I'm Not Who You Think I Am Page 4

  “And what do her parents think about that?” Uncle Yushua asked as we walked downstairs and exited the building.

  “Xiu has three younger brothers, so her parents are letting her do what she wants.” I paused. “She’s really smart and talented. She’s at the top of all her classes. Miles ahead of most of the teachers, it seems at times.”

  “What do you think about that?”

  “I’m grateful for it when we do our math and science homework. Xiu’s been a champ about helping me. I usually help her with English lit, since she doesn’t understand similes or metaphors very well.”

  We walked toward South Station as we talked. The T station had Amtrak, local, and regional trains running out of it, as well as a dozen bus routes, so it was really crowded with all the people coming and going.

  “We need to get you a CharlieCard,” Uncle Yushua said as we entered the building. He guided me off to one side, to a collection of machines. I fumbled for my wallet and pulled out my credit card.

  “I got this,” I assured him. “I’ve got my own card.”

  Uncle Yushua nodded, and I studied the machine.

  “Just a regular pass?” I asked.

  “One you can keep adding money to.”

  I nodded. The setup wasn’t too different from the one in New York, except the card was plastic and didn’t have an expiration date. Pass paid for, Uncle Yushua and I moved toward the turnstile and then down the stairs labeled Inbound.

  “We’ll take the Red Line to the Orange Line crossover at Downtown Crossing station. Then we’ll transfer to go outbound to Ruggle Station, followed by a leisurely walk to the MFA down Fayette Street. While the Green Line does have a stop for the museum, it takes twice as long to get there.” He paused. “This isn’t too confusing, is it?”

  I laughed. “Your subway lines are about a third of New York’s. Six colored lines are a lot easier to deal with than all the numbers and letters on that subway. This is going to be a snap.”

  Uncle Yushua laughed.

  The train arrived and we got on, staying on for a stop, then switched to a different train line. That one also arrived quickly, and soon we were walking down the street to the MFA. I was glad for the brim of my hat, because it was very sunny out.

  We crossed the street to the museum, crossing over a pair of train tracks. When we got to the other side, Uncle Yushua stopped and drew out his wallet.

  “Uncle Yushua….”

  He didn’t need to pay my entrance fee. My parents had repeatedly said Uncle Yushua was to pay for nothing while I was up here.

  “Here’s the company museum pass,” he said, handing me a wallet-sized, red-and-black plastic card, with the letters MFA on the front. “This will let you wander around the place and get into most of the members-only areas.”

  I wasn’t going to argue with the man about that. Besides, he wasn’t paying for it, the Shawmut was. I would argue with my parents about it, if they found out. I didn’t think they would.

  “Thank you, and I promise I won’t abuse this too much.”

  He grinned at me. “You’re going to be the one hauling any books back. Please remember that. Odds are, either Harper or I might already have a copy of it that you can borrow. Text me if you have any questions or need anything.”

  “I don’t have your number, actually,” I said. “Or I would’ve called you when the train was running so late. I wouldn’t have interrupted whatever I interrupted.”

  “Your…,” Uncle Yushua started. He stopped short of swearing or letting me know what he thought of my parents and said mildly, “There was nothing to interrupt.”

  “So you say,” I teased.

  Uncle Yushua just shook his head, even though I had gotten a little personal there. I handed him my phone, and he added himself to my contacts.

  We entered the museum through the staff door. The security guard there frowned at me. I waved the pass Uncle Yushua had given me and he relaxed. Uncle Yushua walked me out to the main entrance.

  “Are you going to be all right?” he asked.

  I was downloading the app for the museum while he was talking and opened it up, turning the screen toward him.

  “Uncle Yushua, don’t worry. Do what you need to do, and I can keep myself entertained.” I grinned at him. “You can text me when you’re done and I’ll meet you. There’s a lot of things here for me to see. You might have trouble getting me out of here.”

  “We can get a snack at one of the restaurants in the museum when I’m done,” he promised. “There are a couple of them I think you’d like. After that we can head over to Cambridge.”

