Lottery (13 page)

The director turned to Ling. “I’m very pleased to meet you,” he said in perfect English. He nodded at the two chairs that sat in front of his desk. “Please have a seat.” He walked back to his desk chair and sat down.

Manila folders were sprawled across the director’s desk, with even more folders stacked on the floor. Caleb glanced at the bookcase that ran the length of one wall that was filled with books on adoption. His gaze moved to a large framed family photo.

“Ah.” Dr. Wang turned, following Caleb’s gaze. “You found my family. My wife and I have five children, three of them are adopted. It is difficult to work here and not fall in love with many.”

“Beautiful family,” Caleb commented.

“Thank you. They keep us very busy.” Dr. Wang smiled. His focus turned to Ling. “Tell me what you hope to accomplish with our institute.”

“Well …” Ling leaned back in her chair. “It’s always been my dream to place Chinese children with American parents.” She placed a hand over her chest. “My mother was born in Shanghai. My father is Caucasian.”

“I see.” Dr. Wang picked up a pen on his desk. “And you screen potential parents well, I assume.”

“I’m just starting the process.” Ling changed positions. “So far, I have hundreds of applications.”

“As I’m sure you both know,” Dr. Wang continued, “helping our children find a permanent loving home is our goal.” The director leaned back in his chair. “In the past few years we’ve been placing over three hundred children a year overseas.”

“That’s so exciting,” Ling said.

“The one thing that we ask of our adoptive parents is that they foster the child’s heritage by helping them become familiar with the Chinese language and the culture of their ancestors. We also have websites where our adoptive parents can interact,” the director said. “This is not a requirement. We can only encourage the interaction.”

“Even though I am part Chinese, just being in Shanghai I can feel the bond,” Ling said. “I will also encourage new parents to foster their child’s Chinese heritage.”

“You will be acting as the parents’ agent?” Dr. Wang asked Ling.

“Yes. I am finally incorporated and have hired a social worker with years of experience to work with me. There’s also a lawyer on board when needed,” Ling told him. “I don’t need a large staff, as I will only be placing two or three children a year.” She leaned forward. “Did you receive the paperwork?”

Dr. Wang nodded. “It has been filed with the appropriate agencies.” He stood and walked around to the other side of his desk. “Thank you for helping our children.”

Ling stood. “If it wasn’t for my fiancé,” she said and glanced at Caleb, “this wouldn’t have been possible.”

“Dependent on ya, buddy,” Weber said. “Makes a man feel like a man.”

Caleb pushed the tips of his index fingers together, and touched them to underneath his chin. Yes, he replied silently, it does.

ing sighed after they were seated in the casual restaurant-bar in the hotel. “Quite a day.”

Caleb rubbed his throbbing temple. “Very emotional.”

Ling covered his hand with hers. “I know.”

After he ordered a scotch for himself and white wine for Ling, Caleb said, “Neither of us is working and I think we should just stay in Shanghai until we’re married. I assume you want a traditional Chinese wedding.”

Ling looked over at him with a puzzled look on her face. “But I can’t get ready for our wedding in just a few days.”

“You can take however long you need.”

“I want my mom to help plan everything,” Ling said.

Caleb waited for the waitress to put their drinks down before he answered. “I don’t see that as a problem.”

She put a hand on his arm. “Why are you so good to me?”

He leaned into her. “Because you deserve it.”

Ling touched her lips to his. “Is it okay if we move to a cheaper hotel?”

Caleb smiled. “Wherever you go, I’ll follow.”

Two weeks later, Mei and Samuel arrived. Mei and Ling began making arrangements for the wedding, while Sam and Caleb discovered the city. Sam was the closest to a father Caleb would ever have. Sam accepted him as his son and had never said an unkind word to Caleb. With his laid back attitude, it made no difference to Sam Jameson if he was talking to a millionaire or a street person; he treated everyone the same.

Stumbling across the House of Roosevelt/Bund 27, Caleb turned to Sam. “Shall we go in and take a look around?”

Sam shrugged his shoulders. “Why not?”

The Neoclassical building had been restored in 2008 by Tweed Roosevelt, who was the great-grandson of President Theodore Roosevelt and nephew to President Franklin Roosevelt. Tweed had been committed to keeping the original architecture of the five-story building and turning it into an exclusive restaurant.

Each of the five floors was uniquely and tastefully decorated. The private Cellar & Wine Vault, with rich dark paneling and classic leather chairs, was used by private members and also catered to royalty, diplomats, and other affluent guests. The third floor could be reserved by members only, and the fourth was an upscale restaurant open to the public. No matter where you were in the building, the view offered a dramatic, picturesque scene of the riverfront.

