Red Thread Sisters (9781101591857) (5 page)

“Wen, I'm over here,” her mother called from the driver's seat. “I got stuck in traffic. Sorry I'm a little late.”

Wen got up from the wall, her back still sore, her legs shaking. In measured steps, Wen walked to the car. She climbed into the front seat quickly so her mother wouldn't see her trembling.

“How was your first day?” her mother asked.

Wen clasped her hands tight in her lap.

“What is it, Wen? You're so quiet. Did something bad happen today?”

Wen said nothing. What was bad was her mother leaving her like that in front of the school, all alone.

At the stop sign, Wen's mother grasped Wen's fingers. “Honey, you're freezing!” Wen's mother pretended to shiver. “Cold?”

“Not cold.” Wen turned to the window.

“Honey, tell me,” her mother said.

“Hey, you very late.” Wen kept the back of her head to her mother. “Almost you not come.”

“I know. I was about five minutes late.” Her mother raised five fingers. “I'm really sorry, sweetie.”

“Not five. Very late. You I not see.” Wen talked to the glass.

“I'm so sorry, Wen. You must have been worried.” Her mother's voice wavered.

“I not worry.”

Wen's mother stopped the car in front of their house. Gingerly, she reached for Wen's chin and held her face in her hands.

“Look at me,” her mother said, still holding Wen's chin, so that Wen had to lock her eyes right onto her mother's.

“I will always come for you, do you understand, Wen? I always come.”

Wen turned her chin away. It wasn't true. Her mother didn't always come. She almost didn't come that afternoon.

“I not worry,” Wen said. Then she edged away from her mother and stared at the window, not speaking.

eight

That night at dinner, Wen's mother handed her a silver cell phone. “Dad and I got you this so you can call if you need us.”

Wen inspected the sleek phone in her palm. Her parents had bought this so she wouldn't worry, like this afternoon. Were they annoyed she caused them to buy her a fancy new phone?

“How come she gets a cell phone and I don't?” Emily asked. “It's not fair!”

“Because she's new to everything here and may want to call us,” said their father.

“Suppose I need you?” Emily demanded. “She gets one just because she's new?”

“Calm down, Emily,” their mother warned, glancing uneasily at Wen. “You're only in second grade, sweetie. You're too young for a cell phone.”

“All you ever do is pay attention to Wen,” Emily whined. “Don't I count anymore?”

Wen saw Emily's eyes brim with tears, as if she were about to cry. She couldn't make Emily cry.

“You can try mine,” Wen offered.

“Come on, Emily, of course you count.” Wen's mother rubbed Emily's back. “We have lots of love to go around for everybody. We have to help Wen until she gets used to things, that's all.”

Wen put her face in her hands. She had made Emily mad. She had gotten her parents upset. She had caused too much trouble.

Then Wen felt her father's hands pry her fingers, gingerly, one by one, off her face. “It's OK, Wen,” said her father. “Emily's just a little upset, that's all. We're all really glad you're here. Aren't we, Emily?”

Emily picked at her macaroni and cheese and said nothing.

After dinner, Wen went into her bedroom. In the kitchen, she could hear her parents both speaking in lowered tones with Emily. Were they talking about her?

They were going to send her back. Maybe she'd upset Emily so badly her parents had decided they couldn't have two daughters after all. And they loved Emily the best. Of course they did. Emily was first. So Wen had to go.

At breakfast the next morning Wen waited for her mother or father to announce that they'd decided it was time for her to pack her things. Instead, her mother cheerfully poured her orange juice and Emily was busy stirring raisins into her oatmeal. Wen nibbled on her toast and passed Emily the milk even before she asked.

That morning, she took the school bus for the first time. She sat with Emily, who seemed to have forgotten all about the night before. Emily bounced up and down on the seat.

“See, Wennie, aren't buses fun?”

Later, at her new desk, Wen took her phone out of her pocket and set it right in the middle of her desk, hoping that the nice girl, Hannah, would notice and get her number. Maybe the other girls would ask too. Hannah and Sophie were already at their seats. Just as Hannah turned toward Wen, Michelle rushed into the room.

“Hey, check out what I got!” Michelle arched her body to show off a light blue jacket with no sleeves, its edges lined in white fuzz
.

Why
would a jacket have no sleeves?
Wen wondered.

“Don't worry, the vest is fake fur. It's not from a killed animal or anything.” She tossed her blonde hair off her shoulders.

Wen kept her eyes on her silver phone, gleaming in the middle of her desk. Nobody noticed or asked for her number. What good was a cell phone if you had nobody to call? She pushed it to the back of her desk, hidden under her extra sweatshirt and English book.

At recess, by the fence, Wen saw Hannah, Michelle, and Sophie gathered under a big tree. Michelle was weaving Hannah's hair into two thick braids.

