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He slowly took out a barbecued pork bun from the box. It weighed less than he remembered and was very soft when held, like a white cloud. He couldn't remember anything softer. He tore open the skin to reveal the shiny pork inside, like a mysterious red heart. He put it in his mouth and felt that it tasted like a kiss, full of sweet and salty warmth.
Instead of waiting for her to come and hug him—as if he were a hesitant child—or coax him into the bedroom, he pushed her to the living room floor, unzipped his pants, lifted her skirt, Pulling her directly onto him. Louisa groaned and arched her back as James unbuttoned her blouse haphazardly, tossed it aside, took off her bra and held her round, heavy breasts in his hands. He watched her face as she squirmed against him, seeing her dark hair fall into her mouth, her brown eyes closed, her breathing quickening with the movements of her body. He thought that this was the kind of woman he should fall in love with, a woman who looked like this, a woman who looked like him.
"You're the kind of girl I should marry," he whispered to her later. Every man would say this to his lover, but to him, it was like a revelation. Louisa, half asleep in his arms, did not hear his words, but scattered words penetrated her ears, causing her to have a tangled dream about other women. "He will leave her—he will marry me—I will make him happy—and there will be no other woman."
At home, when Nas and Hannah went downstairs, they saw Marilyn sitting at the kitchen table. Although it was past ten o'clock, she was still wearing a bathrobe. She was so huddled that they couldn't see her neck, so they knew they had bad news before she sobbed out the word "suicide." "Really?" Nath asked slowly. He turned and walked upstairs without looking at his mother and sister. Marilyn only replied: "They said so."
Nath poked at the cereal at the bottom of his bowl for a good half hour while Hannah looked at him nervously. Every day he went to look outside Woolf's house, looking for Jack, trying to catch him - for what reason, he was not sure. Once, he even climbed up the steps to Jack's house and peeped into the window, but no one was home. Jack's Beetle had not been parked on the street for several days. Finally, Nath pushed the bowl away and went to get the phone. "Get out," he said to Hannah, "I want to make a phone call." Halfway up the stairs, Hannah stood still and listened to Nath dial. "Officer Fisk," he said after a while, "I'm Nathan Lee, and I want to talk to you about my sister." He lowered his voice, and could only hear intermittently, "The investigation should be re-investigated... Try to talk to him... evasive... "Something." At the end of the story, only one word could be heard clearly, and that was "Jack". Jack, Nath always gritted his teeth when mentioning this name, as if he couldn't say it otherwise.
Nath put down the phone with a bang, returned to the room and closed the door. They thought he was crazy, but he knew that Jack had something to do with it, that he was the missing link in the chain. If the police don't believe him, neither will the parents. His father was rarely at home these days; his mother had locked herself in Lydia's room again, and she could be heard pacing inside through the walls, like an agitated cat. Hannah was knocking on his door, and he started listening to a record, turning it up loud so he couldn't hear the knocking or his mother's footsteps. Later, none of them remembered how the day passed, only some vague impressions remained. Worry about what will happen tomorrow has paralyzed their consciousness.
As night fell, Hannah opened the door to her room and peered through the crack. A light appeared under Nath's door, and a light came on in Lydia's room. Nath had been playing the record on repeat all afternoon, and now it finally stopped, and the entire corridor gradually fell into a thick, foggy silence. Hannah walked gently down the stairs and found that it was dark downstairs and her father had not returned yet. The kitchen faucet was dripping water, tap, tap, tap. She knew she should turn it off, but then there would be no sound in the house, and at a time like this, the lack of sound was unbearable. She returned to her room and imagined the faucet dripping. Every time it clicked, a drop of water would appear at the bottom of the scratched steel sink.
She wanted to crawl into her sister's bed and sleep, but Marilyn was there and she couldn't go there. Trying to comfort herself, Hannah circled the room, dragging her treasures from secret locations to examine. Hidden between her mattress and box spring was the spoon, the smallest of Marilyn's tea sets; Tucked behind the book were her father's old wallet, the leather worn as thin as toilet paper; and Nath's pencil, with his teeth marks on it, the grain of the wood showing beneath the yellow paint. These were her failed collections, and the successful collections were gone—the keyring on which his father hung his office keys; her mother's best lipstick, Rose Petal Cream; the mood ring Lydia once wore on her thumb. They were either claimed by their original owners, lost, or discovered. Her father said: "These are not toys." Her mother said: "You are too young, you don't need makeup." Lydia was more direct: "Don't take my things." Hannah folded her hands behind her as if inspecting Nodding to the bed with the same solemnity as an army, he imagined what the collection would look like and pretended that they were all standing in front of the bed. After the items were confiscated, she silently repeated what her family had said to her and drew pictures of the objects where they once stood.
All the collections she was able to keep were things that others didn't want or no longer liked, but she didn't put them back. To compensate for their tragic abandonment, she carefully counted them twice, then wiped the stains off the spoons and fiddled with the switch on the coin pocket in her purse. Some of the things she had kept for years, no one noticed they were missing, and they disappeared quietly, without even a clack like water dripping from a faucet.
She knew that Nath firmly believed that no matter what the police said, it was Jack who took Lydia to the lake. Jack must have had something to do with it and it was all his fault. He believed that Jack had dragged her into the boat and pushed her into the water, and that Jack must have left fingerprints on her neck. However, Nath completely misunderstood Jack.
How did Hannah know? Last summer, she went to the lake with Nath and Lydia. It was a hot day and Ness went swimming in the lake. Lydia was wearing a swimsuit and spread out a striped towel on the grass. She built an awning and lay on it to bask in the sun. Hannah silently recalled in her mind the nicknames Lydia had: Lid, Liz, Liddy, Honey, Sweetheart, Angel. But everyone only calls Hannah her given name. There are no clouds in the sky, and the surface of the lake under the sun is almost white, like a puddle of milk. Lydia sighed softly next to her and arched her shoulders into the towel again. She smelled like baby oil and her skin was glowing.
Hannah squinted her eyes for Nath as she imagined possible nicknames for herself. “Banana Hannah”—that’s what they might call her, or something unrelated to her name, like a noun that sounds strange but is dear and personal to them—“mousse,” or “bean.” At this time, Jack strolled over, his sunglasses on his head, reflecting the dazzling sunlight.
"Better be careful," he said to Lydia, "if you stay in this position, you'll get white spots on your face." She smiled, took back her hand that shielded her eyes, and sat up. "Nas is not here?" Jack came over and sat next to them, and Lydia waved to the lake. Jack took out his cigarette case and lit a cigarette. Suddenly, Nath appeared and glared at Jack. There was a large water stain on his chest, and the water on his hair kept dripping onto his shoulders.
"What are you doing here?" he said to Jack. Jack put out his cigarette on the grass, put on his sunglasses, and then looked up.
"Just getting some sun," he said, "seeing if I can go for a swim." His voice wasn't nervous at all, but from where she sat, Hannah could see Jack's eyelids along the sides of her sunglasses. Trembling nervously, his eyes first turned to Nath and then away. Nath said nothing. He plopped down between Jack and Lydia and wrapped his unused towel around his hand. The grass blades on the ground poked at his swimming trunks and calves, like stripes of green paint.
"You're almost scorched," he said to Lydia, "you'd better put on a T-shirt."
"I'm fine." Lydia raised her hand to cover her eyes again.
"You're all pink," Nath said, his back to Jack, as if Jack wasn't even there. "Here, and here." He touched Lydia's shoulder, then her collarbone.