What Fits in a Bag

The hospital has packed Yanqiao’s remaining things into a clear plastic bag, and Shuyin has to sign for them before she can leave.

She reads the label twice. The name is right. The ward number is right. Her pen hovers over the line until the receptionist turns the form toward her and points to the box she missed.

The red thread draws me through the lobby and past the vending machines. Shuyin is still wearing her work clothes. A crease from her bicycle helmet crosses her hair, and a faint mark of grease remains on one palm. The plastic bag rests on the counter between her and the receptionist.

“Is that everything?” she asks.

“The personal effects we have here,” the receptionist says. “Dr. Fang can answer questions about anything else.”

Shuyin signs. She folds the receipt and puts it in her coat pocket. The receptionist slides the bag across the counter, and Shuyin takes it by the handles.

The bag is light. It makes a small crinkling sound as she lifts it.

Fang waits near the elevators with a folder tucked under one arm. She has changed into a clean white coat. Shuyin walks over, carrying the bag close to her knee.

“His belongings,” Fang says. “I checked the list before they sealed it.”

“Thank you.” Shuyin glances down at the bag. “I thought there’d be more.”

“Most of what he had with him was already accounted for. This is what remained in storage.” Fang opens the folder and shows her a sheet. “The hospital can send you the final copies of his records. You don’t need to decide about that today.”

Shuyin reads the top line. “Send them to my email, please.”

Fang makes a note. She doesn’t ask if Shuyin wants to see the room. Shuyin doesn’t ask either. The corridor behind the elevators leads to the ward, but the doors are shut, and a porter pushes a cart past them with a bundle of fresh linens.

Shuyin’s thumb presses into the plastic handles. She looks at the corridor until the cart disappears around a corner.

“Did they clear his bedside?” she asks.

“Yes. The bed has been prepared for another patient.” Fang keeps her voice level. “I’m sorry.”

Shuyin rubs the folded receipt through her coat pocket. Then she looks back at Fang. “I know you had to.”

Fang’s fingers tighten once around the folder’s edge. “You can call me if the records raise questions.”

“I will.”

Her sister waits by the entrance, holding two paper cups. Shuqiao has come straight from somewhere else; a canvas shopping bag hangs from her shoulder, and one of its handles has twisted around her wrist. She hands Shuyin a cup.