Red Thread Sisters (9781101591857) (8 page)

thirteen

On Wednesday evening, Wen sat on the kitchen chair nearest the door, waiting for the sound of her father's car in the driveway. Tonight was the night.

Wen's throat felt scratchy. She clutched and unclutched her sweaty hands.

Finally she heard the car and then her father's footsteps on the porch.

She decided she couldn't wait until after the ice cream. As soon as they'd divided up the gooey pizza, she'd tell them all about Shu Ling and why she needed a family too. At last, she could ask! Wen imagined herself bursting with happiness when they said yes.

Then she saw her father come in. He walked stiffly, and his arms were empty.

“What's wrong, Richard?” Her mother dried her hands and went to him.

Wen noticed her father's usually rosy skin was pale and his eyes were drawn.

“Oh, Christine . . .” His coat still on, he sat down in a kitchen chair.

“Daddy, what's up?” Emily asked.

Gripping a saltshaker, Wen's father gazed at her mother, at Emily, and at her, one by one. “I got laid off,” he announced, his voice so shaky Wen thought he might cry.

“Oh, no!” Her mother sat down next to her father and put her hand on his arm.

“Laid off”. . . what did this mean?
Wen wondered
. It must be something very bad.

“Christine, it came from nowhere,” her father said.

Wen heard the rawness in his voice as he huddled in his buttoned-up coat. Her father seemed smaller, as if he were shrunken by whatever the laid off had done.

“So what happened, exactly?” her mother asked.

“Well, revenue was down, we all knew that,” he began.

“But nobody was talking about layoffs, right?” her mother asked.

“Not then, they weren't. Today around four, my boss called me in and he said, ‘Rich, this had nothing to do with you personally, but Central Office says we have to cut fifty employees and even though you're a top manager, I have to let you go.'”

Wen strained to understand. Then with amazement, Wen saw her father set down the saltshaker and put his face in his hands.

He thinks he's done something wrong,
she thought.

“So, when's your last day of work, Richard?” Wen heard her mother's voice coming from someplace deep, like she was speaking from a pit.

“Today. He gave me one hour to clear out my office and get out.” Her father's voice wavered.

Now Wen got it. He had to leave his job.

Only then did Wen fully realize what had just happened. She couldn't ask them to adopt Shu Ling tonight, or any other time, as long as her father had no job.

Why hadn't she asked earlier, as soon as she got the sign from her mother? She should have asked then, on the ride to the parent breakfast. Her parents would have agreed, back then, when her father was working. Why did she think her father's birthday party was so important? Just because everybody in the whole family would be there? Just because they'd all be in a good mood? Why did she think she needed such a perfect way of asking? She shouldn't have wasted time!

Now, because of her, Shu Ling had no hope of a family. It was all her fault.

“
Today
was your last day?” Wen's mother said. “I can't believe it! And no notice?”

“Well, I can collect unemployment, of course.”

“Daddy, you don't have a job anymore?” Emily sat down beside him and Wen took the other chair. It was odd to be sitting together in the kitchen, no places set, nobody eating. Her father stared at the table, her mother was digging her fingernails into her palms, and Emily sat still, not even squirming.

“Of course I'll start looking right away. Hiring may be slow over the holidays,” her father said. “But I'm sure to find something.”

“What is this hiring?” Wen saw her father's forehead drawn, and new lines around his eyes. He seemed to slouch a little, as if his back hurt.

“It means getting a job,” her father said, his voice flat.

Nobody spoke.

Then her mother cleared her throat. “OK. We need a plan.”

“The plan is, I'm unemployed, Christine,” her father snapped.

“We have to make it work, that's all,” her mother said, with that firmness she took when she expected no arguing. “Richard, you're bound to find new work soon and I can take on some extra projects with the firm.”

Her mother filled a pot of water and boiled pasta for dinner.

“None for me, Chris,” said her father.

