The Many Daughters of Afong Moy(84)

Annabel rolled over, snoring lightly, almost imperceptibly.

Dorothy smiled. Then saw that it was 12:37 a.m. and frowned. She’d sat down hours ago and couldn’t remember what she’d done for most of that time. Was that how it was when I was on the ferry? Was I staring into space, daydreaming?

She closed her eyes and felt the reverberations of her treatment sessions. The sounds, the smells, the tastes, and the touch of the people she’d known, longed for, and lost, how she felt inside the memory of the bleeding woman in the alley, so alone, unremembered, unloved, so homesick and so heartbroken.

Dorothy heard footsteps and opened her eyes, expecting—hoping—to see someone other than Louis, who stood in the dimly lit doorway. With only the glow of a nightlight, Dorothy saw that his hair was a mess. He had a glass in his hand, a handle of whiskey or scotch. He didn’t drink much, if at all, a token restraint that stood in place of other, better personality traits.

“I thought you went to bed?” she said.

“I did. I tried. Too restless to sleep. How are you?” Polite small talk between strangers. “You’ve been in here a while. I thought you’d just tucked in with Annabel.”

Dorothy brushed a lock of hair from her sleeping daughter’s cheek. “I couldn’t sleep either. Too worried, I guess. Plus, your mother always gets me spun up, and there’s no way I can ever explain anything to her. Especially after…”

Dorothy watched him nod and sip his drink, ice clinking in his glass.

“What happened on the ferry?” he said. “That was bad.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Your treatments…”

“They’re helping.”

“Helping who?”

Dorothy held her head in her hands.

“Look,” he said. “I’m sorry about having you followed. It was my bad idea and she ran with it. I know my mother can be stubborn and willful and full of her own conceits and agendas, but she really does just want what’s best for all of us. Especially…”

“If you think I’m about to let her take Annabel—”

“That’s actually not what I came to talk to you about,” Louis said quietly. “Though I’m sure we can sort out some kind of parenting plan in the morning. I guess I just couldn’t rest without knowing, without talking, without asking at least—about us—and whether you think we should even…”

Dorothy waited, but he didn’t have the conviction to finish his sentence. He stared down into his glass, too afraid to look her in the eyes as he waited for her answer.

“I don’t love you,” Dorothy said, turning to the window. She surprised herself at how easy the words came out. She was comforted by the finality of that statement, like a bell that couldn’t be unrung. “I’m sorry, Louis. This wasn’t the answer I was expecting to discover during my treatments, but this is what I have figured out along the way.”

She saw his reflection, nodding in the awkward silence that filled the room.

He finished his drink. “Who do you love? Is it this Sam? Is he your doctor?”

Dorothy didn’t answer. She stood, walked to the window, and placed her palms on the cold glass. She stared up into the darkness. The sky was cloudless, filled with stars and possibility, the calm before the storm.



* * *



Dorothy didn’t sleep at all that night. After Louis finally went to bed, she stayed awake, worried that if she dozed off she might oversleep and wake up with Louis gazing down at her, informing her that his mother had already left with Annabel. Instead, Dorothy walked about, haunting their apartment like a barefoot apparition, listening to the wind and welcoming the nighttime view, the quiet, the solace of being alone. Something that her abandonment issues always prevented her from appreciating.

Is this what peace feels like? she wondered.

She didn’t need an answer.



* * *



When she could see the faint silhouette of the Cascade Mountains to the east and the horizon purpling with the first glimmers of morning, Dorothy quietly stuffed a backpack with Annabel’s clothes, her mittens, and hat. She added her daughter’s favorite toys and a few books. She donned the backpack and then picked up the sleeping child, who woke for a moment as she was wrapped in her raincoat, then drifted off again as she was carried to the elevator, her head on her mother’s shoulder.

Dorothy’s heart sped up as she waited, though she wasn’t panicked, even as she heard Louis stop snoring. She didn’t look back when the elevator opened. She turned as the doors were closing, bidding farewell to her old life.

She felt a joyful weightlessness as the elevator descended, then heard it say, “Good morning, Ms. Moy. You’re up awfully early. Might I offer you directions to a nice coffee shop or patisserie? Perhaps I could summon a car for you?”

“That won’t be necessary. Thank you, though.”

When they neared the ground floor, the elevator spoke again. “I normally offer the daily weather forecast, but as I’m sure you know, Typhoon Tenjin is now predicted to make landfall in the Northwest within forty-eight hours. Could I make you a hotel reservation someplace away from the flood zone?”

“I’ll be fine, thank you.” Dorothy looked up at the security camera in the elevator that she knew was recording her. Then she said, “On second thought, please summon a car and make a weeklong reservation in Boise. No hotel preference. Surprise me.”