by Meg Donohue
“No,” I said. “Bear is not worried.”
Doctor Clark peered at me. “Maybe not yet, but surely if you didn’t return home . . .”
“I won’t stay without Amir.”
“Oh, please stay!” Emma said. Her blue eyes were bright with excitement.
Will put his hand on Emma’s shoulder. “The point is for Merrow to be comfortable. If she’s not comfortable here without Amir—”
“Actually,” Rosalie interrupted, “the point is that Merrow should stay somewhere that is sanitary for the night while her leg heals.”
Sanitary? I understood then what the doctor had said about us, and where and how we lived. And whatever the doctor had said had obviously not come as a surprise to Rosalie, who had been judging us from the moment she’d seen us. And now she’d mustered enough goodwill to extend to me, but not enough to include Amir. I wondered how the Langfords would have reacted if it had been Amir who had been bitten by their dog instead of me.
“I’ll be fine at Horseshoe Cliff,” I announced. “Can we go now?”
The doctor, irritated, began to stuff his ointments and bandage kit back into his bag. He stopped suddenly and faced Amir.
“Talk some sense into her,” he said in a low voice. “She’ll listen to you. It’s safer for her to stay here. An infection would be very serious. Surely you don’t want to see her in any more pain than she’s already in?”
Amir chewed on his lip. I hated to see him look so unhappy; it bothered me more even than my aching leg. “Merrow, they’re right,” he said quietly. “You should stay here and let your leg recover.”
“But Amir!” What would Bear do to him if they were alone for the night at Horseshoe Cliff?
“I’ll be fine.”
“If Bear—”
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said, cutting me off. He nodded at Doctor Clark. “Let’s go now, if you don’t mind. You’re right; Bear will be worried.”
I tried to stand and released a growl of frustration when pain shot through me. I grabbed Amir’s shirt. I could feel everyone in the room watching us, but I did not care. I hated the thought of him alone with Bear. “Please . . .”
He took my hand. “Just rest.” His eyes were so dark and soft they looked as though they were made of velvet. “Everything will be okay.”
His expression implored me to not say anything. He squeezed my hand again, and then let it go. I watched, stunned, as he left the room.
“Well, good,” the doctor said, sounding somewhat uncertain now. He shook his head as though clearing it, and—after dispensing pain medication, antibiotic ointment, and extra bandages—he, too, strode out of the room and then the house, leaving me alone with the Langfords.
Chapter Eleven
I was grateful when Rosalie, perhaps sensing that I needed a moment to myself, asked if I would like to take a bath. She helped me to a bathroom with dark walls and a large white bathtub and proceeded to fill the tub with steaming-hot water. A stream of lavender-scented soap produced fluffy mounds of bubbles across the water’s surface and an irrepressible murmur of delight from my throat. After setting a change of clothes, ointment, and a bandage on a small bench, Rosalie walked briskly out of the room.
Alone, I undressed and sucked in my breath as I peeled the bloodied bandage from my calf. I lowered myself into the bath, biting my cheek as the water stung my wound. The room fell quiet. As the ache subsided, I heard myself sigh deeply. I felt as though I were living inside one of the daydreams that I had when I walked through the bathrooms of the houses that Amir and I explored. I squeezed my eyes shut and opened them again and I was there still, alone in the most beautiful bathroom in the world.
Two hand towels hung over the edge of the tub. I scrubbed my body, turning first one and then the other towel brown. There was a strange little brush hanging from the bath spout and I used it to scrape below my nails. The soap smelled of a flower garden in the middle of July, a decadent, sun-kissed scent that made me consider, for just a second, what the soap might taste like if I bit into it. Instead, I sunk my entire head under the bubbles and held my breath for so long that when I surfaced the room was filled with stars. I washed my hair with handfuls of shampoo and conditioner, and it became so soft that it did not feel like my own. I drained the bath and filled it again with even more hot water and then I drained that, too, and stepped clumsily from the tub to dry myself.
