Page 26 of The Gods Will Sing Our Song

The man says something to the woman, and she declares, “You and those boys no good. You go.”

She means Kai and his friends. They’re blaming me for bringing them to the garden. In fact, they probably think I’m one of them, even without a bandanna. The man flaps a hand at us, shooing us away. I don’t need to know Japanese to understand what he’s saying. Guilt knots in my chest. I hear Mr. Nomura’s voice in my head. Han’nin.

Doesn’t matter that I haven’t done anything wrong. Shame is my stasis. It’s what’s left when my anger has burned out and my thoughts catch up to me. Reminds me I’m the dead weight of the world and that it might be better off if I was left alone to sink.

“Hey, it’s not his fault!” Kai protests, but it only makes the man firmer. Kai doesn’t get it. He never has. I toss down the pickax and stalk away, face burning. “Slow down.” Kai catches up to me. “That guy was a pendejo.”

“Damn it, Kai, I needed that job.” Anger makes it hard to speak.

“I can help you.” Kai is unperturbed. His confidence spills into everything. Even now, he thinks he can make things better. “I was trying to find you because I just got a job myself and can get you one, too. J-man and his buddies work at one of the warehouses, near the WRA offices. Unloading stuff. You did that before, right?”

“I’d have to work with those goons?” I’d rather eat glass.

“You’d work with me.” With his self-assured smile in place, Kai holds his arms out as though he’s God’s gift to the world. “I go after classes.”

“Does your dad know?”

“Since when are you so obsessed with my dad?”

“Since you started being an idiot.” I don’t want to work with—what do they call that guy? J-man?—but if it’ll let me help Emi, then yeah, I’ll do it. “Fine. Sure. I’d like the job.”

“Ayyy, Dragon and Tiger! We ride again!”

Kai’s enthusiasm is irresistible, and I can’t help but smile. Still, my stomach tightens. I’ll have to be careful around Kai’s new bandanna crew. Emi needs me. The baby needs me.

Everyone else can go to hell in a handbasket tied with a bow.

A package arrives the next day for us, about an hour before I’m due to start working at the warehouse. I planned to use the hour to search for the man but get derailed when a WRA lackey brings the box right to our barrack. The lackey whistles at it admiringly.

“It’s from some well-connected folk in Pasadena,” he says as he hands it over. “They used some sort of courier service to have it brought way out here.”

Well-connected folk.

Pasadena.

Mrs. Ross.

I stand on the steps, not sure if I should bring it in. Emi is awake. It might upset her to see it. When she found out about Mrs. Ross’s offer, all she said was “No way in hell,” and then didn’t talk or even stir in her bed for the rest of the day. Mama steps out behind me. She realizes what it is and eagerly descends.

“Maybe she’s sent something nice, like hand creams,” she says, sounding excited for once in her life. Her bracelets clack around her wrists as she reaches for it.

“I don’t think it’s for you, Mama,” I point out, and she sighs, as though Mrs. Ross has personally affronted her. I wonder, though, if it might contain medicine or even money. I tear it open. Sweetness hits my nose so strongly, I’m confused. Has Mrs. Ross doused the box in perfume? I lift out a sheer bag tied with a blue ribbon. The bag is filled with something that looks like Kellogg’s cereal.

“It’s a sachet,” Mama declares, snatching it from me. She sniffs it and nods approvingly.

“A sachet?”

“For your drawers. To make your things smell pretty.”

“Great. Except we don’t have any drawers,” I say.

The only other item is a thick white envelope. It’s monogrammed and trimmed in gold. You’d think it was an invitation to a ball. I arch an eyebrow at it. Maybe it’s the real gift. Maybe it’s money after all. I open it. The letter matches the envelope. All it says is:

Dear Hamada family,

It was lovely to meet you. Please, consider my offer.

Warmly,