Wen could almost feel Shu Ling's hair, heavy in her fingers. Every spring, Wen and Shu Ling had climbed past the gully to the peony fields. They gathered the big blossoms, their soft pink petals radiant in the sunlight. Then they took turns lacing the flowers into each other's hair. When they returned to the orphanage, they kept some peonies in their pockets, to dry, until the next spring came.

Now as she watched Hannah, Michelle, and Sophie braid one another's hair, Wen could almost smell the sweetness of the peonies lingering as she sat, all alone, on the grass.

That afternoon, Wen took the bus home, with Emily beside her, chattering about something so fast that Wen could barely make out her words. All around her, Wen heard kids shouting. As the bus swerved around corners, she clung to Emily so she wouldn't fall off her seat.

When she got home that afternoon, Wen saw her mother in the kitchen, waiting for her. “How was school today?” she asked.

“OK.” Wen avoided her mother's eager gaze.

Wen went into the backyard and scuffed through the fallen leaves. The harder she kicked, the more brown leaves scattered into the air, making a dry, rustling sound before they fell back to the ground.

Then, at the far end of the backyard, Wen noticed a tiny hill, like the dusty space in back of the orphanage. Wen climbed the hill, pretending she was walking toward Shu Ling. When she made it to the top, she stopped, and then began to spin.

As she spun, she could practically see Shu Ling perched on the old tires. The spinning game, they had called it. Wen would stand straight as a reed, spread both arms, and begin to twirl. Every time she spun by Shu Ling, she fixed her eyes on her. Catching Shu Ling's face every rotation helped her keep her balance. When she got too dizzy, she collapsed on the dirt, her head whirring, her eyes closed. Finally, she would open her eyes to see Shu Ling, hovering over her.

“Faster than ever,
mei mei,
” Shu Ling always said. “Fastest yet.”

Now as she whirled, she tried to imagine Shu Ling, anchoring her. But instead she just caught glimpses of folded-up lawn chairs and the neighbor's tall wooden fence. She pivoted twice before, like a twirling plate slowing down, she wobbled and fell.

Wen lay still on the cold ground. Then, with both hands, she heaped piles of leaves over her body, burying herself. Leaf tips pricked her skin. The wet leaves smelled moldy and her back felt damp against the dirt.

“Wen!” her father shouted.

“Richard,” Wen heard her mother say, her voice frantic, “where can she be?”

She heard the back door open, followed by the sound of footsteps. Through the leaves, Wen saw a pair of brown boots. Then she felt her father's hand reaching down to find hers.

“Here you are, Wen! Come on, let me help you up.” Wen took his wrist and let him pull her up from the ground. Then, together, they went inside.

Wen's mother made room beside her on the sofa. “Sit.”

“Rug dirty now,” Wen said.

Her mother smoothed Wen's hair. “What's wrong, Wen? Sad?” With her fingers, she made pretend tears along her own cheeks.

“Not sad. OK.” Wen moved away from her mother.

“You can tell us, Wen,” her father said. “What is it?”

Of course, Wen couldn't say. Instead, she took her cell phone out of her pocket. “Hey, how far this phone make call?” she asked.

“How far? Anywhere in the United States, I guess,” her mother said.

Wen wanted to ask
Can this cell phone reach China?
But of course it couldn't. And besides, even if the phone did get China, maybe a call would cost too much money.

If she just asked, would her parents think she was being greedy?

“Even more far?” She had to know.

Wen's mother pushed her glasses on top of her head, as if something had just occurred to her. “Would you like to call the orphanage, Wen? You must be missing your friends there.”

Wen gripped her cell phone. Call Shu Ling? Hear her voice again? “This I could do?” asked Wen.

“I'll ask Nancy to see if you can get permission,” said her mother. She got up to call from the landline hanging on the wall in the kitchen.

Wen's father held up his crossed fingers.

“Why you do this?” asked Wen.

“Means ‘make a wish,'” said her father.

“Wish for call.” Wen crossed her fingers too.

Wen heard her mother speaking with someone in a low voice.

“Wen,” she said, “Nancy wants to talk with you.”

Why would this adoption lady want to talk to her? Was there something wrong with calling the orphanage after you'd left? Did you get sent back for something like that?

When Wen reached the kitchen, her mother handed her the phone.

“Hello?” Wen said.

“Hello, Wen, this is Nancy. I wanted to tell you how sorry I am that you are missing your friends at the orphanage. It's very hard at first, Wen. I see this with the older kids. And I want you to know, if I can help in any way, you must call me.”

The warmth in Nancy's voice made Wen want to cry.

“So I can call today?” Wen asked. “It is OK?”

