Hongmei’s hands flew to her shoulders, which were empty. Her favorite shawl had fallen into his hands.

He told her not to worry; he’d take good care of it till their next meeting.

She was no longer conjuring up an image out of thin air. Loving words and the middle-aged man who’d flashed past her combined together. Even this affection was the love of a cowboy, half a smile peeping out from under the brim of a hat, not taking you particularly seriously, but ready to die for you in the blink of an eye. That’s fine—that’s what she wanted. This was a man who could rejuvenate all her feelings and desires.

He said he could feel her damp body wrapped in its soft cotton towel. This was his hand, ripping off the towel. Not a gentle unwrapping but a firm tug, a bold move, a quick gesture—don’t you dare be shy. This was his palm, rubbing against her flesh, this yellow, childlike skin.

He really was making her hot again. Even Glen felt different to her now.

11

While Glen was in class, Nini brought over a videotape to share with Hongmei.

The scene opened on an archway with its vermilion bougainvillea. The tip of the fire tower. In the back of her mind, Hongmei knew she had seen this view before, but she just couldn’t place it. The beautiful, useless boyfriend entered the frame and rang the bell. The door opened, revealing a twenty-year-old woman’s face. The camera drew closer. The girl was just shaking her head. The boy got out his card: his fake press credentials forged by Nini. She glanced at it, shrugged, smiled, and agreed to take a few questions. She was half hidden behind the door, revealing only half her body—she was an old hand at this. She’d dealt with the media since she was seven.

He asked when she first suspected her father might have been innocent.

“Fourteen,” she said.

What gave her the idea?