by Liana Liu
“Ella—” I say, but Henry interrupts.
“El, you know she’s right,” he says. “We can’t possibly go to the beach now—what was I thinking? It’s too hot and we just ate and I have to, uh, study. But as soon as you’re done getting tutored, I’ll race you to the ocean. Deal?”
“Deal,” says Ella.
They shake on it. Ella’s expression is solemn, as it often is. Henry’s is too, which is more uncommon. I hadn’t thought that the Morison siblings looked very much alike: he has tanned skin and sharp features; she is pale and soft faced. But with their palms pressed and faces somber, I notice the resemblance between them for the first time. It’s something about their eyes.
Henry glances up and catches me watching them. But he doesn’t smirk. He gives me an earnest look that could be an apology. Or maybe not. His attention returns to his sister. He lifts their joined hands and spins her around. He laughs. He seems unable to stay serious for longer than sixty seconds. But as she twirls, Ella starts laughing too.
I can’t deny that I disapprove of Henry Morison. He is thoughtless and immature and rude and more than a little irritating. However, I also can’t deny that he’s a good brother.
In the afternoon, we switch from reading comprehension to math. Ella gets a few questions right—not because she tries harder or is more interested in the subject, but because of chance. This section is multiple choice. I ask how she got to the right answer and her explanation is as incomplete as the one she gives to explain a wrong answer.
After nearly two hours of this, I say, “Close your workbook.”
Ella obediently closes her workbook. “Are we done?”
“Not yet.” I’ve tried bribery and heart-to-hearts and a stern speech. Now I try something else. “Let’s take a little break and talk,” I say.
“About what?” she asks.
“Anything. Tell me about the books you’re reading.”
“What books?” Ella stares at the cover of her workbook.
“Any books. Your mom said you love to read. What do you read?”
“Lots of stuff,” she says warily.
“Like what?”
“Books.”
“Books about what?”
“Kids doing stuff.”
“What kind of stuff?”
“Different stuff.”
I lean back in my chair. “What about school? What are your favorite subjects?”
“They’re all okay,” she says.
“But you must like some better than others.”
“I don’t really like gym that much,” she says apologetically.
“I never liked gym either,” I say. “What about art?”
“Art?”
“Do you like your art class?”
“It’s okay.”
“But you like drawing, right? What do you like to draw?”
Ella shrugs. “I don’t like drawing that much.”
I think of the day I found her on the deck with her sketch pad, how focused she was. But I don’t press her. “What about your friends? Who are they? What are they like?”
There is a long pause. “They’re nice.”
“What are their names?” I ask.
There is a longer pause. “Becca. Lindsay. Gretchen. Ruby.”
“Which one is your best friend?” I ask.
There is the longest pause. Finally she says, “I don’t have a best friend right now.” Her voice twinges with some emotion: regret, maybe, or anger. I can’t quite tell.
“That’s okay. It’s good to have lots of good friends. You don’t need a best friend. What’s your favorite animal?”
“Elephant.”
“And your favorite food?”
“Chocolate.”
“How about your favorite color?”
“Um. Pink.”
“Really? I thought you didn’t like pink.”
“I do.”
“Then why don’t you sleep in the pretty pink bedroom your mom decorated for you?”
Ella glances up from her workbook cover. Our eyes meet. She looks at me, really looks, and for the first time it feels like she is actually here with me, seeing me, and thinking over my question. “It’s not because it’s pink. It’s because . . .”
I wait for her to finish.
“I can’t tell you,” she says.
“Why not?” I ask.
“I just can’t.”
“But why?”
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
Ella shakes her head.
At Sunshine Day, the other counselors often remarked how good I was with the campers, how patient. I never told them that I felt the same impatience that they did, a gradual prickle that quickly became an almost unbearable itch. The difference was, I never let myself scratch. But now I can’t help it.
“Ella, just tell me!” I snap, and my voice is painfully loud in the quiet room, fingernails screeching over four days of accumulated impatience.
