Free When Heaven Fell by Carolyn Marsden

enough.”
    “Fine,” said Binh, flicking the tail of a duck with the broom. She glanced toward the kitchen. The smell of
pho bo,
traditional Vietnamese noodle soup, drifted from the doorway. Ba Ngoai and Di were cooking together, chopping and talking of the past. Right now, nothing else existed for them.
    With Anh Hai on the bench keeping watch, Binh crawled into the
leu
. The light inside was blue and dim. She knelt in front of the suitcase and lifted the lid.
    She heard a noise and listened, her heart hammering. But the sound was that of Anh Hai whistling to himself. There were no footsteps.
    She found clothes, a bag. She touched the bag and discovered the outline of a pair of shoes.
    She stuck her hand in the side pockets. A comb. A book. Di’s photo book. Four pairs of socks.
    Binh sat back on her heels. Was this all there was to her auntie? Was she really so simple? Was she nothing like what Binh had seen in the movies?
    Where
was
the jewelry? The small, precious items? Was Anh Hai right?
    Binh closed the suitcase.
    Finding nothing was like watching the morning mist disappear when the sun rose.
    As Binh crawled out, Anh Hai called, “I see your pockets are heavy with treasure.”
    Binh picked up the broom and swatted him on the shins.
    “Ouch,” Anh Hai cried, throwing down the empty coconut.
    Binh swatted him again, this time pretending he was Di Hai.
    Then she dropped the broom and walked out of the yard. She marched down the highway along its narrow shoulder, as cars and trucks honked.
    It took her an hour to reach Third Aunt’s tourist shop.
    The shop was a small hut where the highway intersected the road to the beach. Each day, a few cars stopped with customers. If Third Aunt was lucky, a tour bus would pull in, leaving the engine roaring, the fumes filling the shop.
    Binh found Cuc kneeling to unpack a small box.
    As she stepped close, Cuc’s hands grew still, but she didn’t look up. “Your auntie go home?”
    “Not yet.”
    “Then why are you here?”
    Binh squatted down, the box with its loose newspaper between them. She glimpsed ashtrays made of coconut shells in the wrapping. “I searched Di Hai’s suitcase.”
    Cuc let her hands rest on the edge of the box. “And?” she asked.
    “There was nothing in it except her clothes and a few other things.”
    “Isn’t that what you expected?”
    Binh straightened a piece of newspaper. What
had
she expected? The ink from the newsprint smudged her fingers. She’d searched a guest’s suitcase all for nothing. Now she felt smudged inside, too.
    “I’m not sure,” she finally said.
    Cuc continued the unpacking, setting the ashtrays on a low shelf behind her.
    “Do you want help?” Binh asked.
    “I can do it,” Cuc replied. Then, a round ashtray in her hands, she said casually, “Even though Di Hai isn’t such a close relative to me as she is to you, I think she means to take me to America.”
    Binh crumpled the bit of newspaper, fingernails biting into her palm. “What do you mean?”
    “I’m a year older than you. It would be easier for her to take just me.” She pulled herself up. “I’m old enough to go without my family.”
    Binh threw the wad of paper back into the box. She’d never imagined . . . This couldn’t be! “Has Di Hai said anything?”
    Cuc cocked her head to the side. “Not in words. But I can tell.”

B inh ran all the way home from Third Aunt’s shop, stopping only once to splash her face with river water.
    She found Di in the yard, washing her hair. She stood with her feet wide over a red basin, her head a mass of white foam.
    That red basin was for washing vegetables, not hair. Di should be using the
green
one. If Ma came along, she’d be upset.
    Binh pretended not to see the color of the basin. “Di, Di Hai.” She sank down, breathless from her run.
    Di scooped water with a cup, rinsing out the soap.
    It wasn’t a good moment to bring up anything important, but Binh couldn’t wait. She had to act before Di