Natalie Tan's Book of Luck and Fortune(8)

The space was bigger than I’d thought it would be: I had expected only counter service. I walked to the picture windows, covered by plywood, shuttered as if prepared for a hurricane. A chalkboard hung on the far wall where swirls of white marred its green surface, remnants from the damp rag used to wipe it clean.

Oh, to have been here to see what this place was like in its glory: to smell the aromas from the kitchen, to hear the roar of the hot oil and the hiss of the steamer against the chatter of the customers, and the sounds of the street in the bells of the cable cars and traffic zipping by.

If my regrets and wishes were fireflies, the brilliance of their dance would turn night into day.

I walked to the main door and removed the coverings from the glass.

The cat’s meow drew my attention to the counter. She was batting a heavily draped object about two feet tall, sitting on the counter near the wall. I walked closer and unwrapped the woven striped runner rug that was tucked around this mysterious item. My fingers searched for the edge of the fabric, tugging to pry it loose without disturbing what lay underneath. The rough textile chafed my skin as I unraveled the rug.

It was a statue, dark with the discoloration that had set in over time. Unlike bronze figures whose tarnish only enhanced their beauty, this taint created a darkening cancer. Craters pitted the surface like the scars of the moon, pockmarks rendered in metal. The sculpture’s sadness, and uneven features, were familiar. Guanyin: the goddess of mercy and compassion. A revered goddess shouldn’t be treated this way.

It was odd that Ma-ma, governed by her superstitions, had done nothing about this.

Of course, I didn’t believe my mother’s fears or the many demons that rode on the back of them. Demons weren’t real. They were ghost stories meant to frighten children. It was very sad that my mother hadn’t been able to understand this.

Still, in her honor, I would make this right. I touched the gouged surface of the statue, my fingers tripping over the pits. Maybe one day I could see her restored.

Meimei meowed, hopping off the counter to stand by the door, where someone was waiting. It was nine in the evening and no one, aside from Celia and Old Wu, knew I had returned. An ash blond woman in her late forties rapped her knuckles against the glass door. She was too well dressed to be a burglar and too professional in her powder blue suit to be a lost tourist.

“Not open,” I said in a loud voice, over-enunciating the words in case she failed to hear me.

She held something white against the glass with her palm. A business card.

I walked toward her to get a closer look. Melody Minnows, realtor. The picture on the card matched the woman at the door, right down to the shade of mauve lipstick and diamond hoop earrings. I repeated that we were closed.

She dove into her oversize purse, retrieved a sticky notepad and a pen, jotted something down, and pressed the note against the glass. I’m sorry about Miranda. How is Meimei doing?

This woman knew my mother. I let her in.





Chapter Five





Melody smiled and murmured her thanks.

“You knew my mother?”

“Yes, we spoke a few times. She invited me upstairs for a cup of coffee. That’s where I met the cat.” Melody crouched down and held her hand out to Meimei. The cat hissed before running into the kitchen. “When is the funeral?”

“Soon. I still have to figure out the details.”

“Ah, of course.” Her perfect smile never faltered. I wondered if she had trained herself in front of a mirror. “It’s a lot bigger than I thought in here—the blueprints don’t do it justice! The last time we talked, Miranda was contemplating selling. I told her the market was perfect, and I have several buyers already interested. I know I can sell it over asking. Everyone is looking for office space, and this is a hot location. We’ll have to move fast before the planning committee changes the bylaws. This is prime commercial space.”

Her blue eyes darted to and fro, the movement reminding me of archaeologists wielding flashlights in an undiscovered treasure-filled tomb. I could almost hear the cash register ringing in her head.

Melody didn’t care about my mother—she was a vulture. My hands curled into fists.

“There’s commercial property on Polk listed at three million. They got rid of the residential space upstairs and converted it to office space. It bumped up the value tremendously. I mean, if you want to convert it to a condo and business, that’s also an option, but it needs to be upscale. Perfect for an affluent hipster couple with no kids.”

I took a deep breath to steady myself. That was a great deal of money.

“Ms. Minnows, I’m not interested in selling right now.”

Melody’s smile never wavered. “Perhaps after the funeral, you’ll reconsider. It’s a lot of money to leave on the table. Why would you want to stay?”

“I may be reopening the restaurant.”

“In this neighborhood?” She pressed her hand against the base of her throat. Her French manicured nails gleamed in the fluorescent light. “Bad idea. There’s already five great restaurants within walking distance, and that doesn’t even factor in the mediocre joints scrambling for attention. Besides, the businesses here are struggling. I’ve been trying to convince them to sell, but they refuse to. Something about roots, superstition, and family. I guess tradition is more important than bankruptcy. But you could all walk away as millionaires. For you, the money would mean you could open a nicer restaurant, with a bigger operating budget, and a better location than here. You’ll have to act soon, though.” She ended her pitch with a wink and a tap on the face of her platinum Rolex watch.