by Meg Mezeske
Again, in the karaoke room, Toshihiko sensed her scrutiny and looked up from his sake. He raised his cup as though toasting her and grinned in a goofy way that was very unlike the staunch inspector. Perhaps he, too, was allowing himself to relax for once. Jordan picked up her drink, spilling a bit as she fumbled for it, and made to join him.
Her world gone fuzzy around the edges, Jordan miscalculated the seat and stumbled on top of the inspector. By the time she settled, they were pushed hip to hip. She laughed. He did too, and neither moved. The music and laughter were loud, making conversation next to impossible. After a minute, Toshihiko leaned down close enough that his lips could have brushed her ear.
“Nice to see you.” His warm breath swept over Jordan’s cheek, making her shiver pleasantly, like she had walked into a tongue of sunlight on a chilly morning.
“You too,” she said loudly and gulped the rest of her drink, which made her grimace at the dry sweep of alcohol down her throat. Toshihiko smiled at her with no small amount of amusement and fondness. Under the thin frame of his glasses, his cheeks were flushed and his dark eyes held a bright intensity.
Jordan’s breath caught. She felt drawn to him in a way she never quite had before, as though she had to stop her fingers from reaching for him. As though her skin were burning where their legs and elbows touched. Before she could talk herself out of it, she rested her hand on his robed knee.
Toshihiko took a languid sip of his sake with impressive nonchalance and placed his hand over hers under the table. Slowly, he moved his hand, pressing his fingertips against the bones along the back of her hand, brushing her knuckles, and then lacing his fingers between hers. His palm was warm and soft, and he simply held her hand in his. Even such a small embrace sent tingles to Jordan’s fingertips.
After a moment, Toshihiko let go, but instead of withdrawing, he slid his hand across folds of fabric until it came to rest on the exposed skin of her thigh. Jordan jumped, then let out a low exhalation when his fingers traced the inside of her leg. She knew no one could hear but felt herself flush nonetheless.
“That yukata doesn’t fit you very well,” Toshihiko said with a teasing smirk, face close to hers. Jordan knew it was in his nature—and was his job—to observe, but she felt indignant.
She had been self-conscious about the robe all night. It was thin and worn only with undergarments, tailored for the average, petite Japanese woman. She had often caught flashes of her pale legs in the gap where the robe fastened, like paper between the folds of an envelope, no matter how many times she had gathered the fabric.
Jordan drew another slow breath and tensed her thigh under his hand.
“I could just ditch the yukata altogether,” she said with enough force to be heard, and to get her point across. Toshihiko’s fingers paused on her leg, his breath catching. She laughed, emboldened and heady. “You have a single room, don’t you?”
He managed to nod and moved his grip to her wrist, laid bare by a too-short sleeve, pulling her after him as he rose from his seat. Jordan tugged her robe together as they exited, she slightly behind him. No one seemed to notice, or if they did, they said nothing.
Compared to the raucous karaoke room, the hallway was like a library—quiet, empty, and infused with the brittle smell of paper and wood. Jordan couldn’t help but giggle as they shuffled away, socked feet thumping on the floor like books dropped one upon the other.
They scurried quietly through the sprawling lobby, which displayed an arresting collision of aesthetic sensibilities. Rustic woodwork met chic modern accents; a sheath of water trickled down a floor-to-ceiling monolith of black marble that evoked a waterfall in the woods despite its stark minimalism.
When they reached his room, Toshihiko fumbled in his billowy sleeves for the pocket that contained the entry card. Jordan had never seen him so impatient and had to bite her lip to keep from laughing.
“I’ll help you find it,” she said in a low voice and ran a hand over his backside, feeling the muscle tighten under her palm.
“Jordan!” Toshihiko yelped but managed to rein in his voice on the last syllable. “You’re not helping.” He smiled and leaned in to kiss her.
It was tentative at first, a simple press of closed lips, before they pulled away to take open-mouthed, shallow breaths. Jordan drew closer and guided Toshihiko’s mouth to hers with a hand on the back of his head, deepening the kiss.
