InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Purity 3: Forever ❯ A Single Tear ( Chapter 43 )

~~Chapter 43~~

~A Single Tear~

 

Nezumi stared at the array of fresh flowers on display, biting her bottom lip as she tried to make up her mind. Ryomaru stood nearby, scowling as he flicked his ears almost nervously. A twinge of guilt shot through her. He hadn't complained since their Inutaisho-chartered Cessna had arrived late last night, but she could sense that he was still trying to shake off the unpleasant effects of the transcontinental flight.

 

She hadn't been able to help but notice the way he kept wincing when he thought she wasn't looking, how he smashed his ears against his head repeatedly. She hadn't once considered how the flight would affect him. She hadn't stopped to think that his heightened senses might be a very real disadvantage in traveling. He'd explained to her just before landing that Sesshoumaru had ordered one aircraft with the specified modifications. There was a special unit that regulated the cabin pressure with far greater precision than the normal commercial planes to better accommodate inu-youkai sensitivity. The trouble was that the plane had been undergoing routine maintenance, and the best Sesshoumaru had been able to do was to lend them the use of his secondary plane. He'd recently obtained this one, and it hadn't been modified as yet.

 

“Ryo? Are you okay? I could . . . I could go alone, I think . . .”

 

Ryomaru forced a smile and shook his head. “Feh! I'm fine,” he lied. “Don't worry about me, wench. Did you pick out some flowers yet?”

 

“No . . .”

 

“Well, they're all the same, ain't they? Just different colors, right?”

 

She sighed as she turned her attention back to the array of blossoms as she struggled to find a way to give voice to the feelings inside her. “It doesn't seem right, you know? Leaving flowers . . . it just doesn't quite seem like nearly enough.”

 

“Do you have to leave something when you say goodbye?” he asked quietly.

 

She shook her head miserably. Explaining her feelings seemed like an impossible task, and while Ryomaru knew her better than anyone, how could he understand what she couldn't articulate to herself? “It's not that . . . You know, as pretty as these are, they're already dead. I don't want to honor Mama by leaving something like that.”

 

Her statement caught him off guard. Staring at her for several long moments, Ryomaru considered what she'd said. “Is there something else, then? Something that reminds you of her?”

 

Lowering her gaze to the locket cradled in her hand, she closed her eyes and drew a deep breath.

 

`Something that reminds me of Mama? Something that would make her death seem like it meant something . . . What did it mean to me, really? I was just a child. I wished I understood . . . I wish . . .'

 

Ryomaru's hand on her back startled her out of her musings. “Come on, Nez. Let's go somewhere else and look around. I'm not one for shopping, but maybe you'll see something.”

 

She let him take her hand and lead her out of the small flower shop. Wandering along the sidewalk outside the strip mall, Nezumi watched the mothers with their small children hurrying into stores. The children looked so innocent, so trusting. If any of them realized that mothers were precious and that sometimes fathers made mistakes, Nezumi couldn't tell.

 

“You ever want one of those?” Ryomaru asked a little too casually.

 

“One of what?” Nezumi asked, sparing Ryomaru a glance out of the corner of her eye.

 

He waved his hand in a vague direction somewhere ahead of them which only served to further confuse Nezumi. “Those . . . pups . . . Not right away or anything, but sometime?” His question made her stumble. He caught her, steadied her, and shook his head. “Guess that'd be a `no', then.”

 

She felt as though he'd set her up. Nezumi shrugged in what she prayed was an off-handed manner and willed herself to stop blushing as she started walking again. “I hadn't really thought about it . . . I don't think I'd know how to be a mother.”

 

Ryomaru shrugged, jamming his hands into his pockets. “Well, Toga and Sierra are having one. We could always watch them so we know what not to do.”

 

Nezumi smiled at Ryomaru's assessment as the knot of apprehension started to ease. “I think Sierra will be a good mother.”

 

Ryomaru made a face. “It ain't Sierra who worries me. Toga's the one who's bound to fuck it all up. Think about it: he's so overprotective it's a miracle she can breathe.”

 

“So you wouldn't be like that?”

 

“Balls, no!”

 

Nezumi shook her head, knowing a lie when she heard one. “Why don't I believe that?”

 

Ryomaru snorted.

 

“Maybe someday,” she allowed, her cheeks warming at the thought. “Anyway, there are a few things that you should probably practice, first.”

 

“Like what?” he challenged airily.

 

“Like making sure you check the fluids in your car.”

 

“I can get a new one of those.”

 

“Feeding Yukitora.”

 

“She needs to eat?”

 

“Washing your own laundry.”

 

“Mother don't mind doing it.”

 

“Keeping dangerous stuff like your sword off the floor.”

 

“. . . Damn.”

 

Nezumi shook her head in dismay. “See? Definitely not ready for children, either of us.”

 

Ryomaru didn't answer. They kept walking, and Nezumi pressed her lips together in a tight line when she noticed the thoughtful frown on Ryomaru's face. “Something wrong?”

 

“Wrong?” he echoed. “Why?”

