Somewhere Only We Know(47)

The way she picked up on it—quickly and naturally—made it clear she was born with this gift for movement. She was absolutely comfortable in her body. It was a tool she had fine-tuned after hours and hours of work.

As the light hit Lucky, something was illuminated in my mind. That fine tuning? My dad never did it.

A couple years ago, when I was looking for a basketball in our garage back in LA, I’d found a small pile of literary magazines gathering dust in a corner. The one on top of the pile had a cool black-and-white photograph of a gnarled tree on the cover so I flipped through it. One of the pages was folded over in the corner. It was a spread for a short story called “A Fire in the Valley.” The byline was Cameron Lim. My dad. I sat down on the dusty concrete floor and read it, completely absorbed and blown away by the powerful, spare prose. I spent hours sitting there reading each of the stories he had published in the pile of magazines.

Like Lucky, my dad was born with natural abilities. It wasn’t only the craft of writing, but also the observational skills of someone who was always examining people and how they worked. Like me. Only I did it through a camera lens.

I always knew my dad was a writer, but I had never actually understood the level of his talent. When I brought it up with him at dinner that day, he brushed it off. “Oh, that was the past.” And as I sat there watching him in that giant dining room, with his tie tossed over his shoulder as he dug into his food, there was a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. I had a vision of me in thirty years, my kid looking at my old photographs. And feeling like that was the past. Ancient history totally separate from who I was.

Lucky? She was also gifted. But she went after it. So hard. She was someone who took her talent and made it her future.

Someone who threw herself into a group of strangers to try something new. Knowing she could suck, that she could mess up. But doing it anyway because she would keep doing it until she got better. I admired her so much in that moment that it almost hurt.

I should have taken a photo of her doing tai chi. It was almost cinematic. But I decided to save this memory for me. Keep it locked tight so that I could take it out days, years from now. Take it out and turn it over in my mind, remembering the cool breeze and warmth radiating from her smile.

A text vibrated in my pocket. Trevor. Hope you get a sunset shot. Take her to the harbor.

It should have made me feel smug, that I was already ahead of Trevor, that I had the instincts for the right photo, the right story.

Watching Lucky as she closed her eyes and moved to the music, feeling at peace in this messed-up world? With Trevor’s text on my phone?

It made me question what I was doing. Made me question everything.





CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN


LUCKY


“Be careful,” Jack cautioned as I stepped onto the beautiful old sailboat.

We were at Victoria Harbour right as the sun was setting and the water was undulating in gold and orange.

Jack was helping me onto an old “junk” boat refurbished for tourists. There were a few people on the boat already and I glanced around, nervous about being recognized again. But most of the people were taking photos of the spectacular views, not concerned with us.

The boat was driven by a lady who looked as old as time but had the energy and zing of a teenager. “Neih hou, Jack,” she said in greeting as we stepped on.

“Neih hou, dím a?” Jack said, handing a couple of bills to one of the crew, a young guy in a T-shirt, impervious to the cold.

She grinned widely, her tanned skin stretching to accommodate the hugeness of her smile. “Hóu hóu,” she said. Then she glanced at me and said something else to him in Cantonese. Jack held up his hands and laughed in response. She chuckled deeply, starting the engine.

We went upstairs to the top deck, snagging a couple of upholstered seats with great views. “I didn’t know you spoke Cantonese,” I said as Jack sat down next to me.

“Not that well,” he said. “Most people here can speak English, but I like to butter up Mrs. Hua because she’s the only driver who doesn’t make me seasick. Well, not that seasick.”

“I can’t believe you’re getting on a boat twice in one day,” I said as I closed my eyes and let the breeze glide over me.

“I have to give you the full Hong Kong experience,” he said. When I opened my eyes he was watching me with a strange expression. Was he going to kiss me again?

How soon was too soon to kiss again, anyway?

But it didn’t happen. We sat there silently with him looking at me, the sound of the waves lapping against the boat as it started to move, repetitive and lulling.

“What?” I asked after a few more seconds went by without any kissing.

“You were good at the tai chi back there,” he finally said, his lips hitching up into a smile.

I laughed. “Thanks.”

“You’re good at a lot of stuff.”

The sun was almost gone but the words warmed me. “Yes, I’m great at eating and tai chi.” I felt nervous from his attention. Jack payed such close attention to me. It was unnerving but also incredibly pleasing. It was a type of attention that I should have been used to as a celebrity, but felt totally new when it was with a boy I’d kissed and held hands with all day. I guess this was what it might feel like to be in a real relationship.