hurt Shin. Hurt him in a way that was nasty and bloody, like hooking the soft guts out of prey. My heart was hammering, my breathing ragged. I almost expected to see blood all over the kitchen table.
“Is that what you think I did?” Shin’s face had gone dead white, a handsome death mask.
I braced myself for what would surely be a withering counterattack, but to my surprise, he said nothing. Just gave me that stricken look, the one that he never showed anyone else, not even when he was being beaten within an inch of his life.
I didn’t want to see Shin like this. And yet, at that moment, I hated him. I remembered how he’d looked, lying in Fong Lan’s lap, her hand sliding possessively down his bare chest. The way she’d gazed into his eyes, smiling.
Shin put a slim brown paper package on the table. “You can look at it, or not,” he said. “I’ll let you decide.”
He turned and walked out of the kitchen. Frozen, I stood waiting to hear his footsteps go upstairs again, but instead I heard him walk all the way to the front of the shophouse and pull open the front door, with its telltale creak. Then the spell broke. I ran down the hallway, that long, narrow passageway through the dark bowels of the shophouse.
“Shin!” I said, “Where are you going?”
“Back to the hospital.”
“I thought you were staying over tonight.”
“I have to work tomorrow.” The way he said this, with weary patience, broke my heart.
“There aren’t any trains or buses right now.”
“I know. I borrowed Ming’s bicycle.”
“But it’s so far.” It would take him more than an hour on dark, unpaved roads, and towards Batu Gajah, the road climbed steeply.
“Then I’d better get started.” He gave me the ghost of a smile. “Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.”
Shin wheeled the heavy black bicycle, which had been standing in the front of the shop, out into the street. I followed after him, helplessly.
“Go back inside,” he said softly, glancing up at the darkened windows of my stepfather’s room. “Please.”
“Shin—I’m sorry.” I put my arms around him from behind, burying my face in his lean back. I could feel his chest rise and fall
“Don’t cry,” he said. “Not in the street. Or Auntie Wong will come out and there’ll be even more strange rumors about our family.”
This attempt at humor only made me sob harder, though I tried to muffle the noise. Crying silently was a skill that both of us had learned in this house. Shin sighed and propped up the bicycle. After a long moment, he turned around. Even then, I wouldn’t let go. I had the feeling that something terrible would happen if I did. It was a silly thought, but it made me feel so dreadfully lonely that I hugged him tighter.
“I can’t breathe,” he said.
“Sorry.” We were talking in whispers, mindful of standing in the street though all the neighbors must have gone to bed by now. The moon shone down, sharp shadows in silver and black. Shin looked exhausted.
“Let me go with you. I’m worried about you riding on such dark roads.”
“And how?” he asked, stroking my hair. He’d never done this before and to hide my confusion, I buried my face in his shoulder. Tomorrow he would be someone else’s again, but tonight he was mine.
“I’ll ride on the back. We’ll take turns to pedal.”
“You’re too heavy. I’d fall over.”
“Idiot,” I said, jabbing him. He grabbed my wrists, pulling me closer. Breathless, I raised my face. I was almost certain he’d kiss me now, but he paused. Lowered his hands. In the moonlight, I couldn’t read the expression in his eyes.
“You should take care of your mother,” Shin said.
He was right, of course. Mortified, I tugged my wrists free. What had I been thinking, hoping that my stepbrother would actually kiss me?
“Be careful,” I said, stepping back. I watched as he struck a match and lit the kerosene bicycle lamp. Shin swung on, an easy fluid movement, and rode off into the night.
25
Falim
Tuesday, June 16th
Of course, the first thing I did was to go straight back into the kitchen and open Pei Ling’s brown paper package. Shin had mentioned that she still hadn’t regained consciousness from her fall. A shudder traveled through me. I was almost certain she’d been pushed and that Y. K. Wong had something to do with it. Never mind that I didn’t have any proof. It was just a feeling, a twitch in