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The week after Akira went back to Japan, Eiji decided to take a trip. It was last minute, but it was still easy to get his hands on a car. It was much harder to convince Sing that nothing was wrong and that he’d just had a flash of photography inspiration. He doubted Sing believed him, but apparently, he’d been reassured that Eiji wasn’t going to drive himself over a cliff or anything. A year, hell, a month ago, he may not have been so easily assuaged, but their conversation at Cape Cod and the “Dawn” picture seemed to have convinced him that Eiji was healing, ready to move on.
He would never.
He packed two bags, one for him and one for Buddy. A third bag, the largest of the three, was stuffed full with as many photo-binders as he could fit inside. He ended up having to grab a fourth bag to put over the top of it to keep the books from spilling out the top.
Sing had spent the night at his own place for once, so Eiji didn’t have to say goodbye before he left. He turned off all of the lights after the last trip. He hesitated then went to his studio to grab the large professional print of “Dawn” that had been displayed in his exhibit. It barely fit in the already full trunk, but he figured that was for the best because it meant that nothing would move around and get damaged during the drive.
He patted his pockets, double-checked that he had his wallet and his address book, got in the car and left.
He’d left early to beat the traffic and was mostly successful. It was impossible to go through such a big city without getting stuck in a couple stand-stills, although there weren’t nearly as many as if he’d been entering the city instead of leaving. Driving came easily now, in the way it hadn’t when his father had first attempted to get him behind a wheel in Japan, before the hospitalizations, just them and an empty road and a whispered “Don’t tell your mother.”
Eiji didn’t know when or how Ash had learned to drive. He probably wouldn’t like the answer. Still, it was hard to accept, always, that there was so much he didn’t know about Ash, that he would be left wondering without an answer for the rest of his life. Maybe Nadia or maybe Alex would know, but it always hurt more whenever Eiji’s curiosity was satisfied second-hand.
The drive from New York to Boston took almost five hours, including the two stops Buddy needed. His little assistant was good in the car, but it was unfair to make him stay cramped up with no movement for so long so he stopped at nicer looking parks off the highway to let him burn off some energy. He grabbed a sandwich from a café close to one of them and pointedly ignored the cashier’s attempt to give him her number. He didn’t think about his mother asking him if he had a girlfriend yet every time he summoned the energy to call her.
He barely tasted the sandwich then got back into the car.
Eiji got off of the highway before he reached Boston proper, turning off at one of the many suburbs. He mostly knew how to get to where he wanted. He’d not been here many times, but the few he had were fully seared into his memory, and he only had to pull over to look at the map he’d stored in his glove box once.
He never stopped being amazed by how sprawling and winding American suburbs could be, how it felt to drive past identical houses on identical roads, only street signs as markers for where he was. Eventually he managed to find Joy Ct. That name was almost ironic enough to make Eiji turn back, but Sing didn’t complain endlessly about Eiji’s stubbornness for nothing. He pressed on.
His destination was one of the many cookie-cutter houses. It was of the slightly smaller design and had a neat little garden in the front yard. One of the flower beds had a little fake-marble kitten statue in it, its right paw raised as if in greeting. The house was painted a warm cream which stood out from the grey of most of the other houses. It made it look friendly.
Eiji took a deep breath and twisted the key to turn the car off. He felt Buddy’s nose against his neck as he poked his head into the front seat. He turned to scratch Buddy’s ears.
“Should I go in, Buddy?”
Buddy’s wet dark eyes looked back at him.
Eiji sighed, “I know, I’ve gone this far. I should just go for it.” He got out of the car, leaning through the window he’d left open to give Buddy one last scratch, “I’ll come get you soon, I just need to introduce myself first.”
He walked to the front door and smiled at the welcome mat that told guests to wipe their paws off before entering. That friendly message made it easier for him to raise his hand and knock on the edge of the screen door.
It wasn’t long before someone opened the door a little.
“Who is it?”
Eiji smiled, “I’m looking for Helen Martyn. Does she live here?”
“That’s me. Why are you here?”
“I’m Eiji Okumura. Max gave me your address.”
The woman behind the door made a surprised sound before revealing herself and reaching to unlock the screen door.
