Last Night at the Telegraph Club(62)

“Okay,” Kath said. It sounded like a question.

“It’s just that I’ve known her my whole life,” Lily said, trying to explain. “I don’t—I can’t—it’s not easy to—to be around her sometimes, but I can’t turn my back on her. It’s our senior year.” She didn’t know how to make Kath understand the way Shirley had always been there; the way Lily knew Shirley always would be there, even if Lily went away to college and Shirley stayed in Chinatown. Lily would always have to come home. “It’s our last year together here.” Lily realized she was quoting Shirley back to Kath.

“So, what are you saying? You’re going to be busy until after Miss Chinatown’s over?” Kath frowned and shook her head. “I guess I don’t understand. I thought we were—” Kath cut herself off, sounding frustrated.

“No, that’s not what I’m saying. I . . .” Lily trailed off. It was as if the English language had failed her. She couldn’t find the right words for this dammed-up feeling inside, as if she were denying herself something absolutely vital, and she didn’t know why.

And then, abruptly, she realized this had nothing to do with Shirley at all.

She missed Kath. She missed having Kath to talk to, yes, but she also missed having Kath listen to her. Rockets to the moon didn’t seem so far-fetched when Kath listened to her. She made previously unimaginable things seem possible.

She had wanted to ask Kath when she could go back to the Telegraph Club, but now she felt as if she had made everything worse, and she stared down at the floor miserably.

“Maybe I should go,” Kath said quietly. “I feel like I’m making you upset.”

“No, I’m doing this all wrong,” Lily said. A rush of longing came over her. She needed to fix this. To show Kath what she couldn’t say.

Lily reached out and impulsively took Kath’s hand in hers. Kath started, but then she let Lily hold her hand.

Lily knew immediately that this was different. It wasn’t like grabbing Kath’s hand to pull her into the supply room. Instinctively, Lily ran her thumb across Kath’s palm, feeling the swell of Kath’s flesh and the delicate thread of the vein in her wrist, the fluttering of Kath’s pulse beneath her fingertip. She heard Kath catch her breath.

“Let’s go to the club again,” Lily said softly, looking at their joined hands. She had never noticed before that Kath’s skin was so white that it made her own look almost golden brown.

There was a pause, just long enough that Lily’s heart began to sink, and then Kath said hesitantly, “Do you . . . do you think you’ll have any time over Christmas break?”

“I’ll have time!” Lily looked up in excitement, and Kath’s fingers tightened over hers. “When do you want to go?” Lily asked.

Kath looked like she didn’t quite believe her yet. “Jean wanted to go New Year’s Eve, but it’s too expensive. There’s a cover charge. I asked her if she wanted to go on December thirtieth instead.”

“What did she say?”

“She hasn’t decided yet. I was going to ask you if you wanted to go, but I didn’t know if . . . Do you want to go then?”

Kath’s hair was short enough that Lily could see the tips of her ears now, the pinkness of her skin darkening, like color coming into a rose. Lily knew she was blushing too, but for an exhilarating moment, she didn’t care.

“Yes,” she said. “Yes.”





29





When Lily was younger she’d thought of Shirley’s house as a marvelous kind of maze. All of the rooms, large and small, were crowded with Chinese knickknacks: jade statues in all sorts of nooks; ink-brush paintings of faded yellow and brown landscapes; silk hangings and screens shoved into the back corners. Over the years, various members of Shirley’s extended family had lived there—uncles and aunts, grandparents and visiting cousins—but now it was only Shirley’s immediate family. Since Shirley’s older sister, Rosie, had gotten married and moved out, there were only six of them occupying the two floors above the Eastern Pearl.

Today Shirley led Lily, Flora, and Mary into the living room on the third floor. Its windows overlooked Sacramento Street, and Lily and Shirley had spent many an hour leaning out those windows, surveying the activity on the street below and keeping an eye on who came to the restaurant. It was too chilly for the windows to be open today, though, and Shirley had to turn on the lamps for light. It was a formal room, outfitted with a set of rosewood Chinese furniture and a trio of Ch’ing dynasty vases on the mantel over the cold fireplace. A family altar was set up in one corner, with small black-and-white photos taped to the wall above the bowl of half-burned incense sticks. The faint, sweet scent of incense lingered in the room, above the aroma of fried noodles that always clung to the Eastern Pearl.

Today’s task was to work together on Shirley’s speech. Mary shuffled through her notes while Flora proudly reported that her father was going to buy a couple of hundred raffle tickets.

“That’s wonderful,” Shirley gushed. “You have some competition, Lily.”

Lily was startled. “I do?”

“I’m sure the hospital board will buy a thousand tickets,” Flora said smoothly.

Mary almost smiled, but hid it by reaching for some of the dried cuttlefish that Shirley had poured into a bowl on the coffee table.