Wing Jones(50)

He smiles and shakes his head. “No thank you, ma’am. I just came by to wish you all a Merry Christmas. How’s Marcus?” Behind his words I hear that he’s hoping for a Christmas miracle like we all were yesterday.

“He’s … fine. No change. But he’s hanging on, and that’s something,” says my mom. She spies the present. “What’s this?”

Aaron rubs the back of his neck. “Aw, it’s nothing, really. Just something for Wing.”

We didn’t do presents this year. Couldn’t afford to, what with Marcus’s hospital bills. We did do stockings, but they were mostly stuffed with things we need, not things we want. Socks, toothpaste, that kind of thing.

“A present for Wing?” My mom’s face is puzzled. “That is kind of you, Aaron. You’ve always been so good to Wing.”

Like he’s nice to me out of the goodness of his heart. Just because I’m his best friend’s little sister. Not because he wants to be. Not because he really cares about me. Not because of me.

“Thanks,” I say, keeping my eyes on the television.

My mom mutes the Christmas movie and sits down next to me on the couch, both her and the couch sighing as she settles into it. “Wing, aren’t you going to open your present?”

Aaron hasn’t sat down. He’s standing over us, a shy, expectant smile on his face. A smile that makes me smile back without even realizing it. I take the present, a rectangular box, and gently tear off the shiny wrapping paper. And gasp.

It’s a shoe box. Not just any shoe box. A Riveo shoe box. I whip my head up and stare at Aaron, who’s looking both pleased with himself and anxious.

“Riveo? You can’t afford Riveo shoes.”

He shrugs. “You haven’t even seen them yet. For all you know it’s just a shoe box.”

I open it, not knowing what to expect. Nestled inside, like kittens in a basket, are the most beautiful shoes I’ve ever seen. They are green and pink and perfect.

Riveo running shoes.

“Do you like them?” Aaron’s voice is shot through with expectation and anxiety, and I look up from the shoes to his face. I’ve never seen him like this. He’s like a puppy hoping someone will take him home. My heart does a backflip into my stomach at the sight of him – but I can’t keep the shoes.

“Aaron,” I say, holding the box back out to him. “I can’t take these, and I…” My mom takes the box out of my hands, and I desperately wish she weren’t here. “I don’t have anything for you!”

“She’s right, Aaron,” says my mom. “We can’t accept this. It’s too much. You should return the shoes.”

Aarons smiles a crooked smile. “I got a Christmas job,” he says, shrugging like it’s no big deal. “Just for December. Down at Lenox Square Mall. At the Riveo store. I got a staff discount.”

Even with a staff discount, I know these shoes must have cost him half his paycheck. I hope he got himself a new pair too.

“Isn’t it pretty tough to get a seasonal job at the mall?” I ask.

Aaron shrugs. “Jasper helped me out. The store manager’s brother owed him a favor or something.”

Or something. I don’t want to know the details. And as much as I love the shoes, I hope this doesn’t mean that now Aaron owes Jasper a favor.

“Jasper?” asks my mom. “Isn’t he that boy who got into some trouble a few years ago?”

I’m surprised she remembers.

“Yeah, but he’s an all right guy. I’ve known him my whole life,” Aaron says with another shrug. “Plus, we are sort of related.”

He’s not an all right guy, I want to say, but then I remember that Jasper’s never killed anyone. And Marcus has. So I’m not in any place to judge.

“Do you like the shoes?” Aaron’s looking at me now. “If you don’t, you can probably come in and exchange them.”

“I love them.” My voice is thick and sounds like it does when I have a cold. “They’re perfect.” I hug the shoes tightly to my chest. “Perfect.”





CHAPTER 32


It’s the new year, but LaoLao doesn’t recognize that. “It is still Year of the Pig,” she says. “Chinese New Year, that’s when the new year will begin.”

Right now she’s sitting by herself in the living room, rubbing her left foot with an audible moan. Her eyes are closed, and she looks older than she usually does. The TV is on low, some soap opera. LaoLao loves her soap operas.

“LaoLao? Are you all right?”

She drops her foot and looks up at me. “My bones are too old,” she says, shaking her head. “Too old.”

I go over to her and sit cross-legged on the floor beneath her. “Did you have a long day?”

“So long. Too long. I forgot how when you are on your feet all day, the hours, they never end.” The fatigue in her voice is matched only by the exhaustion in her eyes. “I never thought I would be back in a kitchen. Working, working all day. I am too old for this. Working is for the young.”

“Do you want me to rub your feet?” I remember LaoLao rubbing my mom’s feet when my mom would get home from work. It feels like a long time since I’ve done something nice for LaoLao.