“Oh, hello, honey! It’s so good to meet you! Come on in!”
Eiji found himself ushered into the house. Mrs. Martyn did not look as old as he’d thought she would, certainly not as old as his own grandmother had. Her posture was only a little stooped and the few silver streaks she had in her hair almost blended in with the light blonde of the rest of it. Her face was kind and probably would have been beautiful if not for the evidence of years of smoking.
“I hope it’s not a bother, but I left my dog in my car. Can he—” he started only to be interrupted by Mrs. Martyn.
“That’s fine! Bring him in! I hope he’s good with cats, we have three. The hubby keeps taking them home every time he goes in to the city!”
Sure enough, a large orange cat was lounging on a shelf above the television. A smaller cat, this one calico, was curled up on one of the armchairs in the living room.
“He’s good with other animals. I’ve taken him on shoots before and he’s never once been aggressive,” informed Eiji.
“Well then, let’s go get him! I’ll go with you,” with that Mrs. Martyn turned around and marched back out the door, heading straight for the car. When they reached it she held out an arthritic hand for Buddy to sniff and smiled when he quickly moved to nuzzle into her wrist.
“Wow,” she cooed. “What a beautiful, friendly boy! What’s his name?”
Eiji smiled in the way all dog owners probably did when their dogs were complimented, “His name is Buddy.”
Mrs. Martyn smirked, “Original.” She turned back to cooing at Buddy leaving Eiji a little stunned at the familiarity of that smirk. He quickly shook himself then unlocked the car to let Buddy out. Luckily, he went calmly instead of jumping out like he would sometimes do when he liked someone. It was cute when it was Sing being attacked, but it probably would not be so charming if it were an elderly woman being bowled over.
They went back into the house, and Eiji was very glad that Buddy had served as such a good icebreaker. Then again, he almost always did. Leave it to a dog to be able to smooth over the edges of human interaction.
“Can I get you something to drink, Eiji?” Mrs. Martyn asked, her American accent making his name sound more like “edgy.” “Tea? Coffee? A beer?”
“Coffee’s good,” he said, sitting down at the counter separating the kitchen from the dining room. Tea made by Americans always tasted wrong, and as tempting as it was, alcohol was probably not the best choice for this meeting.
Mrs. Martyn started a pot of coffee, huffing, “John always leaves the dirty filters in even though I’ve told him they get moldy!” She didn’t sound actually mad, but more like this was a well-worn argument they’d been having for years, almost fond.
John was her husband according to Max. Her second one who’d she’d married a few years after the death of her daughter and her divorce from her first husband. Based on her voice there was still love between them even after two decades. Eiji wondered what it would be like to be able to love someone for decades, for forever.
“Sing does that, too, sometimes,” he offered when he couldn’t think of anything else to say.
“Oh, Sing! I remember Max mentioning him. Is he your brother?”
Eiji supposed he couldn’t blame her for assuming that, “No, but he’s my friend and practically my roommate at this point. Nobody wanted me to be alone in New York City.”
Mrs. Martyn pressed a button on the coffee machine, her face now serious but not any less kind, “It’s hard to be alone.”
“Yes,” Eiji couldn’t bring himself to say more than that.
Mrs. Martyn seemed perfectly comfortable with silence and continued to bustle confidently around the kitchen. Eiji saw that she was getting a shallow bowl and filling it with water. He hurried to stand up before she stooped down to put it on the ground for Buddy, but she beat him to it, standing up perfectly fine and smirking at him once she was done.
“Well, aren’t you a gentleman?” Mrs. Martyn laughed. “I’m not quite that old yet, don’t worry. Now sit back down, honey.”
Eiji did so as Buddy rushed to hydrate himself. He hoped that the splashing was minimal.
Mrs. Martyn sat next to Eiji at the counter as they waited for the coffee to be done, “Max said that you’re a photographer?”
“Yes, I am.”
She hummed, “What kind?”
“Mostly architecture and landscapes. Sometimes portraits, but not often,” he paused. This would be a good opportunity to say it. “Photography is kind of why I’m here.”
Mrs. Martyn tilted her head a little. “Oh?” she said curiously.
