Celine comes back down the stairs. “Always with this Asian connection,” she says to Krista. “You know, I study psychology at the University of British Columbia, and this comes up in the paper—an article saying that Canadians are happier in areas where there are few foreign-born residents. And you know they don’t mean people like me. There is a question you must ask yourself: Are you promoting this bias with your work?”

“By reporting on criminal activity? That’s what I do!” Krista says. “The reason I do this is so that the government can get their shit together and regulate things properly.”

Celine shrugs. “But they’re bribed to not. Paid to look the other way. Politicians are just as corrupt here, too. I’m saying the coverage can be taken the wrong way by idiots, and the idiots become uncomfortable with immigrants.”

I get the sense this is an argument they have often, especially when Krista grumbles, “Well, it’s their fault for being idiots. What are you, some kind of social justice warrior? Who let you into the country?”

“I don’t know, but you’re the one keeping me here.”

They kiss in a way that makes me think that perhaps the honeymoon isn’t over yet, and then Celine asks if I want some tea. She puts her hands on the top of the doorframe and falls into a stretch, in a way I’ve only seen athletes do. Krista is equally riveted by this motion.

I say no to tea but make sure to give Krista my number in case she remembers anything else. “Congratulations on the wedding,” I say to them both.

Celine beams, argument forgotten. “Thank you!”

Krista just smiles at me. At the door, she gives me a long, searching look. “Sebastian mailed me a copy of his memoirs before he passed. He mentions you in there. You’ve read it, right?”

“I haven’t read the final version.”

“You should. You know when I said you were unpredictable? What I meant was I would never have thought you’d be the person to drop everything and take care of a dying man for a year. Who takes care of you, lady?”

On that bright note she closes the door on me.

The phone rings while I’m pulling out of her driveway, but I answer it anyway, hoping it’s Simone. It’s not. Bernard Lam is on the line. He wants to meet tomorrow.

He’s got a surprise for me.

23

The little maid feels fragile underneath him. There are stretch marks on her soft belly. Dao likes the little grooves but finds them distracting. Nothing in her employment file told him she’s a mother. When he asks about the child, she shakes her head and shifts her body, tilting her hips up and into him. Maybe she’s feeling reckless because it’s night and they’re alone.