Page 65 of Strangers She Knows

Kellen cleared her throat.

Max changed his tone. “But look at Ruby! She wrote in hers for years, and she wrote about whatever was happening to her at that moment.”

“Nothing’s happening to me!” Rae retorted.

Kellen decided to step in. “You could write about what you did today and yesterday, what you read, what you ate.”

“That’s boring.” Rae was looking desperate.

“How you feel?” Max suggested.

“I feel fine.”

“We mean, what are your feelings are about being here on Isla Paraíso? You were pretty angry at first.” Kellen hoped the gentle reminder would not trigger any grand drama. “How do you feel now?”

“Okay,” Rae muttered.

“I’m asking. I’m not prying!” Maybe Kellen should stop trying to help. “That’s what the journal is for. You tell it your real feelings and thoughts, your hope and dreams. Like Ruby did.”

“Like I tell Chloe?”

“Right,” Max said.

“Maybe I could pretend to write Chloe a letter?”

“Or Grandma,” Kellen said.

“It’s your journal. You can do whatever you like,” Max assured her.

Rae began to write slowly, then with greater speed.

To catch Max up, Kellen opened Ruby’s journal and read aloud the passages she and Rae had read earlier. When she got to the line, “‘I locked myself in. Now I wait to see what Father will do when he receives my letter. Rage, I imagine,’” Rae put down her pen, moved to the center of the room and reclined on the rug. Staring at the ceiling, she listened.

Indeed, I was right. Father raged and pounded on the door. He cursed me and denounced me. He forbade anybody in the household from communicating with me or helping me, and in the afternoon, men barricaded me in. Father shouted that when I was ready to surrender and marry the beast he had obtained for me, I should wave a white flag out the window like the rest of the Japanese cowards would soon do.

I told him, in a proud voice, that I am not Japanese, I’m American. He sneered and left.

Am I really the enemy because my skin isn’t white and eyes are not perfectly round? I don’t think so. It is what’s in my mind and heart that matters.

Now it’s evening, the light is dying, and I’m alone and frightened. Oh Patrick! How did it come to this?

The funniest thing happened. Mother appeared in the attic, holding a tray with a hot meal from the kitchen. She didn’t say much, she never does, only that Father didn’t remember the secret passages the architect installed.

Mother smiled as she watched me eat, and when I was finished and I asked her why she had done this, she said I shouldn’t marry a man like Father. Which made me think about her life and how dreadful it must have been. I looked at her and realized she’s 42. She looks much older, too thin and sad, and she was younger than me when she had Larry. I thanked her and asked if she was coping with the loss of her sons. She stood. She bowed. In Japanese, she thanked me for my concern.

She showed no emotion, but I knew—she isn’t coping at all. Her grief is eating her alive.

My poor mother.

Now that the way is open, Hermione is regularly bringing me meals and letters. I am almost merry up here, except for one thing.

I’m going to have a baby.

“That’s not good,” Max muttered.

Rae sat up and looked at Kellen for a clue of how she should react. “Having a baby is a happy time, isn’t it?”

“I think this is going to make Ruby’s life even more difficult,” Kellen said.

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