Page 47 of Wham Line
“Mr.Mai, I’m so sorry for your loss.I know I said that the other day, but I wanted to say it again.I didn’t get a chance to meet your wife in person, but we interacted a little on social media, and she was so generous with her time and her help.”(Mostly by sending me every typo and grammatical error she found in my work.) “Bobby is the best person I know, and that’s because of how you and your wife raised him.That’s a real testament to the kind of person she was.”
“Thank you.”
The refrigerator hummed.A drop of sweat ran down from under one of my arms.In the picture on the wall, little Bobby stood there all by himself, out in front of the rest of his family.His mom’s hand on Eric’s shoulder.His dad with his hands behind his back.
More quickly than I knew how to handle, the urge rose up in me to tell him everything.How hard Bobby was taking this.And how I didn’t know how to help him.How he wouldn’t say anything to me, wouldn’t respond, wouldn’t tell me how he was feeling or what he needed or what I could do.Mr.Mai’s silence dragged on me like gravity.I wanted to tell him that Bobby had almost died a few hours ago, and for some reason I couldn’t understand, Bobby hadn’t told his family.An echo inside of me, the child that had never grown up, wanted to tell him that Bobby needed his dad.For a heartbeat, the fantasy shone clearly in my head: that the right words would come, and Bobby’s dad would understand, and he’d walk downstairs to Bobby’s bedroom, and everything would be all right.
And then, thank God, the moment passed.
Clarity swamped me with cold sweat at how close I’d come to opening my big mouth.
Instead, I said, “How are you doing?”
That streak of light on Mr.Mai’s glasses made it impossible to read his eyes, and his voice was the same as always when he said, “Fine.”
Gee.Now where had I heard that before?
“Is there anything I can do for you?”
He shook his head.
“I’m going to check on Bobby,” I said.“He’s not feeling well.”
Mr.Mai nodded.We passed each other, me heading for the living room, Mr.Mai moving deeper into the kitchen.I caught a sidelong look at him.His face impassive.The sockets of his eyes dark.
Fine.
Apparently, that was the Mai family motto.They could have it on a crest that showed a man driving a tractor while simultaneously shooting a gun into the air and wrestling a bear.Or whatever emblems people traditionally used on a coat of arm to express the general sentiment,You are such a freaking man.
I was halfway across the living room when the front door opened.(I mention this so that you’ll understand: I had nowhere to hide.) Eric pressed into the house.He didn’t see me because he was looking over his shoulder, and his voice was low and hard.
“—for work.She’s a nurse at the hospital.That’s part of the job.”
Behind him came a pretty, dark-haired woman—mid-thirties, Vietnamese, and wearing earrings and a necklace that had to have cost at least ten thousand dollars.Her voice had that same we’re-fighting-but-not-too-loud edge.“You can’t answer my texts all day.You’re not home.Nobody knows where you are.But you’ve got no problem answering her.”
“It’s work.And do you have any idea what kind of a violation that is, looking at my phone—”
Eric spotted me and cut off.
The woman stopped.She opened and closed her hands; she had expensive-looking nails.
More of that famous Mai family silence sucked the air out of the room.
“This is Dash,” Eric said stiffly.“Dash, my wife, Alice.”
In the middle of my out-of-body experience, I managed to say, “Nice to meet you.”
Alice, to her credit, managed a smile.
“Where’s Bobby?”Eric asked.
“He’s resting.He’s not feeling well.”
An expression flashed across Eric’s face.It was only there for a moment, but I saw it.Annoyance.Or maybe a better word was exasperation.Like this—not feeling well—was something he’d had to put up with before.
Which was strange, because Bobby was one of the healthiest people I knew.He ran miles and miles.He lifted weights.He had zero-point-zero percent body fat.One time, he even said he’d have a peach for dessert instead of Indira’s peanut butter icebox cake.(To balance out the universe that night, I ate two slices.) And it wasn’t like Eric knew about Bobby being poisoned, or like Bobby had a history of being poisoned (although if he did, I wanted to know about it).It was almost like—
Like Eric was annoyed that Bobby was in his room?
