“Your husband,” he said, in halting English. “He is not enemy. He is also tired.”
Kenji folded her fingers into a soft fist. He held it between both his palms and whispered, “ Yurushi .” Forgiveness. Not for Tom. For herself. japanese massage american wife
“I know.”
Margaret, skeptical of anything without a Yelp review, complied. She lay face-down, her pale skin marked by the red lines of a laptop charger she’d fallen asleep on during the flight. She expected kneading, deep pressure, the kind of pummeling she got from the Thai place back in Wicker Park. “Your husband,” he said, in halting English
“I’m sorry,” she said.