White Ivy(7)

Unfortunately for Ivy, the lock to the bathroom door had come loose that very afternoon and Nan walked into the bathroom in the midst of Ivy’s vanities, sewing needle in hand, making a kissing face in the mirror. Nan went berserk. She slapped Ivy across the face, once, twice, then tried to pull the earrings straight out of Ivy’s newly pierced earlobes—which then caused Meifeng to come running and start hitting Nan with the fly swatter, screaming: You’ll rip her ears off! You’ll rip her ears off! The fight lasted for what felt like an eternity, a frightened Austin and stoic Shen, used to these displays, taking cover in the bedroom.

Since then, Nan had said no more about the pierced ears and had been, in fact, more lenient toward her daughter in the following four days. That was the Chinese way: corporal punishment followed by an excess of kindness. Nan hit Shen all the time and then made his favorite soup afterward and fussed over his health. When pushed too far, Shen also hit Nan, then promised to quit smoking. Meifeng never hit Ivy but she hit Austin almost every day, telling him it was for his own good, he should be thankful she made the effort to discipline him, her grandson, as those poor American kids with lazy grandparents grew into hooligans, unspanked and unloved. Then she’d bring him to a McDonald’s for a Happy Meal. In the Lin household, you were rewarded for being punished. Thus, Ivy was allowed to attend the sleepover.



* * *




SHE WENT TO Kmart to “pick up” a birthday present for Gideon. She would have preferred to go to the big mall in East Maplebury, but that would have required asking Shen to drive her and asking him for money, and then she’d have to explain what she was buying for “Una.” Instead, she loitered around the electronics aisle at Kmart, watching the employee behind the counter flip the pages of People magazine; five shoppers walked by and the woman didn’t look up once. Reassured, Ivy walked over and picked up the pair of marine binoculars she’d been eyeing. The little attached booklet stated that they were waterproof, fog-proof, and shock-protected with rubber armoring; the optics featured multicoated lenses for excellent light transmission. It was the perfect thing for a boy who loved to sail, who kept photos of boats taped in his locker and read Yachting World the way other boys read Playboy. Just as she made up her mind to stuff them into her backpack, she saw Roux. The surprise and recognition was mutual. They hadn’t spoken since the photo incident, almost a year ago. She saw that he was wearing a red employee polo, with a white name tag clipped to his breast pocket, and like all uniforms, it suppressed his individuality while also seeming to reveal his truest, most essential self.

He walked over in a loping, unhurried way. “Whatcha got there?”

“I was trying to see what that woman was reading.” Ivy pantomimed holding up the binoculars like a spy, then placed it back onto the shelf with artful indifference.

Roux’s face took on a faint, ironic smirk. “I work here now—in case you haven’t noticed—so you can’t swipe things from here.”

“Reeelaaax. I’m just looking.” She turned on her heel and walked out of the store, disappointment choking the back of her throat like undercooked rice.

She was back at Kmart again the next morning at nine o’clock sharp.

“Just looking again?”

Ivy jumped. There he was, in the same tacky red polo, like a persistent, noiseless shadow. It was bizarre how quickly he’d located her. The problem was that she’d been caught in the same aisle, holding the same binoculars. Sure enough, a moment later, Roux said, “Why do you want those anyway?”

“Are you following me?”

“Of course I am. You’re a shoplifter.”

“They’re not for me. They’re a birthday present for my friend.”

Roux took the binoculars and checked the price tag—$38.99. A fortune. He handed them back to her. “Some friend.”

Ivy walked in the general direction of the exit, her heart pounding, one hand still casually clasped over the binoculars. Did she have enough nerve to simply walk out and count on Roux’s goodwill toward her, or should she put the binoculars down near the magazine stand, as if she’d changed her mind about buying them? She made eye contact with the cashier. “I’m not ready,” she said haughtily. The old man shot her a look: Too expensive, eh.

A hand reached out past Ivy’s shoulders, holding two crumpled twenties. She turned around.

“What is this?”

“Money,” Roux said snidely, “for your friend’s present.”

“Is this a loan?” Debt, in the Lin family, was akin to slavery.

Roux’s scowl deepened. “You don’t have to pay me back.”

Ivy was dumbfounded. Outside of Nan, Roux was the cheapest person she knew; she’d seen him forage his own trash can for expired Hot Pockets even Mrs. Roman had deemed inedible, and not a nickel on the sidewalk escaped his sharp eyes.

Roux waved the bills in front of her face. “You going to take it or not?” When she still didn’t move, he said, “Jesus, don’t take it then—”

Ivy snatched the bills and handed them to the old cashier, who’d seen the entire exchange.

“Girly, it’s your lucky day. Or maybe every day is a lucky day for you. Say, how old are you anyhow? You look about the same age as my granddaughter, and she’s still learning to multiply.”