Jun's Letter
I had no desire to mock Evan by throwing his question back at him with something like, “What exactly do you think I know?”
Still, answering him with either a yes or a no felt impossible. Ever since the day I had spotted Grace in the park, I had simply hoped it was all a misunderstanding and done my best to forget about it.
Looking back, maybe I should have said something after all.
But Evan didn’t seem particularly interested in my answer. He just gave a self-deprecating little smile and went on.
“The rumors have spread through the neighborhood so thoroughly that there’s no one left who hasn’t heard.”
He didn’t give off the sense that he wanted to drop the subject, so I carefully asked,
“I know it’s a pointless question, but… why do you think Grace did it somewhere everyone could see?”
Wasn’t an affair supposed to be something people conducted carefully, in secret?
“Apparently it was because of the hatred for me that kept surging up in her, moment by moment.”
There really was nothing I could say to that.
“……Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.”
The answer came a little too quickly.
“It’s better than finding out after having a child and raising it together. I’ve already handed everything necessary over to the lawyer, and I intend to extract a substantial amount of alimony.”
Evan added that he would pile on every charge he could attach—defamation, adultery, and whatever else would stick.
“I’m going to cleanly cut this marriage out of my life.”
Even answering things I hadn’t asked, Evan spoke in a tightly controlled, businesslike tone, as if reaffirming the decision to himself once more.
I looked at him for a moment. The man who always seemed so neat and impeccable was faintly coming undone.
The dark circles beginning to settle under his eyes. The slightly crooked tie pin. And that faint smell of cigarettes lingering in the office that I hadn’t noticed the last time I was here…
Instead of asking if he was all right again, I invited him to dinner.
“Have you been eating properly? If it’s all right with you, I’d like to treat you to a meal at my place tonight. I still owe you from last time, and you’ve been looking after the plating project for me as well.”
The words slipped out before I realized it, and the moment they left my mouth I regretted them…
But Evan didn’t refuse.
On the way home from the publishing house I bought some decent beef. Nothing beat steak when you needed to put together a respectable meal in a hurry.
Of course that would have been impossible if my cooking skills were terrible, but at this point my steak could hold its own against most hotel restaurants.
After marinating the steak in wine, I busied myself feeding the kids and getting them washed. By the time dinner was over they would be ready for bed.
I let them loose in the playroom and was catching my breath for a moment when a knock sounded at the front door.
“Whoa!”
Luca let out a sturdy little shout toward the entrance.
“Yeah, we’ve got a guest, huh?”
In the old days, the doorbell or a knock would make his eyes go round and freeze him in place.
These days, maybe because Reni was here, he had grown quite brave. Perhaps, just as James had said, having one more person on his side made him feel secure.
I gave both boys a gentle pat on the head and let Evan into the house.
Sizzle…
“There really isn’t a dish you can’t make, is there?”
“Haha…”
I served the steak cooked medium-rare to match his preference and opened a bottle of wine Greg’s mother had given us. The meat was excellent, and so was the wine.
For a little while Evan seemed to forget his situation and simply marveled at the food.
Of course, after a few more bites the shadow settled over his face again.
“Sometimes it’s easier to talk to someone you don’t know well, isn’t it?”
“……”
“If you’re comfortable, say whatever you like. Whatever you tell me, I’ll listen and then forget it right away.”
“Is that even possible?”
“Yes. When you’re stuck with kids twenty-four hours a day, it is.”
“That actually makes sense. Come to think of it, when my mind gets complicated I throw myself even harder into work, but…”
Even so, Evan stuck to ordinary conversation until a few more glasses of wine went down. Only then did he begin to empty out what was inside him.
“In the end, turning a stranger into family isn’t easy.”
I simply listened.
“I thought I had been considerate enough and that I’d worked hard to keep this family going, but apparently I was wrong.”
His words tumbled out without much order.
“When we couldn’t get pregnant easily, we went to clinics and looked into adoption, and somewhere in the middle of that process… one day she asked me if I really loved her, then none of this would be necessary at all.”
Evan let the words out like a sigh and took another swallow of wine.
“It felt unfair. I thought we were just following the steps we had planned together from the start, so why did talk of love suddenly come into it? We got married specifically to build a family, after all.”
“Right.”
“Grace called me a cold-blooded bastard. Looking at how I keep wishing this whole thing would just be over already, maybe she was right.”
I added something here.
“More than that, maybe you’re just exhausted right now?”
“That might be it. Either way, like she said, my love probably wasn’t enough.”
Evan gave the same self-deprecating smile I had seen that afternoon.
“I thought I’d lived a life that had nothing to do with failure… but I failed.”
“If you don’t mind my asking, how old are you?”
“Thirty-three.”
…About eight years older than me, but still not that old.
“Well, Evan. Honestly, I don’t think thirty-three is too late to start over.”
“I know. But I’m not even sure I want that anymore. It seems not everyone is given the right to become a father.”
I couldn’t find anything to say and fell silent. Evan added, sounding almost resentful,
“She asked me—if adoption is just raising someone else’s child anyway, then what does it matter whose child is in her belly?”
…What kind of logic was that? Truly remarkable.
“But those are completely different situations, aren’t they?”
“Well… yes, they are…”
“She even said it would be better because at least part of her would be in it…”
Evan let out a hollow laugh that held both anger and disbelief. Then his expression turned bitter as he added,
“She wasn’t like that originally. She really wasn’t. Is it my fault she became this way?”
Pointing at Evan sprawled asleep on the sofa, Reni asked,
“Dad, why is that uncle sleeping at our house?”