“
Shi de.
Yes!” Nancy said. “Director Feng allows calls at first. I gave your mother the phone number.”

“Thank you,” Wen said, almost singing. “Oh,
xie xie
! Thank you!” Then she hung up.

She wanted to throw her arms around her mother and thank her for calling Nancy Lin. But when she thought of touching her mother, something inside her stirred and said
danger
.

“I call now?” Wen asked.

“Well, we're about twelve hours behind China time right now. So if you call tonight at seven, it'll be seven tomorrow morning at the orphanage,” said her mother.

“What you say?” Wen asked. “Seven and seven?”

Her mother tapped her wristwatch. “At seven here, we eat dinner. But China is on the other side of the world.” She waved her arms, as if gesturing toward somewhere far away. “When it's seven at night here, it's seven in the morning in China.”

“Friend up then!”

“Which friend, sweetie? What's her name?” her mother asked.

Wen hesitated. Should she tell them about Shu Ling so soon? She might start to cry. She didn't want her parents to see her upset and think she wasn't grateful for being in their family.

“Friend's name is Shu Ling,” Wen started. “She is my best friend.”

“Have you been friends for a long time?” her father asked.

“Very long time.” Her voice cracked. That was all she could say for now.

So instead, Wen began to walk up and down the hall.

“Pacing like that won't help.” Her mother handed her a potato. “Here, help me finish dinner while Dad goes to pick up Emily from her playdate.”

Silently, Wen scraped the potato, watching its skin fall off in long, thin curls.

“Your friend, Shu Ling.” Her mother glanced up from seasoning the tomato sauce. “You must miss her very much.”

Wen didn't answer. How could she tell her mother that without Shu Ling, part of her still stayed back at the orphanage? How could she describe how she strained at night, listening for Shu Ling's breathing, and heard only her own heart beating? And how could she say that sometimes she stood still, waiting for Shu Ling to rest her arm on her shoulder, and felt nothing but the weight of her own sadness? Wen couldn't peel herself open that way in front of her mother.

“Potatoes done.” She slid the cutting board toward her mother.

At dinner, Wen couldn't eat.

Finally it was time. “Seven!” Wen called. “Hey, it's seven!”

Wen's mother showed Wen a piece of paper with many numbers. Her mother told her to use the landline, because it worked better, and to dial very slowly.

Wen cradled the receiver to her chest. She could almost hear Shu Ling's voice saying, “Mei mei
, you called!”

And then she'd say,
How are you, Shu Ling?
and
I miss you so much
and
Who do you play with now?
and
Have you had any cat-ear dumplings yet?
and
Did any new babies come in?

As she pushed the buttons on the phone, one by one, Wen's fingers shook.

The phone rang for a long time.
Wasn't anybody there?

Finally she heard a click, followed by a loud “
Ni hao.
Hello.”

“Auntie Lan Lan!” Wen shrieked. “It's me, Wen!”

“Ah, Wen!” Auntie Lan Lan answered. “How is America?”

Auntie Lan Lan sounded very far away. Wen raised her voice. It felt good to be speaking her own language. “America is great, Auntie Lan Lan, and my English came back,” said Wen. “And the school has shiny floors, just like you said.”

“I knew it!” said Auntie Lan Lan. “You are getting smarter every day. Soon you'll be rich, too.”

“Can I talk to Shu Ling?” asked Wen.

After a moment, Wen heard the low voice she knew so well.
“Mei mei?”

“Shu Ling!” Wen shouted.

Shu Ling whispered something.

“Talk louder, Shu Ling!” Wen said.

“How are you,
mei mei
?” she asked softly.

“I miss you,” said Wen.

Shu Ling got very quiet. Then Wen heard her begin to sob.

“Shu Ling, please don't.” Wen gripped the receiver.

“Oh,
mei mei,
” Shu Ling choked.

“What is it, Shu Ling? Are you still there?” Wen asked.

Shu Ling didn't speak.

“Shu Ling, say something!” Wen begged.

Finally Wen heard Shu Ling let out a long cry, almost a moan. The phone dropped with a thud.

“Wen, it's Auntie Lan Lan again. Shu Ling can't talk anymore.”

“Why not?” Wen fought back her tears.

“She's too upset, I think. She's going back in her cot to lie down. She misses you too much right now. Maybe writing is better, Wen.”

“But I miss her too, Auntie Lan Lan. Can't you tell her to come back? I want to talk to her!”

“She cannot, Wen. Try to understand. It is too much for her. I have to hang up now, the babies are waiting. Be sure to be a good girl, Wen. Good-bye.”

Wen heard the line go dead. She kept the phone in her hand, hoping it would ring again and Auntie Lan Lan would say,
She's here again. Shu Ling can talk after all.