Page 105 of Shadowing You

There was a long pause. “You’ve been having nightmares. Or—I assume they’re nightmares. Last night, you thrashed around like something bit you. After I swept the flashlight into every corner for enemies, I managed to get you to settle. You don’t remember?”

As he spoke, the memory came back, fuzzy at the edges.

“It was rats.”

She heard the small intake of breath behind her, but he didn’t ask.

“They came at night,” she said. “When everyone was asleep, they’d come for our toes or our fingers. You could hear their little squeaks. Women would wake up bleeding. Sometimes the bites would get infected, and then… It could be bad.”

She kept her eyes on the path, inhaling the fresh piney air, feeling the light breeze lift her hair. She was free now. She could talk about it.

“It didn’t matter where you slept. Top bunk, bottom bunk. They came down the poles. Out of the ceiling. At first, I would lie awake listening for them. But after a while”—she lifted her shoulders and let them drop—“I learned to accept it. You had to if you wanted to sleep.”

When Ethan didn’t speak, she kept talking. “There was a woman. She was like a grandmother. I called her Āyí. She was already sick when the rat got to her. It was just a little bite on her ankle, that’s all, but she couldn’t keep it clean—none of us could keep anything clean—and the infection went bad fast.” Her throat tightened. “She went to the infirmary, but they didn’t care. They told her she’d brought it on herself because she was dirty.” Mei Lin took a breath, exhaled the bitterness that wanted to make a home inside her. “A few days later, she died.”

She walked another half-dozen steps before Ethan’s silence began to feel wrong. He had been making small sounds the whole way—boots on dirt, a hand brushing a branch back, the occasional hum when she said something he was thinking about. Now there was just the soft thud of his feet.

She turned around.

He was right there. Closer than she’d thought. His eyes were red, and wet, and he was not bothering to hide it.

“Ethan—”

He closed the small distance between them and pulled her against his chest, one hand at the back of her head, the other firm across her shoulders. He held her as if she might break—or he might.

“I’m sorry.” He spoke into her hair. “Mei Lin, I’m so sorry.”

“You didn’t do anything⁠—”

“You’re right. I didn’t. If I had known, I would have moved heaven and earth to get to you. I never would have left you there.”

She closed her eyes. The fabric of his jacket smelled like dust and pine. “You didn’t know.”

“I should have.”

“Ethan.” She tried to pull back enough to see his face, but he didn’t loosen his grip. “You couldn’t have known. My parents were in China, and they didn’t know.”

“You should have been able to count on me.”

“I am counting on you now.”

“It’s not enough.”

What could she say to comfort him?

Lord. Hold him. Help him, please.

After a while, her own eyes started to leak, not because of the rats or Āyí but because of her husband’s grief. And her parents, who would feel the same when they learned she was alive.

“I wish I could see my parents.” Her voice came out small. “I know it’s too risky, but I’ll never be able to return to China. I’ll never see them again.”

Ethan backed away enough for her to see his face. His eyes were still red, his cheeks wet, but he wore a small smile.

“What?”

“I kind of wanted it to be a surprise, but I need to tell you… Your parents are in America.”

“What?” She stepped back. “How did that…? I don’t understand.”