A Good Mother

After simply tidying up the warehouse and clearing away the bodies and weapons, Dr. Lin An did not leave in a hurry, but instead waited by the side of the street for half an hour.

He was waiting for the police, yet after half an hour, he hadn't heard a single siren.

It seemed that the shootout at the abandoned furniture factory really hadn't been reported.

He couldn't tell if it was because the location was too remote for anyone to hear the gunfire, or if someone had heard the commotion but didn't dare call the police for fear of retaliation.

Dr. Lin An figured it was likely a bit of both.

Since the police hadn't come, it meant the matter wasn't a big deal, so he decided to leave it at that; Dr. Lin An still had things to do.

After lunch, Darnell rode his bicycle, carrying Dr. Lin An toward O'Brien's home. Upon arrival, Dr. Lin An told the former to wait outside while he went up to get to work.

The reason he didn't let Darnell accompany him was simple: for one, he needed someone to watch the bicycle so it wouldn't get stolen.

For another, Darnell was a Black man, and a particularly mature-looking one at that; such a person wasn't exactly suitable for visiting a police officer's home... it would be very easy to cause a misunderstanding.

Therefore, for the sake of both Darnell and O'Brien, the former was better off honestly watching the bike on the street, and the latter, in reality, wouldn't have been happy to host a Black man in his home anyway.

Dr. Lin An gave Darnell two hundred dollars to go buy some things, while he went to knock on O'Brien's door.

There was nothing much to say about the process of knocking and entering, as the problem with O'Brien's taxes had already been identified yesterday. Today, Dr. Lin An went to his home to collect evidence and then used his computer to fill out an amended tax return.

The process went without a hitch, and everything proceeded smoothly. As long as O'Brien attached the supporting documents and mailed them to the IRS, the final result would inevitably change from "owing $2,300 in taxes" to "the IRS owes a refund of $325."

O'Brien was incredibly grateful for this and personally saw Dr. Lin An to the door. However, just as the latter was about to leave, O'Brien hesitated, fidgeting, before finally speaking up.

"Dr. Lin An, I don't suppose you have any free time?"

"Hmm? What's the matter?"

"My friend, a police officer you've met, Patrick, he has some tax issues as well. I was wondering when you might be free..."

"Tomorrow, perhaps."

Dr. Lin An said.

"Thank you for inviting me to the shooting range on Saturday. At the same time, I also need to go to the police station tomorrow... as I mentioned before, I lost my documents. The school notified me that I need to replace my passport and visa as soon as possible, otherwise they won't issue my admission letter."

Dr. Lin An scratched his head, putting on a troubled expression.

"This is really quite a nuisance."

"No problem at all, Dr. Lin An."

At this moment, O'Brien patted his chest, offering a guarantee.

"I still have some pull at the 103rd Precinct. This whole thing can be processed in a single day, and you'll get your police report card."

"Oh, thank you very much."

"You're welcome, sir."

When the door closed and Dr. Lin An walked away, the sky was already darkening. Darnell was straddling his bicycle by the side of the road, waiting for him so they could head home together.

[This old cop has zero emotional intelligence. The streamer helped him so much, and he didn't even offer him a meal.]

[Forget it, if he actually had emotional intelligence, he wouldn't still be a patrol officer.]

[233, the streamer should just take it. Who told him to choose to help this old cop?]

[Low emotional intelligence has its perks, though. Of course, he has to suffer the downsides too, but that's on the streamer for having ulterior motives.]

The kitchen light was an old-fashioned fluorescent tube; it flickered twice before turning on, emitting a faint "buzzing" sound.

Mary Washington stood at the stove, her back to the living room, holding a wooden spatula and stirring the onions in the pan. Because she had just gotten off work, she was still wearing her nurse's shoes.

She was forty-three years old but looked fifty. Her hair was braided neatly behind her head, with a few stray strands stuck to her temples by sweat.

In the midst of her busyness, she heard the door open but didn't turn around.

"Darnell, shoes."

Darnell had just stepped inside with one foot, but upon hearing this, he immediately pulled it back, bent down to take off his sneakers, and placed them neatly by the door.

After entering, he gave Dr. Lin An a wink.

By this time, Dr. Lin An had already taken off his shoes and was holding them in his hand, standing on the doormat.

Mary turned around.

The first thing she looked at wasn't Dr. Lin An's face, but his feet... standing barefoot on the doormat, shoes in hand, without stepping on the floor she had just mopped.

Only then did her gaze shift upward.

The light from the living room shone from behind Dr. Lin An. She saw a thin, Asian boy, just over one meter seventy, standing between the dim hallway and the bright living room, like a clear shadow that had suddenly appeared in an overexposed photograph.

His features were delicate with clean lines, pleasant to look at, and he wore a smile on his face.

That smile made Mary pause for a moment. There was something in that smile that she rarely saw in this neighborhood... politeness.

"Hello, Ms. Washington."

Dr. Lin An said, his voice soft but his articulation clear.

"Thank you so much for allowing me to stay at your home. Darnell is a very good person, and you have raised him well."

Mary's wooden spatula hung in mid-air, the sizzling of onions audible in the background.

She had seen too many of Darnell's friends... kids who walked in and stepped on the carpet with their shoes on, tossed their backpacks onto the sofa, opened the fridge to grab sodas for themselves, and had mouths as sweet as honey but eyes that were never honest.

This kid was different.

He stood at the doorway, waiting for her to say "come in" first.

"Come in."

Mary said.

"There is juice in the fridge."

"Thank you."

Lin An walked in and placed his shoes on the bottom rack, lining them up next to Darnell's old basketball sneakers.

