On Such a Full Sea (28 page)

You want to know why Vik left without you? Oliver said, the question clearly still evident on her face.

She nodded.

I told him to. I said, You should leave her here with me. She’s my sister, after all. Plus, you’ll probably only get in trouble.

There was no trouble, Fan said.

I didn’t mean
that
, Oliver said. I know that. He told me you were from B-Mor. But it’s funny, and totally Vik. How many people does one ever encounter from B-Mor? He didn’t even know that people were talking about you back there. You and this “Reg.”

Fan didn’t reply.

But that’s the thing about Vik. He’s as smart as anyone I know. Probably the smartest. He could have done anything he wanted. But he can’t do something as simple as say your name to a handscreen. Oliver showed Fan his, her name and household address and then countless links to discussion strings about their whereabouts, to all the theories and rumors about Reg and the directorate.

It would never occur to Vik. That’s why he’ll always be stuck in the ER. He gets on to something particular, and if he’s satisfied, he won’t bother to look up, he won’t go beyond.

Fan said: Maybe he doesn’t want to go beyond.

Oliver sort of chuckled, or suppressed a chuckle, as if to say where should he begin. There was a long-seeming moment in which they simply stood there, these putative siblings, the straight roofline of the brand-new house framing them, if Fan could see it, in a way that indeed suggested like blood, perhaps the shared squareness of their shoulders. But he was looking at her now as he did when Vik was driving away, a pain bubbling up.

You know about them, don’t you? he said. He was about to say something else when his expression changed, and she turned to see Betty behind the glass storm door. Betty opened it enough to poke out her head, wave her hand.

Would you come in now, Ollie! We’re nearly done with the presents and everyone is wondering where you are!

He called, All right, and Betty smiled, and gave them another hurry-up wave. Then she disappeared back inside.

Oliver rubbed his chin. He said: I discovered it last month, just as we were setting up for the sale. Her handscreen must have fallen out of her bag in the kitchen and it was buzzing below the chair because it was nearly out of power. I plugged it in and a message from Vik came up. I know his number. Then I found all the rest, hundreds and hundreds of them. Maybe a thousand. It was amazing. Do you know how innocent most of them were?

Fan shook her head.

They were. They were almost all like that. Essentially just versions of What are you doing, I’m fine, This is on my mind. Truly nothing. You would think that would count. But of course, there were other kinds.

He paused, letting out a trapped breath.

Well, it doesn’t matter now. It’s over between them. At least Vik made that clear. Over for good. It’s nothing that should be thought about again, right?

He wasn’t really asking, but nevertheless Fan did not know what to say. And whether or not Oliver was truly her brother didn’t seem paramount at the moment, either, for how stricken he was, if almost undetectably. He just kept slowly blinking, like his eyes were too dry, the sole stirring in the impassive pane of his face. Did our Fan wish to reach out? Did she want to comfort him with an embrace? Of course, yes. So she did. It took him by surprise, but then he reciprocated with a firmness that surprised her.

When he let her go, he started heading toward the house, but Fan simply stood there.

Oliver turned to her. What are you doing?

She said she thought she should go.

What do you mean, to Vik’s?

She said yes, though in truth she didn’t quite know. Hadn’t she seen him drive off like he wouldn’t ever be coming back? The curving street before her, which led somewhere deeper into the development, was densely quilted by kempt lawns and houses, by cars and tidy young trees. No one else was around.

Listen, Oliver said. You should at least spend the night with us. There’s no place else to go right now. You can stay with us, with Josey and the twins. Josey would love it, I bet. I’ve been thinking about something since the sale. We can do whatever we want now. We can make everything happen. We can look after our family, our kin, all the time. I don’t want only helpers around us, not anymore. Now you’re here. Of course, it’s up to you. But think about it. Whatever the reasons that you’ve come out from the walls. Who else would ever help you? Who else would ever care?

