The GPS guided them expertly from this freeway to that belt route to this connection to that exit until they found themselves going over the San Francisco–Oakland Bay Bridge, or Bay Bridge for short. Sadie already felt dizzy from the driving portion of the trip and they weren’t even in the city yet. How had people ever driven here without a GPS?
She stared out the window and tried to hold on to the good feelings from the holiday yesterday. Things had gone so well with Pete’s daughters and their families, and each time Sadie was with them, their relationship felt a little more comfortable. Brooke, the older, had asked for the recipe for Sadie’s famous potato salad and had invited her to attend a community theater production the next month to see her oldest son perform in an adaptation of An American Tail. It was the first time Brooke had specifically invited Sadie to anything, and it filled her with confidence that good things were happening within these new relationships. After the fireworks were over, both of Pete’s daughters had initiated hugs good-bye. It had been such a fantastic day. But they weren’t in Pete’s backyard enjoying hamburgers while the kids played on a Slip ‘N Slide anymore. Sadie wished like crazy that they were.
Pete used something called a FastTrak pass to get them through the toll booth. The pass had come with the rental car, but she wasn’t sure what was so fast about it as they seemed to move as slowly across the enormous structure as every other car. While they crept forward a few feet at a time, Sadie took in her first sight of a city that didn’t seem as though it could possibly fit on the small patch of land ahead of them.
“It’s too early to check into the hotel,” Pete said, “but we could have the concierge hold our bags while we grab lunch at Ji’s restaurant. It’s just a few blocks from the hotel.”
“Um, sure,” Sadie said, internally acknowledging her hesitation at meeting her nephew. He’d asked her to call when they got into town. Showing up at his restaurant was as good as calling, right? She didn’t want their relationship to start off badly; he’d been so formal on the phone that she worried he might not like her changing the initial contact. But she didn’t want to overanalyze things either. Pete obviously wanted to go, so she kept her concerns to herself.
Over the last few days Sadie had attempted to sort through her feelings about stepping into Wendy’s life. Everything weighing her down created a jumble of thoughts and emotions that meant she felt more introspective than usual. Pete allowed her the uncharacteristic silence, for which Sadie was grateful.
She thought back to what Pete had said on his porch two nights ago: “She can’t hurt you anymore.” Sadie knew what he meant, was even sure it was true, but the pain that she feared was not physical. Some childish part of herself—a remnant of the little girl she’d been when Wendy had embodied all of Sadie’s fears—wished she could simply hide like she used to.
The automated voice of the GPS instructed Pete to exit the freeway at Fourth Street. “Or we could park at the square and worry about the hotel when it gets closer to check-in time,” Pete mused while merging toward the off-ramp.
“It doesn’t matter to me,” Sadie replied. “What’s the square?”
“Portsmouth Square,” Pete said, glancing at her quickly. “It’s in Chinatown. It’s kind of a park with a playground and some benches, sort of a local hangout with underground public parking.” He transitioned smoothly to a four-lane road with rail cables stretched above and across it and a landscaped divider running down the center. The blocks were small—a hundred yards or less—and there were people everywhere.
The sun went behind the clouds, but when Sadie craned her neck to look at the sky through the passenger window, she found herself looking up at enormous buildings, some of which disappeared into a blanket of fog that hovered in the air. It was eleven o’clock in the morning—shouldn’t the fog have burned off by now?
Sadie sat back in her seat and looked at Pete. “I know you said you’d been to San Francisco before, but you seem awfully familiar with it.”
“I love this city,” Pete said with a wistful tone.
Sadie turned her full attention to her fiancé. She had no idea he felt so strongly about a city she had always avoided. Her daughter, Breanna, had done an internship at the San Francisco Zoo the summer after high school, and Sadie hadn’t even gone to visit. Sadie’s father had been sick at the time—and she was his primary caregiver—but she knew she could have arranged a trip if she’d really wanted to.
