Natalie Tan's Book of Luck and Fortune(18)

“I need to put money into some improvements. The store needs updating. It’s been years since I’ve kept up with the bookselling trends and what customers want. I can’t sell what people don’t want to buy. Independent bookstores must make the buying experience more exciting to survive.”

“You’re wasting your money. People should know you exist first before you rearrange your inventory.”

“And what about what Ms. Minnows offered? Don’t you think—”

“Sign the ad contract, you old fool! I’ll pick it up later this afternoon. Don’t even think about talking to her. We are not selling!” An audible click followed, and the luminous chain vanished just as suddenly as it had appeared. The lights overhead returned to their normal, gently flickering state.

I peeked around the corner. Older Shen stared at the receiver, his knuckles white from his tight grip. His hand shook as his stare bored a hole into space. I had seen this before in myself. This was impotence. It was in the rage I sometimes felt toward my absent father. Older Shen must feel it now, but toward his brother.

Yet as if nothing had happened, he set the phone down and waved me over. I placed the magazine back onto the shelf and returned to the counter.

“Please let me know when the restaurant opens,” he said with a lopsided smile. Bits of red hid in the crevices of his yellowed teeth, remnants of the candied ginger he favored. He grabbed a fistful of White Rabbit candies from under the counter and placed them before me.

These Chinese candies had been a staple of my childhood. Encased in edible paper, they were creamy and sugary, and melted in my mouth. The white rabbit design on the wrapper never failed to make me smile. Many rainy days had been brightened up by a visit to Older Shen’s bookstore.

How had I forgotten this? I must have buried these memories like a child hiding toys in a sandbox.

Now they came rushing back. I remembered that Shen had snuck Lao Fu Zi comics in for me with Ma-ma’s magazines. I’d been grateful for the levity they brought in the days Ma-ma suffered from her depressive spells. The slapstick gags and encounters with ghosts provided endless entertainment. I loved them so much that I brought my copies along with me wherever I went.

What other kindnesses had I suppressed memories of? The narrative of the neighbors’ apathy was something I had clung to for so long. Now a few traitorous memories were beginning to unravel it. First Celia, now Shen. Could it be that they were not, and had never been, as uncaring as I had believed?

“I will.” I returned his smile and shoved the candies into the pockets of my shorts. “Thank you.”

I left the scent of books, papers, and pistachios behind to return to the street. Now I knew Shen’s problem. He needed courage: to come out of his shell, stand up to his younger brother, convince himself of his own vision for the business, and fight for his bookstore. There was a Dungeness crab recipe for bravery in Laolao’s recipe book. Yes! This must be what Miss Yu was talking about. Maybe I could help him. Hope swelled inside me.

One down, two to go. I hoped the other two issues would be as easy to uncover as this one.

Across the way was my next destination: the herbal shop owned by Younger Shen, the one who had just been bellowing at his brother.

I paused before the door to Younger Shen’s shop, inhaling from my diaphragm. I sucked in as much oxygen as possible before stepping inside, but the brew of strong odors still assaulted my nostrils. In this store, the shelves were covered with large glass jars containing every known Chinese treatment for ailments ranging from flatulence to erectile dysfunction. Expensive items such as shark fins were kept behind the counters.

Another dormant recollection surfaced as I strolled through the narrow aisles. As a child, I was fascinated by the hairy ginseng and had called them golden fairies because their roots looked like limbs. Younger Shen had once given me a small ginseng root as a gift. I’d brought it home and begged Ma-ma to help me make clothes for my fairy.

Memories kept coming the longer I walked these streets, beginning to tear away at the animosity I long held for these people who I thought had shunned my mother. I supposed it was far easier to be angry at others for the isolation I’d felt than to place the blame on Ma-ma.

“Little one!” Younger Shen called out from the back of the store, waving to me from the counter. His crooked smile matched his bright eyes. He was as wide as his older twin was narrow. The rumor was that he had stolen almost all of his brother’s chi in the womb, leaving only specks for his older sibling.

The radio behind him blared his favorite—country music. Randy Travis crooned “On the Other Hand” while Younger Shen tapped his fingers against the counter to the melody. In his pink plaid dress shirt and purple corduroy trousers, he was as visually loud as the odors around him were strong. If Older Shen needed courage, perhaps his brother needed subtlety.

“I’m sorry about what happened to your mother,” he bellowed at me over the music.

“Thank you,” I said, raising my voice to reply. “I miss her so much.”

Our words fizzled beneath the blare of music like fireworks disintegrating in the night sky. Anyone else would lower the volume, but this was Younger Shen. A dull pounding crept into my temples.

“Are you planning on staying?”

“Yes, I am working to reopen the restaurant downstairs.”

“The what?”