“You... are you Lucas?”

The small woman before me spoke to the boy frozen in grief and fear. Snow-white hair, a slightly bent back. And olive-green eyes, the same as mine.

How had she found her answer in me, standing there unable to respond? The corners of the wrinkled woman's eyes softened, and her stern-seeming expression turned gentle at once.

“Good heavens. You've already grown so big...”

I was fifteen. That day, after yet another fight with my mother, she'd dragged me in a rage to this unfamiliar doorstep and abandoned me there.

“I'm Amelia. ...Your grandmother.”

She said this, then patiently coaxed me—unable to move from the front step—and welcomed me into her home.

That night, when I lay wrapped in freshly laundered sheets for the first time in my life, I cried a little. What I'd always wanted, I realized, was probably this—clean sheets washed just for me.

***

"Luke?"

Standing beside me, Brian brushed his fingertips lightly against the back of my hand, as if asking a question. At the concern in his eyes, I reflexively smiled back.

"It's nothing. I was just remembering Grandma."

"Ah." Instantly, his expression softened. "She was a truly wonderful woman."

"Yeah. Grandma's always been my pride."

Deepening his smile at my answer, Brian turned his gaze toward the lively circle of people chatting. The weather seemed intent on honoring today's guest. The polar opposite of Brisbane's somewhat cramped sky—an endlessly wide, open blue. That blue, streaked with modest clouds, stretched boldly above the town.

To attend my grandmother Amelia's funeral, Brian and I had driven since early morning to our hometown. Our hometown, marked by a great river cutting through the dry land. Though it was only about four hours by car, my Brisbane-accustomed body felt almost dizzy from the gentle flow of time and the vastness of the sky.

The ceremony, which had begun with a kind of solemnity, had transformed into pleasant conversation by the time the sun passed its zenith—just as she had requested in her will. After greeting the attendees with wine and light refreshments in hand, I claimed a spot under a tree slightly removed from the center of the circle, watching the people.

The fatigue of travel, combined with the exhaustion from the past few days in Brisbane, seemed to hit me all at once. Surrounded by familiar land and well-known faces, I felt my heart finally shed its armor and breathe.

Brian, who had been dragged around by the townspeople, seemed to have finally escaped the circle too. He wandered over, claimed the spot to my left, and began leisurely sipping his wine. The townspeople, unusually, weren't pestering us. They were probably being considerate of the poor man who had lost his beloved grandmother...

As if to flatly contradict that thought, a man in the crowd waved at me. An old friend I'd known since right after starting elementary school, though not as long as Brian. He wore a lustrous purple shirt, golden trousers, and a top hat—dazzling even from a distance.

The outrageously dressed man set his plate on a table and sauntered toward us. The coarse gold glitter reflected light chaotically with each step he took, and I seriously debated for a good three seconds whether to put my sunglasses back on. Brian, for the record, had immediately put his back on. The flood of light must have been unbearable for his light-colored eyes.

The walking disco ball reached the shade and clapped my shoulder.

"Yo. Long time no see, you two."

"Klaus. Good to see you're well."

While Brian responded politely, I raised an eyebrow sarcastically.

"Long time? Hasn't it only been about a year since we last met?"

At my snark, Klaus shook his head dramatically as if to say good grief.

"Only about a year! You've become a total city person, Luke. Cold bastard."

"Your sense of style is what's cold. What made you pair purple with gold?"

"I pulled out the flashiest stuff from my closet. To honor your grandma's wishes."

Saying this, Klaus placed his hand on his chest with an affected air. Grandma would certainly have been delighted by this garish color combination.

"...Well, the funeral dress code is 'as colorful as possible.'"

"Very Amelia. You're a bit too plain—you stand out, Brian."

At Klaus's pitying comment, Brian groaned, "I tried my best." True, the combination of a navy shirt and crimson tie was probably an effort for him. It was just that he was at a disadvantage against a crowd wearing shocking pink mules and chartreuse suits.

"Luke—your outfit, that... what is that? Shiny light-blue camouflage—where did you even find that pattern?! ...Well, that shirt with the lemon-yellow tie isn't bad. Not as good as me, though."

