heartache of july

The passage of time was not a stranger to Sara.

Like every year, July came around eventually. Once the month started, everything was always just a little bit harder. Even the simple things—like rolling out of bed in the morning and looking at her appearance in the mirror to ensure she looked presentable—was difficult.

...Today, however, was July 26th.

Joe was turning twenty this year.

YTTD; Chidouin Sara, Hirose Ryoko, Tazuna Jou; Warning for canonical character death & grief/mourning; Massacre ending.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: N/A

The passage of time was not a stranger to Sara.

Like every year, July came around eventually. Once the month started, everything was always just a little bit harder. Even the simple things—like rolling out of bed in the morning and looking at her appearance in the mirror to ensure she looked presentable—was difficult.

Every year, during July, the Hirose family attempted to subtly coddle her. Ryoko would ask if she wanted her to skip work and hang out with her at home, and Mister Hirose would offer to make her some food, and though she rarely saw Miss Hirose, she always gave her that slightly pitiful look the few times she saw her through the month.

No matter how hard Sara tried to hide it, part of her was starting to accept they were always going to regard her like that now. The worst part was that it was tolerable most time—in July, however, it was practically insufferable.

It was selfish to accept it. She wasn’t the only one affected by this, yet she was still treated as if she was. Whenever she tried to address how it affected Ryoko, she shook her head and told her not to worry about her, to only take care of herself, and Sara hated it. Just once, she would kill to have the spotlight off her for two seconds, just so she wasn’t the one shaking and crying behind the door, and so no one had to tell her the same useless words that were meant to encourage her, and so she didn’t have to feel like herself for those few, fleeting moments.

But of course, when you’re Sara Chidouin, you don’t really get what you want.

Today, however, was July 26th.

Joe was turning twenty this year.

These past few years, smiling was a difficult task. Every time her lips cracked upward, she could hear the distant echo of laughter. When Ryoko and her shared a giggle every once in a blue moon, there was another voice, laughing as it always did. It took everything out of Sara to not look around, because she already knew what she would find.

But today, staring at her reflection and at those tired, sunset-like eyes of her own, she smiled a little. Her amber hair was shorter, messily cut at the ends after a recent spiral sent her acting on impulse once more. It looked worse that night, but the following morning, Ryoko helped make it look a little less awful—and this time, she shortened the longest part of her bangs as well, making her whole face visible. She hardly even looked like the Sara Chidouin she remembered from before… everything.

After examining herself in the mirror, most of the day flew by. She tended to wake up earlier than normal these days, if she got any sleep at all, which sometimes made the day feel longer. If Sara were being honest, she wasn’t entirely sure what she had been doing—she just knew that, at some point, around seven in the morning, she slipped out of the Hirose household, quiet so she wouldn’t wake anyone up on their day off, and started up the car in the driveway. She also vaguely recalled leaving a note on the guest bedroom, just so they wouldn’t worry about her absence.

It was around ten in the morning when Sara reached her destination. At this point, people were probably traveling from place to place, from their houses to work or school. For the past four hours, she’d been attempting to find a florist shop that was open so early in the morning, all because she couldn’t remember the one she had visited last year. The more she tried to remember, the more frustrated she became, and the last thing she wanted to do was be upset on such a special date.

And so, she just kept looking.

Eventually, Sara did find the shop she had been visiting for the last three years. She wasn’t entirely sure if it was the one at first, but when she walked in, the lady up front glanced at the calendar, and then back at her. With a gentle smile, she said:

“Chrysanthemums and lilies, right?”

The ginger nodded, stepping closer to the counter. She kept her distance, but she didn’t want to strain her voice. “...And daffodils, if you have any,” she added.

It wasn’t long before she had purchased the bouquet of flowers and drove away, the yellow and white flowers sitting on the passenger side of the car. Anxiously, she checked the time, only to find fifteen minutes had passed since she last looked.

Thirteen hours and forty-five minutes, Sara noted. Part of her was aware she didn’t have to check the time so frequently, but when she didn’t, her heart began to pound excessively, as stupid as it felt sometimes. When she didn’t check the time, her mind would become occupied with the vague memory of reverse hourglasses, with sand floating up instead of falling down, and that was when her mind would wander off too much. The last thing she wanted to do was be upset on such a special date. That meant she did what she had to in order to satisfy that sickening, annoying part of her brain that insisted she needed to know what time it was at all times.

