It started raining sometime in the night and showed no signs of stopping by the time anyone woke up.
Hana discovered this first, pressing her face against the kitchen window with the disappointed gravity of a child whose outdoor plans had just been canceled by forces beyond anyone's control.
"No garden today," she announced to the kitchen.
"No garden today," Nana agreed, pouring tea.
"Forever?"
"Probably just today, Hana."
Hana considered this with visible skepticism, as though the rain might be personally testing her patience specifically, and went to report the injustice to Saki, who was already deep into a book in the covered area — the one part of the garden that remained, technically, dry.
By mid-morning, the rain had settled into the kind of steady, drumming downpour that made the whole house feel smaller and warmer at once, every window gray, the garden reduced to silver sheets of water running off the roof.