“Yeah, the uncle was too tired today, so he’s staying here.”
I felt I ought to check on him now and then to make sure he was still breathing, so I couldn’t quite bring myself to dump him back at his own place while he was dead to the world.
But I still had work to do, so I took the kids into the bedroom and closed the door.
I had planned to film a picture-book reading video tonight.
Because of copyright issues I had been looking through classics, and a picture-book version of Daddy-Long-Legs caught my eye, so I sat down in front of the boys with that one.
After setting up the camera I cleared my throat and started reading the first line—only for Luca’s little hand to shoot out and cover the words.
“Aigoo, Luca.”
I couldn’t hold back the laugh that burst out as I gently moved his hand away. I checked the camera again and tried to start properly, but this time Luca’s head popped right into the frame.
Tonight’s picture-book reading was a failure. Smiling, I laid the baby back in place, and Reni grinned as he made a request.
“Dad, sing a song instead of reading a book.”
“All right.”
The low notes of the guitar made Luca’s eyes grow heavy by pure reflex, and Reni laughed happily before drifting off as well.
Once I was sure both boys were asleep, I moved to the next room and set the camera up on the desk again.
“……”
I opened the picture book once more, but I couldn’t focus, so I set it aside.
The kids weren’t listening, and a man alone reading a picture book in the middle of the night felt a little strange.
Instead I picked up the wooden spoon I had started a while back and still hadn’t finished.
If I kept carving this, maybe I could talk about something natural while I worked.
“……Hello.”
The very first word made heat rise in my face. Thank goodness my face wouldn’t be in the video.
To loosen up I focused first on the familiar work of shaping the wood.
Scrape, scrape…
The smell of the wood, the soft rasping sound, and the distant city noise drifting in through the open window slowly settled my mind.
I tried again.
“Hello. ……Did you have a good day today?”
Fortunately my voice neither shook nor sounded like it belonged to someone else.
As the tension eased further, my shoulders dropped naturally and my voice sank lower.
“There’s a friend sleeping in the living room tonight…”
Well, he wasn’t really a friend. But I would leave the editing to Cassandra and just keep the “conversation” going however it came.
Even when I talked to people in real life I didn’t fuss over every little detail like that.
“I don’t know if this part will make it into the video, but the truth is I meant to read a picture book to the kids today. They refused, though…”
I smiled a little, remembering the little hand that had slid into view and Luca’s little head that had popped into the frame.
“……So instead I sang them a lullaby and they went to sleep. Kids really do whatever they want. Some days a picture book is perfect, some days only a song will do. Still, they’re awfully cute.”
Scrape, scrape…
As I hollowed out the broad, rounded bowl of the spoon, the sound of insects rose from not far away. Loud enough that the microphone would probably pick it up.
“Can you hear the insects? I grew up in the countryside when I was little. Back then, nights were full of all kinds of summer sounds like this. Back then…”
Back then…
The words stuck for a moment. I gave a small shake of my head and quickly pulled my feet out of the wide, shallow sea of sadness that was beginning to wash in like a tide.
I could do that now.
“……The story I was going to read the kids today is Daddy-Long-Legs. One reason is that the copyright has expired.”
I said it and then laughed awkwardly. Whatever. If there was a problem, Cassandra would edit it out.
Once I finished this wooden spoon, I decided I would carve a little wooden airplane next and give it to Charlie as a gift.
Anyway.
“The expired copyright is one reason, but I also really loved this book when I was a kid.”
It was usually more popular with girls, yet every break time I was the one who claimed it first.
“I used to write letters that never got answers for a while myself… and it felt so similar that I liked the story.”
Of course the heroine, Judy, eventually met Jervis—who had been her Daddy-Long-Legs—and got her happy ending. I never did.
“……Still, the time spent writing those letters felt, how should I put it, like gently applying ointment to a sore place.”
Even if you put ointment on a wound, it leaves a scar. But the wound still heals a little faster.
“I find it hard just to say ‘I had a rough day today’ to someone. I don’t want to pass my hardship on to them and spoil their mood, or make them worry.”
And sometimes, instead of empathy, all you get back is a scolding. Probably because everyone is tired and worn out.
“But bottling everything up inside isn’t always the answer either. When that happens, writing a letter to someone isn’t such a bad idea.”
Even a letter that would never reach anyone, if I poured my whole heart into it, left me feeling as though I had lifted that much weight from my chest.
“Even if it’s only the weight of a single sheet of paper. Keep unloading little by little, and someday all your sadness might turn into nothing more than a few letters, right? As I got older I stopped writing them, but I sometimes wonder what would have happened if I’d kept going.”
Back then I was so disappointed by the replies that never came that I simply quit.
“If your chest is full of words you can’t say to anyone, how about writing them down in a letter—even if it can never be delivered? Just taking out paper and a pencil might make you feel a little better.”
Scrape, scrape…
“Ah, right. At first you might not know what to write, but let’s try it together.”
You might be disappointed when the feelings you put down without filter look too ugly. But so what? Trying is what matters.
“I talked pretty randomly today, but even writing just this much would be fine, don’t you think? Ah—then how about we call this my first voice letter to all of you?”
I ran my hand over the almost-finished wooden spoon and added,
“Writing a letter can be hard in itself. If that’s the case for you, leave me just one line of a comment here. As a reply to my letter. Since I was rambling, you can say anything at all.”
I set the roughly carved spoon down. The sanding could wait until morning.
“I don’t know what time of day you’ll receive my letter, but whenever and wherever you are, I hope you have a good day. I’ll end it here.”