“Well,” Mindy said, “I don’t think Pearl S. Buck was Chinese.”
“Oh, really?”
Mindy shook her head.
“Then why would she write a book about the Chinese?” The woman pursed her lips. “It doesn’t make sense.”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, I’ll just have to find something else.” The woman dumped The Good Earth on a shelf, far from where it belonged. “Do you know any Chinese authors?”
“Uh, I don’t think so.”
“That’s interesting. What do you read, then?”
Mindy shrugged.
“A Chinese girl who doesn’t read Chinese books. How funny.”
Mindy didn’t say anything. She just blinked her eyes really fast. I could tell she was super upset.
“You are from China, aren’t you?” the woman asked.
“Actually, I’m from Bear Run.”
“Of course. I figured that out,” the woman said. “But China’s where you’re really from, right?”
I waited for Mindy to correct the woman, to say that she was from Vietnam, but she didn’t open her mouth. The girl was going to have to learn how to stand up for herself. I wouldn’t always be there to swoop in and rescue her.
Lucky for her, though, I was there that day. Even luckier for that woman, I was working overtime to keep my temper at bay.
“Hey, Mindy.” I made my way between the woman and my sister. “We should get going.”
“Sorry I couldn’t help you,” Mindy said to the woman.
I took my sister’s hand and pulled her toward the children’s section and far away from that woman. We ended up next to the shelf with all the Beverly Cleary books and I had to remind myself not to be distracted by Ramona Quimby.
“What was that all about?” I asked in a half whisper. “What was with that woman?”
“I don’t know.” Mindy rolled her eyes.
“Why didn’t you just tell her that you’re from Vietnam?”
“Because it wouldn’t have mattered. She probably thinks all Asian countries are the same.” She turned her eyes toward the floor. “Why can’t I just be from Bear Run like everybody else?”
“Being from Vietnam is special, Mins.”
“I’d rather not be special.”
“You’re so weird.”
It wasn’t the right thing to say and I knew it as soon as the words were out of my mouth and Mindy flinched.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” I whispered. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right,” she said. “Can we just go?”
“What about the books we picked out?”
“Oh yeah,” she said, holding up the one she’d picked for me. “You don’t have to buy this if you don’t want to.”
I took it from her, feeling the gloss of the cover. The Glass Menagerie was something that we were supposed to read for sophomore English, but it got bumped my year when a parent complained about certain swear words in it or something.
As if teens—even Christian school teens—had never heard a cuss word before.
“It’s a play,” Mindy said.
“Right,” I said before handing over the bright green book I’d chosen for her. “I think this might be a little expensive.”
“Oh my goodness.” She smiled. “I’ve wanted to read this book for forever.”
There was a dragon on the cover and the name Stephen King. I knew I couldn’t have gone wrong.
“I hope it isn’t too scary,” I said.
“This is different.” She turned it over and looked at the back. “The Eyes of the Dragon is more like a fairy tale, I guess. You might even like it.”
“As long as it doesn’t give me nightmares.”
I looked over the shelves, watching the woman leave the store, a bag dangling from her hand.
Even though it was a Friday night and I could have been hanging out with my friends, I decided to stay home. Dad had ordered pizzas and rented a tape of The Princess Bride. Besides, I was tired and didn’t feel up to being social if I didn’t have to.
After the movie was over, Mindy and I went to our room to read our new books in bed.
Our lamps didn’t turn off until late night became early morning, both of us completely absorbed in the stories.
As soon as I read about Laura’s glass unicorn breaking, making it nothing but a regular old horse, I stopped reading and looked over the top of the book at my sister.
“What?” she asked when she caught me staring.
“Nothing,” I answered. “My eyes just got tired.”
“Do you like it?”
“Yeah. It’s really good.” I smiled. “How about yours?”
“It’s the best.”
She went back to reading and so did I. When I finished and turned off my light, I lay in bed not able to sleep for a long time.
CHAPTER
Nineteen
Bruce, 2013
It’s the kind of day when I’m aware of how, as Elizabeth Barrett Browning said, “earth’s crammed with heaven.” The kind of day when the sacred is at my fingertips as I hunt for the prettiest of the fallen leaves in our yard to bring inside for Linda to press between layers of wax paper when Sonny and her girls come by later.
Days like these, I would be happy to stay outside to enjoy the cathedrals of creation, but when the youngest daughter’s boyfriend texts, asking to meet up for coffee, I must go.
I have a pretty good idea what he wants to talk about, and I intend to give the kid my blessing. Not, however, before making him promise to be good to my girl and give her the best life he can manage.
Once I’ve got a good collection of leaves, I take them in. But not before checking to make sure they’re free of slugs or other slimy critters.
“Oh, these are pretty, hon,” Linda says, spreading them out on the kitchen counter. “Perfect.”
“Wish I could stick around to help you and the girls,” I say. “Zach just asked me out for coffee.”
“He did, huh?” Her eyes widen, brighten. “Do you think . . .”
“Yup.”
“How wonderful!” She claps her hands and does a little bouncy dance.
“He’s a good kid.”
