Natalie Tan's Book of Luck and Fortune(55)

The silhouette of the thick leather-bound book was faint against the rising inky billows of smoke. Laolao’s photograph curled from the heat before bursting into flames. Laolao! Heat blasted my exposed skin as I reached forward, but my body convulsed in a series of coughing fits. The wall of smoke and heat proved impenetrable.

Suddenly, I was pulled backward into the dining room.

“What are you doing?” Celia demanded.

I blinked and coughed. “What are you doing here?”

“I smelled the smoke and ran over to check.”

All I could see was Laolao’s picture curling in on itself as it burned. “I lost her picture! But Laolao’s recipe book. I have to get it back—”

“Your grandmother would rather the building remain standing and her grandchild still be alive than have her bloody book rescued. Don’t go back in there.” Celia held me back as I tried to surge forward into the restaurant again. “I already called 911. We need to get out of here, right now.”

I stretched out my hand toward the gathering darkness. Laolao’s precious book was gone.

The cat! What if the fire spread and reached the apartment? Meimei was upstairs. “I have to get my cat,” I said to Celia. “I can’t lose her.”

She nodded. “Go quickly.”

I ran up the stairs and unlocked the door. I had to find Meimei fast because the stairs would be the first route of escape the fire would attack if it were to spread. I would need to exit through the window and down the fire escape after I found her.

“Meimei!” I called out.

The cat wasn’t in her usual spot on the chair. I could hear the fire crackling downstairs as my panic rose. I ran to my bedroom and the bathroom and she wasn’t there. The door to Ma-ma’s room was still closed, so she couldn’t be there either.

“Meimei!” I screamed again, tears streaming down my cheeks.

I couldn’t lose her. She was Ma-ma’s, and to lose her now . . . There was too much I had lost already.

I lowered myself to my hands and knees and scanned the underside of the sofa. A ball of fluff curled near the back wall followed by a soft meow. She was terrified.

“Come on out, my love. We need to get out of here.” I called out to her.

She mewed and didn’t move.

I contorted my body so I could extend my reach. Without a word, I snatched her into my arms, tighter than she wanted because I heard a yelp, and ran to the window. I yanked it open and crawled onto the fire escape outside.



* * *





?The heart of the restaurant was gutted. Ugly scars marred the galley kitchen from the ceiling to the floor: oily, angry, swallowing steel and the walls. Putting out the blaze had resulted in lingering water damage. The damp had seeped into everything porous. The fireman said it was an electrical fire from the old knob and tube wiring, and that it could have been worse—the entire building could have gone up in flames. The structural damage wasn’t severe enough to compromise the first floor, which was a relief, yet the loss of the kitchen destroyed any chance of a future here for me.

Despite our fractured friendship, Celia dealt with the authorities and ordered me to stay inside what was left of the restaurant.

The cat climbed onto a stool, then onto the charred counter, and napped. I wished I had her ability to forget everything. I wanted nothing more than to fly away, far away from everything and everyone, or curl up in a ball beside the cat and slumber for a year.

A small crowd gathered outside, gawking. Unwanted pigeons. I spied a familiar blond real estate agent among the spectators. Extremely unwanted vulture. If only I had the energy to disperse them. My neighbors were on the other side of the glass, content to stay out.

They stared at me as if I were a zoo exhibit.

They stared at me as if I were my mother.

I was alone.

My dream had died in the fire and so had all of my hope.

Old Wu was right about me.

There was nothing left to do but run.





Chapter Twenty





I turned to the ruined goddess beside me. I had caused enough harm. I was the worst type of person. I had failed my mother. I had wrecked my neighbors’ lives. And now, the restaurant was gone. In a culture where elders and the family came before everything else, destroying Laolao’s legacy was unspeakable, the last of a long list of offenses to my name. Perhaps this was punishment for thinking I had been worthy of my grandmother’s restaurant.

Maybe Ma-ma had been right. I was doomed from the beginning. She hadn’t wanted me to open the restaurant. Had she foreseen my massive failure somehow?

Maybe it was more than that—the neighborhood, the building itself rejecting me. Yanking the Open sign off the window, I shut and locked the front door.

A hand appeared against the glass.

Daniel.

I placed my palm against his before unlocking the door.

He swept me into his arms, and I was enveloped in scents of laundered cotton, spearmint, and coffee. “I’m glad you’re all right,” he whispered. His hands rubbed my back in soothing circles as he continued to hold me tight against him.

I didn’t deserve his comfort, but I took it, soaked it in. “The fire took everything. I’ve lost my grandmother’s photograph and her recipe book,” I murmured against his chest.