Eiji took a deep breath, “I have a lot of pictures of Ash. I thought that you may want to see them.”
Her face, already kind, somehow softened even further, “Of course I want to see them. Let’s wait for John to get back before we look at them.”
They made small talk as they waited. Mrs. Martyn, who insisted he call her “Helen,” asked about Max and Michael even though Eiji was sure that Max had called her recently and already told her everything. He told her about his family and Akira’s visit. They didn’t talk about their point of connection, although Eiji had hauled his bags inside and the one containing his photo albums haunted his peripheral vision.
He looked around the living room as they conversed and saw pictures of friends and family. One resting over the fireplace showed a blonde teenage girl.
“Is that—”
He stopped. Helen followed his gaze and looked at the photograph.
“Yes, that’s my Juliette. When she was 14, a couple months before she ran away.”
Eiji didn’t know what Ash had looked like at 14. The closest was a photograph taken of him and Shorter that Nadia still kept on her fridge. That surly boy looked a lot like the teenage girl with the empty smile above the fireplace. He’d known that Ash’s mother had been young, that Ash had somehow managed to outlive her despite dying so young himself, yet somehow he’d never fully realized that she’d been a child until he’d seen a school portrait of her with baby fat still clinging to her cheeks.
Helen wasn’t done speaking, “When I tell people about her, people always like to tell me that it wasn’t my fault. That I couldn’t have done anything, but that’s not true. I could have left the bastard. Maybe I would have met John earlier and Julie could’ve had a decent father. I could have stopped her from hanging out with those kids who were selling her drugs. I could have done a lot of things, but I was so caught up in my own bullshit that I did nothing.”
It was hard to argue with that but—
“Max said that your first husband was a bad guy.”
Helen snorted, “Yeah, he was a bastard. And I only left him after Julie died. Too little, too late. That’s the story of my life.”
“I think everyone thinks that when it comes to Ash. Or maybe they feel a different type of guilt,” Eiji whispered.
He heard Helen breathe beside him, heard Buddy scamper over to put his head between their laps on the couch and reached down to pet him.
“Good boy, buddy.”
He felt Helen next to him reach out to stroke Buddy’s head, too.
“I hadn’t even known he existed until Max showed up at my doorstep. My daughter had a child, and I didn’t know about it until he needed to be buried.”
He saw some tears drip onto Buddy’s head.
“Maybe it was late, but you did the right thing when you were able to.”
It was true even if it was little comfort. Max had wanted to have Ash’s body released to him but was stopped by the fact they had no legal or blood relation to each other. Jim had been a piece of shit when Max had tried to call him. Helen, however, had been a saving grace, helping Max with her only request being that Ash was buried next to her daughter. In return Max had requested that a headstone for Griffin would be allowed there, too, so something of him could be next to his brother even though his body was long lost to anyone, unfindable in a list of John Does found dead in New York City. Helen had agreed. Eiji was grateful even though he’d missed the funeral, having to stay in Japan recovering from his wound as his father was spending his final days in hospice.
Helen sniffed, “I’m sorry. You didn’t come all the way hear to listen to an old lady cry.”
Eiji shrugged, “I don’t know exactly why I’m here.”
“Isn’t that how it always is, honey,” she wiped at her face the stood up. “John will be here soon. Come help me get dinner started!”
Helen was apparently not much of a cook as dinner was spaghetti with jarred sauce. She’d “fancied up” the sauce with ground beef and onions. Eiji smiled as he remembered Ash messing up their kitchen making a similar meal. He wanted to ask if the “recipe” had somehow been passed down, maybe from Helen to Juliette to Griffin to Ash, but didn’t want to bring down the mood. Helen would see the pictures later. Eiji had been put on “vegetable duty” which meant that he was tasked with chopping up whatever vegetables were in the fridge and sauteing them to have on the side. He smiled as he cut up mushrooms and bell peppers.
“Helen, did you know that in Japan spaghetti is made with ketchup?”
Mentioning naporitan was in Eiji’s experience a guaranteed way to weird out Americans, somehow getting more disgusted reactions from Ash’s gang than raw fish and natto had. Based on Helen’s laugh, he had gotten the desired response.
