On a new sheet of paper, Ava drew the three stick figures again, this time in a vertical line, one above the other, and then a connecting line from the bottom figure to the middle and from the middle figure to the top. She tapped the top figure with her finger.
“The top one is Wilma?”
Fervently Ava nodded. She tapped the bottom stick figure and then herself on the chest.
Julian opened his mouth. “Wilma is your grandmother?”
Ava cried.
He sat stunned. “Wilma had three daughters,” he said in a disbelieving voice. “Which one was your mother?”
Ava lowered her hand below the arm of the chair.
“The youngest? Kara?”
Ava nodded.
Julian took Ava’s frail hand. “Kara was your mother? Oh, Ava. What year were you born? I can’t believe I don’t know this.”
Through headshakes and nods, he learned that the year was 1945.
“Ava, what did you know about your great aunt Abigail? She had a daughter named Maria. She was your mother’s cousin. She died five years before you were born.”
Pressing an arthritic fist deep into her heart, Ava’s eyes glistened with anguish.
“Ava,” Julian whispered, “did you name your daughter Mia after Abigail’s daughter?”
Her eyes spilling over, Ava nodded.
“How did you and your family get from Morecambe Bay to Brooklyn?” Julian asked.
Ava found the first scrap of paper she had drawn on. Holding the index finger of Julian’s maimed hand, she guided him over the series of circles, one after the other. With his pointer, she tapped on one, then the next, and the next. Julian stared at the circles, at Ava, outside into the garden. He counted the circles, but it was unnecessary. He knew the answer already.
36.
Thirty-six Fabian coins he had left with Mia in the pink house on Babbacombe Road.
29
Junk Shop
THE DOORBELL RANG OVERHEAD AS JULIAN OPENED Quatrang’s door. Devi came out from the back, wiping his hands. “Look who’s finally here,” he said. “Would you like some lunch?”
“No,” Julian said. “I’m not staying. I came to ask you a question.”
Devi put down the dishtowel and stood small and straight by the counter.
“Are you telling me the truth?” Julian said. “Is there really no way to go back?”
“There is really no way to go back.”
“Then why did I dream of her again?”
“I don’t know,” Devi said. “Grief?”
“No.”
“Take a walk around London, Julian.”
“I would but—” Julian waved his umbrella that doubled as a walking stick.
“You should’ve been more attentive when it was easier,” Devi said. “You’ve been walking, but you haven’t seen. Otherwise you might’ve learned something.”
“Do I look to you as if I haven’t learned enough?”
“Every soul out there is dreaming and searching for something they loved and lost,” Devi said. “Every one of them is seeking the unattainable thing. On the streets of London is the answer to why you dream. It’s the human condition. Watch the men and women when they’re by themselves. They’re all searching. For faded beauty, for old love, for a new career, for warmer climes, for health, for their dead mothers. For their lost s-sons.” Devi’s voice almost didn’t stammer. “We’re all like you.”
“That’s not what I’m asking.”
“Of course not. You refuse to get it. Everyone sees the faces they love in their dreams!” Devi rocked backward, unsteady on his feet. “But you had the real thing. You had it. I told you what it would cost you. And now you’re upset you had to pay the price? Looking for another miracle, are you? Well, I’m all out, Julian.”
“You call what you gave me a miracle?” Julian said through his teeth.
“Oh, you ingrate,” the Hmong cook said, his own teeth clenched. “Do you know what I would give to see my son again?” Devi’s stiff hands gripped the counter. “Everything. I would give everything I had, everything I would ever have, every single thing under the sun, and everything else in the universe. Ashton was right about me. If the devil had asked me for your soul in return for my boy, I would’ve betrayed you like that.” Devi snapped his fingers. “I would’ve handed you over.”
“You did hand me over.”
“Then I was duped because I got nothing in return.”
Julian’s heart was black as it flew over emptiness.
Nothing was stronger than death.
Not even him.
Not even her.
And while he was busy feeling sorry for himself, time carried the marrow of his life away.
He was quiet. Great Eastern Road was quiet.
“You destroyed my life,” Julian said. “Yes, I was a husk before I met you, but you ruined me for good.” His shoulders