In the aftermath they found Lam’s body. They blamed it on local gang violence, an attempted robbery gone wrong. Two of the locals who were part of the gang were found beside Ivan at the house entrance to the back patio. By the time the police got in there, Dao was gone.

“He’s got as many lives as you do,” Brazuca said.

We played up the tourist card, of a couple caught in a tragedy. Brazuca was a friend of Lam’s, and I traveled as Brazuca’s girlfriend. The attack on Lam was seen as a crime of opportunity for a group of violent youths looking to snatch a wealthy man whose family would pay to get him back or had at least put kidnap insurance on him. Though several people had seen another man of Chinese descent on the property, nobody knew who he was.

There was death all around us and with it an atmosphere of confusion that we used to quietly make plans to leave. When we heard Lam’s father was on his way to Lombok to collect Lam’s body, Brazuca and I accepted a police escort to the airport. We flew to Singapore, Seoul, and finally back to Vancouver. On these flights I did nothing but sleep.

We collected Whisper from a reluctant Leo and went back to Brazuca’s apartment in East Van. A pattern establishes itself. Walk, eat, and go to bed. Dao hangs there between us, but we’re exhausted by the thought of him. We push him aside for now. The Canadian climate is a blow after all the sun we’ve experienced, leaving behind reddened cheeks and cold fingers. We mostly stay in. It feels better this way.

“Do you believe me?” I ask Brazuca.

“Yes,” he says, after a moment. He’s telling the truth, but he looks uneasy. It could be from hunger, I think. He eats only half as much as I do. I feel a burning urge to row in place, so after I walk Whisper, I head to the gym. My mind is too busy for anything else. Before I leave, I look back at him from the door. He’s half-turned, his smile disappearing, a grimace of pain replacing it.

Two days later, he returns from a doctor’s visit with news of an ulcer. The day after that Bonnie calls to tell me she’s in the city. She speaks in a mashup of sentences that takes me a moment to pick through.

“You’re in Vancouver?” I ask, feeling dread creeping over me.

“Mom and I are staying with my dad for a bit. Can we meet?”

“No, go back to Toronto.” I don’t mean to say this, for it to come out the way it does. Made harsh by sudden confusion.