“Well, I guess it’s made of tomatoes. Honestly, not even the worst thing to put ketchup in. If you want to see something real bad,” she paused in stirring the sauce to point the spoon in Eiji’s direction, “You should watch someone who dips their grilled cheese in ketchup. That’s what’s really nasty.”
“I’ve never had it with ketchup, only with tomato soup,” Eiji snickered at Helen’s fake outrage.
“Well that’s what god intended!” Helen nodded firmly to herself then went back to stirring the sauce. She was interrupted when they heard the sound of the front door opening.
An elderly man with completely white hair and deep smile lines walked into the kitchen, “Love, do you know why there’s a car parked in front of—”
He paused, “Oh, who’s our guest?”
Helen introduced them, “This is Eiji. Max mentions him a lot. Eiji, this is my husband, John.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Eiji,” John greeted, sticking out his hand. Eiji reached out to shake it and returned the greeting.
“Now that introductions are done,” Helen said. “Dinner’s ready. You can show us your photos after we eat, Eiji.”
Dinner was pleasant. After John asked all of the usual photography questions people had when they heard about Eiji’s job, he talked about his gardening. The flower patches in the front yard were his handiwork, and he volunteered at a community garden twice a week. Helen talked about what was happening in the lives of their neighbors, her commentary funny enough that Eiji’s attention was captured despite not knowing any of the people being discussed. Eiji mostly talked about what his life in Japan had been like along with stories of Sing’s college exploits.
Finally, dinner was done, and the table was cleared and Helen directed Eiji to pull out the photo albums. He had to take them all out of the bag as the first one was at the bottom. He opened it up and laid it flat on the table and they all gathered around it.
“These ones start on the day I met Ash. I was helping my mentor take photos for an article he was writing,” he explained.
Looking back on these photographs was a bit embarrassing. Ash had told them no pictures of his face and Eiji had respected that, but they seemed impersonal. One particular one of him leaning over a pool table, cue in hand, framed Ash as a novelty rather than a person. Eiji knew he couldn’t blame himself since he hadn’t known Ash yet, but he was uncomfortably aware of how they were probably his least favorite shots of Ash.
He watched as Helen flipped through the album.
“God, he looks so much like her,” she said when she reached the first one that showed Ash’s face, an impromptu snapshot he’d taken during the drive to Cape Cod. Eiji remembered stuttering through asking permission to take the picture and rushing to capture Ash’s smirk once it was given. Eiji looked over at the picture of Juliette again.
“Yes, he really does.”
Helen sniffed and John wrapped an arm around her as she then went back to flipping through the album.
She paused again at one taken at Cape Cod.
“Who is that?” she pointed at the picture.
Eiji leaned over and saw that it was one of Ash and Shorter. Ash had his hair pulled back from his face with a hairband and he was wearing Shorter’s sunglasses that he’d stolen temporarily. One of Shorter’s arms was thrown around his shoulders. Despite his annoyed expression Ash looked completely comfortable and relaxed and it made Eiji’s heart ache.
“That’s Shorter Wong,” he said. “He was Ash’s best friend.”
“He looks like a sweet boy,” Helen said before turning the page. Eiji was sure that didn’t get said about Shorter very often. He made a mental note to tell Nadia about this next time he visited her.
It took a while for them to get to the pictures from when he and Ash had lived in the apartment together, Helen and John occasionally stopping to ask Eiji stories about certain pictures and the people in them.
Eiji had never looked through all of his photographs of Ash with other people before, so he was surprised at how embarrassing it was, how vulnerable it made him feel. Some of them were rather intimate, like the one Helen had just stopped on.
It showed Ash in only his boxer-briefs and an over-sized dress shirt, laying back on the couch with one leg raised up over the back and the other lazily hanging over the front. His expression was playful but erred more on the side of heated than cheeky.
Eiji never set out to take suggestive pictures of Ash, very aware of his history with cameras and photographers. But sometimes the mood between them would get intense and when Eiji would aim his camera Ash would pose with his back arched or his legs slightly spread or with a finger in his mouth. Eiji had found the images arousing at the time in an abstract, private way, but hadn’t otherwise thought anything of them.
