A minute later, the girl reappeared and headed for the register.
While setting plates down for a young couple sitting in the center of the restaurant, the woman began yelling at the girl at the register in Chinese. At least it sounded like yelling, but then Sadie had always thought Asian languages sounded like yelling so she couldn’t be sure. The girl answered in a softer tone, which caused Sadie to look at the waitress who waved her hand through the air in some kind of gesture Sadie didn’t understand. The girl bent down behind the counter, then stood with a basket of fortune cookies she set near the register. That must have been what the waitress had wanted because she gave a short nod and then finished serving the plates to the guests.
“Why don’t we leave Ji a note instead of interrupting him,” Sadie said after nodding for Pete to take the last bun. The buns were quite good, though Pete said they weren’t as good as others he’d had. “Then we can walk around for a while and maybe come back when he’s less busy.”
Before she finished talking, she’d already started rummaging in her purse for paper and a pen. When they went to the register to pay their bill, the girl quickly slid her cell phone she’d been texting on into her pocket, then smiled at Pete and asked if they’d enjoyed their meal. Her English was perfect.
“It was delicious,” Sadie and Pete said at the same time. The girl smiled shyly and took the check before punching numbers into the register.
Sadie inspected the items inside the glass case beneath the register while Pete paid the bill. There were a variety of Chinese-themed knickknacks, like painted chopsticks and paper fans. At the bottom of the case were small lacquered boxes that Sadie would have written off as more tourist trinkets if she hadn’t been looking so close. However, she bent down to get a better look and could see the individual brushstrokes—tiny ones—of what seemed to be a hand-painted scene of a stream and a bridge with bamboo on one end and a row of Chinese symbols on the other.
“These boxes,” Sadie said to the girl when she handed Pete his credit card receipt to sign. “Are they for sale?”
“Yes.” The girl slid open the back door of the case and removed one of the boxes.
Sadie ran her hand over the paint and could feel the raised design. On closer inspection, the artwork was even more detailed and fine than she’d first assumed and the box was better crafted. There was no “Made in China” sticker anywhere.
“This is hand painted?” Sadie asked.
“Yes,” the girl said as she gave Pete his receipt. “My father paints them.” She tucked her straight black hair, cut bluntly at the shoulder, behind her ear. Sadie noticed a piercing at the top of her left ear. No earring, just the telltale hole.
“Your father?” Sadie said, suddenly realizing that this could very well be Ji’s daughter, Wendy’s . . . granddaughter. Sadie wasn’t a grandmother yet, but looking at this girl and knowing she shared genes with Sadie’s sister—with Sadie herself—was powerful and somewhat shocking.
Something Sadie hadn’t thought about in years came to mind, and she looked at the box again. Wendy, for all her difficulties, had been very artistic. An oil painting she’d done had hung in the hallway of their parents’ home for many years. It had taken second place at the county fair when Wendy had been fourteen or fifteen years old. It was because of Wendy’s skill, and Sadie not wanting to compete with her, that Sadie had given up her own interest in art when she was young. She wasn’t as good as Wendy, not ever, but it brought the devil out in her sister when she’d try. And now Sadie held a jewelry box, painted by Wendy’s son—who also shared her blood and heritage. As did this girl standing in front of her. Sadie swallowed against the sudden thickness in her throat. “Your father painted this?” Sadie asked for a second time.
The girl
While setting plates down for a young couple sitting in the center of the restaurant, the woman began yelling at the girl at the register in Chinese. At least it sounded like yelling, but then Sadie had always thought Asian languages sounded like yelling so she couldn’t be sure. The girl answered in a softer tone, which caused Sadie to look at the waitress who waved her hand through the air in some kind of gesture Sadie didn’t understand. The girl bent down behind the counter, then stood with a basket of fortune cookies she set near the register. That must have been what the waitress had wanted because she gave a short nod and then finished serving the plates to the guests.
“Why don’t we leave Ji a note instead of interrupting him,” Sadie said after nodding for Pete to take the last bun. The buns were quite good, though Pete said they weren’t as good as others he’d had. “Then we can walk around for a while and maybe come back when he’s less busy.”
Before she finished talking, she’d already started rummaging in her purse for paper and a pen. When they went to the register to pay their bill, the girl quickly slid her cell phone she’d been texting on into her pocket, then smiled at Pete and asked if they’d enjoyed their meal. Her English was perfect.
“It was delicious,” Sadie and Pete said at the same time. The girl smiled shyly and took the check before punching numbers into the register.
Sadie inspected the items inside the glass case beneath the register while Pete paid the bill. There were a variety of Chinese-themed knickknacks, like painted chopsticks and paper fans. At the bottom of the case were small lacquered boxes that Sadie would have written off as more tourist trinkets if she hadn’t been looking so close. However, she bent down to get a better look and could see the individual brushstrokes—tiny ones—of what seemed to be a hand-painted scene of a stream and a bridge with bamboo on one end and a row of Chinese symbols on the other.
“These boxes,” Sadie said to the girl when she handed Pete his credit card receipt to sign. “Are they for sale?”
“Yes.” The girl slid open the back door of the case and removed one of the boxes.
Sadie ran her hand over the paint and could feel the raised design. On closer inspection, the artwork was even more detailed and fine than she’d first assumed and the box was better crafted. There was no “Made in China” sticker anywhere.
“This is hand painted?” Sadie asked.
“Yes,” the girl said as she gave Pete his receipt. “My father paints them.” She tucked her straight black hair, cut bluntly at the shoulder, behind her ear. Sadie noticed a piercing at the top of her left ear. No earring, just the telltale hole.
“Your father?” Sadie said, suddenly realizing that this could very well be Ji’s daughter, Wendy’s . . . granddaughter. Sadie wasn’t a grandmother yet, but looking at this girl and knowing she shared genes with Sadie’s sister—with Sadie herself—was powerful and somewhat shocking.
Something Sadie hadn’t thought about in years came to mind, and she looked at the box again. Wendy, for all her difficulties, had been very artistic. An oil painting she’d done had hung in the hallway of their parents’ home for many years. It had taken second place at the county fair when Wendy had been fourteen or fifteen years old. It was because of Wendy’s skill, and Sadie not wanting to compete with her, that Sadie had given up her own interest in art when she was young. She wasn’t as good as Wendy, not ever, but it brought the devil out in her sister when she’d try. And now Sadie held a jewelry box, painted by Wendy’s son—who also shared her blood and heritage. As did this girl standing in front of her. Sadie swallowed against the sudden thickness in her throat. “Your father painted this?” Sadie asked for a second time.
The girl
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