They might be clumsy or rude, and I don’t want to offend you.”
“I’ll hear you out.”
“First. Will it bother you if I’m in this room with Juuyu?” Rearranging his question, he asked, “Is this too close, too private?”