However, now he was kind of regretting showing them to Ash’s grandmother. Sure, there was nothing outright sexual, but they probably made it very clear the kind of relationship they’d had or could have had, possibly. Helen seemed nice and non-judgmental if her calling grubby-looking gang members “nice boys” said anything, but it was still a bit scary to have his feelings out there for her to see. He hadn’t even told his own mother about his sexuality.
He held back his sigh of relief when she moved on without comment.
It was hard to look at some of the later ones. Ash was far more relaxed on camera but he was so much thinner, the weak lighting of some of their hideouts emphasizing the hollows of his face and darkening the bruises on his skin. Still as beautiful as ever, but Eiji couldn’t enjoy watching Ash in pain.
He was again grateful when Helen didn’t ask anything about them, even though they were the last ones Eiji had taken before he got shot and thus the last ones in the album.
When she got to the last page Eiji exhaled and tried not to fidget his hands.
“Did you like them?” he asked. That seemed woefully inadequate for the situation, for Helen getting the closest to knowing her grandson that she ever would.
Helen smiled and reached out to pat Eiji’s hand.
“Oh, honey, of course I did. It’s just—” she paused, still holding Eiji’s hand. “The few pictures that Max had are basically mugshots, and Ash just looked like such a solemn, serious boy. But here…”
Helen trailed off. Her free hand went to trace over the curve of Ash’s smile in one of the portraits. She smiled and Eiji couldn’t help but see a bit of a resemblance. She cleared her throat.
“It’s good to know that he was happy,” she said wistfully. Eiji felt her squeeze his hand. “Thank you.”
Eiji looked at her, “What for?”
“Making him happy. And capturing it.”
Eiji inhaled sharply, “I—”
He didn’t know what to say. How could he possibly say everything that he wanted to? Did he even want to now? Or ever?
“You don’t have to say anything besides ‘you’re welcome,’ Eiji. I understand,” said Helen kindly.
He had the oddest urge to hold her hand to his face, the way he had with his own grandmother when she was too weak for hugs anymore. For some reason he followed the impulse, felt the back of her hand against his cheek. He barely managed to say the words around the lump in his throat.
John gently interrupted the moment, “I’m going to go make some tea, okay?” Helen hummed in agreement and Eiji nodded against Helen’s hand. John got up and went to the kitchen, patting Eiji’s shoulder as he passed.
“John likes gardening and yard work a lot,” Helen whispered. “He goes out to clean their stones every week, leaves flowers from his garden when they’re in bloom. I would, too, but my knees aren’t what they used to be. He grows sunflowers so they can each have one every year. They were Juliette’s favorite.”
“He loves you a lot,” Eiji said. He imagined that sort of love, where you would care so diligently for the graves of three people you’d never met, second-hand love more powerful than most people’s first-hand.
Helen nodded, “I wish he could have been Juliette’s father. I wish he could have been Ash’s grandfather."
Eiji did too. Maybe it would have made a difference. Maybe Ash wouldn’t have gone through so many horrible things. Maybe he wouldn’t have been Eiji’s Ash, but he would have possibly been happier and safer.
Their conversation ended when John came back with tea.
“Do you want to go see him tomorrow?” John asked Eiji after he’d sat down next to his wife. “It’s pretty late tonight.”
Eiji wished that he hadn’t let go of Helen’s hand to grab his mug.
“Yes, I would like to go.”
When they were done drinking their tea, Helen shooed Eiji and Buddy toward the guest room, appalled when Eiji had mentioned getting a hotel room for the night. The room was plainly decorated but still homey. He was told that Buddy was allowed on the bed since ‘cat hair is all over anyway.’ He was glad for Buddy’s warmth as he fought the urge to cry until he fell asleep.
Helen was not a morning person Eiji had been informed by John when he’d walked into the kitchen after waking up. John was amused when Eiji had told him that Ash had been the same way, chuckling into his mug of coffee as they stood on the porch and watched Buddy explore the backyard. It was a little chilly but not enough to motivate Eiji to go get a jacket, the heat from the coffee keeping his hands warm.
