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TWENTY-THREE

VERA

It takes a surprisingly short time for Vera, Julia, and little Emma to settle into a new rhythm. The first day, Julia foolishly tries to prevent Vera from taking over the running of the household—telling Vera not to bother cooking dinner for them, telling Vera not to bother cleaning up afterward, telling Vera not to try to teach Emma mathematics. She soon learns, however, that “telling Vera not to” is a futile act and before the second day is over has surrendered completely to Vera’s machinations.

When Vera moved into Julia’s house, she’d na?vely thought that she would only stay for a day, two max, before returning to her quiet life atop her deserted tea shop. But the shop is now closed for the time being, something she thought would’ve absolutely devastated her in the past but is in fact a bit of a relief now. Yes, she does miss it, but it’s also freeing to not have to worry so much about not having any customers and wondering how much longer she can keep it open. She’s sent a text to Alex, letting him know that she is staying at a friend’s and apologizing for the lack of teas, and sweet, kind Alex replied immediately, telling her not to worry.

Last night, Tilly called, asking why she hasn’t texted him for days. Hah, what a turnup for the books that was.

“Oh, you know,” she said, “the shop had break-in, so my friend say come stay at her house.”

He sputtered for quite a long time at that. “ What? Ma, what do you mean the shop was broken into? Did you report it to the police?”

“Tch, the police, what good are they? They can’t even solve murder, you think they can bother to solve a burglary? No problem, I solve myself.”

“Jesus, Ma! And where are you staying right now? What friend?”

“I have many friend now, Tilly.” She hadn’t quite been able to keep the smugness out of her voice.

“Where? I’ll come pick you up. You can—” He’d sighed then and said, “You can stay with me.”

“Oh, silly, I don’t want to bother you.” To think! Turning down an offer like that! An offer she would’ve killed for in the past. But here she is, a changed woman, no longer a burden on her son.

“Oh my god, Ma. Just—okay, fine, you’re a grown woman, you can handle yourself. But I’m going to transfer you some money, okay? And let me know if you need anything, you hear me?”

“Yes, yes. So naggy.” She’d hung up with a smirk on her face, and who can blame her? She was so sad about Tilly being a neglectful child, and here he is, insisting on sending her some money. He’s not so unfilial after all.

She never imagined that she would slip so easily into Julia’s life, much like a puzzle piece slotting neatly into place. It seems to Vera sometimes that this has been where she belonged all along, living in a house with two girls, one she is coming to think of as her daughter and the other she has from the very beginning adopted as her granddaughter. Oh, Emma, how Vera adores this tiny, somber girl.

In the mornings, Julia wakes up to find that Emma is already dressed, her hair tied in intricate pigtails, sitting in her high chair and slurping congee all on her own. Vera sits next to her, reading the newspaper. When Vera spots Julia, she’ll say, quite simply, “Sit.” And Julia will sit, and a steaming bowl of freshly cooked congee will appear before her, along with a plate of condiments—fried egg, spicy tofu, and crispy fried youtiao. There will also be a cup of green tea as well as a glass of rich soy milk. And Julia will eat and marvel at the way that Emma is feeding herself with a spoon instead of flinging everything around and screaming for French fries and chicken nuggets. When they are done, Vera will whisk everything away and wipe Emma’s sticky face down before lifting her from the high chair and taking her to the park down the block.

The first time Vera does this, Julia follows, worry clawing at her. What if Vera is, in fact, a bad person with bad intentions toward Emma? So Julia follows, and Vera huffs and rolls her eyes, and at the playground, Julia watches, astounded, as Vera plops Emma right next to another little girl, and the two girls begin to—well, not play with each other as much as play next to each other. Still, it has always been such a struggle for Julia to get Emma within five steps of another child before Emma shouts, “No, I’m shy!” that this is a shock to see. How does Vera do it?

This question becomes an anthem for the whole day, and the next, and the next. How does Vera do it? How does Vera clean the house so tidily, how does Vera cook so quickly, how does Vera do anything? If someone told Julia that Vera is half-magic, she would believe them.