•   •   •

THAT NIGHT, WE KNOW,
after the party, after everyone (the guests, the caterers, Betty’s parents, all their helpers save the two who slept with the twins) had left, Betty and Fan made up her bed together in the companion bedroom to Josey’s, the one in which Fan had overheard her and Vik. Oliver was on a conference call with the pharmacorp’s scientists from their labs in Kuala Lumpur and Palo Alto. Josey had, of course, gone crazy when she learned that Fan would be staying with them, giddy with the assumption that Fan would be sharing her bedroom, but there was no other bed to bring in easily and Betty didn’t want Josey up all night playing or talking, and it took both of them a long time to calm her down after her tantrum and refusal to brush her teeth and a bout of forced sobs and the books each had to read to her and her last-gasp entreaties before her little body finally relented and she fell dead asleep. It had been a long day and it was late and even Betty, Fan could see, looked exhausted as they stretched the sheet over the mattress, strands of hair loosely screening part of her face, the slightest crook to her back. Fan insisted she would do the rest and Betty thanked her but instead of leaving she plopped herself into the downy armchair beside the bed, taking up the very large glass of wine she’d brought up and placed on the night table. It was as big as a bell. She was absently slow-swirling the ruby liquid but not yet drinking it as she watched Fan spread the top sheet and pull on the pillowcases.

After so many years, Betty said. I know you never even knew each other but it’s wonderful to see you together. Oliver seems so happy. This was going to be a happy day, for him especially, but not like this. I was afraid there would be a letdown after the sale because, frankly, what would we do with ourselves now; it’s like winning the lottery, but I don’t feel that way anymore. There’s suddenly a new shape we can see. And we have you, in part, to thank for it.

Maybe Vik, too, Fan said.

Yes, for sure, Betty said, taking a drink of her wine. I’m sorry he had to leave so abruptly. I didn’t even know.

That’s okay, Fan said, thinking as fast as she could to make sure not to cause any undue trouble.

Did he say why? Betty asked, as if asking most casually.

Fan told her he had to go to the medical center. She said she would call him tomorrow.

Yes, please do, Betty told her. But I did wonder when you two arrived. Vik is always doing and saying the strangest things. I knew you weren’t someone’s “niece.” I guess I thought he was just embarrassed to have hired a helper for himself.

He’s too neat for a helper.

That’s certainly our Vik, Betty said, her eyes a little tickled. You know, we’ve known each other since we were children. Our fathers were colleagues at an engineering firm, and our families and a couple of others liked to go to a lakeside park together, well outside our village, where most other Charter families wouldn’t go. The mothers weren’t as high on it as the dads. They wouldn’t let us swim or even go near the water. But the dads played bocce and badminton, and bought and drank the counties beer, which they said tasted better than what they had in the village.

Fan said that Vik never mentioned his parents or displayed any pictures of them.

I’m not surprised, Betty said. They passed away while we were just starting university, his mother first, and then his father almost right after, though from different Cs. It was a terrible time for him, as you can imagine. He was totally lost. He wanted to quit school, maybe even leave the village and go overseas, but we convinced him not to. Mostly I did. It was around that time I met Oliver . . . I mean Li . . .

Liwei.

Liwei. I almost like that better. In fact, I do. It’s certainly more dashing. Do you know if it means anything?

Fan did know, as from time to time someone in the household would brag to a visitor about how a member of their clan had once been Chartered.

She said: Profit and Greatness.

Of course, Betty said, almost sighing. It couldn’t be any other way. Oliver was destined to succeed. Everyone who’s ever met him has thought it. Especially back then. Vik introduced us at the gathering after his father’s memorial service. Of course, Oliver wasn’t trying to be charming, but he was all energy and funny and sweet, and before you knew it, there was a crowd around him, including Vik, who badly needed cheering up. When Oliver was younger, he couldn’t as easily dial himself back, not like he can now. He was always on because he had to be, being where he was from. You can imagine. I almost felt sorry for Vik, but you could tell he was grateful not to be the focus of everyone’s sadness and pity. He was even a little happy. That evening, as we left him to be with his relatives, he said, “Are there two more perfect people more perfect for each other?” and actually made us hold hands. And now look at us. Here we are.

Here we are, Fan said.