And besides, now she knew she had thirteen hours and forty-five minutes before the end of Joe’s twentieth birthday.

Or, well, now it was thirteen hours and forty-two minutes.

Because it was so early, Sara found the drive taking longer than expected. She sat there in the car, behind a few other vehicles, waiting for the red light to turn green. Normally, she’d be a little frustrated, but she took the time to dig into the bag she’d been preparing since the beginning of the week—she wasn’t exactly certain why. She’d checked and double checked to make sure she had everything, but maybe looking everything over once more couldn’t hurt too much. It couldn’t.

Inside, of course, there were a few gum wrappers that she had forgotten to discard time and time again, as well as her wallet and a water bottle that was still mostly ice. The summers always brought an uncomfortable heat, and Ryoko wouldn’t like it if she were dehydrated.

There was also the phone the Hiroses had given to her, because she didn’t feel safe using her old one anymore. She didn’t use it much, only to make calls to Ryoko and her father when necessary. The last time she held it for a long period of time, she ended up doing a deep dive on the whole… incident. When her name came up, it only intrigued her more—and so, she kept clicking on link after link, reading into the theories people had about the whole thing, and even stumbling across a few that boldly regarded the whole thing as a big ‘hypothetical,’ as if what had happened wasn’t real and just something to explain a strange coincidence.

Of course, when she was found that morning, staring at her phone with wide, horrified eyes, she vowed to use it as little as possible. Her therapist suggested to take some time away from all of it too, at least until she had processed everything that had happened. She didn’t like the phrasing, but it only seemed reasonable.

Beside all that, there was also a small, light pink bag that she had thrown in last minute. It looked something like a makeup bag, but Sara had never been someone to wear cosmetics, and it was much too tiny to hold anything more than a lipstick or two.

She didn’t open the bag. She already knew what was in there.

…And that was all she could really recollect of her morning. The rest of it felt fuzzy, as if she was on autopilot for a few hours to make it feel as if time was passing faster; as if the very seconds being wasted on sitting in the car weren’t so long after all.

Sara placed the white and yellow flowers in the vases on both sides of the gravestone, taking the time to make sure it looked pretty. It wasn’t a lot, and even though she wanted to buy more for Joe, he never liked when she spent so much on him. It wasn’t like money was an issue for her—it never was, apparently, considering her family’s connections—but it certainly was for him, and it was something that most people already knew about him. The Tazuna family had financial troubles, and it was hard to tell if his parents actually cared about changing that reputation of theirs.

The sun beamed down on her, like it always did in July, and it felt warm. Unknowingly, she held onto that feeling for as long as she could, because then things didn’t feel so dreary all the time.

She closed her eyes, shutting them as tightly as she could.

Instinctively, she tilted her head downwards. Sara didn’t exactly wish to consider herself religious—especially after everything—but it only felt right to do the same practice she knew how to do, the only way to “properly” honor the dead. Besides, she’d feel awkward simply staring at the gravestone in front of her, unable to gather any actual words.

It wasn’t until that moment that she realized that she hadn’t collected any of the incense offered at the entrance, very well aware of its significance. It was meant to be the key to reaching out to the deceased, a way of assuring the lost that they could safely move on, all while expressing gratitude in a way that words would never be able to explain.

Even without the presence of the scent of burning agarwood waving in the air, she took deep breaths, allowing herself to attempt to calm down as much as possible. No matter how little she thought she deserved it, she could still recall the vague memories of Joe constantly reassuring her with that loud, cheery voice and bright smile of his.

“Don’t beat yourself up, Sara!” He would say, placing a hand on her shoulder or linking their arms. “Ya aren’t getting anywhere with an attitude like that, y’know? What’s the point of constantly pushing yourself if you aren’t gonna at least allow yourself some time to rest?”

And every time, Sara would say:

“...I guess that makes sense,” even though sometimes, it really didn’t. Some days, she couldn’t quite understand what Joe was getting at, but the point was that he worried about her whenever she overdid it, and she didn’t like it when he worried about her. Maybe she was a little hypocritical for thinking like that, she realized, a soft chuckle of guilt escaping her own throat.

“...I hated you sometimes, you know.” It wasn’t true. Deep down, even when Sara was upset at him, she never hated him—but it was easier to express it like this to him right now. “You would always get upset at me for worrying too much, yet look at you. You were always concerned about me, and look where that got… us.”