Pete continued, “It was one of Pat’s favorite places to visit. Mine too. If we’d ever wanted to be urban dwellers, this is where we’d have done it.” He stopped for a red light and glanced at Sadie. “You’ve really never been here?”
Sadie shook her head and swallowed the envy that sprang up at the realization that he’d shared this city with his first wife. It was silly to be jealous, though, and she worried that she was trying to find something to transfer her negative feelings to instead of thinking about Wendy. “How often have you visited?”
“At least half a dozen times.” He looked straight ahead, a nostalgic expression on his face. “Pat and I honeymooned here and then came back on anniversaries when we could. There are so many things to see and do in this town, and it has such a rich sense of character. When the kids were teenagers, we came out for an entire week and never ran out of things to do. It was a great trip.”
“That’s wonderful,” Sadie said, hoping her voice sounded upbeat. They’d both talked openly about their late spouses and understood they’d lived plenty of life before they met each other. But something about her fragile emotions regarding this situation, added to the realization that this city was full of memories of Pete’s first wife, and the fact that they were supposed to be taking a honeymoon of their own in three weeks, blended together to create a pit in the middle of Sadie’s stomach.
As they continued past the high-rise buildings and crowded sidewalks that banked the narrow streets, Pete remained silent. Perhaps he was experiencing some uncomfortable feelings, too.
There were restaurants and boutiques and cell phone stores on the ground level of the towering buildings all built side by side. Pete slowed down and pulled into the underground parking structure beneath Portsmouth Square, and they exited on foot a few minutes later to join the throngs of people enjoying the Chinatown district. The square itself had light posts painted red with lantern tops. Older Asian people and smatterings of tourists occupied the benches and checkerboard tables, relaxing and talking beneath the trees. Children laughed and squealed as they played on a slide and chased one another through the relatively small, grassless park.
“I think Choy’s is just down here,” Pete said, pointing. He took Sadie’s hand; his touch went a long way to relieve her growing insecurities, though she worried that she held on a little tight. Whether it was some attempt to remind him that he was making new memories here with Sadie or because she was becoming increasingly anxious about meeting her nephew, she couldn’t be sure.
Bright Chinese lanterns were strung across the streets, and Asians dressed in bright silk tunics handed out coupons and advertisements. Stone statues flanked doorways, and tables loaded with trinkets were set out in front of windows full of brightly colored shirts, flags, silk scarves, and jewelry. They passed a family speaking German, and a few seconds later Sadie heard someone yell at a child in what sounded like Italian. There were so many people.
“There it is,” Pete said, increasing his pace as though they were at an amusement park and he was excited to get in line for the next ride. Sadie wasn’t in nearly that kind of hurry but kept in step with him. The sign for Choy’s was bright yellow with the Chinese characters to the side of the English translation written in contrasting red. In the window were posters of different foods with both the English and Chinese descriptions. The posters looked several years old, some of them more tattered and faded than others. Beside the glass front door was a green dragon statue, one paw resting on a ball. People had used the open mouth as an ashtray.
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��Did you know there are both male and female dragon statues?” Pete asked, nodding to the statue, his hand on the door handle.
“I’m not sure I want to know how you can tell,” Sadie replied, eyeing the statue warily.
Pete laughed. “The female dragon statues have baby dragons under their paw, and the male dragons have their paw on a ball.”
“I get what baby dragons represent. What does the ball represent?”
Pete gave her a half smile and pulled open the door for her. “Because men rule the world, of course.”
Sadie gave him an unimpressed look as she walked past him through the doorway. “And apparently design all the dragon statues.”
Pete laughed and stepped in behind her. The fluorescent lighting buzzed overhead and made the inside of the restaurant brighter than the sky outside. Sadie had to blink a few times before her eyes adjusted. The white-walled restaurant was small—only ten tables sat close together, each with four chairs. Two Chinese men occupied one table, drinking coffee out of teacups and reading newspapers.
