Zhou nodded quickly, not stopping her hands, though her forehead was slick with sweat.
“Always glad to help the mill, Mr. Ridley,” she said.
Thomas nodded and moved down the row, leaving Marcus to watch his wife from the shadows of the utility pillar.
At six that evening, the kitchen smelled of the rich chicken stew Zhou had finished after her shift. Clara Vance, Zhou’s older sister, sat at the small table, fidgeting with the clasp of her silver medical watch.
On the counter sat a new blue ceramic bottle of dark soy sauce, which Zhou had bought for twelve dollars at the import market.
Zhou lifted the pot to the table, her breath coming in shallow rasps, and sat down with a stiff posture. She picked up the blue ceramic bottle and poured a heavy, dark stream of the salty sauce directly into her own bowl, far more than she ever used to.
Clara watched her sister’s hand closely, her eyes narrowing as the dark liquid pooled in the broth.
“That is a lot of sodium, Zhou,” Clara said, her voice sharp and direct. “You have been putting that on everything lately.”
“It gives the broth the right flavor,” Zhou said, rubbing her temples with her free hand. “My appetite is just fine.”
Clara looked across the table at Marcus, her face tight with an expression he could not quite read.
At eight o’clock, Marcus drove over to the Gaston Community Clinic to pick up some joint cream for his shoulder, only to find Clara waiting by the side entrance. The cold vinyl chairs of the empty waiting room were visible through the glass door behind her.
Clara cornered Marcus near the brick archway, her hand gripping her silver medical watch.
“Marcus, look at her face,” Clara said, her sentences short and urgent. “She is too pale, and she has lost weight since the summer.”