The teenager vaguely gestured between herself at the gravestone.

Sara never liked the thought. Every now and then, the realization would settle in again that Joe was dead, and every time it’d sicken her to her very core. Even during this awful day, she tried to soothe herself—pretend that boy with brunette hair was waiting, pretend that her phone had died so she didn’t receive his daily morning text, or so she could wish him a happy birthday as soon as she could. She pretended, and it kept her together for a few hours.

And now, she was sitting face-to-face with a gravestone with his name engraved in it. His body wasn’t here. They couldn’t recover it, even when their kidnappers mysteriously disappeared from the location she and Nao sworethey had last been, and when they walked inside with their dim light of hope in front of them, only to find an empty building, the walls scrubbed clean of blood and dust lining every inch of every room, and when those people that represented a last, desperate attempt at hope told them it wasn’t good to make up such elaborate stories and that all they did was waste their time.

Damn the cops.

It was crude to think such a thing, but when Sara had fallen to that dusty floor, shaking as Nao gently rubbed her shoulders, she was only seventeen. What seventeen year old girl would make up a lie like that? Something so inconceivable, yet it was the only way that would link the several missing reports filed. The police didn’t believe her, didn’t believe Nao, and even though neither of them had little faith in them to begin with, they tried anyway.

But all they did was tell them to go home. To contact a parent and go home, as if that was even an option.

“You’re here, right?” Sara asked. The question fell upon nobody’s ears. “There… is a reason I visit you as much as I can, isn’t there? It’s because you’re still here. Aren’t you?”

No answer.

“I’m… not wasting my time here, am I?”

The wind brushed against her forehead, pushing some strands of ginger hair onto her face.

“...Joe?”

She waited.

“…Please answer me.”

The deafening silence made her own ears ring. Still, she stared at the gravestone, at Joe’s name, trying to be patient as she always was. Despite knowing deep down that no response would come from the other, she kept quiet, waiting for the moment he started to say something.

“Answer me, Joe!!”

Frustrated, Sara’s hand formed a fist, shaking with the mix of indiscernible emotion. Then, she slammed the ground beneath her. She yelled, sobs mixed in that caused her voice to crack.

The only thing it achieved was getting dirt and grass smeared across her palm and underneath her bitten and chewed fingernails. Of course Joe wouldn’t answer. He wouldn’t say anything. He loved her, he said so himself, yet he ignored her question, the only thing still clinging to her after all this time.

It was disrespectful. Yelling at someone who had passed away so unfortunately, disrupting the ground they were supposed to rest on. Even worse, it was Joe’s birthday too. How could she be so awful to scream at him like that?

With her hands arms now shaking, Sara didn’t bother to look up at the gravestone, or at the flowers that rested on both sides of it. She wasn’t sure what to do now, what to say. It took all her strength to not break down sobbing, freely for Joe to see, if he was even there.

And so, the ginger stared down at the ground, gently breathing in and out to calm down. With both of her arms being used to keep her body from collapsing onto the grass hopelessly, she could see where her hand had made contact with the dirt, its print barely easy to make out. It also got onto the sweatpants she wore, not having had the energy to put on anything more presentable. At the very least, it made it harder to tell she’d went and gotten herself dirty.

“...I’m sorry for getting upset,” Sara mumbled, just to fill the silence. “You know, I—”

“Sara?”

Her head snapped up so quickly that her neck throbbed afterward. In the distance, a girl walked towards her, holding a small bag over her shoulder. Her hair was pulled back into a short ponytail, making it easier to see her gray eyes glisten in the scorching sunlight. Even with how glaringly blinding it was, Sara could still see the concern in the way the other’s eyebrows knitted together.

“...Hey, Ryoko.” It was all she could bring herself to say.

Ryoko didn’t say anything, seemingly out of breath by the time she finally made her way through the rows and rows of stones. For a moment, Sara noticed she looked upset. Her chest tightened, and instinctively, she slunk back, retreating back so she was sitting up straight and remaining knelt before the gravestone.

It was silent for a little bit. She hadn’t counted how much time had passed, nor did she want to know. Eventually, her friend set down the small bag and sat down beside her.

“I… was worried, y’know,” she said, keeping her voice gentle. “You scared me. I tried calling you, but you didn’t answer. Did you put your phone on silent again…?”