 

“Just wondering,” she remarked. “You look like you're thinking about something.”

 

“Nope, not a thing,” he assured her as he fished his cell phone out of his pocket and punched in a number on speed dial. After a brief pause while Nezumi wondered who he was calling and why, he spoke. “Mother? Yeah, everything's fine . . . I was just wondering if anyone fed Yukitora?”

 

Nezumi rolled her eyes and turned her attention to the display window behind her.

 

“Yeah . . . okay . . . Thanks.”

 

“And did anyone remember to feed her?” Nezumi asked as Ryomaru closed his phone and slipped it back into his pocket.

 

“The old man thought it'd be better to take Yukitora to their house, so yeah, Mother's been feeding her . . . and the old man's been picking on her.”

 

“That poor cat.”

 

“Poor cat, nothing! She'll swat him a good one, if he picks on her too much. I'm not too worried about her.”

 

“Let's go in here,” she suggested, gesturing at the toys in the window display. Grabbing the handle of the plate glass door, Nezumi yanked it open and shook her head again as she stepped inside.

 

“A toy store, Nez?”

 

Nezumi shrugged. “Sure. I wonder if they have anything for, you know, babies that they don't have in Tokyo.”

 

“For Sierra, right?” Ryomaru asked with a quirked eyebrow.

 

“Of course for Sierra . . . or for her baby.”

 

 

-=-0-=-0-=-0-=-0-=-0-=-

 

 

It wasn't really what she'd expected, the small, quiet cemetery just outside Austin, Texas's city limits. Hilltop Cemetery was a parochial site owned by the Presbyterian church that stood next to it, and as Nezumi climbed out of the car to stand beside the road, she couldn't shake the disengaged feeling that she was only going through the motions.

 

Ryomaru strode around the car, stopped beside Nezumi. He didn't rush her to look for the plot. Standing next to her so that she wouldn't feel alone was enough. Nezumi shot him a grateful half-smile. He turned his face up to stare at the early March sky.

 

A part of her wanted to get in the car, to drive into the city, and get back on the plane. Maybe she wasn't as brave as Ryomaru. Maybe she'd never face down youkai. Maybe, though, his strength was enough. Hesitantly she slipped her hand into his and without a word, the two stepped forward.

 

There didn't appear to be any real rhyme or reason to the layout of the plots. Not arranged in alphabetical order or by dates of death, Nezumi read each tombstone, each ground plaque as they wandered up and down the rows of plots. Ryomaru squeezed her fingers gently, reassuring her that he was right beside her.

 

“Oh, I forgot---”

 

Ryomaru nodded and caught Nezumi as she started to whip around, to head back to the car. “I'll get it. You keep looking. I'll be right back.”

 

He loped away, silver hair blowing behind him. He was an untamed creature, a magical presence. Moving with a predatory grace that spoke to her soul, Ryomaru was beautiful and frightening, wanton and wild and free.

 

“Excuse me, miss? Can I help you find someone?”

 

With a start, Nezumi whirled around to come face to face with a young man about her age---maybe a few years older---wearing a rumpled pair of slacks and a white dress shirt. “Help me find someone?”

 

The man lifted his hand, made a sweeping motion at the graveyard. “I'm sorry. I'm Reverend Bristol. I take care of this place in my spare time.”

 

“Mitako Nez . . . err, Deirdre.”

 

“Nice to meet you, Miss Mitako. I know everyone here---at least, I know where they're all resting. Who are you looking for?”

 

“Mitako Kate,” Nezumi murmured then shook her head. “Uh, Kathleen, I guess. She was my mother.”

 

Stormy gray eyes lit up in recognition of the name, and Reverend Bristol slowly nodded. “Ah, yes, she's over there. If you'll follow me . . .”

 

“Wait,” Nezumi called, grasping his sleeve. Taking a moment to remember the English that used to be her native tongue, Nezumi shook her head and gestured behind her. “I'm with someone. I should wait.”

 

Reverend Bristol nodded again as he stuck his hands in his pockets, gazing off in the distance, likely at her mother's grave. “Your mother is quite loved here, Miss Mitako. Every few months, a Japanese fellow comes to see her---your father, perhaps?”

 

Nezumi shook her head as she tried to understand what the reverend was telling her. Her father came here that often? For some reason, the idea of her father coming here alone, hurt. “I don't know . . . maybe.”

 

Nezumi could sense Ryomaru's approach, but she didn't turn around to verify the feeling. “Reverend, this is my . . . Ryomaru. Ryo, Reverend Bristol said he can show me where Mama's buried.”

 

Ryomaru didn't speak as he slipped an arm around Nezumi's waist. They fell into step behind the reverend, passing by the graves marked by great stone monuments or by small metal plaques. It struck Nezumi that it didn't matter if the graves bespoke wealth or seemed unremarkable, they were all kept neat and tidy, lovingly tended. She glanced up at Ryomaru, wondering what he was thinking. He stared straight ahead, his expression somber, serious.

