Cai arrives with a small amount of rice and soup for me later in the day. I circle my hands around the rice bowl, appreciating its warmth.
"Have you seen Gao?" Cai asks.
"Not for a while," I tell her.
My mother used to say I was an alarmingly good liar, but rarely could I maintain a false façade for long.
"Where did you see him last?"
"Here. He came to talk to me," I tell her. "He was worried. You know, about the usual things."
Cai cuts her eyes over at to me.
"We don't know where he is," she says, wringing her hands.
My heart begins to ache for her. Maybe I should tell her, but I'm still hoping Gao will change his mind and come home. He hasn't even been gone a whole day.
"Maybe he went to the landlord's house," I suggest.
"No, Min's already checked there."
I shrug as if to say, "I don't know."
Cai looks like she's thinking very hard as I sip my soup. Her eyes dart over to me a few times, her brow furrowing. Finally, I can't stand it anymore, and I reach my arms out to her. She crawls over and huddles next to me, balling up tighter than usual. I wrap the blanket around her and then my arms over the blanket. Cai has given me a coat made out of a gray quilted fabric to wear over my shirt, but it's hardly enough to keep me warm, especially right now.
"Cai, Gao left this morning," I whisper, planting a soft kiss on her ear to soften the blow.
"Why didn't you just say that," she says after a brief pause. She sounds like a pouting child.
"I didn't want to tell you. I knew you'd be sad."
Cai's voice catches as she asks "why did he leave? Why didn't he tell me he was going?"
"I don't know, and I'm telling you the truth when I say that."
Cai sighs in frustration.
"Why do you think he left?" she asks me.
Here's where I draw the line on honesty. I don't know where Gao has gone. His vague statements confused me more than anything else. He could have meant he was joining a literal "fight" or simply that he was doing something he believes in that's part of a larger struggle to bring the changes he wants. He could have meant anything, and I can't let Cai imagine he's in danger if I don't know that he is.
"You know him much better than I do. I think you're a better judge," I tell her.
"He's left to be with that woman," she says as she buries her face in the crook of my neck.
Holding her closer I remind her, "you don't know that."
"It's fine," she says. The warm air of the deep exhale she releases tickles my neck. "I knew this would probably happen."
I nod, smoothing her hair reassuringly.
"It's just that I don't know if I'll ever see him again," she adds, "Somehow I can't imagine a life where I never see him again."
"I do know what that feels like," I tell her. "And it's awful, but Gao cares."
Cai huffs as if not believing me.
"No, he does, Cai. He asked me to watch out for you. He gave me the gun from the plane."
Cai suddenly looks up at me.
"He had a gun, and he didn't take it with him?" she asks.
I nod, surprised Cai doesn't know about the gun.
"No, he left it here out of concern. As long as I've known him he's wanted to protect you. He might not want to be your husband, but that doesn't mean he doesn't care what happens to you."
She looks down at her lap.
"I care about him, and I wish I knew where he was."
"Of course you do," I tell her. "That's natural. You know what else he said? I think he might have been joking, but he told me to move into the house."
Cai snaps her head up to look me in the eye.
"You should."
"No, I can't…"
"It's freezing out here, Peeta. You should move into the house."
"Wouldn't that be strange? And what would your mother say?"
"She won't say anything," Cai says, an edge to her voice. "Trust me."
"I don't know if I can…"
"You have to stay with us, Peeta. Please. I've been worried about you. It's…umm…hard to sleep not knowing if you are warm enough," she admits.
I can't help but smile, and Cai makes this opportunity almost impossible to refuse.
"Okay, we'll try it," I tell her.
/
My damaged photograph of Delly is very fragile. I hold it carefully by the edges so that if a piece falls off it won't be any part of her image. Her mouth is barely visible now because of the water damage, but in her eyes I can still see the full evidence of her smile. She had this picture taken specifically to send with me when I left for the war, a sort of gift to me.
Cordelia Cartwright's beauty has always been undeniable. Not only was she beautiful, she was smart and kind to boot. Her father was a deacon in our church, and our parents had been friends since we were babies. Our mothers would stand in the church vestibule and talk for what felt like hours to us.
Delly would hide behind her mother's skirt and pick at the hem while she proclaimed, "boys are gross."
"Girls are disgusting," I'd retaliate, believing that "disgusting" must be worse than "gross." How we knew either of those words at that age is beyond me.
"You won't think that someday, you two," Delly's mother told us, laughing.
Of course, she was right. In the years to come I chased Delly through the aisles and between the pews of the sanctuary playing tag while our fathers discussed the serious business of managing a congregation. In a few more years she blossomed into a young woman, and I found myself chasing her in a completely different way. Even though I was away at school, soon we were writing letters and stealing time together during holidays and breaks. Being with Delly felt good, and our parents encouraged our developing relationship. Delly relaxed me, and when I was lonely or sad at school the thought of seeing her lightened the load. It was very nice. Yes, nice. That's what it was.
I close my eyes, wincing a little. I've changed so much. Everything's changed so much. I don't know if Delly would even like me anymore, let alone want to marry me. She must think I'm dead. She surely knows that I'm missing.
In a flash of insight John comes to mind. His fiancée, a girl he'd dated for a very long time, married someone else while she knew he was alive and well. She wrote him a letter some time later telling him what she'd done, a letter that had to cross an ocean to find its way to John and devastate him. My friend died with a broken heart.
Sighing, I remember how Delly giggled when I kissed her the first time during a break from school. Quick and shy, it had been my first kiss, but not Delly's. Afterwards she laid her head on my shoulder while we studied the stars overhead.