"Yeah, yeah, thanks."

I replied with a wry smile, and Klaus clapped my shoulder once more before sitting down on my right. I glanced down at his solid frame, easily twice my size. Already a father of three, those sturdy shoulders did seem fitting to support children.

"Amelia—your grandma. I'm sorry for your loss."

"Well, I think Grandma's having fun in heaven."

"No doubt." Klaus laughed, turning his gaze to the crowd. "A woman who loved many and was loved by many. Hey—you doing okay?"

"With what?"

I looked down at Klaus blankly, and he met my gaze with eyes full of gentle concern. Blinking in surprise, it took me a moment to realize he was worried about me—the one who had just lost family.

"Oh, you mean am I okay."

At my words, Klaus's eyes took on a pitying shade.

"Luke, man. Are you really okay...?"

"I'm okay."

I answered sullenly, seeing that he'd started genuinely worrying about me.

"Sure, I was shocked when I got the news. But now I'm strangely calm, even to myself. When I think about it, Grandma had been persistently telling me for years what to do when she died. Do this, do that—from Grandma herself."

"Oh..."

"Amelia..."

To the two men struck speechless, I exhaled a bitter sigh.

"At first, I'd get angry or sad, telling her not to say things like that. But she kept talking about her death while staying perfectly healthy for over a decade. Before I knew it, she'd completely prepared my heart for it."

Over my grumbling, the two exchanged glances.

"...Well, that does sound like Amelia."

"Come to think of it, Thomas said she'd arranged this whole funeral herself ages ago."

At that name, all three of us found our eyes drawn to the center of the crowd. People blooming with stories and memories of Grandma. In that scene, made all the more gentle and joyful by the loneliness it held, one man with snow-white hair stood alone, wearing his usual plain monk's habit, a smile on his face.

The quiet priest of this town, who always seemed to be thinking about something difficult like a philosopher. He had agonized over Brian and me far more seriously than we had ourselves, and in the end, accepted us. He had always just smiled with a slightly troubled, downcast look—so when he suddenly choked up and shed tears during the ceremony, the attendees, myself included, were all stunned.

"Thomas, crying of all things..."

"Well, apparently he'd known your grandmother for a very long time."

"He seems to have calmed down, though."

At my words, Klaus—who had been in the crowd just moments ago—nodded his short, coarse blond head.

"Yeah. He was back to his usual self."

"Amelia would probably be happy that an old friend mourned her."

I didn't respond to Brian's perfectly ordinary words. Pretending to be lost in thought, I gazed at my feet through half-closed eyelids. The faux leather lemon-yellow shoes I'd bought to match my tie. The very image of a thoughtless, carefree grandson.

From beside his sturdy shoulder, Klaus looked up at me sideways as I fell silent. I pretended not to notice and averted my gaze, but finally couldn't stand it anymore and raised my eyes from my vitamin-colored shoes.

"...What?"

"Nothing. Oh hey, Brian. Have you seen Mr. Brown?"

"No."

"You should go say hello. He was looking for you, said he wanted to talk."

Brian held Klaus's gaze for a moment, then sighed.

"...You're right. I'll go."

"Yeah. He's probably still hanging around the meat pies. Tell him this one says hi too."

"Why are you asking? I already said hello anyway."

"Yeah, yeah. Later then, Brian."

Brian nodded over his shoulder at Klaus's voice and strode away on his long legs. A dry, pleasant wind passed by us, and I saw it ruffle Brian's dark hair. In time with it, the world danced, cloaked in light with perfect rhythm. Grandma must have chosen it. With Let It Be playing in the background, the trees, the grass, the reddish-brown dust, someone's silk scarf—all reflected light and swayed in the wind with timing that no stage director, however skilled, could have achieved.

My hometown, which I once thought held nothing beautiful, now undulated before me in a scene so lovely it could almost be mistaken for paradise on earth. Light flooded everything so completely that even Renoir might have struggled to capture it.

"Lucas. I'm sure you know, but."

A boorish voice, trying to pull me back to earth, came from somewhere near my feet.