From where his hands pulled her hips against his, currents of heat fanned out, curling tightly across her skin and pooling in hollows. When their lips rejoined, their teeth bumped and Toshihiko’s glasses pushed into her cheek with the urgency of their grasping embrace. Jordan laughed breathlessly, but then stopped at a noise.
Over the furious rushing of her heart in her ears, Jordan had heard the thud of footfalls nearby. Her breath thickened in her throat as she whipped her head to see down the hallway.
Before she and the inspector could disengage, Mr. Mori rounded the corner and stopped. Jordan jumped away from Toshihiko, though it was far too late. But if Mr. Mori were shocked or appalled, he didn’t show it beyond the almost imperceptible raising of a single eyebrow.
“Excuse me,” he said with an admirable lack of sarcasm and bowed before entering the men’s restroom a few feet away from the pair.
For a moment, Jordan was concerned that the interruption would jolt new life into Toshihiko’s sense of propriety, raising an instant and unscalable wall. But before the worry could take hold, Toshihiko laughed and grinned at her.
“Find that key?” Jordan smiled wolfishly.
He answered with a kiss to her temple and pulled her through the open door.
They got dressed in companionable silence, each allowing the other to their thoughts. But as Jordan pulled on her yukata and the warmth of their encounter began to cool, her giddiness deflated.
She didn’t regret what they had done—had quite enjoyed it, in fact. But she was niggled by guilt nonetheless. While she had followed Toshihiko to his room as a romp—a pleasant distraction, thrilling and fleeting—she hadn’t told him she had no intention of resuming their relationship.
Actually, she hadn’t given much thought at all to what would follow that moment. And she couldn’t even guess as to what Toshihiko had thought, or was thinking.
Jordan turned her back to him, afraid one kind look would dissuade her from what she had to say. She swallowed hard.
“Toshihiko…This doesn’t mean we’re back together,” Jordan said softly. Even though she wasn’t facing him, she ducked her head and fiddled with the ties of her robe.
There was a beat of silence. A slow exhalation.
“You’re going about this the wrong way.” Toshihiko’s voice came from behind her.
“Excuse me?” Jordan pivoted and gave him a sharp, questioning look.
“Your yukata—you’re tying it all wrong. Here.” He walked over from where he had been leaning against the wall and gently began to undo the tied belt at her waist. “Fold the left side over the right side. It’s never worn the other way. Only the deceased are dressed for burial with right over left, you see?”
“You saved me from quite the fashion faux pas, then,” Jordan said, still feeling a bit silly from drink and wanting to overwrite the morbid image Toshihiko had created.
“Quite.” He let out a sniff of a laugh, focused on righting the yukata.
Toshihiko rearranged the folds of the robe, cast in blue moonlight from the window. His hands glided over and smoothed the yukata, and Jordan could feel the warmth of his palms through the fabric along her stomach and hips.
“Thank you.” She offered a small smile. A brittle, bittersweet thing.
“Of course,” Toshihiko said warmly, but his tone was at odds with the sadness in his eyes.
“Well, I’d better…” Jordan motioned at the door instead of saying more, unable to muster the right words.
Toshihiko gave a knowing nod and reached past her to open the door, his hand brushing against her ar
m.
“Goodnight, Jordan.”
“Goodnight,” she said as she stepped into the hall, and he shut the door with one last tender look.
She didn’t move for a long time, staring at Toshihiko’s room and wrestling with the urge to knock. Finally, a cool breeze swept across her skin and she shuddered back to herself.
She had been away from the rest of her group for well over an hour, but it was still early in the evening, and people were bound to be about. Not wanting to be caught by one of her colleagues again, she made to slip around the corner. She could probably rejoin the other teachers unnoticed and without comment. As long as Mr. Mori hadn’t said anything.
That thought chilled her, yet, somehow, she doubted Mr. Mori would share what he had seen. Gossip just didn’t seem to coincide with her image of the taciturn instructor.
Now on edge, Jordan paused where the hallways met, casting a quick look one way before turning the other. She gasped, startled, when she was suddenly face-to-face with Ms. Tatsuya.