Eventually Helen dragged herself out of bed and they ate a quick breakfast. One of the cats had taken a liking to Buddy, a tiny striped, grey one who kept playfully bumping into Buddy, much to the dog’s confusion. Eiji watched them in amusement as he politely ate Helen’s toast that she’d somehow almost burned in the toaster.
When they were done eating, they set off for the cemetery. It was close enough to walk even though Helen needed to took a couple breaks along the way. The block it was on also had a park, a couple children too young for school were playing as their mother watched from a bench. Eiji thought that was a weird location for a park, although he supposed it did brighten up the place. When he’d visited with Max the first time he had thought that he was glad for it, that Ash deserved to rest somewhere bright.
The family plot was relatively close to the front and Eiji’s eyes found it the instant they walked through the gates. As they got closer Eiji could see how well-maintained they were. He’d noticed that before but had assumed it was cemetery staff doing the cleaning. Knowing that John was the one keeping them clean explained why they were in much better repair than most of the stones around them.
The stones only had their names, birth dates, and death dates. Juliette Willow Matthews next to Aslan Jade "Ash” Callenreese next to Griffin James Callenreese. Had Juliette and Griffin even gotten along well enough to be buried this near to each other? Maybe their connection to Ash was enough as Max and Helen seemed to think.
Eiji hadn’t thought to bring anything to leave this time. He could almost hear Ash telling him that that was fine, that anything given would have been wasted anyway.
He slowly knelt down in front of Ash and took a deep breath.
“I took all of your pictures out of storage finally. I needed to see them, and I think there are a lot of people who should get to see them, too. You said I could use some of them professionally so I showed one at one of my exhibits. I think I’m going to do it again.”
It was hard to even whisper past the burn in his throat, “I want the world to remember you fondly. And I think your pictures are the way to do that.”
He could feel the shuffle of Helen’s feet behind him, but continued talking, “I showed them to your grandmother. I thought she deserved to see you as you were since she’d never met you. She still loves you, though. So many people love you and miss you even though you never would have believed it. But I really hope that maybe you can now, because I love you much and I’m so so sorry, Ash. I’m sorry—”
His eyes had been blurry throughout the whole speech but at that moment he burst into tears. He felt a wrinkled hand on his shoulder, heard the rhythmic swipe of John dusting off Ash’s mother’s stone next to him as he sobbed. Helen’s other hand went to his hair, smoothing it off his forehead. He heard her crying too and stood up so he could comfort her too, remembering her bad knees. It should have been weird, clutching at and crying with someone who was almost a stranger, but instead it was soothing. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d hugged someone like this, the last time he’d felt like he could break down without someone worrying that he was going to shatter.
They broke apart once Helen had stopped crying and Eiji’s sobs had turned to sniffles, but he kept her tucked under his arm as they both turned to face Ash’s grave.
“I really hate how I don’t know much about him,” Helen admitted.
Eiji smiled at her, “What do you want to know?”
She hummed, “Tell me something you don’t think anyone else would.”
There were many things that Eiji could say—he knew that Ash had opened up to him in a way he hadn’t with almost everyone else. He could mention his adorable habits that someone less besotted than him wouldn’t have noticed or cared about. There was so much to tell that Eiji had a hard time deciding where to start.
“He was afraid of pumpkins,” he found himself blurting, a watery laugh startled out of him.
Helen looked at him, “Pumpkins?”
“Yes, pumpkins,” Eiji chuckled a bit at Helen’s disbelief. “And he was impossible to get up in the mornings. I could carry him out of bed and to the shower and he’d still be asleep. His favorite food was shrimp and avocado salad, and he’d always eat with the tiniest bites ever and it was ridiculous but also so cute and—”
He trailed off when he noticed Helen smiling at him.
“What?” he asked.
“Nothing,” Helen looked down at the headstone in front of them, “He sounds lovely. Max made him sound that way, too, but I think you have a better grasp of the little things.”
