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"I'm fine." Lydia said again. She patted him aside with her other hand and lay down again. "You are more nagging than mom. Don't make a fuss. Leave me alone." At this time, , something caught Hannah's attention, so she didn't hear what Nas said next. A drop of water moved along Nath's hair to his neck, like a shy little mouse, slowly flowing down between his shoulder blades and along the curve of his back, as if jumping off a cliff. , fell on the back of Jack's hand. Nath, who had his back to Jack, couldn't notice this scene at all, nor did Lydia, who was looking out through her fingers. Only Hannah, who was hugging her knees and sitting slightly back, saw the drop of water falling - to her ears, the splashing sound was as loud as a cannonball. Jack suddenly jumped up. He stared at the drop of water without moving, as if it was a rare insect that might flap its wings and fly away at any time. Then, without looking at any of them, he just stared at the drop of water. He raised his hand to his mouth and licked it off with his tongue, almost like tasting sweet honey.
Everything happened so fast that Hannah felt like she had imagined the scene and no one else had seen it. Nath's back was still turned to Jack, and Lydia closed her eyes to fight the sunlight. The moment just now shocked Hannah like lightning. Years of longing for love had sharpened her, and she was like a hungry dog, flaring her nostrils to capture even the faintest scent of food. She couldn't be mistaken. She recognized it when she saw it. That is love, a wishful and deep longing that can only be given without getting anything in return; it is a cautious and quiet love, but fearless and will continue persistently no matter what. This feeling was so familiar that she wasn't surprised at all. It was as if something was growing deep inside her, coming out of her body and wrapping around Jack like a cloak, but he didn't notice it. His eyes had already moved to the other side of the lake, as if nothing had happened. Hannah stretched out her leg and touched Jack's foot with her bare foot, their big toes facing each other. Only then did Jack look down at her.
"Hey, little furry kid." He said, raising his hand to rub her hair. She immediately felt that her entire scalp was numb, and every hair stood on end, as if there was an electric shock. Hearing Jack's voice, Nath looked over.
"Hanna," he said. Somehow she stood up. Nath nudged Lydia with his foot, "Let's go." Lydia complained, but still picked up the towel and the bottle of baby oil.
"Stay away from my sister," Nath said to Jack, his tone very calm. Then, they left. Lydia had walked some distance away and was shaking the grass off her towel. She didn't hear what Nath had just said, but Hannah did. The "sister" in Nath's mouth sounded like he was referring to her, Hannah, but she understood that he was really referring to Lydia. As they stopped at the corner to wait for the car to pass, Hannah glanced over her shoulder—very quickly so that Nath wouldn't notice. She noticed Jack watching them from behind. Anyone would think he was looking at Lydia; Lydia had a towel wrapped around her waist like a sarong worn by Southeast Asians. Hannah smiled at Jack, but he didn't smile back at her, and she wasn't sure if he saw her or if her small smile wasn't enough to get him back.
Now, Hannah thought about Jack's expression as he looked down at his hands, as if something terrible had happened to them. No. Nath was wrong, those hands would never hurt anyone. She was very sure.
Marilyn hugged her knees like a little girl on Lydia's bed, carefully recalling what James had said, wondering what he thought and meant. "Your mother was right all along. You should marry someone who is more like you." The bitterness in his voice made her find it difficult to breathe. The words sounded familiar, and she repeated them silently, trying to remember them. Then she remembered. At the courthouse on their wedding day, her mother reminded her to think of their future children, who might not fit in wherever they went. "You're going to regret it," she said then, as if they were two doomed fools. James, waiting in the foyer, must have heard every word of their conversation. All Marilyn told him was, "My mother thought I should marry someone more like me." Then she forgot about it and dropped it like dust on the ground. But these words have always made James worried and restless. They cut through his flesh like a sharp knife and pierced his heart. They made him feel like a murderer who automatically stood on the gallows. They made him feel that his blood was harmful to others. Make him regret giving birth to his daughter Lydia.
She thought painfully that when James got home, she would tell him: "Even if it's just to give birth to Lydia, I will marry you a hundred times, or even a thousand times, and you don't have to blame yourself for this."