I discovered that the pain medication was working; it was easier now to put weight on my leg. My thoughts were a dreamy, contented blur. I pressed a new bandage gently to my leg. When I lifted a folded blue dress from the bench where Rosalie had left it, I saw beneath it a pair of cream-colored silk underwear and a matching bra. I laughed in surprise. I had only the white cotton bras and underwear that Rei gave me on my birthday each year—a gift that I had always been thrilled to receive, but now saw had been a gift for a child. The silk undergarments Rosalie had left me were edged with soft lace. I slipped them on and felt shaky with delight. Would Rosalie let me keep them? I thought I might do anything to be allowed to call such beautiful things my own.
I lowered the dress over my head. My bath-pruned fingers fumbled over the slippery pearl-colored buttons. It was a blue cotton dress, plain but for the buttons that lined the front, but it swished and rippled below my knees in a fancy way. Rosalie had not left a pair of shoes, and my own sneakers were so filthy and bloodstained that I decided to remain barefoot. I pressed the plush towel against my long hair, drying it. There was a brush on the bathroom vanity. Thinking of Emma’s pretty, neat hair, I plaited my own into a thick braid that fell over my shoulder.
When I cleared steam from a corner of the mirror, I hardly recognized myself. I looked older. Or perhaps younger. I could not decide which. I was a different version of myself.
I felt a pang of remorse thinking of Amir, home alone with Bear. I worried for him, but I also realized, guiltily, that it felt wonderful to pretend that I was someone who wore clothes like these, who took hot baths that brimmed with bubbles. If Amir were with me, I could not have pretended; his presence would have been a reminder of who I really was. I would have looked at him and seen myself, the person I had always been. This was usually a comfort.
Together, Amir and I were tethered to our childhood at Horseshoe Cliff, but alone, I felt suddenly, unsettlingly, feverishly free.
I turned away from my reflection and walked as steadily as I could manage from the bathroom.
“WELL,” ROSALIE SAID, looking me over when I entered the great room, “aren’t you lovely?”
I glanced down, self-conscious. “Thank you for the clothes,” I said. “And the bath.”
“The dress suits you. Keep it.”
I felt my mouth hang open for a second. Maybe she thought I would refuse her generous offer, but it was all I could do to stop myself from hobbling out of the house right then and there before she could take it back. “Thank you. I love it.”
She nodded and told me to sit by the fire while she fixed us something to eat. Emma was perched on the edge of the sofa, working on a puzzle. She’d managed to piece together a yellow sailboat, but the tempestuous sea on which it sailed was strewn in bits across the coffee table. I looked around but didn’t see Will.
“Do you want to help?” Emma asked hopefully.
I nodded. I’d never done a puzzle before, but I started gathering the white pieces that formed the froth on top of the waves. We worked together in silence for a time.
“Will is studying,” Emma said. I was embarrassed to realize she’d caught me gazing toward the door. How long had I been looking in that direction? The pain medication made me feel as though all of my thoughts and movements were at half-pace. “He’s always studying,” she added. “He’s in law school.”
How old did that make him? I wondered. Did people go to law school right after college? I had no idea. How strange to think that Will might be around the same age as Bear, who was twenty-six. Bear was dark, bristly, and bulky—fat now,
really, with his ever-expanding belly full of beer. Just thinking of his glowering expression made me tremble involuntarily. Will, slim and smiling, with skin like the inside of a clean shell, looked years younger. And yet, it was possible that they’d been born in the same year, on the same day even, bursting into the same world with equal ignorance of their futures.
Rosalie walked toward us from the kitchen with a wooden platter. “Can we clear some space on the table?”
Emma and I swept the scattered puzzle pieces into a pile. The platter that Rosalie set down was covered with an array of cheeses and meats and olives, as well as sliced bread and a small pot of honey.
“Will!” Rosalie called, walking back toward the door and leaning out into the hall. “Come join us!” When she returned, she sat on the couch next to Emma. “We call this a fireside picnic, Merrow.” She handed me a white plate that felt delicate in my hand. “Please help yourself and don’t be shy. There’s plenty more.”