“I can’t. Because you have to sleep there now.” Ella looks away. She looks far away out the window, past the waving tree branches, past the faded blue sky and the cloud-cloaked sun, past all the things I’m able to see. A moment ago she was here with me; now she is gone.
The grandfather clock chimes. We’re done for the day.
“I’m sorry for snapping at you,” I say. I truly am. “Shall we clean up?”
“Okay, it’s okay,” Ella says, her voice soft.
We stand up, push in our chairs, gather our workbooks and notebooks and pencils and pens, and leave the library. We don’t talk. Ella goes upstairs to look for her brother. I walk down the hallway to my bedroom.
Some kids just aren’t talkers, and that’s fine. The problem isn’t Ella’s reticence. The problem is that her actual self, her thinking, feeling, dreaming self, seems to live a million miles away. And I haven’t found a way of reaching her.
But I tell myself not to be so negative. My best friend, Doris, scolds me for being negative. She says, “If you don’t believe that things will turn out for the best, how can they turn out for the best?” Doris is a smart girl, but when she says this sort of stuff I can’t help thinking that she’s not so smart after all. Then I feel bad for being negative. Again.
Anyway, I’ve been here for less than a week. I have time. I’ll keep trying.
And tonight I have something to look forward to: I will finally be meeting Jeffrey Morison. That was, after all, one of the main reasons I took this job.
4
LAST MONTH, WHEN I TOLD MY ECONOMICS TEACHER THAT I would be spending the summer tutoring the daughter of Jeffrey Morison of Morison Capital, Ms. Baldwin gave me the severe look she normally gave to students who weren’t paying attention. A week later, she stopped me after class and handed me a hardcover book. “A graduation gift,” she said.
I read half of it on my way to Arrow Island, and the other half over the past few days. The book is about the recent financial crisis—the greed, negligence, and corruption of the financial industry that led to the recent financial crisis. It was an interesting and upsetting and frustrating read. I know Ms. Baldwin gave it to me to try to change my mind about working on Wall Street one day. But it did not change my mind.
Nonetheless, I’m writing her a thank-you email when my phone rings.
It’s my mother. But it’s never my mother. She never calls me; I call her.
“Mom, are you okay? Is everything all right?”
“Hăo de.” Yes, fine, she says.
I analyze her voice. She sounds fine. “Okay. Good.”
“Nĭ hăo ma? Nĭ méi dă diànhuà.” How are you doing? You haven’t called.
I’m about to protest that I called her the day I got here, but then I realize that was four days ago. Four days was a long time for me not to call her. Four days was longer than the longest I’d ever been away from home. And I hadn’t even noticed.
“I’m great,” I say. “Sorry I haven’t called. Things have been busy here.”
I understand, she says. Then she tells me that my brother is back.
“What?” I say.
She tells me that Andy arrived the day I left—isn’t that funny? She tells me he’s looking for a job, he had an interview today—isn’t it wonderful? She tells me it’s wonderful. Then she waits for me to agree.
“I knew he was coming home. Remember? I called you, and you told me he was coming.” Except I didn’t believe it then. I barely believe it now.
“Wŏ jìdé, wŏ jìdé,” she says. Yes, yes. I remember.
“What kind of job is he looking for? Where was his interview?”
“Deng yi xia.” Wait a moment.
“Hold on, Mom, I don’t—”
“Hello?” says my brother.
“Andy?” I say. “Hi. How are you?”
“Hey, guess who I saw yesterday,” he says casually, as if it’s been hours since the last time we talked. It’s been months since the last time we talked.
“Who?”
“Doris.”
“My friend Doris? Doris Chang?”
“Yeah, Doris. She’s cute, huh?”
“You stay away from Doris.”
“Why? You think I’m not good enough for her?” Andy sounds hurt. He’s an expert at sounding hurt.
“I was kidding! Of course I don’t think that.”
“Whatever. Who cares about your stupid friends?”