In the evenings, Vera retires to the master bedroom, where Julia has graciously put her after Vera lamented on the first day she arrived how in Chinese culture, the elders will always get the best room in the house. There, Vera snuggles in the king-sized bed and reads Oliver’s manuscript. Vera has never been a big reader, but she knows enough to gauge that Oliver’s manuscript is far from polished. It’s too raw, the pacing rushed in some parts, then slowing down to a crawl in others. But the thing that makes Vera keep reading is the story, which is about two brothers, one of whom is the perfect kid, or so everyone else thinks, and the other is the disappointment who skulks in his brother’s shadow, watching silently as his brother cheats his way through life. The shy brother falls in love with a girl who ends up marrying the golden brother. Vera is wondering if it will end with the shy brother poisoning the golden boy, maybe by smothering him with a down pillow? Part of her wants to skip to the end, but she hates spoilers, so here she is, patiently reading it page by page, and despite the erratic pacing, she’s sort of enjoying it.

It is on the fourth day of Vera’s stay, as she and Emma make pulled noodles in the kitchen, that there is a shout from the bedroom. Moments later, Julia comes thundering down the hallway and arrives all out of breath, her blond hair falling wildly around her face. She takes in the sight before her, of Emma covered in floury handprints, with strands of noodle dough in her brown curls, mid-laugh, and pauses. Vera can tell that Julia’s instinctive reaction is one of horror. The old Julia, Vera guesses, would’ve scooped Emma up and hurried away to clean her off. Probably before Marshall gets home. But then Vera sees the dawning in Julia’s eyes. The realization that Marshall isn’t coming home. Marshall isn’t going to be around to bitch about the mess, or inappropriateness, or whatever the hell Marshall would get angry about. And then Julia opens her mouth and laughs, and god, Vera thinks, what a sound it is.

It comes straight out of Julia’s belly, an unfettered laugh that is both joyful and unashamed of its rawness. Emma stares for a moment, then she joins in, giggling and smushing more noodle dough on her cheeks, throwing her head back and laughing some more. Vera herself can’t help but join in, and she can’t remember the last time she’s enjoyed herself so much. They all laugh until their sides hurt, until they’re gasping for breath; then, still breathing hard, Vera asks Julia what’s just happened.

“Oh!” Julia says, as though she’s forgotten what made her rush over here in the first place. “I got it! A photography job!” She looks half-stunned when she says this, her expression a cross between fear and excitement.

Vera doesn’t give any time for the fear to take over. She whoops and envelopes Julia in a hug. “Oh, good job, you!” She beckons to Emma to join the hug. “Come, your mama going to be photographer.”

“Wow! Wow!” Emma shouts. She probably doesn’t even really know what a photographer is, but she’s more than happy to jump in and wrap her short arms around the two of them.

“Now, you tell me all about it,” Vera says, stepping back.

“It’s a small job,” Julia begins apologetically, and Vera’s hand immediately shoots up and smacks her lightly on the side of the head. “Ow, what the—! What the... heck, Vera?”

“You don’t describe your job like that,” Vera scolds. “Is a ‘small job,’ hah! Can you see men saying that? No, men will talk it up with bullshit, that is why they get even bigger job next time. There is no such thing as ‘small job.’ And don’t say in that silly tone, oh so apologetic, I am just silly woman having a small job. No!” Her index finger shoots up and points at Julia’s face like a sword. “You go and do this job proudly.”

“Uh... okay.” Julia gingerly pushes Vera’s formidable index finger down. “So it’s a sm—it’s a portrait photography session for an influencer. Well, she’s not quite an influencer yet, but she’s getting there and she needs headshots, so.” Julia pauses and Vera can tell she’s about to apologize again, or say something else to minimize the job, but she manages to stop herself. Vera nods and harrumphs.

“Sound good to me.”

“The pay isn’t much,” Julia blurts out.

