by Amber Logan
Below is an excerpt from Chapter Two of The Secret Garden of Yanagi Inn, a modern Gothic retelling of The Secret Garden. Here is a synopsis:
Still grieving her mother’s death, American photographer Mari Lennox is sent to document Yanagi Inn, an old, dilapidated ryokan outside Kyoto. By day, Mari explores the inn and its grounds, taking striking photographs and uncovering layers of mystery shrouding the old resort—including an overgrown, secret garden on a forbidden island. At night, eerie weeping (which no one else seems to hear) keeps her awake.
Despite the warnings of the staff, Mari searches for the source of the ghostly sound—and discovers a devastating secret tying her family’s history to the inn, and its mysterious, forlorn garden.
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The dimmed cabin lights brightened to a rosy glow, mimicking a sunrise though it was late evening in Kyoto. I wiped the drool off my lip with the back of my hand, glanced at the passengers on either side of me. The elderly woman to my right was awake, watching Roman Holiday on her seatback screen—Mom’s favorite movie, one I’d watched with her three times in the hospital alone.
The smartly dressed blond woman on my left had her laptop out on her tray table. Her stockinged feet rested on carry-on luggage with the same floral print as the weekender bag Mom had picked up in England years ago.
An optimistically small bag for her hospital stay.
The woman was probably working. Her nails on the keys tick-tick-ticked away, knocking on the door to my brain, reminding me I should check my work email. I reached for the bag between my feet. And Risa would need to be reminded of where I’d left Ginkgo’s pills. She needed to know he wouldn’t take them without sticking the pills inside butter. She needed to know—
STOP IT, Mari. I pictured my little sister smirking at me, arms crossed, standing next to my white puffball of a dog. Relax—I’ve got this.
I leaned back in my seat, rhythmically twisting the too-loose ring on my middle finger.
The flight attendant pushed a drink cart down the aisle. She wore a fitted top and pencil skirt, a jaunty kerchief with the Japan Airlines red crane logo tied around her neck. “Green tea, coffee?” Her voice was quiet, soothing.
I raised my hand. “Coffee would be amazing, thank you.”
She smiled a practiced smile, set a small cup on her metal tray, and poured the coffee from a carafe. The two women on either side of me asked for green tea.
Even over the aroma of my coffee, I could smell their tea. I’d missed it, the slightly bitter scent, the warmth of it. A scent from my childhood.
Japan. I’m really going back. This is real. This is NOW.
I took a sip of the coffee, hissing as it stung my tongue. A sharp, cheap flavor like the instant crap Thad used to buy when he’d finished off my good stuff.
I should’ve asked for tea.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we will be landing at Kansai International Airport in approximately half an hour. We anticipate a slightly early arrival. Local time is 7:14 p.m.”
My cardigan was damp with sleep sweat. I’d take it off, but I was afraid of elbowing the ladies next to me, so I made do with pulling my hair back into a ponytail and hitting the button for my personal fan. It whirred to life, but the clicking annoyed me, and I turned it back off. In the row behind me, someone sneezed.
What the hell was I doing running away like this—abandoning my sister, my now ex-boyfriend, maybe even my job? Tears welled in my eyes and I fought them back, staring at the screen in front of me, at the image of the tiny airplane and the dashed-line trek it’d made across the Pacific Ocean. Even if Risa had made all the arrangements and basically shoved me out the door, it felt wrong to just leave.
Even if it was for only four weeks.
Deep breaths, Mari, deep breaths.
At first the timing of the grant had seemed fortuitous, if a bit rushed. But the closer I got to Japan, the more reality set in and the vague details of the NASJ grant paperwork felt more and more inadequate. Photograph an old isolated Japanese inn “for posterity’s sake”? It wasn’t much to go on.
Had I brought the right camera lenses? Would four weeks be enough time? It seemed an eternity to me right now, but I’d never been asked to document an entire estate, never even received a grant before. I was an artist, not a documentarian.
At least, I used to be an artist.
Maybe I should’ve splurged for the upgraded camera bag with better padding. I pictured the Roman Holiday woman next to me opening the overhead compartment and my camera bag tumbling out onto the floor. Contents may have shifted during flight.
Could she even reach the overhead compartment?
She was a tiny Japanese woman—probably in her seventies. I snuck a glance at her.
But Mom was sitting next to me.
I froze, my entire body turning numb.
Mom, leaning back in her seat, was watching the movie with a slight smile on her lips. Her platinum blond hair was tied back in a loose ponytail, but tufts had fallen out and were dusting her shoulders, her blouse, like dead leaves. She sipped her green tea.
I struggled for air. The sweat dotting my skin turned cold, clammy.
No, no, no. I’m just tired, didn’t get enough sleep. I closed my eyes, inhaled deep, gasping breaths. Mandarins, I smelled freshly peeled mandarins.
“Are you all right, honey?”
My eyes flew open. CEO woman on my left, with her slim laptop and flowered bag, stared at me. Her eyes were wide with concern.
I shot a glance to my right. The little grandmother had returned and was happily watching her movie, oblivious to my distress.
Am I all right? The dreaded question.
Did she mean “do I need medical attention?” Or was it more of the existential “all right” we all seem to strive for but never quite manage?
I smiled at the woman, responded with the only reasonable lie one can give to that question: “I’m fine.”
Deep breaths, Mari. Deep breaths.
The flight attendant in her perfect pillbox hat and red bandana came by again, this time with white gloves and a plastic trash bag. I handed her my half-empty cup of coffee with an apologetic smile.
I should’ve asked for tea.
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Amber is an author, freelance editor, and university instructor. To learn more about her, please click here.
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