At least they left me my Compass pass.
I hobble four blocks west to the SkyTrain station. I sweat and sway with the movement of the train, thinking, thinking, thinking. Bus ride’s no different. When I get home, Lauren’s already there. She gasps when she sees me.
“Lai-lai, are you all right? Did you overexert yourself again? You look exhausted. Why didn’t you call me to come get you? You know I’m done work by two.”
As always, she manages to be accusatory and patronizing even while being solicitous. If she weren’t so obviously gwai, with her red hair and green eyes, and her atrocious Cantonese, I’d swear she was Chinese.
I wave her off. “I’m fine. Where are the boys?”
“They’re playing at Adrian’s. I was just leaving to get them. I’ll settle you upstairs first, though.” She takes a gentle hold on my shoulders.
I stop, twitching her hands off. “No, no. I’m slow. Take too long to go up.” I make a shooing motion. “The boys’re waiting. I rest in my room. See them soon.”
“All right. No rush though, okay? We’ll be back in about an hour.” The front door closes with a solid thud as she leaves.
Instead of the stairs, I move to the rec room and stand at the window, just to the side, lifting away the edge of the blinds to peer out. I watch her walk under her gaudy flowered umbrella, those huge masculine strides of hers eating up the sidewalk.
It takes me forever to climb the stairs, clutching the railing, huffing and hissing through the effort. No Chinese designed these old seventies Vancouver Specials, that’s for damn sure. They’re clearly not for people who live with aging parents. There are stairs everywhere, long ones. I’m out of breath by the top, need a glass of water and a sit to calm my heart.
I worry at my situation some more.
Four hundred and fifty bucks a week is a decent take, sure. Multiply by three and now we’re talking a serious game. Three concurrent scams, eighteen girls, 1,300 a week. That was worth my time. I could’ve continued at least another year, but truth is, after Stella’s death, urgency’s been hammering at me. So I shut down all the scams. If any of the others can find another crooked, half-assed healer, they’re welcome to her.
I’m counting on the two thugs not having a stable of larcenous seniors at the ready, but who knows. I suppose they have family too. Still, it’s gotta take them at least a couple days to get six old women, still mobile and game enough for our purposes.
Not that I have any intention of going through with it.
But it gives me a few days to sort things out. Damned if I’m letting them get anywhere near my ghost. That dead husband of mine tricked me into this, sure, but I got my own plans to be done with him.
And it’s not fear that’s keeping me from freedom. It’s money — what else. I just needed a few more weeks from Stella. I have a monk, ready to cut the magical tether to my parasite. All that swindled cash put toward my retirement, budgeted to the cent, and I’m a thousand dollars short of the monk’s fee.
I’m this close.
I grind my teeth, itching to break something. Damn Stella for getting greedy. She shouldn’t have demanded a larger cut. She should’ve had a handle on her gambling. What was she thinking, arguing with me in broad daylight? Threatening to expose the whole goddamned thing, as if anyone’d believe her. She should never have slapped me. What did she expect? Of course I was gonna push her away.
But I never meant for her to fall into traffic. That was the rain and a slippery curb. That wasn’t me.
I rub my gritty eyes. Things are quickly accelerating out of my control. Gotta handle the things I can.
Used to be, when I first came to Vancouver as a young woman, you’d have to actually go to Chinatown to get decent groceries. These days, I’m only a ten-minute walk away. We’ve our own little community, along Victoria from 41st to 49th. The fishmonger’s got as fresh as anyone in Chinatown and he’s not a forty-minute bus ride away. The cheapie salon across the street from him cuts my hair for thirteen bucks. There’s barbecue on the corner, fresh produce at two different stores, and a musty dollar store rip-off too. We have an apothecary when we want herbal remedies, and a London Drugs when we want the other stuff. It’s not glamourous. The sidewalks are always grimy and spotted with crushed gum and wet gobs of spittle; the air smells like bus exhaust; the rain never washes anything clean — but it’s home.
Joint pain or no, I make that walk every day. It’s something to do with the long hours and it’s good to get my grandsons out of the house. They’re four years old, twins. Happy and rambunctious, dark of hair and light of eye. They take turns pulling our small, wheeled shopping cart. I’m sure we’re adorable. I’m going to miss seeing them and caring for them when I’m out of the house. They start kindergarten in the fall.
“Are we going yum-cha, Mah-mah?” Ewan is always hungry.
“After we visit Brother Wing.” I hurry them along. “We have a bus to catch first.” That gets them running. Austen falls and skins his hands. He brushes himself off, matter-of-fact, not a tear in sight. That’s my boy.
Life is pain, I tell them. Best get used to it and move on.
I let Austen beep my Compass pass on the reader as we board. It’s a twenty-five-minute bus ride west on 41st, into the leafy streets of Kerrisdale. Wing’s house is a half-block from the stop. The twins point at the tree on the corner.
“A monkey puzzle tree,” I say. They giggle.
Brother Wing’s house is small. I imagine it must be worth millions. I climb the outside steps to the front door, the twins scampering up and down twice before I’m done. Wing welcomes us inside. I’m surprised at how bright and airy it is.
Wing isn’t actually a monk. He left the temple years ago, but it’s a harmless honorific and it makes him feel better. I need him to feel good.
I settle the twins on the plump sofa in the front room, sharing their old froggy-shaped electronic reader toy.
Wing looks awkward, ushering me across the narrow hall to a smaller reception room. “I wasn’t expecting you to bring your grandchildren. I can’t perform the dissolution ceremony with them here.”
I shake my head. “I’m sorry for the misunderstanding. I had to talk to you, but I care for them while my son and daughter-in-law work.” I pause, settle my nerves. “Something’s come up. I need to have it done tomorrow.”
He looks at me, wary. His bald head gleams palely.
I pull a manila envelope from my bag, fat and crinkling. “I don’t have the full six thousand, but I have five, now. This is two thousand if you can do it tomorrow. I’ll bring the remaining three when I come back.”
Ewan shouts as the frog-reader beeps a saccharine-sweet song. I look over. Austen reaches over and pushes a sequence of buttons. The reader’s song cuts out abruptly. Ewan laughs.
I see Wing move in my peripheral vision, reaching for the envelope.
I pull it back. “You’re sure you can do it, right?”
Wing raises a brow, calm. “You came to me. I told you the odds.”
I realize I’m chewing on my lip. I straighten up, relax my jaw. “I just want to make sure. It’s a lot of money for a risky result.”
Wing sighs. “I’ve been up front about that from the start.”
I nod. “It’s just... I don’t know how the ether works. I only know how to use it.” My face tightens. “Barely.”
“Wouldn’t matter,” he says. “Healing’s not spell casting. I’ll be cutting the tether to your husband, simple enough. Since you’re only the secondary host, you should be all right. As should he.” Wing pauses. “That’s what you want, correct? You don’t want him permanently dispersed? Because that’s a different price. Much bigger risk to you and his main host.”