Vera sighs. She supposes it’s too much to expect for Julia to embrace this new empowered side of herself in a single day. “The first time I open a teahouse, each pot of tea only cost two cents. Now I charge three dollars.”

“And that’s inflaaation,” Emma sings.

Both Julia and Vera stare at her for a while, but Emma just continues playing with the noodle dough. Finally Vera says, “Yes, that is not wrong. Maybe you shouldn’t be an architect, maybe an economist. Or a hedge fund manager, yes. Anyway,” she says, turning her attention back on Julia. “You will go and do this job and you will be very confident, none of this”—she gestures at Julia—“sorry look. You will be good. Very good. More than very good.”

“Very gooder,” Emma says.

“Yes,” Vera says. “Very gooder. Now you go away, Emma and I making dinner.”

Julia walks out of the kitchen in a daze, and Vera looks down at Emma, who looks up at her and smiles. “We make something out of your mama, eh?”

Emma gives a solemn nod, and the two of them resume pulling noodles for dinner.

···

The next morning, Julia is insufferable. From the moment she gets up, she is so jittery and nervous that Vera finally sets her to cleaning the bathroom. The bathroom doesn’t need cleaning, of course, because Vera has cleaned it to within an inch of its life, but it’s clear that Julia needs to do something with all that nervous energy. Julia’s nerves have affected Emma as well, and now Emma is having a hard time going through her new morning routine. As Vera struggles to keep Emma from wriggling away while she tries to tie up the little girl’s hair, she wonders if perhaps this used to be the norm in the before times. When Marshall was alive, maybe Julia always carried this nervous energy with her, and maybe that’s why Emma was so insecure. Vera sighs. So many maybes.

But scrubbing the toilet seems to work; when Julia finally comes out, she’s less jittery.

“Thanks,” she says to Vera. Then she laughs. “I don’t know why I just thanked you for ordering me to clean the bathroom.”

“Because you know is for your own good.” Vera hands her a Tupperware container. “I make lunch for you and client. Spring rolls, plenty of veg, very good for you. Give you energy to work. Now you go away.”

“It’s not really time yet—”

“Better to be early is what I always say.”

Julia opens her mouth, probably to argue, then seems to think twice. Good , Vera thinks. She’s learned that it’s useless to try and argue with me. Julia goes and gets her camera bag, which she packed very carefully last night. At the door, she pauses, dawdling, oozing with uncertainty. “Are you sure you’ll be okay with her?”

Vera has no idea if Julia is asking her or Emma. Either way, what a silly question. Why would anyone not be okay with Vera? “Go,” she scolds, shooing Julia away. And with one last glance over her shoulder, Julia walks out the door. Vera and Emma go to the bay window to watch Julia’s car leave the driveway, then Vera turns to Emma and says, “Okay, now we get to work.”

Emma nods. Vera puts a cardigan on the little girl, making sure the buttons are all done up, and the two of them walk out of the house hand in hand. First, they take the bus to Chinatown, where Vera buys fresh, cheap groceries. She shows Emma how to pick out the freshest fish (“You poke them in the eyes, like this”; Emma is surprisingly enthusiastic about poking fish in the eyes) and how to haggle with the shop owners for the best price. By the time they’re done, the shopping trolley that Vera has brought is loaded to the brim. They stop by for a quick snack at the fortune cookie bakery, where Emma eats three cookies, then they make their way back to the house. After unloading everything into the fridge, Vera slices up an enormous Korean pear and shares it with Emma while reading her a story.

The reading goes like this: “?‘The king says, “You are a beautiful girl, but if you can’t turn this roomful of hay into gold by sunrise, I will have you kill—”?’ What? What is this silly story? Rumpy—Rum—Rumpapum? Even its name is stupid. Emma, you listen to Grandma Vera, this king is a very bad man. You hear me? Right, so... where are we? Yes, so... ‘With the help of Rumpy—Rumpapum, she manages to turn three whole rooms of hay into gold, upon which the king says, “Amazing! You shall be my wife!” And Anne is overjoyed—’ What? Emma, you listen to Grandma Vera. Are you listening? This Anne is very stupid. Very! Stupid! You hear me? Why is she happy that crazy king wants to marry her? She should be horrified. She should carry a dagger with her on wedding night. That’s what Chinese maidens used to do, you know. In old days, Chinese maidens don’t get to choose who they marry. They don’t even get to meet their husbands until the wedding day. So part of the traditional wedding outfit is a little dagger, just in case their husband turn out to be bad man. Emma, are you liste— Oh, you are asleep. Harrumph. Just as well, then. I will have talk with your mother about giving you stupid books.”

