Free When Heaven Fell by Carolyn Marsden Page A

and Cuc made plans. “We would like to go to America with you, Di Hai,” she said loudly so that Di could hear over the washing. “Just my close family. Just four of us. Ba Ngoai doesn’t want to go.”
Or Cuc, either,
she felt like adding.
    Di kept rinsing.
    Binh leaned down, trying to see the expression on Di’s face.
    “Oh, darn, now I have soap in my eyes,” Di said. “Binh, do me a favor and throw out this soapy water. Get me some fresh.”
    Binh threw the soapy water across the yard. In the bathroom, she dipped clean water into the red basin. Why wouldn’t Di answer her?
    Di finished rinsing her hair and wrapped it up in a towel. With the cone of towel on top of her head, she looked taller than ever. “Now, what’s this you’re asking?”
    “We’d like to go with you to America,” Binh repeated.
    “
What?
” Di asked again. Water ran down the sides of her face.
    “We want to live with you.”
    Di slapped her hand to her forehead. “You’ve been thinking about that all this time? That I’d wave a wand and you’d all be in Kentucky?”
    “Oh, no. You would make arrangements,” Binh said, remembering Ba Ngoai’s explanation.
    “You must think I’m magic.” The towel came loose and fell around Di’s shoulders. “I am a small, unimportant person. I have not much money, no power . . . I never dreamed you expected such a thing.”
    Once Binh had been running and had fallen onto her chest, knocking the breath out of her. Now, too, she could scarcely breathe.
    “You don’t understand what it would mean to go to America,” Di went on. “You don’t know what you’d be leaving behind.” She rubbed her red eyes — irritated by the soap — with the corner of the towel.
    “But you said it was a good thing to go,” Binh persisted. “That your new mother gave you a better life.”
    Di squeezed her eyes shut. “That soap was so strong.” She sat down on the bench.
    Binh felt as though she’d gotten soap in her own eyes.
    After a while, Di said, “Binh . . . I’m sorry. I didn’t know. . . . Sit here.” She patted a spot beside her on the bench.
    Binh sat, but not as close as Di indicated.
    Di sighed. “My situation wasn’t the same as yours. When I left, this country was at war. Children like me were being killed. You’re not in danger.” She began to dry her hair, rubbing it with quick, circular movements.
    Suddenly, Binh stood up. “You shouldn’t have used that red basin. You should put it back on the shelf.”
    Di paused, one hand holding the towel to her head.
    Binh picked up the basin and waved it, startling the ducks. “We can never use this to wash vegetables again.”
    The towel dropped onto Di’s shoulders. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I’ll buy you another. Don’t worry. I’ll . . . I’ll buy you several.”
    Binh slapped the empty basin against the side of the big table. The table creaked and the last suds flew out. “You didn’t come here to buy us plastic basins. That’s not what we expected of you.”
    Di started to stand, then sat back down.
    Binh put her hands on her hips and asked, “Are you going to take Cuc to America?”
    Di sighed again and laid the towel on the bench. “Of course not.”
    Just then, Binh saw Ma standing under the arch of pink and white bougainvillea, Ba Ngoai behind her like a small shadow. They’d overheard everything.
    Binh didn’t know whether to hold the red basin out to Ma as evidence, or whether to hide it behind her back. She threw it onto the ground behind her, where it rolled under the table.
    Di’s eyes followed Binh’s gaze to the archway. She managed to stand. “It takes a lot of money to bring relatives to America.” She held out her empty hands. “I’m not rich.” She closed her hands, hiding her lack.
    Ma and Ba Ngoai just stared, their faces unchanged.
    When Binh looked at the two framed by the arch, she couldn’t imagine them anyplace but there, poised between the bustle of the highway and the sleepy