“I love fireside picnics,” said Emma happily. She began to drizzle honey over a piece of bread, and once she started I wasn’t sure she’d ever stop.
“Saving any for me?” Will asked as he walked in.
“You snooze, you lose,” Emma replied, grinning.
“I was hardly snoozing.” Will settled into the other armchair. “Though I was tempted.” I was gratified to feel his eyes flick over my hair and dress. “How are you, Merrow? Feeling any better?”
“I think so. To be honest, the medicine is making me feel a little fuzzy.”
“Too fuzzy to eat?”
I laughed at the thought. “No.”
The little knife that Rosalie had set out was sharper than it looked, slipping easily into a block of blue-veined cheese. Within a few moments, my plate was covered with food. I sat back in the armchair and ate and ate and ate. I listened as Will and Emma and Rosalie teased one another with gentle affection. They smiled often. I tried not to stare, though I felt like an observer of another species. How would it be to live within such a family? They spoke with such easy generosity and listened with patience and good humor.
Full at last, still woozy from the medicine Doctor Clark had given me, I felt as though I were wrapped in a warm cocoon. Will turned on music—weightless piano music that seemed to float down softly toward us from the ceiling, filling the air like snow in the pages of a storybook. I did not know what we were listening to, but I loved it. The fire glowed. Through the window, the night sky was navy.
When Amir and I wandered through the homes of people we did not know, I tried to piece together a life from the clues that I found. As I looked at photographs, the contents of pantries, and bedside reading materials, the lives of strangers took shape. But it had never occurred to me to imagine this—this love that existed between Rosalie and Will and Emma Langford. A twinge of resentment momentarily pierced my contented fog. I dragged my finger through a puddle of honey on my plate and licked it clean.
My mind drifted away. I found myself thinking of the time years earlier when Amir and I had slept in the shed. We had tried our best to make it feel like this, cozy and warm and safe. And we had succeeded. It had been a place of love and beauty—even with so much less than what the Langfords had.
I blinked away tears, suddenly overwhelmed by a sense of melancholy, or perhaps loneliness. Who but Amir could understand how I felt in that moment, sitting by the fire with this family that loved each other so? The three of them had one another; they were bound by ties that felt to them like an embrace, like something that could be depended upon.
I should never have let Amir leave. What would Bear do to him when they were alone together? I set my empty plate on the table. My eyes landed on the sharp knife that was buried within a block of cheese. I thought of Amir’s whittling knives; I thought of the knives in Bear’s eyes. My stomach ached as though I hadn’t eaten a bite.
Emma had been stretched out with Tiger on the rug by the fire, but she was suddenly at my knee, looking up at me.
“You have such pretty green eyes, Merrow,” she said. “I’ve always wanted green eyes.”
I could not imagine having everything that Emma had and still wishing for more. I leaned toward her and studied her heart-shaped face. It was clear and honest. Had Amir and I looked so young when we were ten, with our parents dead and Bear perpetually seeking out ways to hurt us? It was impossible for me to imagine harming someone so innocent, and yet Bear had managed it over and over again.
“I think your eyes are beautiful,” I announced. Emma’s eyes were identical to Will’s: cornflower blue. “You should be grateful.” These words arrived with sharper edges than I’d intended.
I felt the mood of the room shift. Rosalie exchanged a glance with Will. I worried that the tears that had threatened to fall earlier would now arrive. I felt disoriented, and not at all like myself. I blinked quickly and looked around the room, trying to find something to move my thoughts in a new direction. On the shelves that flanked the fireplace I noticed a collection of porcelain boxes.
“What are those?” I asked.
Will followed my gaze. “Mrs. Corrino must collect them.” He stood and took one of the boxes from the shelf and set it in my hand.
“How beautiful.” The box fit neatly on my palm. It was painted with an intricately detailed image of five ladies in long robes standing in front of a red pagoda. The women’s robes were in blues and pinks and greens, patterned with gold. “The paintbrush couldn’t have been thicker than a hair.”
