I scan those scraps of masking tape on every trailer we skulk up to, adrenaline powering me forward, but none bear the name I’m looking for. They start to blur into nonsensical series of letters, puzzles I have to decode in order to gain the keys to the kingdom.
But then we reach a trailer at the end of the row, positioned right next to the soundstage. The sun trying to break through from behind the soundstage cascades over its brilliant white surface, illuminating this mundane piece of Hollywood like a glittering disco ball.
I know before I even see the masking tape on the door. I can’t explain how.
And once I get close enough to actually see . . . there it is. That name, the one that’s maybe a sign. Scribbled in that same basic marker as everyone else’s. Yet the letters seem to pulse with an unearthly glow, calling out to me.
suzanne
I run my fingertips over them, reassuring myself that they’re real.
“Yessss, you found it!” Joanna whispers, and I nearly jump out of my skin. I forgot she was there.
I try knocking—once, twice. Tentatively.
No answer. My heart sinks a little, and the glow around the name dissipates.
Is she really not here? Are we really having yet another near miss?
I don’t know what possesses me, but I reach out and try the door. And just like that, it swings open.
“Wait, Rika!” I hear Joanna’s urgent whisper behind me. “What are you doing?”
I can’t answer because I don’t actually know. But I also can’t stop myself from climbing the little metal steps into the trailer and entering yet another space my mother recently inhabited. It’s like some other force is guiding me, and I simply cannot do anything else.
The space is dark and cramped, and the stuffy air shimmers with dust motes and the beginnings of cobwebs. To my right is a teeny kitchenette-type area with a mini fridge. To my left, a very small couch and a makeup table with a mirror attached. Everything is so shrunken, it almost looks like doll furniture.
It’s also very empty. If those cobweb whispers weren’t enough to show me that this space has been abandoned for a very long time, the lack of anything beyond this weird doll furniture certainly is. When I walked under the big arched entrance of this lot earlier, I swore I could feel my mother’s presence, could see her setting foot in her future kingdom all those years ago.
But now . . . I don’t sense her at all. I can’t picture her in this dark, sterile space. Shards of panic sliver their way through my heart. Have any of my feelings been real since this journey first started? Would I even know if they weren’t?
“Rika?” Joanna sidles up next to me, her eyes shifting nervously to the side. “I don’t think we’re supposed to be in here—like, we’re really not supposed to be in here. Maybe we should—”
“No!” I blurt out. My cheeks heat up as I realize how loud and weird and angry I sound. My kaiju-temper does not want to leave. I force myself to relax my shoulders and lower my voice back to a stealthy level. “I mean. I just need to, um, look around for a second. Please, Joanna.”
She studies me again, that expression I can’t quite read passing over her face.
“Okaaaay,” she says, very hesitantly. “What are you looking for?”
“I’m not sure,” I murmur, crossing the minuscule space to the makeup table. There’s absolutely nothing on it, not even leftover traces of powder or lip gloss. It’s bare, save for a thin layer of dust. I idly run my finger through the dust, just to see if it will actually leave a mark—or if this is all an illusion. My fingertips wander lower, to the single drawer built into the table. I give the handle a slight tug and am surprised to find it opens as easily as the door to the trailer.
And there’s something inside. Something that’s not dust or cobwebs or a blank expanse of absolutely nothing. A small square of faded colors, crumbling around the edges—another photo.
I sit down on the stool in front of the makeup table and pull the photo free. This one is just her. Grace Kimura.
She’s young again, but she’s not a child—maybe about fourteen. She’s sitting in a beautiful garden underneath the drooping branches of a big tree. I’d recognize all that green and that tree anywhere—it’s the garden behind the JACCC. The onryo tree I used to hide under. The place that cradles me and gives so much comfort when I feel lost.
My mother is staring off into the distance. Longing for something.
“Rika?” Joanna crouches down in front of me, her face concerned. Once again, I’d forgotten she was there. “What’s the matter?”
I look up from the photo . . . and realize my eyes have filled with tears. I freeze, making myself very still. Trying to imagine my nure-onna armor rising up and surrounding me. I sneak a sidelong glance at the mirror, but all I see is me.
That sad girl who doesn’t want to admit she’s sad. That girl who can’t seem to stop waiting for someone to want her. That girl who knows the exact yearning in this photo because she’s been feeling it in little bits and pieces every day for her entire life.
I look back at the photo, gripping it tightly between my fingers. My knuckles turn white. I’ve started holding my breath without even knowing it. Trying with all my might to be still. If only I can be still enough, maybe I’ll disappear.
“Rika,” Joanna repeats, her voice so quiet and gentle, it makes me want to let those tears fall. My fingers clutching the photo so tightly tremble. “There’s more to this, isn’t there?” she says. “More than wanting to meet a famous movie star?”
I don’t trust myself to say anything, so I