"He wasn't saying you're not mourning Amelia."

At the quiet, knowing tone in Klaus's voice, I sighed, feeling oddly distant from my own words.

"I know."

"Good, then."

Saying this, he wore that terribly gentle smile again. Everyone said that having children alone didn't make you an adult. But people who had someone to love unconditionally seemed like a different species entirely.

"...Well, I won't say it doesn't bother me at all."

Giving up on being stubborn with my old friend who had evolved into a father, I let words spill out with a sigh.

"Hey, Klaus. Do you think I'm heartless for not crying at Grandma's death?"

"Don't be stupid."

Klaus's voice wavered with shock, as if the words had struck him. Pushed by that tone, words overflowed from my mouth.

"I was shocked when I heard about Grandma. I really was. I know she's no longer in this world, and every day I'm reminded of how much she gave me. But Grandma told me not to be sad, said if I grieved I'd never see her again, said she'd be happier if I didn't cry—"

Klaus rose slowly beside me. He looked down at me, frozen mid-sentence, and wrapped me in his arms.

Through the lustrous purple shirt, I was pressed against his broad chest and slightly soft belly. As I meekly accepted the embrace, my awareness was drawn to the sensation of a soft palm stroking my head. It was more comfortable than I'd imagined. Surprised by the comfort, I found myself quietly accepting his embrace.

Klaus held me to his chest and exhaled deeply.

"You poor thing."

With those words, Klaus continued stroking my head. Poor thing. Those words had comforted someone not long ago. Klaus continued in a low voice.

"Words are difficult. It must be hard to be told not to grieve. But I understand Amelia's feelings too. She was far more worried about clouding your smile with her death than about dying itself. I understand."

He loosened his hold, drawing back just enough to look into my eyes.

"Don't feel guilty about smiling, Luke. That would hurt her the most."

At his weighty words, I could only nod—but under his bright amber gaze, I found myself obediently saying, "Okay."

I gave up. I had no real image of a proper father figure, but he seemed more fatherly than any TV drama dad I'd ever seen.

Klaus returned his gaze from me to the plaza. Peeking at his characterful profile, I quietly suppressed a sigh of admiration. Damn, my old friend with whom I'd done so many stupid things was now a hero supporting his family.

Leaning against my old friend's broad frame, his hand still resting on my shoulder, I turned my gaze back to the plaza. Carried on the wind, Grandma's favorite songs reached us.

"This music selection—was it Amelia too?"

"I think so. They're all songs Grandma used to sing at home."

"I haven't heard this one before. What's it called?"

Prompted by his question, I listened more closely to the song drifting through the air. A pop melody drifted in, chasing away the gentle afterglow of Let It Be.

"I don't know, but Grandma used to sing this one a lot."

Overlapping my words, a cute singing voice drifted toward us. That slightly husky voice sang of the joy of meeting someone destined.

Klaus, who had been listening to the song, spoke.

"...Hey, Luke. Are you staying overnight in town?"

"No. I have work tomorrow, so I'll head back by evening."

"Stop by and see Miriam before you go. You haven't really talked to her yet, have you?"

Apparently, he'd switched fully into dad mode. At the name of my mother coming from Klaus, I let out a sigh full of bitterness.

"I know. I told her in advance I'd stop by the house."

"Good then."

I answered Klaus's words with another sigh. Come to think of it, fathers had always been cast in the role of being somewhat resented by their families. Klaus was carrying out his role admirably.

The mother I'd glimpsed earlier was still beautiful. Not a spot or wrinkle on her, dressed in a well-kept party dress, her makeup done just prettily enough without ever becoming severe. How she could emerge looking so beautiful from that chaotic, unmanageable house—I still couldn't fathom it.

Ever since you met your grandmother, you've done nothing but quote her words, haven't you, Luke.

Words my mother had once said to me resurfaced, and I shook my head involuntarily.

She might have been perfect to you. But to me, she was a failure as a parent.

Feeling terribly unpleasant, I forcibly focused my attention on Grandma's favorite song. You're the sun shining in a sky full of headwinds. Meeting you gave me a reason to live for the first time. Let me sing this song to you...