Jamie passes me a look that contains ghosts of the past. We know Fong’s grief, the kind that freezes you in space and time. The kind that blindfolds you, then hangs you over a wire, with no idea how deep the drop is or how much farther you must walk to get to the end. Neither of us spoke for a week after Mum died. It was as if talking meant progress and progress meant she was part of the past. That was something neither of us could accept.

Bo, chewing his lip, studies Fong with a mix of distrust and maybe a little despair. Perhaps, after years of hating the man, a measure of sympathy has finally bubbled up, and he isn’t sure where to put it, like receiving a gift for which you have not yet found the right drawer.

My nose and eyes grow hot with tears as I remember the serene Tao, the man who unlocks doors. I plant myself on the bottom stair beside Fong, but he shrinks away from me. “Leave me alone, girl.”

Bo extends a hand, and I reach out mine in response. But when he doesn’t take it, I realize the hand isn’t meant for me.

“Uncle,” he says, “I will look for him. But if he does not want to go, you must honor his wishes.”

The sound of Bo’s voice seems to startle Fong, and his head snaps up. His eyes, more grey than brown, squint, as if not trusting his ears.

“Tao.” Fong’s voice cracks. “Tao is like a brother.”

“Yes. And brothers honor brothers.”

In the soft clinking of the chandeliers, and the groans of the ship as she labors, a glimmer of hope works its way down the tidal-wave staircase to the Chinese huddled at her feet.

At last, Fong extends a hand, a hand that trembles as if offering it is the hardest thing he’s ever done. Bo catches it in his solid grasp, and firmly pulls the man to his feet.

Fong’s bad foot hangs like a bag of sand from his ankle, and he can’t stand up all the way. Bo squats in front of the old pickpocket and, in one quick motion, hauls him up, so that the man is draped across his shoulders like a fox stole.

“Let’s go, Stowaway.”

Watching the cliffs of Dover take the stairs two at a time, I admit that, for once, I envy Fong just a tad.

37

At the top of the stairs, Bo puts Fong back on his pins, then squares his cap.

Jamie and Bo grasp arms. “Good luck finding Tao.”

“Stay salty.”

Their voices are hale, but the two hold their solemn shake longer than usual.