“Lee,” Sen said unsteadily, “I saw—”
But Lee shook his head, holding a hand up to quiet her. He folded forward and gripped his hair, feeling like he had become his own puzzle, and if he didn’t hold tight to himself, he would fall to pieces.
The memory of James had to be a lie.
James had never been to Cambodia, at least not with Lee. It had to be a false memory, something stirred up in the chaos of his mind, stitched together by fear and desperation to make sense of something awful.
Lee tried to dig through his memories, imagining James standing on a beach in Cambodia, swimming in the dark waters, climbing the guava trees. He could picture it, but in the sameway he pictured old television shows, peered at them through a dusty layer of glass and static because they weren’t actually happening, they were someone else’s story but not his.
He needed more information.
He grabbed his phone, trying to look up James’s profiles to see if he’d posted any vacation pictures in Cambodia. But James either wasn’t on social media or wasn’t using his real name, because none of the five hundred James Baldridges online were the right person.
Lee wanted to strangle Sen for pushing him away. What more could he have seen if he’d stayed in the secret room of his heart just a moment longer?
“I have to go back,” he said, turning to Sen.
Sen paled. She shook her head slowly, backing up against the wall. “I can’t,” she whispered.
“Youcan’t?” Lee echoed. It felt like Sen had struck him across the face with the blunt side of her katana. “What do you mean youcan’t?”
“I saw something awful,” Sen whispered, her face ashen. “I can’t go back there.”
“What did you see?” Lee said, crawling closer. She flinched as he laid his hand on her knee, but he didn’t notice.
She let out a long, shuddering breath, then at last she met his gaze. “Your mother found me,” she said.
Lee’s grip tightened on Sen’s knee. He didn’t realize he’d moved closer until Sen crushed herself even farther back into the wall. “Did she say anything?” Lee asked.
Sen dropped her gaze to her lap. Her hair fell in a soft curtain around her face, shadows shielding her eyes. “No,” she said. “I’m sorry, Lee.”
Slowly, Lee drew back. The wind rushed through the empty space between them, a low and mournful sound. Lee settled into the square of moonlight on the floor and laid his hands gentlyon the tatami mats, trying with all his might to ground himself here when all he wanted was to dig to the core of the earth, to feel its raw, pulsing center even if it seared his hands down to the bone. If he gave in to the feeling, he would unmake himself.
“What do you hope to find?” Sen said quietly.
Lee frowned. “The truth,” he said, for what felt like the thousandth time.
“But what do you hope the truth is?” Sen pressed.
If he hadn’t been so distracted, Lee might have found this question strange. But his mind was full of wasps, and he noticed nothing at all.
He didn’t have to think hard about his answer—he’d known for years. “I hope...” he said quietly, dropping his gaze to the floor, “I hope that the sun was very bright, and that she was squinting as she looked at the sunset, so she never saw the man coming for her. I hope he hit her once in the head with something heavy—maybe a rock, or a hammer—and she died in that moment before she knew what was happening, just looking at the sun. Maybe he was part of a human trafficking ring, or just a regular serial killer, it doesn’t matter. He hadn’t meant to kill her that fast, or maybe not at all, so he rolled her away in a suitcase and threw her body out to sea. We never found her body because lots of fish ate it, which sounds awful, but in some ways it’s beautiful. Like life goes on because of her. Like she’s part of every ocean I’ll ever see.”
“That sounds nice,” Sen said, though the words sounded so hollow that Lee didn’t even acknowledge them. Sen sat up a little straighter, fingers worrying the hem of her skirt. “And what will you do if that’s not the truth?” she asked.
Lee frowned, tearing his gaze from the moon and turning to Sen’s dark eyes. It wasn’t the question that was important, but the way she’d asked it—it was too delicate, too fearful, as if his answer was of great importance. She’d kept her expressioncarefully blank, but her fingers trembled as they tugged at the loose sleeves of her clothes.
Before Lee could answer, someone knocked on his bedroom door. Lee straightened up, wondering if he should tell Sen to go outside, but before he could, his father slid the door open.
“Oh,” Lee’s father said, blinking at Sen before quickly gathering himself and smiling. “Hello, Sen.”
Sen bowed, and Lee was grateful that at least this time, she wasn’t holding a sword.
“I came to tell you that Hina needs help with dinner,” Lee’s father said to him, “but how about I take care of that, and you stay here with Sen?” He turned to Sen. “Would you like to eat with us? Dinner will be ready in twenty minutes.”
Sen shook her head quickly. “I wouldn’t want to trouble you.”
“It’s no trouble,” Lee’s father said. “Hina makes too much food for just the three of us.”