  I impulsively gave him a hug before he left. “Thank you, Uncle Yushua. I don’t want to be any sort of trouble for you.”

  He hugged me back. “I know this isn’t your idea of a good time either. I’m certain you and your friend Xiu have a lot of things planned for this summer.”

  “We did,” I said a little wistfully. “But it’s not like I can’t text, talk, or video chat with her. Boston isn’t the ends of the earth.”

  “You’d be surprised who thinks it is.” Uncle Yushua laughed. “Have fun. I think you’d like the Impressionist gallery on the second floor. And there’s also a nice Buddhist shrine on that floor too.”

  I turned and headed up the main staircase to the second floor. As I bounced up the stairs, I debated if I wanted to go straight to the European section or take a left to see the Chinese house the museum had laid out. Chinese won and I took a left.

  I spent most of the morning drifting slowly through Eastern and Western sections of the MFA. I took some pictures of the Chinese artifacts and sent them to Xiu. There were a pair of shoes I would have killed for, if they hadn’t been fitted for bound feet. Xiu’s foot was even too big for them.

  The Impressionist section was drowning in Monets and Degas. The three versions of the Cathedral by Monet were interesting, if a bit repetitive. I amused myself by trying to see what the differences in the paintings were depending on how far away I was from them. I made my way downstairs, admiring the murals on the wall, before making a beeline to the museum’s bookstore. I was just going to look, honest.

  The selection was smaller than I was used to, and there was nothing that stood up and screamed, “Buy Me!” so I made my way over to the Japanese Garden. It was a nice place to sit and get off my feet. I was just catching my breath and debating what I wanted to see next when I got a text from Uncle Yushua. Then I noticed I had been wandering around the museum for more than two hours.

  All done. Where are you?

  I texted back: Japanese Garden. Where do you want to meet?

  He replied: I’ll be there in a couple of minutes.

  WE ENDED up getting a second lunch at the cafeteria and eating out in the garden. There were a bunch of other people there too when we sat down with our sandwiches at one of the tables.

  “You find what you were looking for?” I asked.

  “Yes and no,” Uncle Yushua said before taking a sip of his soda. “The piece seems to have been missing a lot longer than we thought.”

  “We?” I asked.

  Uncle Yushua never mentioned coworkers much. I had gotten the impression that, aside from him, most of the Shawmut was staffed by visiting scholars and temporary grad students, no matter how well it was funded.

  “Harper and I,” Uncle Yushua said.

  “Harper?” I echoed.

  “I never mentioned we worked together?” he asked, surprised.

  “I never knew he existed until I bumped into him in your hallway,” I pointed out. “And then I thought he was your boyfriend or something.”

  All right, I was making a huge assumption about his sexuality, and that was rude. But he didn’t seem to be upset about it, so he probably was gay. Or not willing to talk about it in a public place. And a close, same-sex friendship didn’t mean you were sleeping with each other.

  Uncle Yushua chuckled. “The man is handsome, but not my type. Besides, I think he’s more inter
ested in Rat.”

  “What kind of name is Rat?” I asked. “Is it a nickname?”

  “More like a shortening of his given name,” Uncle Yushua explained. “I think he mentioned it started in junior high and continued as he went into the Army.”

  “That sort of explains the haircut,” I mumbled.

  “He was a medic,” Uncle Yushua said. “Right now he’s part-time tech support and all-around gofer at the Shawmut.”

  I nodded and dug into my sandwich. I was hungry from all the walking around I’d done. We ate in silence, just people watching, until I scrunched up my garbage to be thrown away.

  “So, do you need to go back to work?” I asked casually. I’d miss hitting the shop, but the man did have an artifact or something to track down.

  Uncle Yushua chuckled, although he didn’t sound amused. “It’s been lost this long, another couple of hours isn’t going to matter. Besides, Harper told me that he didn’t want to see me this afternoon.”

