“Okuma wasn’t in the women’s dressing room. A brief thought flashed through my mind that she’d set me up to run into the men, but I dismissed it almost immediately. She was no more devious than she was organized. I dressed quickly, slipping on my watch last. Six o’clock. The men would linger in the bath a while longer, I expected, hashing over the incident. I’d bought myself a little extra time. The passage to the banquet rooms—and there were many rooms, because at a ryokan people generally dine...d only with their traveling companions—was down a hallway to the right of the dressing rooms. I could imagine the men perhaps wearing their robes to dinner, although that might make Mrs. Okuma feel uncomfortable. I wondered if the golf game was a lie they’d told her, so they could just hang out alone together. Where was she? I thought about that again as I went confidently into the reception area of the hotel, walking as if I had a right to be there. I sat on a low cushion by the sunken fireplace, acting as if I were awaiting someone.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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