“...It was a long time ago.”

  Grandpa finally spoke from the passenger seat, his voice low, dampened with nostalgia.

  “I must’ve been... twenty-four, maybe.

  I became the personal driver for a certain woman.”

  The turn signal clicked in steady rhythm, filling the car like a metronome ticking through his memories.

  “Her name was Dr. Mary. She was a foreign doctor.

  Got the job through my father—he introduced me.

  It was right after the war.”

  I straightened up a little.

  Something about the tone told me this wasn’t just a casual story.

  “She was around forty back then. A little plump, not very tall… but kind.

  The kind of person who made you feel safe.”

  Grandpa chuckled softly.

  “Natsu—your grandma—got attached to her too.

  Anyone who met her did.”

  “Wait, Grandma’s part of this story too?”

  “Big time.”

  The highway stretched out endlessly in front of us, the car cruising steadily along.

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  Outside, the scenery blurred past—but Grandpa’s voice pulled us back through time.

  “She came to Japan right after the war, part of a Red Cross medical mission.

  The economy was just barely getting back on its feet, but healthcare? It was a disaster.

  So they came—to help our country.”

  There was a subtle fire in Grandpa’s voice.

  “Originally, she was only supposed to stay a few years.

  She had family waiting back home, I’m sure.”

  “...‘Had’?”

  After a brief silence, Grandpa gave a small nod.

  “Yeah. She probably wanted to go back, deep down.”

  The wind tapped gently at the window, and Grandpa’s voice slipped further into the past.

  Each word carried the air of a different era.

  It was the 1950s.

  Back when the asphalt was still rough and uneven, Grandpa was out there polishing a big, black government car.

  Dust swirled on the breeze. Horns blared faintly in the distance.

  “She was involved in the fight against tuberculosis.”

  I could almost see the scene as he spoke.

  “She gave lectures and speeches almost every day.

  Even when she had a fever, or was coughing—she never stopped.

  She wanted to reach as many people as she could.”

  Back then, Grandpa—well, Kenta—was in charge of driving her around, along with translators and aides.

  Meetings ran long, schedules were a mess.

  That’s how he ended up as her full-time driver.

  The car was big, and pretty impressive.

  He was proud of it, and—embarrassingly—used to sneak cigarettes behind the wheel.

  “One day, she caught me smoking,” Grandpa said, half-laughing.

  The image appeared clearly in my mind.

  Beside the polished black car, a tiny glow of a cigarette.

  Dr. Mary, catching sight of it, stormed over—her English tinged with anger.

  “Stop! Ken-ta, no more smoking.

  If you want to smoke, don’t come back to me!”

  Young Kenta shrugged, playing it cool.

  “No, thank you, doctor. Leave me alone.”

  And then, she reached into her bag.

  Pulled out an X-ray.

  “This will be your lungs someday,” she said.

  “I don’t want to lose another young friend.”

  Her words landed like stones—soft but heavy.

  “She was almost crying when she said that.”

  Grandpa’s voice grew distant again.

  “That was the last cigarette I ever smoked.

  She’d already lost someone, you could see it in her eyes.

  There was a weight to her words that chilled me to the bone.”

  A breeze slipped into the car through the slightly open window—

  as if that long-past air had found its way inside the sedan.

  A soft electronic beep sounded.

  The ETC gate opened, and the car rolled off the expressway.

  I let out a slow breath.

  “That’s why you were always so strict with Dad about smoking…”

  I glanced at the GPS.

  “Okay, we’re in Atsugi. We’ll take the Odawara bypass, then head toward the coast and through Atami.

  Still a ways to go.”

  “The roads are faster now,” Grandpa chuckled.

  “Back then it was all national highways. Took forever.”

  “Fewer cars back then though, right?”

  “Yeah, but narrower roads.

  And cars weren’t much better than trains, to be honest.”

  “Huh… I didn’t know that.”

  The GPS calmly announced the next turn.

  I turned the steering wheel gently.

  In the silence that followed, only the soft hiss of tires and the faint static of the radio filled the car.