She opened drawers, not entirely sure of what she was looking for, and paused when she saw a metal hairclip. She picked it up and examined it, considering, then pushed it into the crack under the door, tapping it into place with the bottom of a heavy drinking glass until it would go no further. She turned the knob and pulled hard, but the door wouldn’t budge.
She nodded, satisfied. Mr. Lone had told her not to lock the door, and she hadn’t. But now it couldn’t be opened, either.
20—THEN
The day before school was to start, Livia met with Nanu for the last time. The other tutors had stopped coming the week before, to prepare for their classes. And now it was time for Nanu to return to Washington. Livia was sad she was leaving, and frightened, too. Nanu felt like her last connection to a world that was beginning to seem like a strange and fragmenting dream. There was still so much she didn’t understand—not just about the language, but about the people, the place, the customs. As strange and uncomfortable as everything was, she had gotten used to the routine—the dining room, her teachers, studying until she was exhausted at night. Even the church. Tomorrow, everything would change.
At noon, Nanu stood and they began heading toward the front door. There would be no lunch today because there would be no afternoon tutoring. Livia wasn’t sure what she would do—she had never had an afternoon to herself. Study, she decided.
“Wait,” Livia said, realizing Nanu had forgotten something. “Your books.”
Nanu glanced back at the textbooks she had left on the table, then looked at Livia. “They’re yours now.”
Of course. It made sense. But it also made Nanu’s departure more real. And more final.
At the door, Nanu paused and turned. “Are you nervous about tomorrow?” she said.
Livia nodded. She wouldn’t have admitted it to anyone else, but she didn’t mind telling Nanu.
Nanu smiled. “You’ll be fine. You’re ready. I can’t believe how far you’ve come in just over two months.”
All morning, Livia had been hoping Nanu would offer to stay in touch—give her an address, a phone number, something. But she hadn’t. Livia looked at her, afraid to ask.
Nanu raised her eyebrows. “What is it?”
Livia hesitated, then blurted out in Lahu, “Could I write you? Or call you? Just . . . to tell you how I’m doing at school?”
Nanu looked down for a moment, then said in English, “Mr. Lone doesn’t think it’s good for you to talk in Lahu. You know that.”
Livia switched back to English. “But we can talk in English. Or write. It will be good practice for me.”
“He doesn’t think you should talk to me.”
“What? Why?”
Nanu sighed. “He thinks you’ll make better progress if we’re not in touch. That your English will get better faster.”
“But it’s been getting better with you.”
“Yes. But now you’re going to be in school every day, using English every day with other students. You’ll make American friends. They’ll want you to be American, too. Not Lahu.”
“But I am Lahu.”
Nanu shook her head. “You have to try.”
“I don’t want to.”
“I want you to.”
Livia switched back to Lahu. “Then call me. Write to me.”
Nanu shook her head again and looked around, almost as though concerned someone was listening. She said in English, “No, Livia. It isn’t a good idea. It would make trouble for us both.”
Livia tried, but couldn’t understand. Nanu seemed almost . . . frightened. But of what?
“Trouble why? How?”
Nanu frowned. “It’s too much to explain. I have to be careful, all right? I have people who depend on me. I’m sorry, Livia. And I’m so proud of you. But I have to go. And I won’t be in touch. I’m sorry.”
Nanu turned, and in the instant before she was gone, Livia thought her face looked almost ashamed.
Livia stood in the doorway, her body rigid, her lips pursed. She wasn’t frightened anymore. She was angry. She watched Nanu get into her car and pull away from the curb. Nanu didn’t even glance back. A few seconds later, she was gone.
At least she didn’t try to sell you, Livia thought.
But she wasn’t entirely sure that was true.
21—THEN
That evening, Livia took a shower while the Lones were out. She liked having the house to herself. And she felt safer showering when Mr. Lone wasn’t home.
She was rinsing the shampoo from her hair when she heard someone try to open the bathroom door. She pulled back the curtain and peeked out, her heart racing.
“Hello?” she called.
“Livia? What did I tell you about locking this door?”
It was Mr. Lone. He must have come back. And Mrs. Lone must still have been out.
Livia’s hands started to tremble. She stepped out of the shower and pulled a towel around herself. She glanced down at the hair clip wedged under the door. “It not locked. I no . . . I didn’t lock.”
She saw the doorknob turn back and forth. Then nothing. She waited. Had he gone away?
The door exploded inward with a giant boom, bouncing off the wall and back. Mr. Lone strode in, catching the door as he moved and flinging it out of the way again.
“What did I tell you?” he shouted. “What?”