“You’ll be nice to him, won’t you?” She starts arranging the leaves by color, reds and yellows and oranges. “Don’t scare him too much, all right.”
“I won’t.”
I give her a kiss and then grab the keys to my truck. “Better scoot.”
“Thanks for these,” she says, nodding at the leaves.
They’re pretty. But they don’t hold a candle to her. Not by a long shot.
When Zach asked me to meet, I told him to pick the place. He wondered if I’d ever heard of Bear Town Beanery on Huebert and Lane and if I’d like to meet up there.
Well, I know that place pretty well. In my day it was where the beatniks had their poetry readings and folk bands went to sing their renditions of Bob Dylan songs. Of course, back then it wasn’t called anything but the Coffeehouse. There wasn’t a sign over the door and there weren’t comfy chairs in the corners. It hadn’t been well lit back then and it was always smoggy from all the things the kids smoked in there—cigarette and otherwise.
I don’t tell him all that when he greets me at the door and shakes my hand.
He’s not here to listen to an old hippie jabber on about the past.
“You order yet?” I ask, nodding at the extensive menu written in chalk on the wall.
Back in my day, it was just coffee. If we were lucky, the half and half wasn’t expired and the sugar wasn’t rock hard in the dispenser.
“Not yet,” Zach says, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans that are so tight I wonder if he didn’t accidentally get them from the women’s department. “Whatever you want. My treat.”
“Well, you don’t have to do that.”
“Sure I do. I invited you, I pay.” He smiles.
That smile is what must have made Holly fall
for him. If nothing else, it was how he caught her eye.
I fight the temptation to think he’s spent a lot of time practicing that smile in the mirror.
He’s a good kid. I need to keep that up front in my mind.
We order, both of us opting for something warm to take the chill off the cool day. The guy behind the counter says he’ll bring them to us once they’re done.
Zach starts in on what he wants to say before we’ve even taken a seat.
“Mr. Matthews,” he says.
“Bruce is fine.” I smile and squint my eyes so he knows it’s a friendly correction.
“All right, Bruce.” He lets me sit first before he pulls out a wicker-backed chair across from me. “I really love your daughter.”
“Which one?”
His face drops.
“I’m joking, Zach.”
“Oh. Right.”
Linda would have kicked me under the table for that, and I feel bad for derailing him.
“Sorry,” I say. “Go on. You love Holly.”
“More than anything.”
He’s off to a good start despite me.
“I was going to wait until Christmas to do this, but I can’t.”
Oh, I know that feeling. I’ve never been one to believe in love at first sight. Still, somehow I knew I wanted to marry Linda after the first week of knowing her. Again, I don’t lay that on the kid. It’s his time to talk. Not mine.
“See . . .” he starts.
But the barista brings our drinks, interrupting him with a “Hey, don’t I know you, man?”
“Uh, maybe,” Zach says, glancing at me.
“From seminary,” the guy says. Then, pointing at his chest, “Alexander.”
“Oh, right.” Zach swallows hard. “How’s it going, Alex?”
“It’s Alexander.”
“Sorry.”
Alexander goes on to tell Zach exactly how he is and in full detail. And how is Alexander? Busy. By the time another couple customers come in, pulling the guy back behind the coffee bar, I know more about him than I know about myself, including his stance on several theological debates that we never covered in my Sunday school classes.
“Sorry,” Zach says. “He’s a nice guy, but he really likes to talk.”
“It’s all right, son.” I take a sip of my coffee, careful not to get too much whipped cream in my mustache. “You were saying?”
“Well.” He clears his throat. “I got offered a position at a church.”
“Okay?”
“It’s just outside of Cleveland. You know, in Ohio.”
“Yup. I’ve heard of it.”
“But they only want to hire me if I’m married.”
“Are you asking me for my daughter’s hand just so you can get a job?” I lean forward, resting an elbow on the table.
“Yes. Well, no.” His Adam’s apple bobs up and down. “What I mean to say is, we were planning on getting married next spring anyway. This is just a little bit earlier than we’d expected.”
“How much earlier are you thinking?”
“Soon. Before Thanksgiving,” he says. “We’re not sure which day yet.”
“Huh. That’s pretty quick,” I say. “You sure Holly’s okay with that?”
“I think so.”
“Son, she’s been dreaming of her wedding day since she was a flower girl when Mike and Sonny got married.” I give him what I hope looks like a sympathetic smile. “I’m worried that she won’t be happy about having to rush.”
He lowers his eyes and runs a hand through his hair.
“I’m not saying you can’t marry her, Zach,” I say. “I’d be proud to have you for a son-in-law. But I . . .”
“Mr. Matthews.” He takes a breath. “Bruce. I’ve never met anybody like Holly. I love her so much. She’s smart and funny and kind.”
The boy didn’t mention how pretty she is—and she’s real pretty. She looks so much like her mama. More than once have I seen the way he looks at her, him definitely noticing her beauty. But him not mentioning her looks as a reason for his love deepens my respect for him a whole lot.
“I want to spend every day with her,” he goes on. “This earlier start just gives me more time for that.”