Vera gets up gently, placing the little girl down on the sofa. From Emma’s room, Vera fetches a woolen blanket and drapes it over her before giving her an affectionate pat on the head. She smiles at Emma, marveling at the way the little child has wormed her way into Vera’s heart in such a short time. She loves the way Emma’s eyelashes curl up ever so slightly. It reminds her of when Tilly was little and how soft and warm he had been then. She creeps away, careful to avoid the creaky parts of the floor, and starts tidying up Emma’s bedroom, picking up various toys and clothes that have been strewn about and putting them in various cubbies. When the floor is free of toys and other debris, Vera turns her attention to the rest of the house.

Because the truth is, even though Vera has been feeling at home here, she hasn’t quite forgotten about her true purpose for being here. She is here to find out the truth about Marshall. And so, squashing any traces of guilt way, way down inside her, Vera creeps out of Emma’s room. Right, she has of course searched the master bedroom top to bottom. She has also gone through the kitchen, the dining room, and the living room. Which leaves the garage.

She marches out to the garage and looks around the space. It’s filled with quite a bit of junk, most of which looks like it hasn’t been touched in years. There are also racks on one side of the wall, with detergent and various tools sitting on them. Vera narrows her eyes and opens one of the cardboard boxes at random. It’s filled with what looks like old baby clothes. Hmm. She opens another box, then another. Tennis rackets, old shoes. Gah. This is going to take forever. And the worst part is, Vera isn’t even sure what she’s looking for. She has a vague idea that there might be a ledger of some sort? But there’s no guarantee of that, is there?

In one last-ditch effort, Vera grabs a fold-up chair resting against the garage wall and places it under the racks. She steps onto the chair carefully and peers at the upper shelves. And her heart stops, just for a moment. Because there, right in front of her, is something smooth and silver. Something that’s clearly out of place in the gloom of the garage. She reaches over and slides it off the shelf.

It’s a laptop.

Vera’s heart bursts into a gallop. Who would hide a laptop away in the garage? Someone who was doing something nefarious. Someone who was doing something so shady that it might have gotten him killed. Someone like Marshall.

With an agility that she didn’t know she had, Vera hops off the chair, clutching the laptop to her thumping chest, and hurries back inside the house. She checks on Emma, who’s still fast asleep on the couch, and scurries into the master bedroom. Swallowing, Vera opens the laptop. It asks for a PIN. Vera groans out loud. Nooo! Not when she’s this close to solving the puzzle!

But then Vera looks again at the screen, and it isn’t, in fact, asking for a PIN. The actual words are: “Please insert key to unlock.”

These newfangled machines! Vera lifts the laptop and checks underneath it, half expecting to find a keyhole. Nope. None of the sides either. Just to be safe, she even checks the top. No keyhole. The only holes it has are those for USB drives.

Vera’s mouth drops open, her breath hitching. A USB drive! Of course!

Quickly, she lifts the hem of her shirt to reveal the fanny pack she’s been wearing since she found Marshall’s body. She unzips it, takes out the flash drive, and uncaps it with a trembling hand. Here we go. She inserts the flash drive into the laptop and waits, breath held.

The laptop screen blinks, then two words appear: “Shaking hands...”

Then: “Key accepted.”

The screen changes, showing a folder named: “Assets.”

Vera clicks on it, and it opens up to show dozens of folders. Eyes narrowed, Vera scrolls down, unsure what she’s looking at. Until one of the folders’ names catches her eye. She opens it. And gasps.