There was an artificial ficus tree in one corner that even from this distance Sadie could see was coated with dust, which was likely locked onto the plastic leaves by the cooking grease from the kitchen behind the red door on the far wall. Near the front door was a glass case upon which sat the cash register and what looked like a small Buddhist shrine—Sadie had seen a similar display at the nail salon where she got pedicures in Garrison.
Brightly colored Chinese lanterns hung from the ceiling but the strands weren’t spaced properly and therefore didn’t create the eye-pleasing pattern Sadie thought they should. The floor was faded black-and-white checkered linoleum and the chrome-legged Formica tables were likely original to whenever this establishment had been opened. Sadie hadn’t been expecting anything fancy, but this wasn’t anything like the restaurants she usually went to. However, it smelled wonderful and Sadie was suddenly hungry.
“Hole-in-the-wall places like this always have the best food,” Pete said, barely containing his excitement as he took everything in.
Sadie agreed but couldn’t come up with any good reason not to spruce things up a little. A restaurant didn’t have to look run down to be good, did it? She’d been to plenty of restaurants that had amazing food and nice décor.
“Two?”
Sadie saw a small Chinese woman dressed in black slacks and an oversized black T-shirt coming toward them. Sadie smiled politely, noting the woman’s porcelain skin, big brown eyes, and rosebud mouth. Her sleek black hair was pulled into a bun on the top of her head and shone beneath the too-bright lights. Sadie guessed she was in her early thirties, more from her commanding and confident attitude than from her actual looks that disguised her age. She was beautiful, and Sadie wondered if this were Ji’s wife. Maybe she ran the front portion of their restaurant.
“Yes,” Pete answered, since Sadie was so deeply entrenched in her study of this woman.
The woman nodded and waved them toward the table farthest away from the two men, who had yet to speak to one another. After they were seated, the woman set down two plastic-covered menus and then left without saying a word. Pete took his reading glasses out of the front pocket of his shirt and put them on to peruse the menu.
“Mmm, they have cheong fun.”
Sadie didn’t recognize many items on the menu. “Is cheong fun good?”
Pete looked up at her over his glasses. “Did Sadie Hoffmiller just ask me a question regarding culinary quality?”
Sadie gave him a bemused smile. “I’m afraid my experience with Chinese food is inferior to most of my culinary genius—I like beef and broccoli and fried rice, but I’ve never had anything this . . . authentic.” She left out that things like chicken feet and bird’s nest soup had encouraged her to keep a bit of a distance from traditional Chinese foods. Jack had gone to China once on business; he said most of the food he ate consisted of unidentifiable meat-stuffs dipped in gray broth. They didn’t even have much rice. Sadie had at that point checked China off of her list of places she wanted to visit since food was one of the most motivating factors when choosing a travel destination.
“Really,” Pete said, genuinely surprised. “Have you had dim sum before?”
“I’ve seen it in movies,” she said, thinking of the finger foods loaded onto carts that were navigated through the tables. Sadie didn’t see any carts here, though. “But I’ve never tried it myself.” She put her menu down. “Will you order for me? I don’t know what’s good but I trust your judgment.”
The front door opened and two more men came in and sat down without waiting for the waitress to seat them. Regulars, Sadie assumed. The door had no more than closed behind them before a group of four women pulled it open again. These ones had the stamp of tourist on them due to their numerous shopping bags and sensible shoes.
“Four?” the waitress said as she came in from the kitchen carrying a tray with two glasses of water, two teacups, and a teapot.
“Yep, just us,” one of the women said.
The waitress waved them toward the last corner table in the room, then continued to Pete and Sadie’s table, where she put a glass of water in front of each of them, set the metal teapot in the center of the table, and placed two handleless teacups beside it.
“Ready to order?” she said. Her words were sharp at the ends and her sentences succinct.
Pete started rattling off dishes Sadie had never heard of. The woman nodded after each item but didn’t write anything down. When he finished, she returned to the kitchen without comment.
Sadie scanned the room again and found her focus settling on the wall with the kitchen door. Upon entering, Sadie had noted the white walls but now she realized that this wall, though plain white, was textured and . . . more than that, the texture made a picture.