Then my mother is back on the line, saying how nice it is that my brother is home, how she wishes I were home too, how she wishes I hadn’t taken the job this summer. My mother is generally not a talker, yet she won’t stop talking, and as she goes on, on and on and on, I start getting annoyed, more and more and more annoyed, to the point where I imagine hanging up.
The telephone line dies.
I did it. That’s my first thought.
But no, of course I didn’t do it. That’s my second thought, the reasonable, rational one. It’s a coincidence that the line cut off the moment I was imagining—merely imagining—hanging up. So why do I feel so guilty? I call back and apologize.
My mother says it’s fine; besides, she has to go. Make dinner. For Andy.
We say good-bye, and I carefully disconnect the line.
Then I call Doris. Though I told Andy I was kidding about him staying away from her, I was not kidding. He definitely isn’t good enough for her. Doris is sweet and kind and super smart. Last year she won second prize in a national science competition. In the fall she’s going to a prestigious premed program. She volunteers at soup kitchens and hospitals. She’s an excellent listener. People like her.
And my brother is a creep.
Doris doesn’t answer the phone, so I leave a message: “Andy told me he ran into you. So I just wanted to tell you—oh, I don’t know, never mind.”
I hang up and finish writing my thank-you email to Ms. Baldwin. “I’m at the Morisons’ house on Arrow Island,” I write. “It’s beautiful here.”
That evening I dress carefully for dinner. I put on my best button-down shirt and my navy-blue skirt. I put on the earrings my mother gave me for my birthday this year. Her own mother gave them to her when she got married. She used to show them off to me, dots of gold in a red velvet box. But I’d never seen her actually wear them.
I examine my reflection in the mirror. My eyes are still too small and my lips too narrow, but at least my hair is nice, smooth black and straight to my waist. I consider wearing it down. But I twist it up into a neat knot. I want to look professional.
It’s not that I expect this summer will get me a finance job or an internship or a letter of reference from Jeffrey Morison. But there’s always a chance that it will. As Doris says, “If you don’t believe that things will turn out for the best, how can they turn out for the best?”
Right now, at least, I try to believe her.
When I come down to the dining room, everyone is there, except for Jeffrey. This is unusual. Punctuality, as Mr. Morison said, is definitely not the family’s strong suit. But tonight they are all already there, sitting in their usual seats, linen napkins unfolded across their laps, though they haven’t started eating. I peek at my watch to see if I’m late. I’m early.
“Sorry I’m late,” I say anyway.
“Don’t worry, we’re still waiting for my husband. He should be here any second,” Vanessa says. She has also dressed carefully for dinner, in a blue dress that swirls around her like a wave. Her face gleams with makeup. Her hair is lighter and brighter than it was yesterday.
“Maybe he got caught in traffic,” Ella says. She has also dressed carefully for dinner, in a ruffled pink dress that reminds me of the ruffled pink bedroom. It’s a pretty dress. But she looks terrible in it. Possibly because she’s uncomfortable; she tugs the sleeves as if they’re biting her arms, yanks the neckline as if it’s chewing her neck.
“Maybe he forgot the address,” Henry mutters. He has also dressed carefully for dinner, or at least more carefully than usual. His normal raggedy tee has been replaced by a polo shirt. And although he’s still wearing his usual swim trunks, this pair looks clean and dry.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if he did,” Mr. Morison grumbles. He has also dressed carefully, but he always dresses carefully.
“Sweetie, stop fidgeting,” says Vanessa. “And sit up straight.”
Ella folds her hands in her lap and bolts her spine against her chair.
“Granddad, how was your doctor’s appointment?” Henry asks.
“Fine. I don’t know why he makes me come in so often. I’m fine.”
Mrs. Tully enters the room with a platter of steaks and a deep dish of mashed potatoes, but Vanessa sends the food back to the kitchen, telling her to keep it warm until her husband arrives, that he should be here any second. There is a bowl of salad on the table, but no one seems to dare touch it, or even look at it.