One day after dinner the following week, Wen's father cleared his throat. “Mom and I thought we should have a family talk,” he began.

“We wanted you girls to know that since Dad's not working right now, we're going to have to start cutting back on extras,” Wen's mother said.

Extras?
Wen felt like she'd been cracked across the chest, her breath escaping her.

I just got here,
Wen thought.
Am I an extra? Of course I'm an extra. They did fine without me before, for a long time. They can do fine without me now.

“Does this mean we can't go to the
mall
anymore?” Emily wailed.

“It does, honey,” her mother answered.

“But I love our trips to the mall! How can we not go to the mall?” Emily whined.

As she gazed at Emily, Wen couldn't help thinking of all the kids at the orphanage who'd never even heard of a mall.

“Emily, you can live without the mall!” her father exploded.

“What other extras?” Emily demanded.

“Well, we've decided to trade in your mother's new car for a used one,” said her father.

“And Emily, I'm afraid we'll have to put your gymnastics on hold for a while.” Her mother reached to hug Emily.

“It's not fair!” Emily stamped her foot.

“Sweetie, gymnastics costs a lot of money. You can start again once Dad gets a job.”

“But I love gymnastics! I'm starting to work on the balance beams, Mom!” Emily wailed. “What'll I do without gymnastics? It's not like I can play with
her
.” Emily pointed at Wen.

So far the extras had mainly hit Emily. But the real extra, Wen knew, was herself.

After she cleared the table, Wen pulled on her hoodie and went outside to sit on the porch steps.

Wen heard her parents at the table, still talking, their voices low. In the living room, Emily sat in the old rocking chair. The rocker squeaked as Emily moved.

Then Wen heard another squeaking, from years ago, when she was five. She remembered for the first time.

Her mother had been sitting on the wooden rocker, nursing Wen's new baby brother, in the one room of their hut, where everybody ate and slept. As her rocker squeaked, her mother had told Wen to go outside because the grown-ups needed to talk. Wen obeyed, but stayed by an open window so she could hear.

Her father had said the drought had been too long, the crops were failing. They had to leave the farm. Otherwise, he warned, the whole family would starve. Then Wen heard more squeaking from the rocker, and her mother asked where they'd go.

Her father talked about his uncle's apartment in the city. It had a spare room large enough for three people. They'd take their new son.

“What about Wen?” her mother asked.

An extra, her father had said. Besides, in cities, extra girls were against the law.

“Not Wen. Not my daughter!” Wen's mother pleaded. “Not my little girl!” She sobbed and then her sobbing turned to wails.

It was settled, her father said.

The next day, her mother took her by the hand and walked her to the crumbling pink building on the hill.

Now, just when she thought she'd found a family that would keep her, Wen was an extra all over again.

The squeaking inside had stopped. Wen got up from the porch and went into her room. She pulled out her old orphanage backpack so she'd be all ready for when they told her it was time to go back.

“Brrrr, it's cold in here,” Emily said the next day. She made her teeth chatter as she put on a second sweatshirt.

“Oil's expensive this winter. We're turning down the thermostat,” said her father.

Wen had noticed. Of course, it wasn't as cold as the orphanage. But she'd begun to wear layers, just as she had when the aunties turned the furnace on for four hours in the morning and then shut it down for the rest of the day, to save coal.

On Saturday morning, their father made them stacks of steamy pancakes, which stood out, lonely, on the breakfast plates.

Another extra to go:
bacon.

After breakfast, Wen peered through her father's partly opened study door. Sipping coffee from a cracked cup, he stared at his computer screen. Sometimes he stopped and examined the ceiling or stretched his fingers as if to loosen them.

“Wen!” her father said. “I didn't see you there.”

“Have something for you.” She waved a wad of dollar bills. “My monies.”

“That's your allowance, Wen.”

“Monies we need right now. I not spend anyway.”

“No, you keep that, sweetie.”

“You look hard on computer. This computer has jobs for hiring?” Wen asked.