He takes a bolstering drink of his coffee.
“And as for the quick wedding,” he says. “We’ve talked about it a lot, Holly and me. She’s okay with it. I promise, she is.”
I nod. “If this is really what the two of you want.”
“Life with her is what I want.”
If I’m not mistaken, his eyes are as watery as mine are.
“Well, I can’t argue with that.” I get out of my seat, walk around to his side, and give him a hug, slapping him on the back. “Linda’s going to be thrilled.”
“I was so nervous,” he says once I’ve returned to my spot.
“I don’t blame you, son.” I take another sip of my overly sweet coffee. Then I point to the far corner of the coffee shop. “You know, I was sitting right over there the first time I saw Linda.”
“Really?” Zach’s carrot-colored eyebrows go up. “I didn’t realize this place has been around that long.”
I don’t react to that. He meant nothing by it. Besides, I’ve been around longer than this old coffee shop.
Instead, I tell him the story. It’s nothing spectacular. I was there to see some band that’d been scheduled to play, and she walked in, guitar case in hand. There weren’t any seats open except for the one across from me, and I was more than happy to let her borrow it while she waited for the rest of her crew to get there.
When it was time for the band to play, she got up and sang a handful of songs. No matter how I tried, I couldn’t manage to take my eyes off her.
That’s it. That’s the story. Fireworks didn’t go off over our heads and I didn’t fall out of my seat. It wouldn’t make the cut in a romance novel. But, then again, I wasn’t much interested in that kind of thing in the first place.
He listens politely even though I have an idea that he’s not all that interested. That’s all right. I wouldn’t have been at his age either.
The kid doesn’t waste any time in getting that diamond on Holly’s finger. Within an hour of my returning home, Holly calls to tell us the news. Within two hours she’s put it up on Facebook. After three she’s at the house with Zach in tow, a pile of bridal magazines in her arms.
Linda, true to form, wraps her arms around Holly, magazines and all.
“We’d better start planning, huh?” she says, putting both hands on our youngest’s face. “You will be such a beautiful bride.”
“Thanks, Mom,” Holly says, handing the stack to Zach.
“Let’s see the ring,” I say.
Holly holds up her left hand, showing a ring that I’m certain cost more than a month of the kid’s salary. Especially a kid working in the ministry.
“It was my grandma’s,” he says.
I wonder if he read my expression.
“How sweet,” Linda says. “Let’s take all of these magazines to the family room. Mindy just put a pan of brownies into the oven.”
“Mom, I’m going to have to fit into a wedding dress soon,” Holly says.
“Oh, one brownie won’t bust the seams.” Linda shakes her head.
That’s when Mindy emerges from the kitchen, one of Linda’s aprons tied around her waist. She gushes over Holly, ooohs over the ring, agrees without hesitation to be a bridesmaid.
“How many attendants are you planning on?” Linda asks.
“Just Mindy and Sonny,” Holly says. “I mean, I kind of planned on having ten bridesmaids and a couple of flower girls. But there’s kind of no time for that. This is better, I think. Simpler.”
“Simple will need to be the name of the game.” Linda winks at her. “But we can do it. Right, honey?”
I realize she’s talking to me and I nod, feeling just a little bit out of my element.
The girls head into the family room, Zach trail
ing along behind them.
“This is going to be a whirlwind, isn’t it?” I say before pushing out a stream of air. “Never thought Holly’d settle for a quick wedding.”
“Oh, I don’t think she’s settling for anything,” Linda whispers, only for me to hear. “You saw how thrilled she is, didn’t you?”
I can’t deny that.
“Are you ready to give away another daughter?” Linda asks.
“Don’t know,” I answer.
Is there a way to be ready for such a thing?
CHAPTER
Twenty
Linda, 1975
I had to stack a few phone books on a chair for Minh so she could reach her plate at the table. When she saw the grilled cheese, cut into quarters, her eyes narrowed, and I wondered if she’d ever seen such a thing before.
Then I worried if such unfamiliar food might upset her tummy. Just one more thing on a running list of questions I should have asked before the adoption agency people got back in their car and drove away.
I decided to see if the library had a Vietnamese cookbook, not having even the faintest idea what kinds of things she might have eaten over there.
She sat still, hands in her lap, and stared at her plate.
“Minh,” Bruce said. “Look here.”
He waited for her to give him her attention. Then he picked up the sandwich from his plate and took a bite, chewing it slowly.
“Mm. That’s good,” he said. Then he pointed at her plate. “Now you take a bite.”
Serious as could be, Minh picked up one of her squares of sandwich, extending it to Bruce.
“She thinks you want her food,” I said.
“Thank you.” He took it from her, holding it near to her mouth. “But this is for you.”
She nodded and took a tiny bite, mushing it slowly between her teeth.
Bruce waited until she swallowed.
“Another?” he asked.
She nodded and took another bite.
And then another.
He showed her the green grapes, popping one into his own mouth before offering her one.
The way her poor little mouth puckered made me think she’d gotten a sour one. Still, she chewed and swallowed it before taking another off her plate.
The Nature of Small Birds Page 13