Full at last, still woozy from the medicine Doctor Clark had given me, I felt as though I were wrapped in a warm cocoon. Will turned on music—weightless piano music that seemed to float down softly toward us from the ceiling, filling the air like snow in the pages of a storybook. I did not know what we were listening to, but I loved it. The fire glowed. Through the window, the night sky was navy.
When Amir and I wandered through the homes of people we did not know, I tried to piece together a life from the clues that I found. As I looked at photographs, the contents of pantries, and bedside reading materials, the lives of strangers took shape. But it had never occurred to me to imagine this—this love that existed between Rosalie and Will and Emma Langford. A twinge of resentment momentarily pierced my contented fog. I dragged my finger through a puddle of honey on my plate and licked it clean.
My mind drifted away. I found myself thinking of the time years earlier when Amir and I had slept in the shed. We had tried our best to make it feel like this, cozy and warm and safe. And we had succeeded. It had been a place of love and beauty—even with so much less than what the Langfords had.
I blinked away tears, suddenly overwhelmed by a sense of melancholy, or perhaps loneliness. Who but Amir could understand how I felt in that moment, sitting by the fire with this family that loved each other so? The three of them had one another; they were bound by ties that felt to them like an embrace, like something that could be depended upon.
I should never have let Amir leave. What would Bear do to him when they were alone together? I set my empty plate on the table. My eyes landed on the sharp knife that was buried within a block of cheese. I thought of Amir’s whittling knives; I thought of the knives in Bear’s eyes. My stomach ached as though I hadn’t eaten a bite.
Emma had been stretched out with Tiger on the rug by the fire, but she was suddenly at my knee, looking up at me.
“You have such pretty green eyes, Merrow,” she said. “I’ve always wanted green eyes.”
I could not imagine having everything that Emma had and still wishing for more. I leaned toward her and studied her heart-shaped face. It was clear and honest. Had Amir and I looked so young when we were ten, with our parents dead and Bear perpetually seeking out ways to hurt us? It was impossible for me to imagine harming someone so innocent, and yet Bear had managed it over and over again.
“I think your eyes are beautiful,” I announced. Emma’s eyes were identical to Will’s: cornflower blue. “You should be grateful.” These words arrived with sharper edges than I’d intended.
I felt the mood of the room shift. Rosalie exchanged a glancewith Will. I worried that the tears that had threatened to fall earlier would now arrive. I felt disoriented, and not at all like myself. I blinked quickly and looked around the room, trying to find something to move my thoughts in a new direction. On the shelves that flanked the fireplace I noticed a collection of porcelain boxes.
“What are those?” I asked.
Will followed my gaze. “Mrs. Corrino must collect them.” He stood and took one of the boxes from the shelf and set it in my hand.
“How beautiful.” The box fit neatly on my palm. It was painted with an intricately detailed image of five ladies in long robes standing in front of a red pagoda. The women’s robes were in blues and pinks and greens, patterned with gold. “The paintbrush couldn’t have been thicker than a hair.”
“That one is Japanese,” Rosalie said from her spot on the sofa. “You can open it if you’d like.”
The inside of the box was gilded. The bottom of the lid revealed another depiction of the red pagoda, but now a golden dragon stalked its steps and the ladies were gone. The dragon had scales like a fish. I ran my finger over them and found them smooth. I thought it remarkable to consider all the others who had held the box before me, those who had called the box their own, and those who had only dreamed of calling it their own. The pang of envy that I felt was so strong that it made my fingers tighten around the box.
“It’s Satsuma ware,” I said without looking up. “From theMeiji period. Nineteenth century.” I was showing off, but how could I not? It was a strange twist of fate that Will had handed me this particular box.
I felt Rosalie’s stare.
“My teacher, Rei, was a professor of art in Japan before moving to the United States,” I explained. “She rattles on a bit too long when Japan comes up in our lessons, but we try to be patient with her. Who could blame her for being nostalgic about things that remind her of home? Satsuma, ukiyo-e... Oh, don’t even mention ukiyo-e to Rei unless you have a comfortable seat. She’ll start listing the themes of woodblock painting and then move on to her theory of its influence on the Impressionists, and before you know it hours will have passed.” I smiled, thinking of Rei. “Wait until I tell her about this collection.”
The feeling of Will and Rosalie and Emma gazing at me in astonishment proved intoxicating. “Until now,” I said, “I’ve only seen Satsuma in books. It’s a whole different experience to see it in person. I’ve always loved the dragons. The geishas I could do without.” Though I wanted more than anything to tuck the box below my leg and figure out a way to smuggle it home with me, I held it out to Rosalie with a smile.
“Well, aren’t you full of surprises?” she said, shaking her head in wonder. She turned the Satsuma box in her hand, studying it as though seeing it for the first time. “Frankly, I, too, could do without the geishas.”
Beside her, Emma yawned and stretched.
“It’s late,” Rosalie said, brushing Emma’s hair from her face.Her hand lingered on the side of her daughter’s face and they smiled at each other. “Off to bed, you.”
Emma groaned but rose and said good night to her brother, offering him both a hug and a kiss. When she reached me, she hesitated for a moment and then ducked her head toward my ear. “What are geishas?” she whispered.
“Female companions,” I whispered back, “who begin training at a very young age—”
“Bed, Emma!” said Rosalie quickly.
I flushed. I’d been about to tell Emma that geishas were trained in art and dance and music—nothing more.
Emma was still rooted in front of me. “Will you sit next to me at breakfast?” she asked.
I nodded. I could see that she was curious about me, but the truth was that I was just as curious about her. To live in a family like this... I didn’t want to envy a ten-year-old, but how could I not?
I wondered if Rosalie would help Emma to bed. Wasn’t that what mothers did? I glanced at Will and thought I saw him look away from me just as I did. He stared into the fire. The curl of his blond hair against his forehead made something in my chest pull tight and begin to thrum. What if Rosalie left us alone? What would I do if he leaned over to kiss me? I’d been spending a lot of time recently wondering if I would ever kiss a boy. My thoughts on the topic centered, of course, on Amir. I’d awakened from strange dreams lately feeling unsettled, filled with longing and also a sour sense of shame.
Emma left the room and Rosalie remained. Will stood, announcing that he needed to return to his reading. He wished his mother a good night. “And good night, Merrow,” he said politely. “I hope a night’s rest makes all the difference.”