“Yes, it does. Certain Web sites, Wen. Plus I'm talking to people I know.” Her father spoke in a cheerful voice Wen knew was forced.

“You get a job maybe next week?” Wen asked.

He had to find a job soon, so she wouldn't be an extra and she could ask about Shu Ling.

“Oh no, honey. I don't think so. It may just take some time, that's all. There's no need to worry, Wen,” her father said.

“I not worry. You not worry, either, Dad.” Wen held up the crossed-fingers sign. “You get job any day now.”

Her father grinned and held up his own crossed fingers. “Thanks, Wen.”

Back in her room, Wen flexed her hand. Maybe even crossing fingers wouldn't help.

Until she got sent back, Wen knew she had to spend every day in America finding Shu Ling a family of her own. It couldn't be her own family anymore. She'd have to find some other nice family to adopt Shu Ling. But who else could she ask?

She could call kids in her class. Ms. Beckwith had passed out little books with the phone numbers of all the families in the school. But when Wen thought of calling those kids, she winced. How could she tell them about her friend as close as a sister, a friend she had failed? She couldn't reveal herself that way.

Where were some happy families that might adopt a new daughter?

Suddenly, Wen had an idea.

fourteen

Happy families went to McDonald's. Wen had decided that she'd find a happy family right there and tell them all about Shu Ling.

But how could she do this? How could she talk to people whom she didn't even know? Her English might disappear, talking to strangers.

She'd make an invitation, like for the parent breakfast—that was it! Only this would be an invitation to adopt Shu Ling, an invitation she could give to all those families.

At the kitchen computer the next afternoon, Wen hunted and clicked the right alphabet keys.

 

Want a daughter? This nice girl needs family.

She waits for you!

 

But what would the family do, if they wanted to adopt Shu Ling? From the bulletin board, Wen unpinned Nancy Lin's phone number and copied it onto the sheets.

“Dad,” she called to her father, sliding the flyers into her parka, “I go on walk.”

“Just a short one, Wen,” her father said.

“Back soon!” It was so cold, Wen could see her breath, like puffs of mist as she walked along the edge of the highway. After a long time, she came to the bright yellow arches.

Her legs aching, Wen headed toward the entrance. First she had to pick a family that looked good and then hand them an invitation.
Tell us about this nice girl,
they would say. And Wen had to hope she could form the English to tell them how Shu Ling was a big help, did chores, cooked soup, and drew beautiful pictures.

Her legs shaking, Wen planted herself at the front door.
Must do this,
she told herself.

A mother and her daughter came first, the little girl screaming and tugging on her mother's arm. Swearing, the mother yanked the little girl behind her.

Not a good family,
Wen decided.

Then came a mother and father swinging a little boy between them. They were all laughing, their cheeks rosy from the cold.

Walking toward the parents, Wen offered the mother a flyer. “Something to tell you,” she began, her voice hoarse. But the lady stuffed the flyer into her pocket, kept swinging the boy, and ignored her.

A man entered, carrying a sobbing boy in his arms. The father seemed desperate for help. “Here, maybe your son need big sister,” Wen said, trying to comfort the man with a soothing voice. She handed him an invitation. He thanked her, then hurried toward the counter, the boy still wailing.

Next, a bunch of girls all dressed in shiny blue shorts and shirts with numbers on their backs surged past Wen.

“Fries!” screamed a tall girl, her eyes fixed on the counter ahead.

“Wait for us!” shouted another girl as she shoved past Wen. Clutching her flyers, Wen teetered and smashed her knee against the railing. She grabbed the trash can to steady herself.

Wen stared into the trash, piled high with wet cups and greasy plates. All around her, Wen heard screaming English she didn't understand, so loud her ears rang. Her knee hurt. Wen edged toward the door, crushed her flyers to her chest, and zipped up her parka.

Then, very slowly, she limped home, making a
stomp-drag
all the way.