“Do you think that’s bamboo?” Sadie asked Pete, pointing toward the wall.
Pete turned in his chair and looked at it for a few seconds. “Wow, that’s remarkable.”
The longer Sadie stared at it, the more remarkable it was. The entire wall, a good thirty-foot expanse, looked as though it had been covered with thick white plaster, then sculpted—Sadie couldn’t think of a better way to describe it—to look like a bamboo forest. The stalks of bamboo were at different angles to one another, some from floor to ceiling, some shorter, but the texture of the plaster created the shadows that were necessary to show what was represented. “If the lighting weren’t so intense, I bet you could better see what it is,” Sadie commented.
Pete turned to face her. “I bet you’re right, but it’s beautiful.”
“It is,” Sadie said. The lack of small talk settled in between them. “When the waitress comes back should we ask her if Ji is here?”
“If we wait until after the meal we can compliment him on his food. Would you like some tea?”
“What kind is it?”
Pete lifted the pot, poured himself a cup, and took a sip. “I don’t know what it’s called, but it’s good—kind of . . . flowery.”
“Um, sure,” Sadie said, though she was a bit hesitant to drink tea that tasted like flowers. This place didn’t scream clean and that she was woefully ignorant of real Chinese food didn’t help her feel any less out of her element. She hoped that she didn’t end up with gastrointestinal distress from this meal, but maybe the tea would help calm her nerves and her stomach. She could only hope.
Chapter 5
A plate of translucent-skinned dumplings came out first, and Pete used his chopsticks to put one in his mouth. Sadie wasn’t as proficient with chopsticks but managed to get one in her own mouth—after offering a quick prayer that it wouldn’t make her sick. The dumpling was sticky on the outside and full of unknown flavors on the inside, but it wasn’t bad.
“Good?” Pete asked when she reached for another one.
Sadie nodded and then dropped the next dumpling twice before getting it into her mouth. They had nearly finished that plate when two more plates came o
ut.
“This is cheong fun,” Pete said pointing to some kind of rolled up noodle. “And these are kind of like pot stickers—I’m sure you’ve had those before.”
Sadie nodded, her mouth full.
“Dim sum began as something the Cantonese did but has expanded into most types of Asian cuisine,” Pete said.
Sadie finished her bite and then took a sip of water. “In the movies, isn’t dim sum served on carts pushed between the tables and you choose one thing at a time?”
Pete nodded and reached for another piece of cheong fun. “Some restaurants do it that way, but others do it by the plate like this.” He paused and a soft smile came to his face. “Pat learned how to make gyoza—they’re like pot stickers but Japanese—from a friend of ours who lived in Japan for a while. She made it every New Year’s Eve.”
Pat again. It wasn’t as if Pete never talked about her—they’d been married for almost thirty years—but knowing he’d been to this city with her, and acknowledging that this city was likely spurring these memories, was different than the usual mentions. Stronger somehow.
Perhaps Sadie’s own emotional sensitivity was playing a bigger part than she wanted to admit. She dipped the pot sticker in the vinegary sauce it had been served with while mentally giving herself a strong talking-to for being so petty and unfair.
“Sorry,” Pete said, focusing on dipping his pot sticker into his own cup of sauce.
Sadie felt bad. Who was to say she and Pete wouldn’t go to Yellowstone one day, where she and Neil had honeymooned? Or Virginia Beach, where they’d gone for their five-year wedding anniversary? Their room had a private balcony overlooking the ocean, and she and Neil would stay up late looking at the stars, talking of the future, and reviewing all they’d done that day. One night the moon had been full and the scent of sea had been strong, creating such a romantic mood that . . . She felt herself blush at the memory. That was something she would never tell Pete about. But remembering it helped her realize that she didn’t want to take those kinds of memories away from Pete any more than she wanted to give up her own.
Fortune Cookie (Culinary Mystery) Page 4