By this time, Darnell had already slipped into the kitchen and lifted the pot lid to take a peek.

"Mom, pasta again?"

"If you don't want to eat it, you can go out and eat."

Mary's voice wasn't loud, but Darnell immediately shrank his head back.

"I want to eat, I want to eat."

Darnell immediately covered the pot, turned around to take a carton of orange juice from the fridge, and poured three glasses... he handed the first one to his mother, placed the second one on the table near Lin An, and downed half of the third one himself.

Mary looked at the order in which the three glasses of juice were placed and shook her head. She turned to drop the pasta into the pot, then took a can of tuna from the cupboard, opened it, and mixed it into the tomato sauce.

With one extra person eating, there wasn't enough meat.

Her movements were efficient; it was clear she had been cooking for over a decade. Every motion was precise and energy-saving. She didn't even blink while chopping the onions.

Lin An stood at the kitchen entrance, neither sitting down nor stepping inside to get in the way, just standing in that "out of the way" spot.

"Do you need any help?"

He asked.

Mary glanced at him.

"Do you know how to cook?"

"A little."

Lin An said.

"When I was in China, I sometimes cooked for myself."

"Then go set the table."

"Okay."

Having stayed for two or three days, Lin An knew where the cupboard was. He opened the door and took out three plates, three bowls, and three sets of cutlery.

The plates were different colors, two of the bowls were chipped, and the cutlery was stainless steel, with a few pieces already bent.

He laid them out on the table, aligning them perfectly, placing the cutlery to the left of the plates and the bowls to the right.

Mary turned around carrying the pot and saw the arrangement on the table, pausing for a moment.

Cutlery on the left—this was a habit she had never taught Darnell, because Darnell only used a spoon to eat, or just used his hands.

"Did your family run a restaurant?"

She asked.

"No."

Lin An pulled out a chair for her to set the pot down.

"But someone was teaching me."

[233]

[That's right, we are the ones teaching him]

During the meal, Darnell was in charge of the talking.

He spoke as if he were performing a stand-up routine... scooping a spoonful of pasta into his mouth, he started talking about his day halfway through chewing. His cheeks were bulging, his voice was muffled, but his speed was not slow at all.

"Mom, we went to see the homeless today... bro is a very good person. He plans to hire the homeless to work, give them food and clothes... and after earning money, he'll share it with them...

Also, we just visited a police officer's house. Bro is a genius; he knows how to handle taxes. Mom, show our family's bills to bro later. He knows what to do, he can help us pay less to the tax bureau..."

Mary didn't speak.

She simply flipped the chicken legs in the pot to ensure the sauce coated them more evenly.

The words Darnell said passed through her ears like a commercial on TV—the volume was high, but not a single word of the content registered in her mind.

She knew her own son's situation better than any outsider.

When she brought Darnell back from his father's place when he was ten, he already had this style of speaking.

Seven out of ten sentences are bragging, two are nonsense, and the remaining one might be true, but you have to guess it from the context yourself.

His stepfather once said something while he was still alive.

"This kid will either be a salesman or a con artist, depending on how God arranges it."

It seems God hasn't figured out the arrangement yet.

Mary served the chicken legs, three plates in total: two large ones and one small one.

She hesitated for a second, then placed the two large ones by the sides of Darnell and Lin An's bowls, and the small one by her own.

As she turned around with the pot, she saw Lin An sitting at the table, his back straight, hands resting on his knees, waiting for her to take her seat.

This posture made her heart ache for a moment.

She had worked in nursing homes for many years and had seen too many elderly people sitting by their beds in the same way—backs straight, hands on their knees, waiting for the caregivers to bring them food.

It wasn't because they were well-bred.

It was because they were living in someone else's place.

Mary sat down and picked up her fork; only when Lin An saw her move did he pick up his own.

Darnell was still talking.

[The streamer is really good at acting, look at that black auntie's expression]

[Why isn't the streamer in Hollywood? This acting, it's absolutely incredible]

[I feel a bit sick, what should I do?]

Mary, unable to see the comments, picked up a piece of onion, put it in her mouth, and chewed slowly.

She looked at Darnell, her eighteen-year-old son with the face of a thirty-eight-year-old, gesturing wildly as he spoke, a strand of pasta flying off his fork and hanging off the edge of the table, completely unnoticed by him.

Then she looked at Lin An.

Lin An was listening to Darnell, a smile fixed on the corners of his mouth, his eyes earnest and clear.

It was so good; her own silly son had truly made a polite and well-mannered friend.

Mary lowered her head and rolled the pasta in her bowl into a neat ball. Her joints were a bit thick from years of working in the nursing home, and her grip on the fork wasn't very standard, but her movements were deft: one turn, two turns, three turns—not too big, not too small, just the right size for a single bite.

"Mom."

Darnell suddenly lowered his voice, switching to a mysterious tone.

"Don't you think bro is pretty impressive?"

Mary chewed her pasta and glanced at him.

"More impressive than you."

"Well, obviously, the whole world is more impressive than me, I mean..."

"Eat."

Mary put the pasta from her fork into her mouth.

"The food is getting cold."

Darnell pouted, lowered his head to shovel in a mouthful of pasta, and mumbled.

"I just wanted to say, now that bro is here, shouldn't our family... what's the word... upgrade?"

"Upgrade what?"

"Upgrade... our quality of life? Look, he can calculate taxes, he can talk to the police, and he can also..."

[Although Darnell looks old and likes to brag, the atmosphere in his home is really good]

[The mom is a good person, and the sister is also a hardworking student who works part-time]

[I'm a little envious of Darnell, even though he's a Ni Ge]