Eiji sucked in a breath, “There’s so much more to tell you.” The way Ash’s nose would wrinkle cutely when he smelled natto. The shade of red he’d flush whenever Eiji managed to catch him off guard. His loyalty, his determination, the stupid way he’d put his ramen on top of his rice. How he was the absolute worst person to watch television with because he couldn’t stop pointing out classical literature references and factual inaccuracies. The way he’d been able to make Eiji feel safe during all of the chaos of their time together, and the time he’d fallen asleep against Eiji’s shoulder, all soft and vulnerable, and Eiji had known for sure that Ash was the most beautiful person in the world.
He had everything to say, but also nothing, because how could words possibly describe a life so wonderful and dear? There was no way to truly capture Ash in sentence form, no amount of Eiji’s little details could make Helen understand the kind of person who her grandson was. Based on her face, the way her eyes stayed on Ash’s name, she knew this.
She sighed. Eiji could feel it against his side.
“I wish you didn’t have to tell me anything. I wish I’d known him myself. Do—” she paused. “Do you think he would have wanted to know me? Even though I failed him?”
Eiji took a second to gather his words.
“Ash was very forgiving,” he started. “Some would be surprised to hear that because of the gang things. But he really was at his core very forgiving. He didn’t get mad at me when I fucked up, even when it got his brother killed. Some would say that Shorter betrayed him, but Ash refused to think of it like that. Hell, his father was a rotten bastard, and he somehow cared about whether he lived or died. There were a lot of people who failed him who he didn’t resent, because he was fundamentally kind even if so many others didn’t want him to be.”
Eiji turned to look Helen in the eye, “He didn’t hate his mother for leaving him. I’m sure that means that he wouldn’t hate you for not knowing about him. I think he would have just been happy that you exist. I think he would have loved you, Helen. No matter how you think you’ve failed him.”
Helen took a shudder-y breath, “That means a lot. Thank you.” She brought her arm around Eiji in return and gave him a gentle squeeze. “That’s enough about me, tell me what you feel guilty about.”
And there was the question. He had to answer even if he didn’t want to.
He made sure his voice didn’t waver when he started talking, “I had to go back to Japan because I’d been injured. Badly. Ash had won against the bad people he’d been fighting and I wanted to take him with me. So I wrote him a letter—” he swallowed. “That told him about my feelings for him. I gave him a plane ticket so he could join me. That day he was killed.”
Helen nudged him when he didn’t continue, “And how was that your fault?”
“Ash was always on guard, he had to be. He only could’ve been hurt if he’d been distracted,” Eiji steeled himself for the last part. “It was my letter, Helen. Ash died because I was selfish and had to confess my feelings. I distracted him and it got him killed.”
It wasn’t the first time he’d told someone about his guilt. Sing had told him that it wasn’t his fault multiple times, that Eiji couldn’t have known, and worse, that it could have happened anyway. Those words never helped. Helen, however, had different words.
“Maybe,” Helen said. “But you shouldn’t beat yourself up over ‘maybes.’ What I can say is that you shouldn’t feel bad about making sure he knew he was loved. That’s not a bad thing at all. Whatever role that letter had in his death, I’m glad that he knew how much you loved him before it happened. Telling him was the right thing to do, Eiji. And, if what you said earlier is true, he would have forgiven you.”
Eiji exhaled. He wouldn’t say he felt better, but he felt like the terribleness wasn’t quite so heavy anymore. Nothing would ever convince him that Ash’s death wasn’t his fault, but the secondhand forgiveness was so much more helpful than any assurance of blamelessness he’d received.
It wasn’t long before they left the little family in the cemetery, Eiji picking up John’s things while he and Helen went to say goodbye. Eiji didn’t join them.
He would never say goodbye to Ash.
Eiji had to leave shortly after they got back to the house. He did still have photography appointments the next day and it wouldn’t be too much longer before Sing sent someone to “look after him.” He gave Helen the print of “Dawn” and received a very warm hug in return before he left.
Five hours later he was back home. He greeted Sing as Buddy rushed to find the toys that Eiji hadn’t packed with them.
Sing looked at him, “How was your trip?”
“It was good.”
“I’m glad.”
Sing’s tone was skeptical and Eiji raised an eyebrow in question, “What?”
Sing shrugged, “I don’t know. You don’t look sad, really. Maybe more wistful. Are you okay?”
Eiji smiled, “I think I could be.”