Page 70 of Heir to a Curse

Chapter 26

Iburied myself in work. It’s what I did when stressed. Addy offered to move the guys’ schedule around, have them help, but I refused. Stripping the walls, painting, changing fixtures, it kept me busy.

Occasionally my phone would ping with a link to a video. I watched them all at night, sitting in the shrine beside Xiang’s name. I talked to him all the time, like he was at the door, listening, though I prayed he was behind his wards, safe instead.

The first two rooms cleaned up fast enough, taking less than a week to refinish and refurnish, and they suddenly felt like a home instead of a gilded palace. The second week I tackled two downstairs rooms which had really been mostly emptied of clutter by Zhao’s request. The cleared rooms with giant windows, a fresh coat of paint, and newly refinished floors felt like a place to start something. Mostly we were planning classes, but I thought maybe over time we’d add examples of people’s learning to the room, so I sketched a few ideas for adding shelves, shadow boxes, and cabinets.

Addy stayed once a week, insisting we have a full day of set meals, and chatting with the staff as we planned functions for the house. She enlisted Montana to help her nag me to eat regularly. So he was cooking up a storm and insisting I try everything. My appetite was nonexistent, but I tried to make them happy by sitting down with them and taking a bite or two.

We worked on lining up teachers, setting up small classes with everything from sewing to woodworking, tea making to language immersion. The interest was surprising. The small Asian community nearby had responded favorably, showing interest in learning some of the skills or even honing things they had grown up seeing their grandparents do. And a handful of my network reached out, wives of the guys, friends of theirs, interested in some of the ideas I’d put out there for classes. Hitori’s message out to the college had added a great expansion to the network, adding interested teachers as well as students looking for more multicultural activities in a time of social lockdowns. And Hitori was a master of class building and online learning, helping us craft ideas for content to be recorded and hosting virtual classes as well as the occasional on-site ones.

A week after the ceremony here at the house, I received the last video from Zhao’s family, watched it that same night, hoping for some sign of change, though nothing happened. I went to bed alone, slept fitfully, and only ate when someone prodded me. I listened to a recording of the type of music Xiang had played, and sometimes it helped, either letting me sleep or easing enough sadness to take the weight of it off my chest for a few hours.

Days passed that way, then weeks. I knew I was depressed. Didn’t need Addy or Montana to look at me with sad eyes to realize I was drowning in it. But I was working through it, focusing on the house. Bringing life back to it, not erasing Sofia, so much as crafting a focus she could never quite see.

Mr. Yamamoto had found a stash of photos from her first wedding, young and glorious, a stunning figure in her red gown. We’d created a little display of them near the dress in the main entry, and had a temporary typed history beside it. The plaque with the details would take a few weeks to create, and we’d ordered one for the fan display as well.

Zhao donated a handful of tea sets, which also added a fun bit of history as their designs were very different based on the time period and region they’d come from. Every time I walked by them, I thought of Xiang making tea, and missed him fiercely.

I often wondered how the past versions of me had coped. Had I moved on? Found someone new regardless of the loss? There weren’t a lot of memories from after. I recalled the first version of me, a spectacular failure, filled with betrayal and stupidity, dying on the steps of Xiang’s exile. But the rest? It was almost like each time we’d been separated, either the memories ended abruptly, or weren’t there at all. Perhaps none of the other versions of me had lived long past our separation. That seemed fair, though not at all heartening in this life.

When I insisted on creating a will, Addy had protested. Of course, reminding her we were in the middle of a global pandemic helped her realize it was not an unreasonable request.

Once the first two bedrooms were finished, I began working through them one by one, moving out old furniture, either putting it in storage if it was valuable, or having it moved to Madison’s family’s shop on consignment. We ripped wallpaper out, changed the colors, life added really. The first guest we had were family of Madison and Hitori, visiting with gifts for the coming baby. They didn’t stay long, and were very careful about distancing and masks, but it still made me nervous.

“We should start slow?” I said to Mr. Yamamoto. “I don’t want to expose the staff to anything.”

“We are limiting guests. Only four at a time.”

“Will that work okay with the classes?”

“Classes do not require students to stay and are limited to two students at a time,” he reminded me. There were two rooms downstairs, one the former piano room, which we’d turned into learning spaces. Both rooms large enough to easily fit a dozen people, but in times of troubles, we were keeping it simple. “One class in the morning. One in the late afternoon. Gives the staff plenty of time to clean. The varied schedule means if some of them want to stay for a few days, they have the chance to experience multiple classes.”

“It feels okay? I’m not stealing anyone’s culture, or stepping on someone’s history, right? Not putting the staff at risk for silly things?” I asked. I worried a lot about that, wanting to take care of Sofia and Xiang’s history rather than trample on it.

“I think it’s wonderful. I am looking forward to the tea class as soon as we find a teacher.”

Xiang would have made an excellent teacher. “Big tea fan?”

“Yes. Though the perfect cup still eludes me. There was a shop in town that offered good tea, however, it appears they will not be reopening.”

“That’s a shame. I wonder if any of their people can teach the tea thing?”

“Perhaps. Though it would not have the traditional flare.”

I thought again of Xiang and how intense he was about tea. Did the water sustain him? Or was that another torture point? Was the tea a way he had to ease some of the physical feelings? Or just something for him to focus on. Emotion rolled over me at the idea of him stuck there again and I was suddenly fighting back tears.

“Sorry,” I told Mr. Yamamoto, looking away. “I must be more tired than I thought. Getting all emotional over traditional tea.”

He nodded. “Sofia loved her tea as well. That reminds me. Mr. Zhao called and asked if we are willing to allow a family member to isolate here for two weeks.”

My head snapped up at the comment as I was on my knees painting a baseboard. “Was he exposed?”

“It doesn’t sound like it. However, he is arriving here from overseas, so they wish to be safe. In China, they require anyone who comes from outside to isolate in a hotel for two weeks.”

And here in the USA, they were doing almost nothing. Suggested isolation here in New York. Some areas were on travel bans, but with the airlines struggling, they’d pushed back until there were still a lot of flights coming in and out.

“Mr. Zhao thought since we have the space, our guest could remain in his room for the duration. We’d bring him meals, and provide him a space to isolate.”