Sara didn’t answer.

She heard Ryoko sigh, and from the corner of her eye, she saw her gaze relax a little bit. “...I’m glad you’re okay, anyhow. You could have woken me up, though. What time did you even leave? Was the sun up yet?”

“It wasn’t. I didn’t really get to watch the sunrise, though,” Sara admitted. She shrugged, attempting to make it seem as if it wasn’t a big deal. “I just— I wanted to spend time with…”

There was no need to finish her sentence, because she saw the raven-haired girl nod her head in understanding. Still, no words left her.

Unsatisfied, she dragged her fingers down the part of her amber hair that still hung off from the left of her head, attempting to soothe her nerves. “I left a note, at least?” She added. “I… I don’t remember where I left it, but I’m pretty sure it was in the guest room somewhere.”

“I saw,” Ryoko confirmed, clearing her throat. “You left it on the drawer… and you used one of those star stickers that I used to collect, like you did last year.”

The reminder made her feel a bit better, even if she couldn’t remember all that clearly. “...Right.”

Their conversation ended there. Surely, there was more Sara wanted to say, but it didn’t dare leave her tongue. She was much too tired for constant conversation—even just talking to the air where the third member of their group would have sat beforehand was exhausting. To pour out one’s heart was a difficult task; to have it all be for nothing was just tossing salt into a wound she had made herself.

Yet, to admit the existence of any of these wounds to someone who would actually hear her was awful to think of. It was no better than giving them an extra injury to take care of on their own.

And so, Sara kept quiet.

With the silence that settled between the two, Ryoko seemed to quickly grow uneasy. She watched her slight shift in her spot, open her mouth and then close it again, repeating the process a few more times, before she finally settled on something to say:

“...Did you bring his keychain?”

Sara tensed, but she hid her surprise by the question under an unmoving expression. The Chidouin family was always known for their countenance that masked whatever they were truly feeling. She’d seen it in the way her father upheld a smile most of the time while speaking to her, even when she had just overheard him sound frustrated whilst speaking in on the phone in his office; the way her mother wore an unreadable look when she began to feel too happy or too upset—none of it was a stranger to her, and over the course of her seventeen years, she’d learned how to adapt to the art of misleading others on how she was feeling, most of the time.

But still, despite all that, Ryoko was always able to read her like an open book. Joe, too. Maybe that was how they managed to get so close to her, and maybe their persistence in understanding her was their downfall; the reason both of them were in the places they were in this very moment.

However—and Sara should have been well aware of this fact by now—Ryoko rarely acted phased by anything that had happened. It wasn’t hard to tell she was putting up a front, just like she was, but it didn’t fail to throw her off guard when she heard her laugh.

“I know you have it, buttercup,” she added. When Sara looked over, she rested her chin on her knee, a smile drawn across her face. “It wasn’t in your room where you usually put it, and I know if you lost it, you wouldn’t have left the house until you found it again, so…”

Sometimes, it felt like she knew her too well.

Sara’s shoulders slumped forward, giving up the act. She turned to the side, opening the bag she’d brought with her, and dug her hand inside. It didn’t take too long to find the small makeup bag, thankfully, so she pulled it out and set it on her lap.

For a moment, she hesitated. She didn’t want to keep Ryoko waiting, but she froze, almost not wanting to look at the plastic, worn out keychain that was once carried and displayed so proudly, like it was an invaluable possession and not something that could be won at an arcade. Now that she thought about it, its value still remained the way it did before—it was special. If Sara ever lost it, there was no replacing it. Ryoko certainly wasn’t lying when she said she wouldn’t relax until she knew exactly where the keychain was at all times.

Carefully, Sara unzipped the pouch, dragging the zipper so slowly that she only opened the bag up halfway, just so she could stick her hand in and grab the items inside and save a few seconds of unbearable silence.

Once she set the bag aside, three small objects rested in the palm of her hand. The keychain, the hair clip, and a cheap, colorful bracelet with a half heart charm that dangled off it, with the first letter of her name on it. Just looking at the items made her stomach twist with an indescribable emotion, her head spinning ever so slightly.

The keychain was presented by Joe himself. Despite her giving it to him almost a year ago, he returned it in his last moments, for whatever reason. She could vaguely recall him tossing the tiny dog across the tile floor, but she didn’t collect it at the time. Instead, even while she was screaming and shaking, she partially believed he would get up again and take it back. It wasn’t until the aftermath of all the bloodshed three days later that she found it in Safalin’s office.