“Oh! Jordan-sensei, where have you been?” The small woman’s owl-like eyes grew even larger with surprise.
“I thought I might check out the onsen. I guess I got a little lost.” Jordan gave a short laugh that sounded nervous to her own ears, but she congratulated herself for not fumbling for an answer.
“You came from the hallway to the men’s wing.” Ms. Tatsuya’s lips drew back from her large front teeth in an odd sort of smile, her tone dipping between questioning and incredulous.
“I must have been really lost.” Jordan offered no more, even as the silence began to grow thick.
“Well, I’m glad I found you, then! I happen to be going to the onsen myself. You’d like to join me?”
Jordan agreed and followed Ms. Tatsuya through the narrow corridors until they arrived at the entrance to the hot springs. The onsen was denoted by a canvas flap at the doorway, which bore a symbol of a pool with three swishing lines rising above it like steam.
As soon as Jordan stepped through, a sheet of freezing air pressed against her and almost drove her back inside. The resort was high in the mountains and the night held a sharp edge, making the prospect of slipping into the hot springs all the more appealing.
The air sagged with humidity, despite the cold, and a sulfuric odor crept to Jordan’s nose. They rounded a corner onto a wide, open-air porch where wooden walkways led to the women’s changing room on one side and the men’s on the other.
The separation struck Jordan as perfunctory at best, seeing as the hot springs were co-gender and no one was permitted in the pool unless completely bare, but she was grateful nonetheless. Already, there were a handful of people in the pool beyond the porch, though it was difficult to make them out through the plumes of steam and the dim evening light.
The pool cut a bright shape out of the darkness, shrinking and swelling as its steam heaved into the cold air. Water trickled out of the far end of the pool and ran down stepped rocks that dropped off the ledge of the hillside a hundred feet away. Only the sky and the crests of nearby mountains, jagged with pines and aspens, could be seen past the plunging lip of rock.
“This way, Jordan-sensei,” Ms. Tatsuya said and motioned her toward the changing room. Though open to the air, the inside was soupy and stagnant. Jordan saw three stalls with shower heads at waist height, drooping over short plastic stools. “Please wash off—your hair too—and then we can go in.”
Without offering further instruction or even turning her back, Ms. Tatsuya undid her robe and began to remove her bra. Jordan looked away and tried to disrobe as discreetly as possible—which was not at all. Jordan’s thoughts were still soft around the edges from alcohol, and she contemplated whether she would have proceeded any further if not for the pleasant numbness.
Eyes down, she folded and stored her clothes, then sat on a stool in front of a showerhead, rolling a cracked, grey-veined bar of soap in her hands. The water was tepid and the air cold. She shivered, eager to clothe herself in the silky waves of the pool.
Finally, Ms. Tatsuya signaled that they could go. She gave Jordan a folded hand towel soaked in cold water, instructing her to put it on her head once in the onsen to keep from overheating.
Jordan had to restrain herself from running to the pool and was immensely grateful for the shroud of steam that rose up to block her view of the other bathers, and, hopefully, theirs of her. She dropped herself in with an inelegant, sloshing splash and a gasp of surprise at the remarkable heat. The prickled goosebumps along her skin instantly smoothed and she felt as though she had melted into the water, like an ice cube dropped into soup.
A slight breeze, not cold enough to penetrate the pervasive heat, brushed away the steam damask to reveal the head teacher, Mr. Mori, and Mrs. Okubo. All were flushed and wearing hand towels draped across their crowns.
“Jordan! Tatsuya-sensei found you,” Mrs. Okubo said with a chirpy lilt and a wide smile. Jordan guessed Mrs. Okubo was at least as tipsy as she.
“Poor thing, she was wandering the halls like a yuurei. All the way on the east side of the building.” Ms. Tatsuya tutted. Mr. Mori’s gaze swept from her to Jordan, lingering for just a moment.
“Oh well, we’re having fun now right? First time in an onsen?” the head teacher asked, his words slurred.
