Then one night they came home bellowing.
I’d never seen Philip so irate. His eyes were red and he had his hand over his nose, a stream of blood catching on the fold of his lip. I assumed he was drunk until I realized—
“Francis punched you!” I turned on my brother-in-law, who threw his arms in the air.
“Ask him what he did tonight.Thentell me I shouldn’t have fucking hit him.”
“Don’t swear at my wife.”
“Hey!” I wedged myself between the brothers. “Both of you, enough!”
“Don’t you listen to him,” Philip growled. “I could’ve won! Everything is gone thanks to this bastard.”
Francis flexed his hand, wincing. The purple bruises on his knuckles bloomed like ugly violets on each finger. “That’s not how it went.”
“What happened?” I asked.
Francis was reaching into the refrigerator and grimaced when he saw we had no ice. “We went to see Sam Bou for our paychecks, but the bastard was playing sic bo with Old Fok Hong. You know your husband, he can never resist a game of dice.” Francis slapped the fridge shut and the walls shook. “Sam Bou said if we won, he’d give us back double. But if we lost...”
“I only played three games,” said Philip.
“Three?” Francis turned to me with a snicker. “The problem with your husband is once he has a bite of luck, he thinks he’s the god of gambling. One good hand, and he can’t stop.”
“I was on a streak, I was going to stop. Francis was the one who told me to keep going.”
“Bullshit,” barked Francis. “You kept saying you were going to make back what you lost.”
“I did—untilyoubet it away.”
I didn’t know whom to believe: my hotheaded brother-in-law or my bullheaded husband. How had I tied my fortunes to these two wastrels? I closed my eyes, reminding myself to breathe. “How much did you lose?”
“We lost our stake in Fortune’s Palace,” said Philip. “And—” He named a number.
I felt the strength drain out of me, which was a shame because I badly wanted to slap my husband—and his brother—in the face.
“Get out,” I seethed. “Both of you.”
Francis obeyed, slipping out the door without a word. Philip, however, stayed.
“Helen,” he started.
“Months and months of work,” I said through my teeth, my anger snowballing with each word. “All that money we were saving, all gone! Gone!”
“Listen—”
“Look at where we live.” I waved at our shabby home. One leg of our sofa had collapsed and we couldn’t afford a new one, our plates and bowls were chipped, and the threads on our bedsheets kept fraying despite my attempts to mend them. “I’ve heard it before, you promise you’ll quit. Don’t bother lying to me tonight. Get out.”
Philip’s face folded. “Wait, Helen—” He caught my arm. “I was wrong. I know I did wrong. I can fix it.”
“Fix it? This is what Sam Bou wanted. You lost everything.”
“Not everything. We still have enough—to start over.”
He got my attention. “Start over, how?”
“I’ve been thinking.” He drew a nervous breath. “You’re not happy here and neither am I. This isn’t a place to raise children. Let’s leave Kansas City.”
My arms fell to my sides. Was he serious? He looked serious.