Though Henry does sigh and say, “I’m so hungry.”
“Bill, how was your doctor’s appointment today?” Vanessa asks.
“As I just told Henry, it was fine,” says Mr. Morison.
“El, are you hungry?” says Henry.
“A little.” She furtively pulls at a pink sleeve.
“Sorry,” Vanessa says to her father-in-law. “I didn’t hear you tell him that.”
“No apologies necessary,” Mr. Morison says, but his tone implies otherwise.
Vanessa blushes, though you can barely see it through her makeup.
We wait ten minutes. We wait another ten minutes.
“Ness, maybe you should call and see where he is?” says Henry.
“Well, he said he’d be here, so he’ll be here,” says Vanessa.
“Call him,” says Mr. Morison.
Vanessa leaves the room. She returns almost immediately and sits back in her chair. “It went straight to voice mail. He must be on the ferry. He’ll be here in fifteen minutes.”
We wait fifteen minutes. We wait another minute after that.
Then there is the thud-thud-thud of footsteps in the hallway. Vanessa smiles triumphantly as she stands. Ella jumps up and runs to the doorway. They converge upon him as he comes into the room, engulfing him in a whirl of golden hair and pink ruffle.
“Daddy!” cries Ella.
“Jeffrey!” cries Vanessa.
“Girls, my beautiful girls!” And there he is, standing tall as he genially surveys the table. Jeffrey Morison.
He is not a handsome man. I saw photographs of him while doing my research, saw his ragged hairline, his bulging gray eyes, his slug of a nose, his stout frame. But what the photos didn’t reveal was that even though Jeffrey Morison is not a handsome man, there is something immediately appealing about him. His smile is full of teeth and cheer. His gaze is tender. His voice deep and soothing.
“Dad,” he says, “you’re looking well.”
“Thank you,” Mr. Morison says stiffly.
“Son!” he says. “What a tan. I’m glad you’ve been enjoying the beach.”
&
nbsp; “Just an afternoon here and there,” Henry mumbles.
“And you!” he says, directing his big smile toward me. “You must be my little girl’s academic tutor.”
“Yes, Mr. Morison.” I smile back at him.
“Please call me Jeffrey. I’m thrilled you’re here. We’re all thrilled.”
“I’m thrilled to be here.”
“Sure you are,” Henry says. For once he doesn’t smirk.
Jeffrey glances around at the blank plates on the table. “You haven’t started eating yet? Did you wait for me? You shouldn’t have waited.”
“Your wife insisted,” Mr. Morison says.
“Well, I’m starving. What’s for dinner?” Jeffrey sits down.
Instantly, Mrs. Tully appears with the asparagus soup, then the platter of steaks and dish of potatoes. Then roasted root vegetables, creamed spinach, fried oysters, and a garlic flatbread.
“Mrs. Tully, you’ve truly outdone yourself,” booms Jeffrey Morison.
I watch in disbelief as she flushes and flutters in reply.
But it’s true that the spread is impressive tonight. Although there is only one additional person here, there is twice the regular amount of food, and all of it is as delicious as always. We eat, hungrily.
“Daddy, how was your week?” Ella asks in a breathless chirp that sounds nothing like her usual soft voice.
“Excellent, sweetheart. I worked hard for my girls.” Her father, between chews of steak, chuckles.
I look at Henry, expecting him to make a snide or sarcastic comment, or roll his eyes at the very least. He doesn’t. He is eating his food with what appears to be complete concentration.
“My wife tells me that you just graduated from high school. Congratulations,” Jeffrey Morison says.
I’m still watching Henry, so I see him cringe. Then I realize Jeffrey is talking to me. I turn to him. “Yes, thank you,” I say.
“What are your plans for the future?” he asks.
I tell him I’ll be going to the honors program at the city university in the fall, where I plan to double major in mathematics and economics, and when I graduate I hope to attend business school.