Her parents were waiting on the porch. Wen saw her mother, paler than usual, gripping a railing, as if to support herself. Her father paced from one stair to another, his eyes scanning the street.

“Wen! Oh, thank God!” Her mother seemed to collapse in relief.

“Where were you, Wen?” her father demanded.

“Walk. Remember? I told you this,” Wen answered, lowering her eyes.

“You said ‘short,' Wen!” her father shouted. “You were gone over three hours.”

“We found your cell phone here, so we couldn't call,” her mother accused. Little creases fanned around her brow.

“You were gone so long, we thought something had happened, Wen,” her father said.

“Where were you, Wen? Were you running away?” her mother asked.

“I not run away,” Wen said.

They were so angry. Now they'd change their minds and send her back as an extra for sure.

“We have to know, Wen. We're your parents and we need to know where you go.” Her mother waited for an answer.

Wen froze. What should she tell them? She was trying to find a home for Shu Ling, all on her own, keeping a secret from them. That might make her parents mad, like she wasn't even grateful for the home they gave her.

“Wen, if you can't tell us, you'll have to stay in your room until you're ready. You owe us an explanation,” her father said.

She had to tell the whole story. No matter what happened.

“OK. My friend Shu Ling,” Wen began. “Shu Ling wait too long in orphanage. She need own family here in America. I made big promise.” Wen met her mother's gaze. “I told her, she come next. I find her a family too. But this I cannot do. Not know how. I went to the McDonald's, for family. This not work well.”

“McDonald's? Is that where you were, Wen? That's so far away.” Wen's mother shuddered.

“Only way I could do,” said Wen. “Had to do this.”

“But why didn't you ask us for help, Wen?” her father asked.

“I could not.”

“All these weeks here and you couldn't just say, ‘I want to get a home for Shu Ling'? Why not?” her mother asked.

“Afraid,” Wen whispered.

“Afraid of what? Tell us, Wen,” her mother said.

Wen hesitated. “Afraid,” she began, her voice low. “Afraid you send me back for asking for too much.”

“Send you back? Where did you get that idea?” her mother asked.

“This happened to An Fei.”

“Oh, Wen.” Wen's mother sighed. “You're family. We would never send you back. You belong with us.”

“But now Dad has no job,” Wen said. “So I think, maybe I'm an extra, you cut me out.”

“Nobody's an extra in a family, Wen.” As if she couldn't help herself, her mother gave her a quick hug.

Wen felt numb. “Not an extra,” she repeated.

“Never an extra,” her mother stated firmly. “Never.”

“Here, you must be thirsty after that McDonald's hike. Let's go inside and get you something to drink,” her father said.

As Wen sipped her water, she kept repeating her parents' words in her mind, as if to memorize them. Then she went back to her bedroom and picked up the old orphanage backpack waiting in the front of her closet. She flung the whole backpack where it had come from, in a dark, unused corner. She wouldn't need it after all.

Wen returned to the kitchen. “So about Shu Ling. This is possible, find her a family?”

“We can help you,” said her mother. “After all, we found you, didn't we?”

“How we do this?” Wen asked.

Carefully, her mother explained how the directors of the orphanages were allowed to send the Chinese government a certain number of names of kids available for adoption. Then the government added those names to the Shared Waiting Child List for families from all over the world to choose from.

“Why just pick some? Every single kid in orphanage should be available for adoption. All just waiting for the day a family come to take them home.”

“I know, sweetie,” her mother sighed. “That's just how they do it.”

“Many kids on The List?” Wen asked.

“Over two thousand and counting,” her mother said.

Wen swallowed. “Is Shu Ling on The List?”

“We don't know. Only adoption agency people have the password to that list. Nancy will know.”

“We call Nancy now!” Wen pleaded.

“It's Sunday, sweetie. You can call tomorrow.”

Wen felt like tomorrow would never come. If Shu Ling wasn't on The List, it would be impossible for anyone to adopt her. She had to be there.

But suppose she wasn't?