Free Re Jane by Patricia Park Page A

head—“My colleague’s doing some
fascinating
research on Queens. She’ll just ride your trains for
hours.
”
Your trains,
I thought.
Your trains.
The Chinese grannies, clutching red plastic bags brimming with bitter greens between their ankles, regarded Devon with amused curiosity. They watched as she freed her fingers from her mother’s grasp and wormed her arm through mine.
    * * *
    When we got to Food, Hwan was out front restocking fruit. Beth marched up to him with an extended hand. “Beth, Beth Mazer. A real
pleasure.
”
    Hwan tentatively took her hand with his own, and Beth proceeded to squeeze the life out of it.
    â€œJane’s told us
so
much about you.”
    â€œEh, about me?” Hwan’s face broke into a funny grin.
    I realized Beth had mistaken Hwan for Sang. “Beth, that’s Hwan, not my uncle.”
    Hwan smiled wider with embarrassment. He had one of those compact bodies that radiated entirely whatever he was feeling—this day it was nervous energy. Beth looked mortified. At that point I knew her well enough to guess what she was thinking: that we all looked alike
.
It was the same expression she’d made during my interview. “I didn’t mean to—I mean . . .”
    Flustered, she looked at me helplessly.
    â€œIt’s okay, Beth. It happens all the time,” I had the
nunchi
to say, even though Hwan was much younger than Sang. I led Beth and Devon inside.
    Hannah was at the register. We exchanged a brief hello—there was a long line of customers, and they didn’t like it when you chitchatted. I felt a pang of guilt for not helping out. Beth and Devon oohed
and aahed, as if they were staring at dioramas in the natural history museum.
    Sang was over by the refrigerated beverage cases with Mrs. O’Gall. He’d abandoned his hand truck, loaded with boxes. Sang did not like to be interrupted when he was with customers, and Mrs. O’Gall, shaking a head of iceberg lettuce at my uncle, did not like to be interrupted period.
    Beth looked tentatively at me, and perhaps thinking I’d given her the go-ahead, she once again charged forward. “
You
must be Sang Re! Beth, Beth Mazer.” Beth inserted her hand over the head of wilted iceberg.
    Sang blinked at her. “Who you are?”
    Beth took a literal step back. “I’m Jane’s . . . well, the mother of the family Jane works
with
. You know,
Jane,
your niece.”
    â€œLady, get on line. I was here first.” Mrs. O’Gall shooed Beth away with her lettuce. “Like I was saying, Re. You won’t get away with selling this rotten stuff in your store.”
    â€œMy dau— Jane gonna help you out, Mrs. O’Gall.” Sang jerked his head at me, while he slid over to talk to Beth.
    â€œHow are you, Mrs. O’Gall?” I jumped in. “Did you bring your receipt this time?”
    This was part of Mrs. O’Gall’s routine—she plucked a few leaves of lettuce from a head before returning the whole thing. I once asked Sang why he didn’t try to fight her, but he just shrugged his shoulders.
She not do like this if she not have to.
She fished in her pocketbook and handed me a crumpled receipt dated two weeks back. “Here. You happy?”
    I couldn’t fight her either, and I ran to get a new head of iceberg. Behind me Beth introduced Devon to Sang. I heard my uncle’s voice ring out: “But she not look like you!”
    â€œBecause we developed an ‘alternative birth plan.’”
    â€œWhat that means?” Sang said.
    I hurried to finish up with Mrs. O’Gall.
    When I returned to Sang and Beth, my uncle was saying, “Then you near Mr. Park. He own grocery Henry Street. But he not my friend.” Sang peered over Beth’s shoulder, keeping watch on the store.
    Beth’s eyebrows pinched together, the way they did when she explained—or rather