Similarly, the hair clip was also in that office. Before that, the last time she had seen it was when it was worn by somebody that wasn’t Joe Tazuna. A doll with ginger hair who was programmed to enjoy the suffering of others, as well as bask in the regrets of the dead. Even when he was dead now too, recalling it brought a sour feeling to Sara’s tongue—maybe it was because seeing it was proof of not one, but two completely different victims that fell to Asunaro. At the very least, neither had fallen directly by Sara’s hand, but it was awful to think that made it any better.

And finally, the bracelet. It wasn’t Joe’s. His fake golden bracelets and that cord with the bone charm weren’t recovered, and neither was the other copy of this piece of jewelry. It didn’t belong to him—instead, it belonged to Sara. She refused to wear it after his death, and especially after escaping the death game. No matter how much comfort it brought to her, she was no good friend. She betrayed people. Someone like her didn’t deserve to wear this friendship bracelet.

More importantly, she didn’t want to wear it because it hurt to do so. There was no other half. The remainder of the heart charm, the one with the most important person in her life’s first initial on it, was gone with the rest of the contents of that facility. For all she knew, some associate was likely to have just tossed it into the trash while they were clearing out.

“Are… you alright?” Ryoko asked, cautiously reaching out and hovering over Sara’s free hand. With no flinch or notion to tell her to back off, she placed her hand over hers, squeezing it to comfort her.

Sara managed a soft nod, blinking a few times to snap herself out of her thoughts. “Mhm,” she hummed, looking up to meet the other’s gaze.

She didn’t seem very convinced. The small frown on Ryoko’s face was all it took to figure such.

There was another squeeze around her hand. “Just… take it easy, Sara. Today’s hard for you, and that’s okay, y’know?”

Somehow, though she certainly meant well, the phrasing of it made her feel sick all over again. Instead of responding, she gripped Ryoko’s hand a little tighter in her own, attempting to still the tremble that threatened to shake her body.

“...Sara? What’s wrong—”

“Stop it,” she whispered, her voice breaking immediately. Tears welled up in her eyes, but all she could do was discard the items in her palm on top of the dress she wore and wipe away the wetness on her face. “Just stop it. Isn’t this hard for you too, Ryo…?”

Her only best friend only stared back, almost taken back by the question.

Suddenly, Sara pulled her hand away from hers with a sharp movement. “Answer me, Ryoko!” She yelled, snapping her head up to make eye contact willingly, for once. “You’re always worrying about me, and I— I don’t deserve it! You lost Joe too, didn’t you!?”

Her chest erratically expanded and contracted with every shaky breath she took, her sunset-colored eyes breaking into the raincloud-like color in Ryoko’s. The girl’s eyes widened, and for a few moments, nothing was said at all.

Sara didn’t like yelling. That much was understood by both of them, so for her to raise her voice at Ryoko of all people—even she herself was surprised when she realized what she had done. Still, she waited, not because it would be awkward if she told her to forget about it out of nowhere, but because she wanted to know.

No, she needed to know.

The raven-haired girl pressed her lips together, taking a deep breath. Sara watched carefully, not daring to look away—if there was anything she knew about Ryoko, it was that if she could dodge a personal question, she would, and she wouldn’t accept that right now.

When enough silence passed, Sara grew a little impatient—but she didn’t yell again. Instead, she lowered her voice, holding her breath so she wouldn’t sniffle. “...Don’t you miss him too?”

“Of course I do,” Ryoko replied, quicker this time. It was only then she realized tears forming in her eyes too—like rain finally escaping the cloud it was trapped in. “I… I just—”

Her shoulders dropped down, and she tore her gaze away to wipe her eyes.

“...I miss him so much,” she admitted, a half-hearted chuckle leaving her. She didn’t dare look up at Sara again. “And it feels so stupid. I know it’s only natural I feel awful too, because I was friends with him, but you were closer to him than I ever was, and you watched him die in front of you—it just doesn’t feel right to be anywhere near as upset as you are.”

Sara’s eyebrows furrowed. She would have said she was confused on what Ryoko had meant, but that would be entirely hypocritical—she knew exactly what she was saying. It wasn’t because she was right, certainly not, but because even though she wouldn’t admit it out loud, that constant feeling of not deserving to feel a certain way was no stranger to her.