“That one is Japanese,” Rosalie said from her spot on the sofa. “You can open it if you’d like.”
The inside of the box was gilded. The bottom of the lid revealed another depiction of the red pagoda, but now a golden dragon stalked its steps and the ladies were gone. The dragon had scales like a fish. I ran my finger over them and found them smooth. I thought it remarkable to consider all the others who had held the box before me, those who had called the box their own, and those who had only dreamed of calling it their own. The pang of envy that I felt was so strong that it made my fingers tighten around the box.
“It’s Satsuma ware,” I said without looking up. “From the Meiji period. Nineteenth century.” I was showing off, but how could I not? It was a strange twist of fate that Will had handed me this particular box.
I felt Rosalie’s stare.
“My teacher, Rei, was a professor of art in Japan before moving to the United States,” I explained. “She rattles on a bit too long when Japan comes up in our lessons, but we try to be patient with her. Who could blame her for being nostalgic about things that remind her of home? Satsuma, ukiyo-e . . . Oh, don’t even mention ukiyo-e to Rei unless you have a comfortable seat. She’ll start listing the themes of woodblock painting and then move on to her theory of its influence on the Impressionists, and before you know it hours will have passed.” I smiled, thinking of Rei. “Wait until I tell her about this collection.”
The feeling of Will and Rosalie and Emma gazing at me in astonishment proved intoxicating. “Until now,” I said, “I’ve only seen Satsuma in books. It’s a whole different experience to see it in person. I’ve always loved the dragons. The geishas I could do without.” Though I wanted more than anything to tuck the box below my leg and figure out a way to smuggle it home with me, I held it out to Rosalie with a smile.
“Well, aren’t you full of surprises?” she said, shaking her head in wonder. She turned the Satsuma box in her hand, studying it as though seeing it for the first time. “Frankly, I, too, could do without the geishas.”
Beside her, Emma yawned and stretched.
“It’s late,” Rosalie said, brushing Emma’s hair from her face. Her hand lingered on the side of her daughter’s face and they smiled at each other. “Off to bed, you.”
Emma groaned but rose and said good night to her brother, offering him both a hug and a kiss. When she reached me, she hesitated for a moment and then ducked her head toward my ear. “What are geishas?” she whispered.
&nbs
p; “Female companions,” I whispered back, “who begin training at a very young age—”
“Bed, Emma!” said Rosalie quickly.
I flushed. I’d been about to tell Emma that geishas were trained in art and dance and music—nothing more.
Emma was still rooted in front of me. “Will you sit next to me at breakfast?” she asked.
I nodded. I could see that she was curious about me, but the truth was that I was just as curious about her. To live in a family like this . . . I didn’t want to envy a ten-year-old, but how could I not?
I wondered if Rosalie would help Emma to bed. Wasn’t that what mothers did? I glanced at Will and thought I saw him look away from me just as I did. He stared into the fire. The curl of his blond hair against his forehead made something in my chest pull tight and begin to thrum. What if Rosalie left us alone? What would I do if he leaned over to kiss me? I’d been spending a lot of time recently wondering if I would ever kiss a boy. My thoughts on the topic centered, of course, on Amir. I’d awakened from strange dreams lately feeling unsettled, filled with longing and also a sour sense of shame.
Emma left the room and Rosalie remained. Will stood, announcing that he needed to return to his reading. He wished his mother a good night. “And good night, Merrow,” he said politely. “I hope a night’s rest makes all the difference.”
And then he was gone.
“Have you ever been to San Francisco?” Rosalie asked. If she’d caught me watching her son leave the room, she didn’t let on.
“I’ve never been anywhere but Osha. Amir and I sometimes talk about hitchhiking to San Francisco, but we always worry about what would happen if we were caught.”
“If you were caught? By the police?”
“Well, I don’t know . . . someone who was worried about our safety. If someone decided that my brother wasn’t taking good enough care of us, we might be forced to leave Horseshoe Cliff. Amir and I might be separated.”
