A Tragic Kind of Wonderful(21)
We say no more about it. Or anything else.
HAMSTER IS ACTIVE
HUMMINGBIRD IS FLYING
HAMMERHEAD IS CRUISING
HANNIGANIMAL IS UP!
We haul our sandy gear home at sunrise ahead of the rising tide. I feel a lot better this morning after sleeping some. Unnaturally upbeat, actually, given the circumstances. It happens. I’m embracing it. HJ would approve.
I remember to skip the Ritalin part of my medication M, and now I’m famished. That problem’s easily solved. The Silver Sands has a great breakfast buffet.
I pile my plate with scrambled eggs, bacon, home fries, wheat toast, and apple slices, and I grab a glass of orange juice. Most of the residents have eaten and drifted out. Dr. Jordan is doing a crossword puzzle next to an empty plate. Ms. Li sits alone, halfway through an omelet and nursing a cup of tea.
I cross over to her table. “Mind if I join you?”
“Going farming today?” she asks.
“If farming means lying on a couch reading a book.”
I’m not on the clock till after I eat so I haven’t changed into scrubs; I’m wearing Mom’s baggy overalls. I looked in the dryer for something clean to put on this morning and this was my choice. Mom made some crack about it being unfair, since she couldn’t fit into my jeans from the same load. I expressed no sympathy. I claimed it as my reward for emptying the dryer.
Ms. Li waves me into a chair.
I say, “I see you already figured out the best thing here is the veggie omelet.”
“Why didn’t you get one?”
“Too much green and not enough bacon for this early. I like them for dinner.”
David says, “Gone two minutes and you give away my chair.”
I jump, startled. Ms. Li never glanced up to give me a clue.
“Oh, sorry!” I start to stand. “I didn’t—”
“It’s fine; don’t move your breakfast.” He sits in another chair. “You’re here early.”
“I work here. I eat here. Sometimes both.”
“I need to find a job that pays me to eat.”
“Don’t be jealous—go grab a plate,” I say. “There’s bacon left.”
“I’m fine.”
“No, really, tell them Mel said it’s okay. It’s nice and crispy today.”
“I don’t eat bacon.”
“Huh?” I peer at him.
He leans forward and enunciates carefully. “I … don’t … eat … bacon.”
I look to Ms. Li. “What’d he say? Was it Chinese?”
She scoffs. “He couldn’t order off the menu in a Chinese restaurant.” She scoops up a heaping forkful of eggs. “He’s a vegetarian.”
David leans back. “Says the woman eating a veggie omelet.”
She shrugs.
“Pro-health?” I ask. “Pro-environment? Anti-cruelty?”
He doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t look away.
I sip my orange juice and also don’t look away.
“I’m Jewish.”
I choke. Now I have to wipe orange juice off my chin.
Ms. Li laughs loudly and slides over her spare napkins.
“Not really,” David says. “It’s all those other things.” Then he cocks his head and asks, mock-innocent, “But what’s so funny about me being Jewish?”
Damn, he’s good at this. I have to step up my game …
“You could be,” I say, leaning in. “But I assumed you were Catholic.”
“Uh …” He draws back. “Why?”
“She said you go to Blessed Heart. Though I guess it could be because it’s the best private school around.”
“Oh, right.” He smiles, as if to say I won that round.
I say, “Does the fact that I love bacon mean we can’t be friends?”
“It only means you can’t be friends with pigs. Certain pigs, anyway. And don’t worry …” He leans forward again. “You liking different things is fine. It’s no fun talking to a mirror.”
I laugh, but he doesn’t. Wait … did he really mean that last part?
Ms. Li laughs and blurts something in Chinese.
David grins big—the first I’ve seen from him. Nope, not serious. His grandmother told me he’s hardly ever serious but his poker face is amazing. He laughs and bows his head, and this instantly triggers my bright smile. That almost never happens on its own.
“What?” I say. “I thought you didn’t speak Chinese?”
“I understand some Mandarin. Mostly things she says to me a lot. She said I’m full of shit.”
I laugh. “Are you?”
“Completely,” he says. “But I promise you, it’s good honest shit.”
It’s funny, but it also feels true. I expect him to look away, like how people do when they admit things. He doesn’t. In fact, the whole time we’ve been talking, except when he briefly bowed his head, David’s dark brown eyes haven’t looked away from mine. Not even a flicker.
*
A couple of hours later I’m playing cribbage in the Beachfront Lounge. I can hold my own, meaning I don’t embarrass myself, but Mr. Terrance Knight usually wins. At all games, not just cribbage.