“Yes.” Jordan grinned and ducked her head, once again self-conscious of the fact that only the milky water was dividing their nude bodies.
She felt not only embarrassed but also vulnerable. The instinct she had developed to be watchful and on-guard while around her coworkers came alive again with a start. She reminded herself that Ms. Nakamura wasn’t a threat anymore, and she coaxed the wariness back to sleep.
When the other teachers resumed talking among themselves, Jordan was finally able to relax. The water, the air, her body—everything was enshrouded in heat that seeped through the skin to the marrow. When Jordan’s hands moved through the water, she felt no resistance—no push where the water began and her fingertips ended. In the breath-like fog of steam, it was impossible to distinguish between the water and the creamy shadows of limbs.
Jordan sighed and closed her eyes, the others’ voices dispersing among the droplets of steam and rising away before they could reach her ears.
The next morning was a subdued affair. The teachers quietly ate their breakfasts in the dining room, chirps of birdsong and waxing sunbeams filtering through the open shoji doors.
Jordan didn’t so much eat her breakfast as poke at it—stringy fermented soybeans over rice wasn’t exactly her idea of a hangover remedy. She slurped at the miso soup instead, at least enjoying its warmth. The pleasant quietude was jostled by a knock at the threshold.
“Pardon the interruption,” Toshihiko said from the doorway, and Jordan looked up in unison with her colleagues. The inspector was already fully dressed, the ryokan’s yukata given over for a suit and tie. He didn’t look the least bit worse for wear after the night’s carousing, and, for once, Jordan envied his imperturbability.
“Ah, good morning, Inspector Sakurai,” Principal Kikuchi said, bowing without rising from his seat at the floor. “Will you be joining us?”
“My apologies, but no. I have to return to Yamagata City earlier than expected.”
“Is it something to do with…” The principal didn’t complete his question, but it was obvious he was thinking of Ms. Nakamura. His eyes darted for just a moment and a few teachers suddenly found something very interesting in their bowls of rice.
“No. I have other cases I must attend,” Toshihiko said with a placating smile. “So if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be going now. Thank you for your hard work.” The inspector bowed deeply as the room returned their thanks.
Before Toshihiko left, he caught Jordan’s eye. She gave a little wave, keeping her hand below the table so only he could see, and mouthed, “bye.” A private smile curved his lips before he could hide it, then he nodded once and left.
Thirty-Two
Jordan trie
d to take at least some satisfaction in the inane errand Ms. Tatsuya had given her.
Perhaps the math instructor was simply too overwhelmed to do it herself, now that the new term was in full swing. After all, the task did only entail retrieving some items from the school greenhouse. Ms. Tatsuya had somehow felt the need to create a list: large pot, watering can.
Jordan shook her head wryly as she shoved the list into her pocket, wondering if Ms. Tatsuya really thought her incapable of remembering two things.
After Jordan exited the main school building, she turned and was faced by the empty baseball field. For a fleeting moment, she saw the specters of Ryusuke and Kenji running across the green grass. Saw a baseball arc through the sky before pegging a certain inspector…
She realized then that she had paused just feet away from where she and Toshihiko had first met. Ripples of fondness and regret trailed behind that memory, and then in the eddies of their other shared moments that floated to mind. Jordan thought of the mountain ryokan and smiled.
Perhaps it had been for the best that Toshihiko had rushed off without a proper farewell. They had at least avoided any awkwardness, or the temptation to continue where they had left off. The two of them had texted every few days since: casual, friendly messages that ghosted past anything serious, aside from the case. Jordan’s smile wilted and she shook her head, reminding herself that she had things to do beyond navel-gazing.
“One large pot and a watering can, coming up.”
She strode forward toward the greenhouse, which stood tucked behind the baseball field at the schoolyard’s outer boundary. Though much of the school had been refurbished, the greenhouse was obviously old and seldom used. Panels of plastic film made opaque by grime pulled away from the building’s ribs, like battered sails straining in the wind. Jordan almost couldn’t distinguish its footpath amid the clumps of weeds that bullied its edges.