Livia welcomed the constant studying. The more she learned, the more in control she would be. And studying was the only thing that could put Nason out of her mind. Studying and sleeping—when she wasn’t doing one or the other, anxiety plagued her like an illness.
The only break in the routine came on Sunday mornings, when the Lones took Livia to church. For these occasions, she had a closet full of dresses they had provided, dresses she found ugly and hard to move in. But she did her best not to reveal her discomfort—not just with the clothes, but with the whole experience. She knew about Christianity—half the rich Yao tribe were Christians, having been converted by missionaries—but Lahu beliefs were less distinct, and more flexible. Livia understood there were spirits inhabiting the trees and rocks and rivers, and this made sense because trees and rocks and rivers were real. But an invisible being that was at once everywhere and yet nowhere? That seemed silly to her, and she was amazed people could believe it. When Mr. Lone asked, as he invariably did, whether she had been moved by the service or the sermon, she would tell him, oh yes, it was so beautiful, so profound—a word Nanu had taught her—even though in fact she could only understand snatches. The truth was, she resented that these people seemed to want her to share in their silly beliefs. Why did they even care?
On weekends, the Lones had visitors, sometimes many of them. Everyone wore nice clothes, and an extra maid and cook would hand out drinks and bite-sized food on trays. Mr. Lone would call Livia in and introduce her to people, telling them how smart Livia was, how fast she was learning English and adapting to her new life. Livia could understand only part of these conversations, but she didn’t need words to know these people were all afraid of Mr. Lone, or wanted something from him, or both, and that’s why they came to his house, not because they liked him or wanted to be real friends.
One of the people Mr. Lone introduced her to was named Garry Emmanuel, the chief of Llewellyn’s police department. “Chief Emmanuel knows about Nason,” Mr. Lone said. “He’s doing everything he can to find her.”
Nanu had told Livia that in America it was considered impolite not to look in someone’s eyes. For Lahu, it was different—looking in the eyes felt like staring, or aggression. So she looked at Chief Emmanuel. She didn’t like what she saw. Hair cut close and the color of metal; jowly cheeks and a white mustache; cold blue eyes and a smile she knew he thought would fool a dumb little girl like the one looking up at him and having trouble meeting his eyes.
“That’s right,” Chief Emmanuel said. “I’m making sure Llewellyn PD is using all our contacts and resources. We’ll find your sister, don’t you worry.”
Livia didn’t like his promise. Because how could he really know? She would have been more reassured if he had just said he would try.
But maybe she was being too suspicious. This place . . . everything was so different from her people and the village. Maybe she just didn’t understand. And what choice did she have but to try to be patient, and helpful, and to hope?
So she merely thanked Chief Emmanuel for his kindness and told him how important it was to her to find Nason.
The other visitors would make sorrowful faces and tell Livia she was so “brave” to have suffered her “ordeal,” how “blessed” she was that Mr. Lone had decided to raise her in his own house. Livia wanted to take their pity and fling it back in their faces. But she knew the role Mr. Lone wanted her to play, and she needed to please him. So she smiled politely and thanked the visitors for their concern, and told them, oh yes, she certainly was lucky, and the Lones were so generous, and Llewellyn was the most beautiful place she had ever seen.
But Llewellyn wasn’t beautiful. It was alien. And there was something . . . rotten about it, something she could sense in the way people watched Mr. Lone and interacted with him, something dark and somehow even shameful. It reminded her of a smell—the one that would come from under the hut when a small animal had tunneled into a hole there and died. Everything would look fine, but until the animal’s carcass was found and removed, there would be that smell.
19—THEN
One evening, while Livia was drying off after a shower, the little lock on the bathroom door popped and the door swung open. She jumped back, startled and afraid, covering herself with the towel.
It was Mr. Lone, his tie loosened, his drink in hand. He must have come home while she had been in the shower. That’s why she hadn’t heard.
She watched him, confused and anxious. Had he learned something about Nason? Had he wanted her to know right away?
He looked her up and down, his breathing slightly elevated, his face red. The alcohol smell was strong.
“Why was the door locked, Livia?”
She didn’t know how to respond. “I . . . I lock when I shower.”