  “I bet he’s got plans too,” I said. “But I understand, Uncle Yushua.”

  “And how many times have your parents canceled something you wanted to do because of their research?” he asked gently.

  “Um….”

  Too many times was on the tip of my tongue. When I was younger, I hadn’t understood it. Now I did, and resentment flooded me, heavy and choking. There had been too many times Mother or Father hadn’t shown up for a school function they’d promised to attend “because something had come up.”

  “I understand your parents aren’t that… attentive to family. It does seem the three of you raised yourselves most of the time. I think you’ve had a hard enough time this week. I frankly can’t think of where that piece went. Going through the records again would be an exercise in futility unless I have a plan of attack.”

  While he was talking, Uncle Yushua cleaned up his own garbage and got up to toss it away.

  “I just want to stop at the men’s room to wash my hands,” he told me.

  “That sounds like a good idea.”

  We went our separate ways, meeting again in a few minutes.

  “Are you ready to go?” he asked.

  “I’ve checked out the bookstore already.”

  “You refrained from buying anything?” Uncle Yushua teased.

  “All the more money to spend on yarn,” I retorted. “Besides, there wasn’t anything that caught my eye.”

  We walked to the front entrance and waved at the guards as we passed them by.

  “You know, there’s a third of the museum that I didn’t see,” I said as we left and I handed him back his pass.

  “You can come here on your own,” he said. “You can also check out the Gardener Museum. The collection is interesting and the new space that was added contributes to it also. There are also a number of museums at Harvard you might enjoy.” He smiled. “I would be overjoyed to play guide for you at some of them. I know a couple good restaurants in Harvard Square, and there is an interesting bookstore there, as well as a gem of an indie movie theater. There’s a lot we can do while you’re up here.”

  “That sounds like fun,” I said as we stopped at the Green Line station. And I wanted to cry, he was being so sweet.

  It was only a couple of minutes waiting with the crowd of tourists for the Green Line train to arrive. Then it was a leisurely ride to Park Street, where we switched to the Red Line and headed out to Cambridge. It was too loud to talk, unless we wanted to shout at each other. I just liked being with him, as odd as it sounded. He wasn’t appalled at the way I was dressed, like my parents usually were.

  Uncle Yushua nudged me to get off at the Central Square stop. We climbed the stairs to get to a street filled with funky shops, specialty grocery stories, and several small, ethnic restaurants.

  “MIT is down the street,” Uncle Yushua said, pointing left. “Harvard is over there,” he added, waving to the right. “And the place we’re looking for is just outside the square.”

  We crossed the street and headed down one of the numerous side streets that dotted Massachusetts Ave. I was shocked there were people just crossing in random places, not bothering with crosswalks or even waiting for the light to change to red. I hurried across, amused and appalled at the same time. It wasn’t only Massachusetts’s drivers who were insane, its pedestrians were also with the way they dashed across streets. We made it to the other side without getting hit by running like a pair of fools. I was surprised Uncle Yushua was almost as fast as I was.

  “Take your time,” Uncle Yushua said as we approached a gingerbread Victorian, with a small sign in front that read Scattered Purls.

  I walked in, Uncle Yushua trailing me. I looked at all the yarn, several herds of sheep and other animals’ worth scattered on tables and stacked neatly in wall cubes in this room. I could see three other rooms with the same setup from where I was standing.

  I turned and said seriously, “You may never get me out of here.”

  AN HOUR or so later, I was ready to go. Uncle Yushua had just parked himself in the lady’s knitting circle, his lap commandeered by a Sphinx cat wearing an adorable T-shirt with the words Worship me silkscreened on the back. I’d petted and poked at most everything, including the cat, before deciding on what I needed for my next project.

  I picked up some skeins of sock yarn, to make Uncle Yushua a couple pairs of socks for putting me up in his study. Those would only take me a week and a bit, so I picked up a ton of silk for a shawl. There was a pattern I wanted to try, and the lovely hand-dyed silk in shades of green had called out to me. I was blowing my budget with that, and I think it was to annoy my parents more than anything. But if they were going to ship me off for the summer, then I was going to be petty and buy expensive yarn.

