Hotel on the Corner of Bitter and Sweet by Jamie Ford Read Free Book Online Page A

orange slices.
    Henry quietly hummed the tune of an old song – he didn’t know the words anymore, but he’d never forgotten the melody. And the more he hummed the more he felt like smiling again.
    Marty, on the other hand, just sighed, and kept looking for the waitress.

Lake View
    (1986)
    H enry paid the bill and watched as his son waved goodbye, loading an enormous to-go bag into the front seat of his silver Honda Accord. The extra goodies had been at Henry’s insistence. He knew his son did OK with the food on campus, but they didn’t have anything that compared with a dozen fresh hum bau – and besides, steamed pork buns could easily be reheated in the microwave in Marty’s dorm room.
    Content that his son was well on his way, Henry stopped at a flower stand, then stood at the nearest bus stop, where he caught the Number 10 to the far side of Capitol Hill – within walking distance of Lake View Cemetery.
    When Ethel died, Henry had sworn he’d visit her grave once a week. But it’d been six months now, and he’d been up to see her only once – on what would have been their thirty-eighth wedding anniversary.
    He placed fresh-cut starfire lilies, the kind they grew intheir flower garden, on the small granite headstone that was all that reminded the world that Ethel had once lived. He paid his respects, sweeping away the dried leaves and wiping the moss from her grave, where he placed another small bundle of flowers.
    Putting his umbrella away, and ignoring the fine Seattle mist, he opened his wallet and took out a small white envelope. On the front was the Chinese character for Lee – Ethel’s last name for the last thirty-seven-plus years. Inside had been a piece of hard candy and a quarter. The small envelopes were passed out as he left the Bonney-Watson Funeral Home, where Ethel’s memorial service had been held. The candy was so that everyone leaving would taste sweetness – not bitter. The quarter was for buying more candy on the way home – a traditional token of lasting life and enduring happiness.
    Henry remembered savoring the candy, a small peppermint. But he didn’t feel like stopping at the store on the way home. Marty, ironically, argued that they honor this tradition, but Henry refused.
    ‘Take me home’ was all he said when Marty slowed down near the South Gate Grocery.
    Henry couldn’t bear the thought of spending that quarter. That was all he had left of Ethel. His enduring happiness would have to wait. He’d save it – keeping it with him, always.
    He thought about that happiness, reaching into the small envelope he carried with him every day, drawing out the quarter. It was unremarkable – a normal coin anyone would spend on a phone call or a cup of bad coffee. But to Henry it was a promise of something better.
    Henry remembered the day of Ethel’s service. He’d arrivedearly, to meet with Clarence Ma, the funeral director assigned to his family. A kindly man in his sixties, prone to talking about his own bodily ailments, Clarence was the patron saint of all things funerary when it came to Chinatown. Each neighborhood had its own advocate. The stately walls of the Bonney-Watson Funeral Home were covered with their framed photos – a United Nations of ethnically diverse funeral directors.
    ‘Henry, you’re early – something I can do for you?’ Clarence said, looking up from his desk, where he’d been stuffing the coins and candy into envelopes as Henry walked by.
    ‘Just wanted to check the flowers,’ Henry replied, heading into the chapel where a large portrait of Ethel sat surrounded by flower arrangements of various sizes.
    Clarence caught up to him, placing his arm on his shoulder. ‘Beautiful, isn’t it?’
    Henry nodded.
    ‘We made sure to place your flowers right next to her picture – she was a lovely woman, Henry. I’m sure she’s in a happier place, but hardly one as beautiful.’ Clarence handed Henry a small white envelope. ‘In case you don’t