 

The reverend stopped before a neat little grave in the back of the cemetery under the shade of an oak tree. The gravestone was humble yet beautiful. Floral sprays and scrolls of ribbon were lovingly engraved in the gravestone, and Nezumi wondered if her father hadn't chosen it more for it's simplicity than he had for the price. `Kathleen Anne Barber Mitako---March 27, 1975---July 29, 2008---Wife, Mother, Friend,' was etched in the mauve stone.

 

Reverend Bristol bowed to them and stepped back. “If you'll excuse me, I need to check something. I'd like to talk to you before you leave . . . Deirdre, right? Kathleen's daughter?”

 

Nezumi nodded without taking her eyes off the grave. She didn't see him walk away. Ryomaru knelt beside her as she hunkered down, running her fingers along the lettering. Her eyes burned, her throat ached, and as much as she wanted to, she couldn't cry. It still seemed unreal to her. It still seemed so far removed.

 

“You want this?”

 

Nezumi glanced over at the doll Ryomaru held. Golden curls all over her head, her eyes opened and closed when she moved. Nezumi took the doll, hugged her close for a minute. She set the doll in the soft grass against the gravestone where her mother rested. “Ryo, I can't . . . Why don't I cry?”

 

Ryomaru shook his head, kissed her temple. “It's all right, Nez. Maybe you mourned her a long time ago.”

 

The gentle sound of the reverend's cough drew their attention. Nezumi slowly stood up, crossing her arms over her chest as Ryomaru wrapped his arm around her again.

 

“I wondered if you were interested in hearing another story,” the reverend asked as he gazed at the stone, an odd, rasping hitch in his voice. Hands clasped behind his back, the reverend was pensive, sad, like he wanted to cry, too. Nezumi nodded her consent.

 

Reverend Bristol drew a deep breath. “There's another man who comes around. He has since he was just a boy. When he was younger, he came once a month, at least. As he grew older, he came whenever he was out of college, and even now he stops by every chance he gets.”

 

He paused in his story and regarded Nezumi for a long moment. Ryomaru didn't speak but she could feel his back stiffen as he drew her just a little closer, as if he knew what was coming and was bracing her for it, too.

 

“The boy was here so frequently that I asked him one time, why he came to see her. I remember it was raining---April showers, right? Anyway, he pulled a beautiful little baby doll from his pocket, and he said to me, `Sir, she died because of me, and I don't know how to say I'm sorry. She died for this doll. I threw it on their roof, and I just keep thinking that one of these days I'll see Deirdre here, and I can give her back.'”

 

Nezumi drew back. Ryomaru's arm tightened. Reverend Bristol held out an aged doll, the golden blonde curls in a tangle. “My doll,” Nezumi whispered as she took the doll. A single tear rolled down her cheek, splashed into the doll's age-clouded eye. “You . . . Billy?”

 

The reverend nodded miserably, and he couldn't look Nezumi in the eye. “I'm really sorry, Deirdre. I never meant for that to happen. You've got to believe me . . .”

 

“I believe you,” she said, voice curiously steady as she stared at the doll in her arms. “We were just kids, and . . . you didn't know.”

 

She couldn't stay angry. She couldn't retain the hurt and the sadness, and as she slowly lifted her gaze to the reverend, she wondered if maybe something good hadn't come of it, after all. Billy sniffled, wiped his eyes on his handkerchief. “It sounds hollow and empty, I know, but if I could bring her back, I would.”

 

“Take care of her, Billy. That's enough for me.”

 

Dashing the back of her hand across her eyes, Nezumi turned and ran, needing the distance, needing the space, needing the air. When she glanced back over her shoulder, Ryomaru was still standing at the grave. Billy was trudging back toward the church. Nezumi climbed into the car to wait.

 

She could forgive the Reverend Billy Bristol. She could be glad that she'd come, but that little part of her heart, the memory of that awful day wouldn't leave her. Maybe it never would, but at least she knew that her mother's death wasn't empty, after all.

 

If her mother had lived, would they have moved to Japan? If Yoshi hadn't moved them after her mother's death, would Nezumi have ever met Ryomaru? He was such an integral part of her life, and the idea of not having him there . . .

 

She'd always tried to be practical. She tried not to spend her time in daydreams. Still she couldn't help but wonder if it had been fate to meet him, if it was her destiny to be with him. Even if there weren't any real guarantees in life, Ryomaru was worth the risk.

 

He hunkered down beside the grave. She had to sit up straighter and lean her head back to see the top of his head. She wasn't sure why he stayed there, but she wasn't in a hurry. Gazing around the beautiful little cemetery, she smiled. Her mother was safe here; her mother was loved, and Nezumi . . . Nezumi felt freer, lighter, and she didn't feel alone.

 

 

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A/N:

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Final Thought fromNezumi:

My doll …

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Blanket disclaimer for this fanfic (will apply to this and all other chapters in Forever): I do not claim any rights to InuYasha or the characters associated with the anime/manga. Those rights belong to Rumiko Takahashi, et al. I do offer my thanks to her for creating such vivid characters for me to terrorize.

 

~Sue~