In letters she wrote me several times a week, she shared all the latest happenings at home. I wrote to her almost as often with much less interesting tales from boarding school. My dorm mates teased me about receiving so many letters, but I think some of them were jealous.
Delly signed a card, "I love you, Peter" and sent it to me on the Valentines' day before Pearl Harbor. In my next letter I wrote "I love you too, Delly." I did love her. I mean, I do love her. But my memories of her muddle together in a mix or confusion, friendship and love. I wonder, did I love her the way a man should love the woman he's going to marry or did I ask her to marry because I was a scared kid going off to fight in a war?
You're just trying to justify what you did. You cheated on your fiancée. You crossed a line, and you know it. Then again, it's not like you are actually married to Delly. That does make a difference, doesn't it?
In a demonstration of how truly strange my way of dealing with the situation is I run the pad of one of my index finger along the edge of the photograph of Delly and start talking.
"I'm so sorry. So sorry you don't know where I am or what's happened to me. I'm so sorry that I asked you to wait for me. It wasn't fair. How long are you supposed to wait if I never make it home? Maybe you were just supposed to wait until after the war? I don't know. We never discussed it."
A sudden burst of emotion fills me as my words become some new level of confession.
"I didn't know this would happen. Just never imagined I'd feel so much for somebody else. I don't know if I would have with you. Maybe. I just don't know, but I'm never going to find out because I'm never going to see you again. Maybe you've met someone else too, someone who makes you question everything you thought you knew and promised. The thought of that makes me happy for you and sad for us at the same time."
There's suddenly a pressure on my shoulder, and I whirl around to find Min behind me. I drop Delly's picture. Min smiles.
"Is that your sister?" Min asks.
"No, I have a brother. She's…someone from home." I pick up the picture gently by two corners and place it in the safest place I have, the inside of the jar I had been using to store water. It's empty now and dried out from the winter air.
"Oh, she looks like you," Min says. "So, are you ready to go to the house?" she asks. "I was going to show you where to put your things and where to sleep."
I gather a few of my possessions, which consist mostly of things Cai and her family have given me to make my life and theirs a bit easier since I've been living out in the cave away from them. I gather my few possessions, which consist mostly of things Cai and her family have given me to make my life and theirs a bit easier since I've been living out in the cave away from them. Before following Min out of the cave I glance around this place that has been my home for months, wondering if I will ever have reason to come here again or hide here again. Though it has been cold and lonely at times, this is the place where Cai and I shared our first kiss and where I began to realize that what I feel for her is completely different than anything I've ever felt before.
I press my lips together nervously as we arrive at Cai's family's small house. As soon as we cross the threshold I take in its warmth. Not only is there a small fire with a pot of something cooking over it, but the lack of stone walls seems to make the place warmer also. The house is all one room, but partitioned off by what look like movable screens. They are plain, home-made, wooden, and obviously meant to provide some privacy. Min takes me behind one and shows me a small space with a blanket and a few clothes lying on top of it.
"This is where Gao slept. You can sleep here now," she says.
She points across the house to another partitioned area. "That's where I sleep, and Cai sleeps there too," she says. "And that's where mother sleeps," she says softly, gesturing to the area closest to the door.
I look over to where Cai's mother sleeps and wonder if she's there right now. She must be. I know Cai is outside getting firewood, but everyone else should be inside. It's too cold to stay outside without a purpose.
Min points to the clothes laying across the mat she's just given me as a place to sleep.
"These were my father's," she says. "We think you should have them. I will make them fit you if they don't. I can sew. Mother taught me," she says proudly.
"Oh, thank you," I tell her, hoping that the clothes don't fit perfectly just so Min can show off her sewing skills she seems so delighted to have.
I sit down, arranging my possessions at the foot of my "bed." When my grandparents lived in China they lived between two cultures in many ways. The hospital had western-style beds, of course. Their home did also. They ate mostly what the Chinese ate and drank what they drank. They weren't accustomed to sitting, squatting, and sleeping on the floor as many of the Chinese were but tried anyway. Their church experimented with different ways of worshiping and teaching. Grandfather said he didn't think God cared whether you prayed while sitting on a mat or with your knees on a kneeling bench as long as you prayed. He also told me that the most heartfelt prayers tended to be from the desperate and broken anyway…and you can be that as anybody, anywhere. Hadn't I learned that what he said was true?
Learning to live between two cultures hadn't been as hard for me as I'd imagined it must have been for my grandparents when I was younger. Cai iss one of the reasons. Learning about the way her family lives is part of learning about her, and I like learning about her. New opportunities to learn appear every day.
Cai suddenly opens the door, her arms full of frost covered sticks. She sighs and lays them down on the floor by the door.
"Hello, Peeta," she greets me as I peek around the petition at her.
"Hello," I answer.
"Welcome to our home," she says.
I smile, but try to hide it by pretending to be very busy with something behind the petition so that I can't be troubled with facing her.
She walks to me anyway and sits down beside me.
"The landlord wants to see you," Cai says softly. "I don't know why, and I'm scared."
She is rarely so forthcoming with her fears, though I know she has many.
I pause in what I'm doing. "Do you think he'll make me leave the farm?" I ask without looking up.
"I don't know, Peeta. I hope not. I don't want you to have to leave."
Her voice tells me she's near tears. She leans into me just as I'm about to take her into my arms anyway.
Turning to hold her more comfortably I look over Cai's shoulder and find a wide-eyed Min staring back at me, apparently frozen in shock.
"When?" I ask, closing my eyes.
"This afternoon. He asked for both of us."
[AN: Special thanks to Loueze for her continued role in helping me with this story...she's just too awesome to explain in an author's note!]