He looks tired, but not weak. He’s standing tall with a firm expression of defiance on his face. Mama isn’t in the picture. I wonder…
I swallow my tears.
Tears aren’t going to help right now.
“Jaw-hwey, what’s happening?” Amherst asks, reminding me she’s still on the phone.
“I just got a message. It’s a picture of my father,” I say.
“Send it to me, and the number they texted from.”
I forward the contact and the picture to her as I try to get my lungs to fill all the way.
“Are the police with you?” she asks.
I nod, then realize she can’t hear that. “Yes.”
“Good. I’ll contact the local department and ask them to post someone outside for you tonight. We need to get you back to Boston and into one of our safehouses.”
“No,” I blurt.
“No?”
My throat is tight and my chest is hot. Leaving Rhazan in the middle of all this feels too horrible. I couldn’t stand it. But my family’s safety…
“I mean, we just got here. Just got settled. I don’t have any way to make money other than this coffeehouse. We would be entirely dependent on your department to take care of us.”
“That’s what going into a safehouse is,” Amherst says. “We take care of you.”
I have no ground to stand on for staying here. None that I can admit to her, because if I say it out loud, it’ll sound insane.I met someone here and they’re worth risking my family’s safety over.It sounds insane to me, too. And selfish.
“Let me talk to them about it,” I say, stalling for time. I can’t make this choice right now. I can’t bear to.
“Sure. For now, just try to get some rest. We’ll have someone watching your place tonight, and I’ll call you in the morning.”
I take a deep breath and sigh. “Thanks, detective.”
She’s quiet for a moment, like she’s deciding what to do with my gratitude. Finally, she settles on, “You’re welcome.”
I hang up and look at the picture one more time. There’s a weight in his stare, as if he could communicate with me through this one still frame. He’s telling me to stay as strong as him.
“I’m trying, Baba.”
But my father’s strength, his stubbornness, got them where they are. My mom wanted to give in, and if they had…would I be in an arranged marriage with Lei? If he was telling the truth, maybe.
The thought has acid churning in my gut, souring the back of my throat. There would’ve been no escape for Zixin after that, and he deserves better than the life of a gangster. He has greatness in him, and a skill I could never have. In their hands, he would be a weapon.
“Ms. Feng?” Davis calls from the doorway.
I whirl around and draw on false composure to steady my expression. “Yes?”
“We need a statement from you,” he says.
I follow the officer out to the bar. The need to clean up, to hide the damage on the ground that so plainly reflects my insides, is strong. I curb the instinct to scootch the shattered pieces around with my feet while Davis asks me standard questions. I try to lie as little as possible. Where was I when it happened? Out on a date. With who? My boyfriend. Where? His place.
When he’s done, the other officer approaches with his clipboard. “Station wants us to post up here for the rest of the shift and keep an eye out.”
Amherst, doing as she promised.
