That young mother was still sitting against the wall. The child was asleep in her arms. The bag hung from the back of the chair, only the last two diapers left inside, the packaging crumpled. She was looking down at the child's face, her fingers resting on the child's back. The air around her seemed heavier than the rest of the poolside, as if the silence she carried had its own weight.
Tsukago glanced at me. I nodded.
She stood up, cradling the squirrel, and walked over. She crouched down beside the young mother.
"He's so cute. How many months?"
The young mother looked up, startled for a moment, then smiled. The smile was brief.
"Eight months."
"Can this girl here touch him?"
"Sure. He's sleeping deeply."
Tsukago extended a finger and gently touched the child's little hand. The child's hand instinctively grasped her finger, holding on tight. The tiny fingernails were pink, so small, like little shells. Tsukago didn't pull away. She just let him hold on.
"He's so strong," Tsukago murmured.
"Even wilder when he's awake." The young mother looked at the child's hand. "He grabs everything so tightly, even grabs at the air."
I walked over and sat down on her other side.
"You're raising him alone?"
"Mm. His dad works out of town." Her voice was very soft, as if afraid of waking the child. "Back when I was working, I sent him to daycare. Now I don't have to anymore."
"And now?"
She was silent for a few seconds. Her finger paused on the child's back. Her thumbnail traced a small circle on the fabric of the baby's shirt, round and round.
"I got laid off last month. Marketing department. Six years there. The severance was only enough for three months' rent."
She paused, her voice dropping even lower. So low it was nearly swallowed by the distant sound of the waves.
"My manager said my pace was too slow, that I couldn't keep up with them. Told me to go home and rest for a while. I thought I'd be back soon. Waited a long time. What I got was a termination notice. They didn't even let me go back to clean out my desk. A coworker mailed my things to me in a cardboard box. By the time it arrived, the bottom had already given out. Only one layer of tape."
The child in her arms wore clothes washed pale at the seams.
"What was your performance like before?"
"Outstanding for three consecutive years." She looked down at the child's face, her fingers stilling on the child's back. "Didn't matter. They decided I was too slow. Couldn't keep up."
She gave a short laugh, uglier than crying. The laugh was swallowed back before it even left her mouth.
"The copy you wrote was better than most people's." I looked into her eyes.
She raised her head to look at me.
"What's the use of being good. Good and no one reads it. Good and no one remembers. Good and no one pays."
——A person who's given up, their hands don't shake. She's still shaking. That means she hasn't given up yet.
The child in her arms turned over. Its tiny hand grasped my finger, holding tight. A few seconds later, it let go and burst into a wail. The cry echoed through the empty pool area. She hurriedly bowed her head to soothe the child, her voice soft, as if afraid of frightening it. She pressed her face to the child's forehead.
She hugged the child a little tighter and stood up. I reached out and steadied her elbow.
"Thank you for talking with me. It's been a long time since anyone listened to me."
"Take care." Tsukago stood up too, putting the squirrel back into her light pink bag.
The young woman nodded and turned toward the corridor. After a few steps, she stopped and turned back.
"Thank you, for making me feel like someone is still willing to listen to me."
She nodded. This time she really left.
The bag swayed on her wrist, only the last two diapers left inside. Her silhouette paused at the corner. The child on her shoulder shifted position. Its little hand dangled from her shoulder, fingers opening and then clenching. She bowed her head and kissed that tiny hand. Her lips lingered on the child's fingers for a long time, and then she vanished around the corner.
The sea breeze rushed in through the porthole, carrying a salty tang. I leaned back against the wall.
Tsukago stood up. She pulled the squirrel out of her light pink bag and held it in her arms.
"She didn't touch her button today."
"She let go. But not really."
"She just doesn't have the strength to touch it right now."
"When she finds her strength again, the button will come back. She still needs one reminder, harsher than a coffee stain, before she'll take that hand off her collarbone for good."
"Then we'll wait for her to come find us."
"She's come twice already. The first time at the pool, the second time just now. One more time, and she'll open her mouth on her own."
I pushed off the wall. "She's heading in the right direction. She just hasn't realized it yet."
She stuffed the squirrel back into her bag.