Wednesday morning came cool and bright, with a thin mist still resting over the garden.
Lyn wound a soft scarf around her neck and picked up the envelope from the hall table, the one she and Linda had written the night before.
"Ready, Star?" she asked, and the little shiba inu spun once in a happy circle by the door.
They walked together down the lane, past the persimmon tree, its branches almost bare now except for a few orange fruits still holding on.
At the corner stood the red postbox, its paint a little faded from many autumns. Lyn held the envelope for a moment, looking at John's name written in Linda's neat hand.
"Off you go," she whispered, and slipped it through the slot. It landed with a soft, satisfying thud.
Star gave one short, proud bark, as if she had delivered the letter herself.
"Good morning, Lyn!" called a voice. It was Mrs. Oda from two houses down, kneeling by her garden gate with a watering can. Her chrysanthemums glowed yellow and white in the morning light.
"Good morning!" Lyn answered. "Your flowers look lovely."
"Thank you. It's getting chilly, isn't it? Winter is on its way." Mrs. Oda smiled at Star, who wagged her tail politely.
"It is," Lyn said. "We just sent a letter to a friend. He might visit in November."
"How nice," said Mrs. Oda. "Autumn visitors are always welcome."
Lyn said goodbye and walked on toward the hotel, Star trotting beside her until the turn for home. The whole way, Lyn found herself imagining John reading the letter, picturing Nara Park and the bowing deer.
At the hotel, the morning passed quietly. Between guests, Lyn caught herself smiling at nothing in particular.
That evening, she found Linda in the kitchen, stirring a pot of soup. "Well?" Linda asked, without turning around. "Did it go out?"
"It's on its way," Lyn said. "I watched it drop right into the box."
Linda let out a satisfied little laugh. "Then all we can do now is wait."
Star curled up by the stove, content, and Pinkysan appeared from nowhere to sit on the warm windowsill, her tail wrapped neatly around her paws.
Outside, the last light faded slowly behind the hills, and the house filled with the smell of soup and the quiet hope of a letter on its way.
(To be continued)