The Fourth Watcher pr-2
Page 32
The smiley face is on the door, but he knocks anyway.
“I’m home,” Miaow says, and he opens the door.
She is sitting in front of her mirror, braiding her hair so tightly it looks painful. Her eyes meet his in the mirror. She regards him critically without turning and says, “You look nice. I picked out the shirt at the store.”
“It’s beautiful.”
“It’s okay,” she says, eyeing it in the mirror.
“Are you all right?”
Now she does turn. She gives him a squint as though he’s gone out of focus. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Well, you know. . I mean, tonight is. . It’s the first. . I mean, if you want to talk about it or anything. .” She is still looking at him. “You know?” he adds.
“I got along with Ping,” she says, “and he was going to shoot me. This won’t be that hard.”
“He’s going to love you.”
She purses her mouth and tugs it to one side. “Maybe. Maybe I’ll love him, too. Maybe we’ll start by just liking each other.”
“You and Rose, the miracle girls,” Rafferty says. “How can I be so lucky?”
“Beats me,” Miaow says. “I put water on my hair. Does it look good?”
“You look beautiful.”
“I hope so,” she says. “It would be nice to be beautiful.” She turns back to the mirror and studies herself. “They’ll come soon. Go away now, okay?”
“I’m gone.” He closes the door and, just for a moment, leans against the wall, every muscle in his body slack with love. “We’re back,” he says aloud. “We’re all back.”
When the doorbell rings again, Rose calls from the kitchen, “You.”
Rafferty takes a breath deep enough to empty the room and opens the door. Frank stands there in an ancient, rumpled tweed sport coat, his right arm clamped rigidly to his body with three bottles of wine beneath it. Ming Li stands beside him, looking as cool and remote as ever, except that she has half of her father’s left sleeve knotted in her fist. Her knuckles are paper white. Hanging upside down in her other hand, completely forgotten, is a bouquet of flowers.
Without thinking, Rafferty makes a move to shake his father’s hand, sees a spark of something like panic in Frank’s eyes, and has a sudden vision of him extending his hand and dropping the wine. So instead he pats his father on the shoulder and says, “Hello, Frank, Ming Li. Give you a hand with those?” and reaches for the bottles.
“Poke,” Rose says from behind him. He feels her hand on his arm and turns.
Tall and draped in white, she is framed by the colored lights behind her, the guardian spirit of an enchanted cave. Slowly she brings her hands together in a wai, raises them to her forehead, and says, “Hello, Father. Hello, sister. Welcome home.”
And steps aside, her head slightly bowed, her hands still high. Frank glances quickly at Poke, licks his lips, and says, “Thank you, Rose.” Without looking up, Ming Li tugs at the fabric of his sleeve, and Frank says, “Hello, son.”
“Dad,” Poke says, the word enormous in his throat. “Ming Li. Please come in.”
As they come through the door, Ming Li gives him a smile that almost blinds him.
FB2 document info
Document ID: fbd-dba015-bae3-cf41-6aaa-0d10-2375-2d9f39
Document version: 3
Document creation date: 01.01.2013
Created using: calibre 0.9.12, Fiction Book Designer, FictionBook Editor Release 2.6.6 software
Document authors :
Timothy Hallinan
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