Thursday morning brought a thin layer of mist over the garden, and Lyn noticed the chrysanthemum had grown another leaf overnight — seven now, round and bright green against the cool air.
"Seven leaves," she told Star, who wagged her tail as if she understood completely. Pinkysan watched from the porch railing, her tail curled neatly around her paws.
At the hotel, the morning was busy with a tour group asking about the best spots for autumn leaves. Lyn suggested Nara Park and the temple grounds nearby, and the guests thanked her with a small nod before hurrying off toward the bus stop.
During her lunch break, Lyn thought about John's visit — only eight days away now — and wondered what to cook for his first evening back. By the time she walked home, a plan was already forming in her mind.
Linda was in the kitchen, flipping through an old recipe notebook. "I was thinking of the chestnut rice again," she said, "and maybe the persimmon cake, since John likes it so much."
"Perfect," Lyn said, hanging up her coat. "What about a small gift? Something simple, just to say welcome back."
Linda tapped her chin. "Maybe something from the autumn market. A small basket of mikan, or some dried persimmons."
Star, hearing talk of food, trotted between them hopefully, and Pinkysan jumped onto the table to sniff at the open notebook, earning a gentle "Pinkysan, no" from Linda.
Over dinner, the two women kept adding ideas: rice with chestnuts, a clear soup, small dishes of pickled vegetables from the garden. Lyn wrote everything down on a scrap of paper, underlining the chestnut rice twice.
"We should check the leaves at Nara Park soon," Lyn said. "If they're still bright by Saturday, we could walk there this weekend and see how things look before John comes."
Linda nodded, pleased with the idea. "Good. Then we'll know exactly what to tell him when he arrives."
As the evening cooled, Star curled up by the stove, and Pinkysan took her usual spot on the windowsill, watching the dark street outside. The chrysanthemum's seven leaves sat quietly in the garden, one small sign of how close November 13 had become.
(To be continued)