“Do you remember me?” he asked.

“Yes, of course!” He seemed shorter and thinner. “Your English is amazing.”

“Thank you. Can I take you to lunch?”

After dropping off my files in my car, Alfred and I crossed Metcalfe Street to walk along Sparks. We settled on D’Arcy McGee’s and ordered pub fare.

“How did you find me?” I asked. “I left you a message weeks ago. I had given up hope that you would call me back.”

“I was so surprised to hear your voice, Lily. At first, I wasn’t going to call you back. I still have that old fear of getting caught in Canada. Then I saw an opportunity to see you in person. I’m taking the paralegal course at Algonquin College and my instructor for the immigration law class advised us to attend a hearing at the federal court. I saw your name as the lawyer for this case and knew it was fate,” Alfred asserted.

“I was surprised to hear you’re in Ottawa now,” I said.

“Yes, I moved here after I got married. My wife worked for Nortel until it sought bankruptcy protection, going belly up like the mines,” Alfred replied.

I stared at Alfred sitting in front of me. “I can’t believe we’ve been here in the same city. I’ve always wondered what happened to you. All of us in Sparwood were worried about you. How were you able to stay in Canada?”

“I went to Vancouver and worked for several years in the kitchens of noodle houses, away from the eyes of the authorities. I met my wife there. She’s Canadian, like you, and taught me English. Her father owned one of the noodle houses that I was working in. We fell in love despite her father’s objections and married so that she could sponsor me.”

I nodded dumbly, marvelling at how far Alfred had come and how luck had brought him to where he was. Like Father, he was eventually able to shed his sallow skin of statelessness.

“My wife died last year. She had cancer. For many years, I worked odd jobs, teaching in Saturday Chinese schools, working in construction, cooking in restaurants. My writing stopped after my refugee hearing. That whole ordeal took my writing away from me. But after my wife died, I decided to become a paralegal to help others. And I’ve started writing again.”

“Alfred, your story is incredible. I’m so sorry to hear of your loss. I would’ve liked to have met your wife. Do you have any children?” I asked.

“A daughter. She’s in university right now in Toronto. But enough about me! What about you?” Alfred queried.

“Where do I begin? Well, I moved to Ottawa for a job, and my father and Auntie Choo Neo followed me. I can’t wait to tell them you’re here.”

“And you’re a lawyer!” Alfred said excitedly. “Your father must be proud.”

I smiled. “Yes, can you believe it? Elaine Wong inspired me to become an immigration lawyer.”