As she limped back the way they’d come, she distracted herself by taking in as much of the campus as she could. Her dad had walked on these same bricks, breathed this same air, seen these same trees. This was probably the closest she’d ever get to him.
Kh?i caught up to her with easy strides of his long, uninjured legs. “We should go the other way.”
“The car is this way.” She pointed toward the parking lot.
“There’s another place we should try.”
She paused. “Another place?”
“The alumni building. They might be more helpful. I probably should have taken you there first. Do you need help getting there? It’s not far. It’s just over there.” He motioned in the other direction, toward a cluster of more modern buildings surrounded by old trees.
“I’ll walk. Let’s go.”
Esme hobbled as fast as she could through the student traffic, hoping if they moved quickly, they couldn’t talk. But that didn’t stop Kh?i from asking, “What classes are you taking?”
She hugged her arms over her chest even though she wasn’t cold. “English, social studies, and accounting.”
“Isn’t that a lot? Three classes?”
“Is it?” She didn’t have anything to compare it to. All she knew was she spent a lot of time sneak studying when she thought people couldn’t see her.
“I think so.” He swiped at his hair, but when his hand encountered the shorter locks, he rubbed at his neck instead. “I was never very good at those classes—other than accounting, of course. I do better with numbers.”
She had to smile at that. “Me, too.” They were the same no matter what language you were speaking.
He smiled back at her before he focused on the tops of the passing trees. “If you ever need help, I can try. I don’t mind.”
She watched her feet pad unevenly over the ground, so she had something to look at other than him. Step-draaag, step-draaag, step-draaag. When she’d finally built up the courage, she made herself say, “I’m sorry. For lying. I’m not an accountant. I . . .” She inhaled. “. . . clean places.” She exhaled, and her insides shriveled. “Back home. I didn’t finish school. We needed money because Ngo?i was too weak to work, so I started to clean, and then I—” She bit her lip before she mentioned having a baby.
When she glanced at him, she found him watching the way ahead with a small frown. “You didn’t need to lie to me.”
She winced and looked back down at her feet. Step-draaag, step-draaag, step-draaag. “I wanted you to like me.” It wasn’t a question, but she held her breath as she waited for him to respond.
That was when he stopped in front of a modest one-story building composed of glass and red brick. “This is it.”
In the front reception area, a woman with short gray hair and a pantsuit greeted them. “Welcome to Alumni House. How can I help you?”
Esme wet her lips and took the photograph out of her purse as she struggled to put her thoughts into English. “I am looking for a man. This man. Twenty-four years ago—”
“I’m sorry. We specialize in alumni events here. You’ll need to speak to someone else if you’re looking for a specific alumnus. Did you try the registrar’s office?” the lady asked.
“We were just there,” Kh?i said.
“I see.” The lady frowned, and after a moment she hurried to her desk, found a business card in one of the drawers, and handed it to Esme. “This woman is in charge of the Alumni Association. Try giving her a call. I don’t know if she’ll be able to help you, but if anyone can, it would be her.”
Esme tried to smile, but her lips refused to cooperate. “Thank you.”
They were both quiet as they made the short walk back to the car. Someone had stuck a yellow slip of paper under one of the windshield wipers, and Kh?i pulled it out and read it. She caught the words Parking Ticket on the paper before he stuffed it in his pocket, and clear as daytime, right in front of the car, there was a big sign that said, No parking without permit.
He’d intentionally gotten a ticket, and she knew he’d done it for her. Because of her ankle. It was a small thing, but she didn’t know anyone else who would have done something like that for her. Just Kh?i.
He left the parking lot, drove through campus, and merged onto the big road, and she watched as he wove in and out of the afternoon traffic like a getaway driver after a bank heist, fast but in perfect control. His hands looked strong and capable on the wheel and the gear shift, and she remembered he’d touched her with them earlier. Her face, her lips, her jaw.
Would he want to touch her again now that he knew she was a fake accountant? Would he want to touch her if he found out she had a baby?
“Give me that business card when we get home, ok
ay?” he said unexpectedly. “I want to call that woman at the Alumni Association.”