However, James did not return home. Not at dinner time, not at dark, not at one in the morning - that's when the town's bars close. Marilyn sat all night, leaning against the pillows leaning against the headboard, waiting for the sound of his car pulling into the driveway and his footsteps coming up the stairs. At three o'clock in the morning, he still didn't come home, so she decided to go to his office to have a look. On the way to school, she thought, maybe he was curled up in his swivel chair, his face on the table, overwhelmed by grief. Once she finds him, she can make him understand that it's not his fault and take him home. However, when she arrived at the parking lot, she found that there was not a single car there. She circled the office building three times, checking all possible parking spots for him and all the faculty and staff parking spaces. She circled around again, but found nothing.
When the children came downstairs in the morning, Marilyn sat at the kitchen table with a stiff neck and blurry eyes. "Where's Dad?" Hannah asked, and her mother's silence already answered her. Today is the Fourth of July and everything has come to an end. James had no friends among his colleagues, he was not familiar with his neighbors, and he disliked his department chair. Could he have been in an accident? Should she call the police? Nath scratched his bruised knuckles across the cracks in the counter, remembering the smell of his father's perfume and his reddening face, his sensitivity and sudden anger. "I don't owe him anything," he thought. But even so, when he steeled his heart and finally spoke, he still felt like jumping off a towering cliff: "Mom, I think I know where he is."
Marilyn didn't believe it at first, it was so unlike James. Besides, she thought, he didn't know anyone. He had few female friends. There were no women in the history department at Midwood College, and there were only a handful of female professors in the entire college. When did James meet other women? Then she had a terrible idea.
She opened the phone book and found the only person named Chen in Midwood in Column C: L. Chen, No. 105 Fourth Street, Unit A on the 3rd floor, followed by a string of phone numbers. She almost reached for the receiver, but how should she speak? "Hello, do you know where my husband is?" She picked up the key from the counter without closing the phone book. "Waiting at home," she said, "You two. I'll be back in half an hour." "
Fourth Street is near the university, and many students live here. When searching among the house numbers, Marilyn still felt unsure. Maybe Nath was wrong, she thought, maybe she would make a fool of herself. She felt like a violin whose strings were stretched so tightly that the slightest vibration made her buzz. Then, she saw James' car at the gate of No. 97, parked under a small maple tree, with four fallen leaves stained on the windshield.
Now, she felt unusually calm. She parked the car, walked into Building 105, climbed to the third floor, then clenched her fists and knocked steadily on the door of 3A. At nearly eleven o'clock in the morning, the door opened, and Louisa, still wearing a light blue nightgown, appeared in the crack of the door. Marilyn smiled.
"Hello," she said, "you're Louisa, right? Louisa Chen? I'm Marilyn Lee." When Louisa didn't respond, she added, "James Lee's wife."
"Oh, yes," Louisa said, avoiding Marilyn's eyes, "I'm sorry, I haven't dressed yet..."
"I can see that." Marilyn put her hand on the door to keep it from closing. "I'm only taking up a little of your time. You see, I'm looking for my husband. He didn't come home last night."
"Oh?" Louisa pretended to be calm, and Marilyn pretended not to see her panic. "It's too bad. You must be very worried."
"Yes, very worried." Marilyn stared at Louisa's face. They had met only twice before, once at the college's Christmas party and the other at Lydia's funeral. Marilyn looked at her carefully: long black hair, long eyelashes, droopy eyes, small mouth, like a doll. Shy little thing, Marilyn thought, just a little girl. "Do you have any idea where he might have gone?"
Louisa blushed visibly, she was so easy to see through—Marilyn almost felt pity for her. "how could I know?"
"You are his teaching assistant, aren't you? You work together every day." She paused, "He often mentions you at home."
"Really?" Three emotions of confusion, joy and surprise intertwined on Louisa's face. Marilyn could easily read her mind, "That Louisa—she is very smart, very talented, and very beautiful." She Thinking, "Oh Louisa, how young you are."
"Well," Louisa said at last, "have you been to his office?"
"He wasn't there just now," Marilyn said. "Maybe he is now." She grabbed the doorknob. "Can I use your phone?"
Louisa's smile disappeared. "I'm sorry," she said, "my phone isn't working." She looked at Marilyn desperately, as if begging her to give up and leave. Marilyn waited, letting Louisa fidget. Her hands had stopped shaking, but uncontrollable anger rose deep inside her.
"Thank you for your help anyway," Marilyn said. She looked past Louisa and along the porch to a corner of the living room. Louisa looked back nervously, afraid that James would suddenly walk out of the bedroom. "If you see him," Marilyn added, raising her voice, "tell my husband I'll be waiting for him at home."
Louisa swallowed again. "I will," she said. Marilyn finally let her close the door.