“It was looking a little painful for you back there,” Clayton mutters. “I thought it best to get some air.”
Buddy tears at his cuticle, the sharp pain sending a strange sense of pleasure through him. “She’s such a bitch.”
Clayton’s eyes glint like two sharpened arrowheads. “I was thinking about what we could do to get back at her if she rejected you.…”
He laughs and unzips the backpack. One of the two remaining Pabst cans is gone. “Sorry, I drank mine, man, but look what I stole from the supply closet.” He reaches into the nylon bag and pulls out a can of white spray paint, the kind used to mark the lines on the school’s football field.
“Thought we could have some fun with this.”
He lifts the long, metal cylinder up in the moonlight like a grenade.
Buddy looks at the spray can, but first reaches for the remaining can of beer. He snaps it open and drinks it quickly before tossing it to the ground.
“Let’s go over there.” He points to the rear of the school, not far from the fire exit.
He grabs the spray can from Clayton, looking for a place to unleash his humiliation, which feels like a fresh wound.
“I’m going to do to her what she did to me,” he snarls. “I’m going to embarrass the hell out of her.”
CHAPTER 63
B?O PROMISEDANH AND THESISTERS OFOURLADYQUEEN OFMartyrs that he would be home by 8:00 p.m., before it got dark. His new job enabled him to spend a few hours each week at the Golden Hours winding the clocks, ensuring the hands kept moving forward, the brass pendulums kept swinging, and the bells kept ringing. He still found delight each time the various chimes sounded throughout the store, or whenever Jack called him over to teach him something new.
The generous six-dollar weekly salary he received made B?o feel both useful and proud that he was working to earn his keep. It also gave him the sense that he was preparing for life outside of the motherhouse. Recently, he’d overheard Anh speaking with Sister Mary Alice about coming up with a way for her to earn an income so she could start saving up to rent an apartment. “Not a big place,” she said slowly, “but two rooms. One for B?o. One for me.”
Theirs was a culture where the emotions of the heart were rarely expressed in words. His mother never said “I love you” to either him or his father. Instead, she displayed her love through a series of countless, silent gestures. His mother would show her affection through offering him a perfect mango she had peeled just for him, or by sacrificing her bowl of rice so he could eat it instead.
And whenever B?o looked down at the scar from where his father had bitten him, he would ask himself whether that too had that been a gesture of parental love. That act, as painful as it was,saved B?o’s life by ensuring he wasn’t also pulled down into the ocean that night.
He was fully aware that his aunt had been forced to become his caretaker due to tragic circumstances. She’d stoically cared for him from the moment he was orphaned at sea. His mind flashed to her cleansing his wound and wrapping it with strips from the bottom of her cotton shirt. He remembered her applying the betel leaves and later drizzling salt water on his wrist to prevent infection.
But more and more, her quiet, selfless gestures were starting to remind B?o of the love his late parents had always shown him. He thought, too, about how Anh had helped him to get his job at the Golden Hours. And now, as B?o overheard her speaking about preparing for a future for them—wanting to get a place of their own and seeking to find work to provide life’s essentials for him—his heart now felt her actions deeply. They felt like a mother’s love.
Every day, Anh spoke about her desire for independence and self-sufficiency. B?o overheard his aunt’s conversations with Dinh, how they would bolster each other’s confidence to keep studying and practicing their English. He listened also to the talks she had with Grace and how eager Anh was to see if it was possible for her to start working part time as a stockgirl at Kepler’s Market. She would stock the pyramids of fruit with the ripest ones on top, so that the customers were never disappointed. She would strive to bring joy to those who walked through the store, just as Dinh told her to harvest a bit of it each day for herself.
B?o, on the other hand, loved spending time inside the watch store. When Jack put on the radio as he worked and strange, wonderful music by bands called the Beatles or the Rolling Stones filled the air. Their unusual names made him smile, for when translated into Vietnamese, the words meant something to him.
It also comforted him to be near Hendrix, to watch as the dog curled up next to Jack and tucked his paws beneath his chin. Lookingat Hendrix, he couldn’t help but think of Bibo back home and how the animal had been such a beloved companion to him.
But what he loved more than anything else was observing Jack hunched over the table in the workshop toiling on one of the watches that needed repair. It reminded him less about his father’s skill with radios; now it simply reminded him of his father’s joy.
One evening after B?o had been coming to the store for a second week in a row, Jack motioned for him to come into the workshop. As B?o entered the space, Jack pushed his magnifying visor up, the red and mottled left side of his face painfully visible, and announced, “I want to show you something I think you might find interesting.”
B?o inched closer.
Jack patted the work stool next to him and B?o bounced up on it and sat down.
“Look at this, little fella …” Jack lifted a round glass disc from his left hand. Straight down its center was a thin crack. “You see this? The crystal is broken, and it needs to be replaced.”
He passed the damaged pocket watch to B?o.
B?o took the crystal and began to carefully examine it, marveling how the broken glass still remained intact.
“Tom told me the owner came in and said he’d found the watch in his father’s junk drawer. Wanted to know if it was worth anything.”
B?o handed the watch back to Jack and listened.
“When Tom told the man that the casing wasn’t made of gold, the guy didn’t want to dish out any money to repair it,” he shook his head. “So here it is … now with us.” Jack traced the fracture with his finger. “I learned from the Goldens that there’s isn’t a timepiece that’s not worth saving.” He paused, contemplating his words. “Tom gave the man a few dollars for it and once it’s fixed, we’ll find it a new owner who’ll cherish it.”