Betty took a last big sip and finished her wine. The bed was made up now and Betty believed she had a nightgown that was left behind by a houseguest that might fit Fan. She wobbled to her feet and said she was going to find it, and while she was gone, Fan simply waited, leaning against the foot of the bed. But after a while, it was clear Betty would not be returning tonight. Fan brushed her teeth quietly so as not to rouse Josey, then returned to the new bed and pulled back the covers. She wasn’t sleepy yet. So she just sat, waiting for the long night to come, laden heavy, as she must have been, with the truck of these many strange souls whom she had come upon and who had fallen upon her, all their hopes, and wants, and sorrows, and wounded dreams filling up the room of her thoughts. Could she still see out? Could she still see Reg? Yes. She wasn’t dreaming him anymore for she had him in her constant sight, and he was coming ever closer now.

The next day Oliver and Betty—Betty apologized for having gone right to sleep once she got near her bed—sat her down in the main hall living room to outline what they called the Next Stage. Josey was playing with the new aquarium while she waited to be picked up by the preschool shuttle, having already figured out she could point the remote and control this fish or that or even a group of them. Her twin baby siblings were set up on either side of her in bouncy seats so they could watch the action, and they bucked and flailed their chubby limbs whenever Josey had the fish retreat inside the nooks of the coral and then pop out all at once. The twins’ helpers were there, too, plus the three or four others who took care of the house, who were now dusting and damp-ragging on the periphery, though in this huge airy room and its vaulted ceiling it felt to Fan as if they were sitting at the dead center of a soccer field, the stands empty around them, the yawing space a phantom, coolish draw at her back.

Oliver and Betty were clearly unaware of the feeling, and between slugs of their iced coffees, alternately described to Fan what they saw of their new life, a life they hoped would include her. Oliver had woken Betty up before dawn and they’d talked all morning; they had many of the same notions about how they envisioned their lives, what, in their words, it would “look like, act like, feel like,” this wondrous creature of their new existence. To begin with, they were going to have another set of twins, fraternal, of course, and probably another set after that, though Betty wouldn’t carry those. She would become an all-hands mother, which meant managing every last aspect of the helpers’ and cooks’ tasks and responsibilities, and overseeing the post-school tutors for the children, as well as the clothes shopping and interior design, plus of course arranging the doctors’ visits and the vacations. Oliver would be involved as much as possible, for they decided he’d invest in companies only sparingly, focusing instead on running the charitable foundation they were going to start, maybe for the benefit of Charter helpers’ or even counties children’s health care, though of this they weren’t yet sure. What they were certain of was that this was an unparalleled opportunity, one very few people of their relative youth would ever have, which was not just to hop a global whenever they pleased or drink genuine burgundy at lunch but to spend their precious time together forever, whenever they could, without stinting.

The way they would do this, Oliver explained, was not simply by “wanting to” and “promise keeping” but by making, literally, structural changes; the plan, still preliminary, of course, but at the same time something he had seriously thought through last night, was to reorient this brand-new house, changing everything so that the entrance and front were on the driveway side, which would be mirrored by a similar construction on the abutting lot that he was going to buy. He made a quick perspective drawing of the imagined site on one of Josey’s big sketch pads, his breezy, flowing hand impressively rendering the brick and plaster façades of now more conventional doors and windows. The two new structures would face each other, with the current driveway widened past the lot line and curbed just like a street, though it would serve more as a gathering place than an avenue for cars, the sidewalk lined with healthy young trees, the asphalt marked by the chalk of a few children playing knockout, an older couple cheering them. It was homey and tidy, safe and happy, a prettified version, Fan could see now, of a B-Mor street, one that seemed like theirs, as he rendered what appeared to be a tiny lion head on one of the front doors.

He was going to build the old neighborhood, right here in the Charter.

It would be inhabited, in their vision, by their many children (and helpers, though this was understood), and her parents, and her siblings’ families, and any other relatives who might want to live there, rent-free of course, as long as they understood and believed in their “familial project” of not simply spending a few prescribed if pleasant hours of the holidays and birthdays together but engaging in the “real business” of living, the modest quarters, the joys and frictions of the communal table, the intimacy naturally elaborated enough to encompass every moment of their days, which, frankly, none of them had been experiencing much, if at all, and would have gone on missing if this great fortune had not come.