The lights flick off, and people cry out. I grasp Bo closer. We halt in our tracks, with only the burnt-in images in our eyes to guide us. After a clutch of heartbeats, the lights turn back on.
With no time to waste, I hasten to the felted doors behind the lifts. “Follow this hallway to the end, and you’ll find the crew stairs that lead to the forward decks.” If I hadn’t seen April being led up those stairs on my first day, I wouldn’t have known about them.
“I do not want to leave you.”
“I’ll be fine. We’re running out of time.” I return his coat and cap.
The lights flicker again, but this time stay on.
Bo nods. “I will meet you back at the ‘newlywed’ boat.”
Then he brushes his lips against mine, giving me a kiss as sweet as I imagined. And I imagined it quite a bit.
And then he’s gone, leaving the sure-footed Valora Luck trying to remember how to work her feet.
Before setting off in the other direction, I knock on April’s door, in case she’s still around. No one answers, and the door is locked. I hope she and her mother made it to the lifeboats.
Then I make for the Cabbage Patch, glancing around more out of habit than actual concern that anyone cares about Mrs. Sloane anymore. The alligators here have more important things to do than worry about minnows like me.
The bed in B-64 has been tidied, and the rotting flowers removed, but everything else remains as it was. From the trunk, I select one of Mrs. Sloane’s matronly dresses, a pair of gloves, and a coat. I shove Drummer’s whirling drum into a deep pocket, along with my carved whale. With the bee-swarm veil tossed out the porthole of Room 14, I put on a knitted cap and say a prayer that a woman who looks like me will still be worth saving.
36
I make my way up to the Boat Deck, stopping short at the sight of Fong, sitting at the bottom of a flight of stairs with his head between his knees. His lame foot sticks out and is missing its shoe. Jamie crouches by him, with Wink, Olly, and Bo standing alongside. I cry out, and all but Fong look up.
Jamie takes in my change of clothes and nods in approval. A makeshift sling has been tied around him, taking the weight off his injured shoulder. His cap is damp, and sweat runs down the fine bones of his neck.
“What happened?” I ask. “Where are Tao and Ming Lai?”
Fong holds his knees and rocks himself.
“Ming Lai is with the Domenics,” Jamie says quietly. “Tao, well...”
“He left,” Fong howls. “Stupid turtle. Said he wanted to give someone else his place.”
Though I hear the words, they have trouble sinking in. “You mean he—?”
“He left to meditate!” Spit flecks Fong’s chin. “I lost him!”
Only now do I notice how Olly rubs his eyes with his sleeves, and how Wink’s mouth bunches into a tight knot, asif to keep his emotions from spilling out. Bo, the farthest from Fong, stands with his hands loosely on his hips, slightly shaking his head.
“Aw, lads,” I manage, placing my hands on the boys’ slumped shoulders. “We also lost Drummer.” A pained look crosses Jamie’s face, and the lads begin sniffing. “But we have to get through this. Tao and Drummer would want us to make it, so let’s not disappoint them.” I swallow hard and meet Bo’s gaze. “We shall mourn later.”
Jamie crouches by Fong. “Uncle, we have to go. Please, think of the lads.”
“Nothing is left,” Fong moans. “Leave me here with Tao.”
“Uncle, please.” Jamie’s eyes plead, a look I’ve seen countless times, as when Ba refused to leave our flat and we feared he might disappear into himself.
Fong clamps his knees tighter. The lights shudder ominously again. But Fong still does not rise.
Jamie passes me a look that contains ghosts of the past. We know Fong’s grief, the kind that freezes you in space and time. The kind that blindfolds you, then hangs you over a wire, with no idea how deep the drop is or how much farther you must walk to get to the end. Neither of us spoke for a week after Mum died. It was as if talking meant progress and progress meant she was part of the past. That was something neither of us could accept.
Bo, chewing his lip, studies Fong with a mix of distrust and maybe a little despair. Perhaps, after years of hating the man, a measure of sympathy has finally bubbled up, and he isn’tsure where to put it, like receiving a gift for which you have not yet found the right drawer.
My nose and eyes grow hot with tears as I remember the serene Tao, the man who unlocks doors. I plant myself on the bottom stair beside Fong, but he shrinks away from me. “Leave me alone, girl.”
Bo extends a hand, and I reach out mine in response. But when he doesn’t take it, I realize the hand isn’t meant for me.
