Outrun the Moon(51)

I must talk to Ah-Suk. A hundred paces closer to the eastern border of the park, I see him squatting by his suitcase, twisting and pulling another man’s shoulder to open blocked energy gates. Behind him, the unruffled dark waters of Alvord Lake stretch half a city block. The shoreline teems with people, with their soot-stained clothes and traumatized expressions.

In the opposite direction, I recognize the section of the park called the Children’s Quarters. The stone pavilion of the carousel looks intact from three hundred feet away, but the adjacent brick building has lost its crisp edges.

Francesca combs the hair from my forehead. “I’m sorry about your family.”

Harry holds out a fruit jar filled with water, her glassy eyes big with sympathy. I take it gratefully, noticing as I do that someone has bandaged my hand in a strip of fabric. The water tastes flat and muddy, and I only drink enough to soothe my throat.

Katie’s face crumples in sympathy. “What was your brother’s name?”

“Jack. He was six.”

Francesca and Katie coo and cluck over me, and for once, I wish they could be more like Harry, who sits quietly like a peace lily. Ma says peace lilies are good plants to have in one’s home because they neutralize any negative energy.

Francesca fluffs Harry’s pillow and wedges it behind me. I want to scream for her to stop. It isn’t fair that I should be sitting here so comfortably when Ma and Jack suffered such unspeakable deaths.

I belt my arms around my knees, willing the tears from spilling. I have cried enough today to put out several fires, and more tears would be an indulgence. “How is everyone else?”

“The staff and all the teachers left to find their own families. Most of the other girls are local and got picked up by their parents, except—” Francesca looks to where a lone figure sits with her back against a pine tree, the pearly purse by her side a strange contrast to the natural setting.

Elodie’s gaze connects with mine, and she opens her mouth as if to speak. But instead, she hugs her knees. I guess certain boundaries can be smudged, but not entirely erased, even by death. Despite my dislike of her, a new wave of sadness pulls at me. Her father is in New York and won’t claim her anytime soon. I wonder if she knows her mother died. Katie shakes her head as if reading my mind.

Cruel world, do not leave this task to me.

Francesca continues, “A few left by car. Those with family outside the city.”

“What about you?”

“I’ll wait here for my brother to come back. If there’s anything we can do for you—”

“What will you and Harry do?” I ask Katie, remembering that Harry doesn’t have family.

“Wait for Gran. She’ll be heaps worried once the news spreads.”

Katie’s words return to me. As long as you have someone worrying over you, you’ll be okay. I worried over Jack and Ma, but that didn’t do a whit of good.

The ancestors have turned their backs on my family, even after all those offerings we made. And Ba’s Christian God—the caring, all-powerful one—He has been the most disappointing of all. Though I am not speaking to Him anymore, I still plead with Him to let me find Ba soon. It’s the least You can do.

“Are you comfortable?” Katie pulls a leaf off my hair.

“I’m fine. Please don’t worry.” Mourning should be done in private.

“Of course we’re worried. When my parents died, I crawled into my tree house and wouldn’t come down until it started to snow over a month later.”

Francesca gives my arm a squeeze and tells Katie, “She’s in shock. Leave her be.”

Katie nods but doesn’t look offended. “I wish we could give her some tea,” she whispers to Francesca. “Or something to eat. I wonder if pinecones are edible.”

Their voices sound distant to my unfocused ear.

“Their nuts are edible after you roast them,” Francesca says. “If it weren’t so dangerous, I would take her to the restaurant for spaghetti alla gricia. It’s my specialty.”

“Ain’t spaghetti just spaghetti?” asks Katie.

“Goodness, no. There are many ways to cook a noodle.”

Several paces away, Headmistress Crouch directs men to set crates of supplies under a sprawling hemlock. The men trot off to dispense more crates from their horse-drawn wagon, and I hear her call after them: “We’ve been here almost eight hours, and that’s all you can give us?”

Though I’m tempted to sit and wallow, it will only lead to me imagining the awful way that Ma and Jack died—burned, but hopefully suffocated first so they did not feel the flame. And Ba, what if he was . . . ?

Hot tears form in my eyes again. I shake my head, willing my thoughts back in their cage. Getting to my feet, I fold the blanket in quarters and hang it on a branch.

The park is a perfect oasis of trim lawn, punctuated with evergreens and poplars. If it weren’t for the ashy sky, and of course all the refugees, you would never know an earthquake had happened.

Francesca and Katie stop talking. I can feel them watching me as I walk away.

I pull Jack’s Indian head penny from my pocket, wanting to throw it as hard as I can. Useless, unlucky piece of copper. But it’s the only thing I have left of Jack. I return it to my pocket.

Help me find my way, little brother. I am lost.