Once more, she wiped the tears from her violet and orange eyes, then quietly reached her hand out. Carefully, she set it on Ryoko’s shoulder, slowly applying pressure until she was able to comfortably trace circles on the crying girl’s back.

And then, all of a sudden, she pulled her into a tight hug. Sara couldn’t help the small squeak of surprised that escaped her throat.

Ryoko’s crying grew a bit stronger as she slumped against her, burying her head into her shoulder. Any attempt to fight her own sobs dispersed in that very moment, because all Sara could do was cry with her, clinging onto her just a bit tighter.

“Sorry,” her friend mumbled, hiccuping before she could continue. “I… I know it’s—”

“Just… stop it already,” Sara interrupted, straining her voice so it wouldn’t sound so weak. “I–It doesn’t matter if I suffered more than you or not. I know you cared about him too, right? And if I know Joe, and I’m pretty sure I do, he wouldn’t want to see either of us acting like this.”

“...Right,” was all Ryoko replied at first. It wasn’t until a beat of silence had passed that she added: “I just really want to help you, any way I can. I can’t afford to lose you too, Sara. I can’t bear the thought of it.”

At those words, Sara untensed a little, soaking in what was being said. For a few moments, she couldn’t think of what to say. Ever since escaping the death game, words weren’t much of her strong suit.

Eventually, she settles on the first words that come to mind, far too tired to think of anything better. With her head resting against Ryoko’s neck, she whispered: “I can’t lose you either.”

Sara gently cleared her throat, not wanting her voice to crack before she spoke again. She closed her eyes, the sun beginning to hurt her eyes. “...I want to be able to help you too, Ryoko. I just— It doesn’t feel right for you and your family to constantly be worried about me, if that makes sense.”

After all, I’m the one who killed people. This isn’t what I deserve.

Despite the awful thought, she kept it to herself. She knew how Ryoko would respond if she said that out loud—and the last thing Sara wanted was to make it about herself again, even if it only made her sound like a hypocrite in regards to her point about what Joe would have thought.

Again, Ryoko laughed. It was more of a small chuckle, something to make this a little easier to talk about. “You really haven’t changed since junior high, huh… Alright. I guess I kind of miss talking things out like this…”

She could hear the smile in her voice. With that, Sara found the corners of her lips turning upward, a sense of relief warming her heart.

“Promise me we’ll do this together, though,” Ryoko added, sounding a little more serious this time. “I… I know you. You’ll push aside your own needs if you start worrying about me too much again. I can’t really say much, but… I’m still worried.”

And just like that, the smile dispersed. Sara was almost glad they had been hugging this whole time.

“I promise,” she replied. Whether or not she was lying, even Sara herself wasn’t sure—but if it made Ryoko feel better, and more importantly, focus on herself a little bit more, that was enough for her.

Still, the idea of lying to Ryoko didn’t sit right with her. She’d have to do her best to keep her promise. For her sake.

Ryoko pulled away from the hug, though she held Sara’s hands tightly. Quickly, she forced a smile, just so she wouldn’t think anything was wrong. Thankfully, the other hadn’t looked at her directly, allowing her to quickly drop the act; her lips uncurling, simply tiredly following her gaze.

“Happy birthday, Joe,” the girl whispered, brushing a thumb over Sara’s hand.

She didn’t say anything at first.

It was silent, the only sound being the wind that combed through Sara’s slightly shorter ginger hair, and the pounding of her own heart.

Like always, however, her best friends’ emotions have never failed to be infectious—that included the tears in Ryoko’s eyes now appearing in her own, and of course, the small twinkle of hope spreading across her face as well.

Joe would be happy to see her alive, wouldn’t he?

Maybe it didn’t matter that Sara had to kill all those people to get here.

Maybe it didn’t matter she and Nao no longer spoke anymore.

Maybe the specifics didn’t matter at all; maybe he would’ve only cared that she’d gotten out safe.

Or maybe it did. She wouldn’t know. What did Sara Chidouin know?

Lifting an arm to wipe a tear away, a half-hearted chuckle left her lips as she repeated: “Happy birthday, Joe.”

Happy birthday, Joe Tazuna.

Published July 26, 2023. (Archived December 28, 2023.)