  I WAS surprised at how late it was when we walked out of the store. It was past time for supper. Because the summer solstice was so close, the sun wasn’t setting until almost nine at night.

  “Chinese or Italian?” Uncle Yushua asked.

  “What?”

  “Do you want to go to a Chinese restaurant or an Italian one for dinner,” he repeated.

  “Umm… Italian?”

  I wasn’t too hungry, because we’d had a second lunch at the MFA, but supper was always a great idea. And from what I’d seen in Uncle Yushua’s home, he ate out a lot. I understood, because it wasn’t fun to cook for yourself.

  “I know a great place in the North End. We can stop at home to drop off your yarn and then walk there. The walk is a little long, but the harbor on a summer’s night makes it a nice one.”

  “That sounds like a good idea.” I wanted to freshen up. “I like walking and exploring the city.”

  “So you can see how much trouble you can get into?” Uncle Yushua teased.

  I laughed.

  Chapter Three

  DINNER WAS over, and it was full dark when we were walking home. It was late and we left most of the tourists behind us in the North End. It was all businesses in this area, so there was no one around.

  Uncle Yushua and I were crossing the bridge near his condo when I smelled something strange. I live in NYC, and even in Central Park, you can smell the city. Cars, people, all sorts of things make a city stink, usually of exhaust. Boston smelled like the ocean on top of all that. But this was different. It was the smell of heat, with the hint of something flowery. A dry heat, like we were in the desert, blew behind us—off Boston Harbor, which was the opposite of a desert. I wondered if I was imagining things, but Uncle Yushua suddenly stopped. But I didn’t know he had until I’d gone a couple of yards beyond him. I turned to look at him, surprised to see he was scanning the area, like he expected some sort of ambush.

  There was a heat shimmer behind him, and then a creature appeared. It was big and looked like a horse-sized dog, but there was something that was also off about it. Aside from the overdose of growth hormones it was suffering, its head didn’t look right. I screamed like a boy, and Uncle Yushua turned. He shouted, and I didn’t un
derstand the language, but the dog seemed to. Its haunches went down with a snarl that ripped through the night like thunder as he crouched to leap at Uncle Yushua.

  And then I did something truly stupid.

  I ran toward the dog, shouting and waving the leftovers I held. “Hey!”

  “Get out of here!” Uncle Yushua ordered.

  “You get out! I’m the runner here, not you. I’m faster, so go.”

  As I was saying that, I tossed the leftovers off to the side of the dog. I wasn’t going to hit it on the nose and get it more peeved than it seemed to be. Then I turned and ran back, hoping my food distracted it and the dog wasn’t chasing after me right now.

  Uncle Yushua was intoning incoherently as he grabbed me and pulled me beside him. I turned to see what was happening.

  The dog was nosing at my leftover lasagna, even while keeping an eye on the two of us. Great, it was a dog that didn’t think with its stomach. Uncle Yushua took a step back, taking me with him, as he had a death grip on my shirt. I didn’t want that thing at my back, so I wasn’t going to argue with him. Plus his chanting seemed to be keeping the dog at bay as much as the food, as weird as that was.

  We slowly backed away down the street and toward a safe area to run. After a couple of seconds, I found out why the dog wasn’t worried about us running away. I heard a man laughing behind us. I turned to see what kind of idiot thought an oversized killer dog was funny. Okay, the dog might be just having a bad day, might not be a killer dog, but he was very scary.

  “What’s so—”

  I just stopped. Uncle Yushua was keeping an eye on the dog and I didn’t want to distract him, but I wasn’t expecting what I saw.

  The man was in his midtwenties, with a ton of makeup on. Not drag-queen–impersonation type of makeup, but he looked like he should be an extra in a movie. One of the painfully inaccurate ones, filled with a white guy in the lead role, pretending to be Egyptian.