Standing on the rooftop that hosted the Sky Bar, Caleb gazed out over the river and skyline. The House of Roosevelt combined the perfect combination of Chinese and American cuisine that both Mei and Ling would appreciate. “What d’ya think, Sam?”
Caleb asked. “Think we should line up a reunion for Mei’s family and have it here?”

“I can’t think of anything that would make my wife happier,” Sam said. “I’ll help with the cost.”

“I don’t need your money, Sam.” Caleb smiled and put his hand on Sam’s back. “Just your friendship.”

A week later, Caleb arrived at the restaurant early to make sure everything was in order. The Sky Bar had been transformed as Caleb had requested. Long tables covered in crisp white tablecloths surrounded by cushy upholstered chairs had replaced modern, high-top tables and stools. A spray of red roses, plum blossoms, and light yellow Osmanthus flowers decorated the middle of the two tables. On either side of the centerpieces were tall white candles encased by hour-glass shaped hurricane lamps. Chairs had been grouped together on the deck in threes or fours for those who wanted a private conversation.

Ling and Mei had chosen red snapper and sweet shrimp as an appetizer, and roasted duck, cod, and beef tenderloin as the main course. The fully stocked bar offered expensive Australian and French wines that Caleb had selected during a private tasting in the Wine Cellar.

By seven p.m., twenty-three of Mei’s relatives had gathered on the rooftop, all of them talking at once as they caught up on the decades that they’d been separated. The emotional get-together of family members Mei hadn’t seen in over forty years brought tears to even Caleb’s eyes.

When his head started to ache from the buzz of an unfamiliar language, Caleb excused himself, telling Ling he needed some air. Wearing a single strand of pearls that matched the white cocktail-length dress, Ling looked stunning.

When Caleb reached the first floor, he opened the front door and walked down the stairs to the street. On the corner, he took
out a cigarette and lit it. He’d given up smoking years ago, but the stress of the past few months offered an excuse to start up the habit.

Caleb’s family was due to arrive next week; two days before the wedding. He inhaled, and blew out the trail of smoke. His insides curdled every time he thought about seeing his father. If Ling hadn’t insisted, he would have never told his parents about the wedding. His father hadn’t done one damn thing to deserve a free trip to China. His thoughts were interrupted by a familiar voice.

“How’s it going?” Caleb heard and looked up. “Surprised to see me?” Weber asked walking toward him.

Caleb froze, the cigarette dropping to the sidewalk.
Jesus.
It couldn’t be. Weber was wearing the same shirt and khaki shorts he’d had on the night of his accident. Caleb closed his eyes briefly, but when he opened them, Weber was still there. His heart throbbing in his chest, he turned and started up the steps.

“Hey,” Weber called after him. “Is that any way to treat an old friend?”

Feeling as if the breath had been knocked out of him, Caleb stopped and slowly turned back around. “You’re dead.”

Weber put his arms out to his sides, a few strands of hair falling over his forehead. “Am I?”

“Look.” Caleb sped back down the steps. “I’ve had enough of this bullshit.”

“Bullshit?” Weber asked. “Without me, you’d be sitting in a jail cell.”

Caleb slapped a hand over his chest. “You’re the one who made me do the things I did.” Anxiously, he glanced around to see if anyone was near.

“Me?” Weber took off his sunglasses, his dark eyes staring through Caleb.

Caleb’s face close to Weber’s, he whispered, “You’re the one who killed McKenzie.”

“Au contraire, my friend.” Weber shook his head. “You can take credit for that.”

“Fuck you!” Caleb retorted and started for the stairs.

“Caleb?” Caleb heard and looked up.

“Sam,” Caleb managed, feeling his cheeks grow warm.

“Who you talking to, Son?” Sam asked, coming down the steps toward him.

Caleb scratched his temple, his left eye twitching—
son-of-a-bitch
. “Someone asked for directions.” Caleb smirked, trying to make light of what Sam had heard. “As if I would know where anything is. I mean … hey, do I look Chinese?”

Sam’s expression was puzzled as he glanced up and down the empty street. “You feeling okay?”

“I’m fine. The guy was on a motor bike,” Caleb explained. “Whizzed by me when I said I couldn’t help him.” Hopefully this would pacify Sam so he wouldn’t think Caleb was insane.

“Ling’s asking about you.” Sam started back up the steps. “Think she was worried you got bored.”

“Nope. Just needed some air.” Caleb glanced over his shoulder and saw Weber leaning against a lamp post. A shit-eating grin on his face, his arms crossed over his perfectly pressed Polo shirt, he looked as real to Caleb as Sam did. The difference, however, was that Caleb was the only one who could see him.

“See ya soon, buddy.” Weber put up his hand up as a wave.

Oh God, what was happening?