The Many Meanings of Meilan: Chapters 38–42

“What is this place?” I ask Logan....“It’s technically Mr. Evans’ Emporium, but everybody just calls it ‘the variety store.’ Because...” Logan waves his hand at the piles of objects. “Why don’t you two search the back while I talk to Mr. Evans?”

I glance at Liam, who simply shrugs and struts off. After a moment, I head for the opposite back corner. Logan is better at talking to people.

“He didn’t buy anything else? Say anything else?”
Mr. Evans’s kind face droops. “No. Not unless you count the matches. I pick those up from restaurants, so I don’t charge for them.” He points to a glass fishbowl filled with matchbooks printed with the names and logos of different restaurants.

I gasp. “It’s the last day of Ghost Month! What if Gōnggong is trying to communicate with Nǎinai?”
Logan and Liam’s eyes go wide. “What do you mean, ‘communicate’ with your grandmother?” Liam says, a tiny thread of worry in his voice. He doesn’t sound so brash and brave anymore.

Logan grimaces. “Look, I’m sorry for teasing you about having tornado phobia. You’ve just always been the braver one, you know? I had to have something I could give you a hard time about. But there’s an actual tornado watch on, and I’m not letting you go out there alone.”

“Māma, what about the landlord? The papers you signed — did Gōnggong see those?”
Her eyebrows draw together. “Maybe, but what does that matter?”
Instead of answering, I dash out of the room and upstairs. When I return, all three of them are still gaping at me in confusion. “He might’ve seen this!” I shake the paper that I grabbed off my parents’ desk. “It’s Mr. Shellhaus’s obituary. The landlord gave you a copy.”

“Māma, what about the landlord? The papers you signed — did Gōnggong see those?”
Her eyebrows draw together. “Maybe, but what does that matter?”
Instead of answering, I dash out of the room and upstairs. When I return, all three of them are still gaping at me in confusion. “He might’ve seen this!” I shake the paper that I grabbed off my parents’ desk. “It’s Mr. Shellhaus’s obituary. The landlord gave you a copy.”

The Grove is deserted. Gōnggong is nowhere to be seen. Clouds block the sun, and the light in the sky turns an eerie green, like the great liquid eye of a sea dragon.

“Shut up,” Liam growls, and he pushes Logan away. He looks embarrassed and angry. I’m reminded again of the power of stories. The Wizard of Oz created an irrational fear of tornadoes in Liam. My phoenix tale convinced Third Aunt that Bàba was stealing money. And now, stories about ghosts crossing back into the world of the living during Ghost Month have placed Gōnggong in danger. Placed all of us in danger.

Logan puts his hand on his brother’s shoulder. “She’s right. We can’t leave the old man here. There are too many trees. He might get hit by lightning.” His face is resolute. The rain comes down in thrashes.

With both hands, Logan grips Liam’s arms. “We’ll do it together. I’ve got your back.”
The two brothers look at each other, and Liam’s shoulders straighten. He nods once, short and hard. Determination replaces the fear in his face. Relief washes over me even as the rain lashes my cheeks.

The time between lightning cracks and the drumbeats of thunder gets shorter. The storm is getting closer. Then, in the pause between thunderclaps, we hear the thin wail of a siren. Logan catches my eye and nods grimly. It’s not a tornado watch anymore. It’s a warning. There’s a twister coming our way.

Something slaps me in the face, and I shriek. It’s cold and wet and clings to my nose and mouth, smothering me. Logan tears it away and is about to toss it when I grab his hand. “No, wait!” I uncrumple the dirty thing — it’s a hundred-dollar bill from Monopoly.

“There!” Liam shouts. “I think I see him!” He points to a hunched form a few rows away. We race over to find Gōnggong kneeling in the mud in front of an old granite gravestone streaked with lichen. My grandfather’s head is in his hands, and his shoulders shake. More Monopoly money is strewn around him.

“Gōnggong!” I cry, dropping down next to him. “Are you okay? What are you doing?”
He grabs on to the gravestone. The letters are worn and impossible to read. His face is so pale in the waning light, like the pearl inlay in one of Nǎinai’s ebony hair combs.

“Gōnggong!” I cry, dropping down next to him. “Are you okay? What are you doing?”
He grabs on to the gravestone. The letters are worn and impossible to read. His face is so pale in the waning light, like the pearl inlay in one of Nǎinai’s ebony hair combs.

I look down at my pale-blue raincoat, purchased at the thrift store by Māma and a couple sizes too big for me. The hem billows in the wind, and my jeans are nearly invisible in the gloom. Gōnggong thinks I’m his wife, here in ghost form to bring him over to the afterlife, where she is. He isn’t afraid to die.

I look down at my pale-blue raincoat, purchased at the thrift store by Māma and a couple sizes too big for me. The hem billows in the wind, and my jeans are nearly invisible in the gloom. Gōnggong thinks I’m his wife, here in ghost form to bring him over to the afterlife, where she is. He isn’t afraid to die.

“Go!” Logan rasps from where he lies on the ground. “Get to safety! Head to that crypt!” He motions to one of the small stone houses. “The one that’s in the little valley. We need to be as low as possible!”

“Go!” Logan rasps from where he lies on the ground. “Get to safety! Head to that crypt!” He motions to one of the small stone houses. “The one that’s in the little valley. We need to be as low as possible!”

Gōnggong hands me his shopping bag, and I remember that he got a candle and matches from the variety store. Miraculously, they’re still dry. I light the candle and set it near Logan, hoping that tiny flame will dispel some of the musty chill in the air.

“Hey,” Logan says. “I’ll be okay. It’s not your fault — I offered to help.”
“Yeah, you didn’t need that foot anyway,” Liam says. I turn to glare at him but stop when I see the concern on his face. Maybe being snarky is his way of coping with stress.

I let go to rummage in my backpack, coming up with a first aid kit. I didn’t make the tree branch fall, and I didn’t ask Logan to take the blow for me, but it still feels good to help a friend. I use gauze to clean the cut on his leg and stop the bleeding. I try not to think about how I’m touching his bare skin as I slather antibiotic ointment on the wound and stick several bandages over it.

I let go to rummage in my backpack, coming up with a first aid kit. I didn’t make the tree branch fall, and I didn’t ask Logan to take the blow for me, but it still feels good to help a friend. I use gauze to clean the cut on his leg and stop the bleeding. I try not to think about how I’m touching his bare skin as I slather antibiotic ointment on the wound and stick several bandages over it.

The weak light coming through the stained glass above the door fades away into nothing. We share the granola bars as the wind whistles through tiny crevices between the door and its frame. Stones and other unnameable objects ping against the metal like hail, and every now and then something large hits one of the walls, but we are safe here, protected by stone and steel and the dead.