Page 18 of Fumiko and the Finicky Nestmate
Fumiko crossed to the bed and sat on its velvety green coverlet. “I want you to stay.”
When she beckoned, Akira perched next to her on the edge of the mattress, half-turned so he could see her face. “I want to stay. Your home is amazing. But my friend likes things … simple.”
She nodded, but he could tell he wasn’t getting through.
“For Juuyu to be comfortable, I’ll need to move things around. Or … out. He likes an empty room.”
“That’s sad.”
“Not really.” Akira fell back on postures to set the tone. “He’ll think it’s peaceful. Quieter without so many details.”
Fumiko didn’t make him ask again. “You may move things. I don’t want you to go.”
He took her hand and squeezed it. “We’ll stay. Juuyu and I will be right here.”
SIX
Memory Lane
Fumiko offered to let their guests know about dinner, mostly so she could check on their progress. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust them. Every Amaranthine she’d ever met had been courteous to a fault, and they never took their promises lightly. But her things were a part of her. They triggered memories and daydreams and long conversations with Zuzu. Having someone else touching them was unsettling.
The guesthouse door stood open, so she walked in … and wavered.
She couldn’t have been absent for more than forty minutes. An hour at most. Yet the central room had been cleared. “Where is everything?” she exclaimed.
Colt immediately set down the black case in his arms and crossed to her side. “We’ve been moving things. You said we could …?” Concern shone in his eyes, and the touch to her shoulder was gentle. “I’ll show you.”
Fumiko nodded.
To her surprise, Colt took her hand and led her like a child. He would get on well with Antigone—the hippie and the healer. Both prone to coddling.
“Your things are in here. It’s not as organized as some might like, but nothing’s been harmed.” They’d packed the first bedroom on the right with her things, all the way up to the ceiling in the far corner. He promised, “We can put everything back before we go.”
She nodded. Then shook her head. Then nodded again.
Colt seemed to think she needed a tour. “We’ll use this central area as a meeting room. Hallow and I will share the room at that corner.”
The door he indicated was thickly daubed with paint, all in purple hues. Peering around the echoing room, memories flooded back. She’d painted the four doors herself—whelk and wisteria, jade and cerulean. This had been her studio for a while.
Although the memories were fuzzy at the edges, they were sun-drenched and happy ones. From one of those times when the father hadn’t immediately left, and she’d known a husband’s love. The mares had stayed on, and there had been six children. Every room full to bursting with life and laughter.
Soren.
Yes, she’d loved a man called Soren. Tall and blond and tanned, with sparkling blue eyes and a bristling beard. Zuzu had loved tucking flowers into it, and he’d laughed and let her. How long ago, now? The time before last? Surely no more than three centuries.
He hadn’t wanted to fade before her eyes, so he’d gone away in order to mentor their grandchildren. Soren, who was an accomplished ward.
But he’d returned, bringing back a trove of stories and souvenirs. And they’d convinced him to stay. She and Zuzu had held him at the end. To his very last breath.
“Fumiko?” Colt touched her face. “Fumiko, you’re crying.”
“Soren,” she whispered. “His years were gone too soon.”
He cautiously asked, “Do you have good memories?”
“Sometimes.”
“Then you’ll be fine, Fumiko.” Colt’s smile was sad. “You’re very brave.”
