Page 54 of The Manor of Dreams

Madeline marched out of her room just as Ma was opening her bedroom door.

Madeline intercepted her. “I need to talk to you.”

Ma’s carefully pinned hair was stringy and pulled back with a clip. Her lips were chapped and pale. “I’m busy.”

“I don’t care. We need to talk.”

Ma gestured to her. “Then talk.”

“It’s about Ada.”

Ma jolted as if she’d been electrocuted. Her fingers clamped around Madeline’s wrist, and she pulled her into her room.

The room was dark. The curtains were drawn. Why did her mother keep this room so dimly lit? “Don’t ever mention her.”

Madeline didn’t let up. “Why? Tell me about her. What happened?”

Ma retreated.

“She’s yoursister.Why did you never talk about her?

“Because it’s too hard to!” Ma was yelling now. Her eyes flashed and her breathing was quick. “She died in a car crash when we were seventeen, and it was the most painful thing that has ever happened to me. It killed all of us. Ma most of all.” She stared at the wall behind Madeline’s head. “And now you know.”

“Knowwhat?”

Ma flung an arm out. “Why we’re like this. Why we’re so—damaged.” She was panting, her teeth bared, tears in her eyes. “This is the last time I want to talk about her.”

“Why, though?” Madeline, too, found her eyes smarting. “Whydon’tyou talk about her? Why won’t you talk about Wài Pó? Why do you shut yourself away like this? Does it ever help? Does it make it more bearable?Does it?” Ma’s hands hung limply at her sides now, like that outburst was all she had energy for and now she was completely drained. “Talk tome. I’m here, Ma.”

Ma lifted her eyes to Madeline’s, her face blank. “Talking with youdoes nothing. This is my family. You don’t understand.” She drew in a ragged breath. “Just go.” Her voice broke. “Go, Madeline. I shouldn’t have brought you.”

Madeline felt like she had been struck.I’m your daughter, she thought.This is my family too.

nineteen

APRIL 1990

ADAYin-Lowell never tried to be the best at anything in her family. Everything she thought about trying, her older twin sister had already gotten to first. Top scores, captain of the debate team—that was Lucille. She spun like a cyclone, picking up activities and academic awards around her. Rennie, on the other hand, was the natural favorite. She had a sweetness and wit that endeared everyone to her. When Ma and Dad were in town, they never missed one of Rennie’s community theater performances.

Ma’s Oscar stood on a shelf in the library. It was a reminder to everyone that it wasn’t enough to be perfect; they had to be the best. But Ada had never wanted to push her way into the spotlight. Instead, she sat back and watched, picking up on the things that others missed. It was a big household with two families. Her parents and her sisters. Edith and Josiah and their daughters, Elaine and Sophie. There was no shortage of people—or things—to observe. She predicted when things would turn still and stagnant during the summer, when people’s tempers would change. She knew when the dust would kick up in the fall, when the winds would rattle the windows at night, and she secured things on the shelf so they would be safe from falling when small tremors and earthquakes would pass through. The night her mother won the Oscar, everyone pushed for the spot on the couch in front of the TV and watched her speech. Rennie shrieked and clapped, but the first thing Ada thought was:she left out Dad’s name.

In school she always took careful, detailed notes, so much so that Lucille would copy them to help her study, especially for physics, which was Lucille’s hardest class and Ada’s easiest. Around the house, she watched the way everyone moved around one another. She made peace in the heated debates that sprung up between Lucille and Elaine. She noticed how Rennie spent close to an hour getting ready for school and always made them late, so Ada set her clock to be a little faster than everyone else’s. And she knew that something was wrong between her parents. Ma and Dad were arguing more. They were flying to France in late May to attend a film festival, and every other day they fought over it. What flights to take. What their travel plans were and who they would see while they were there.

The longer it went on, the more anxious it made her. She went to Lucille’s room one night and asked, “Do you think they’re going to get a divorce?”

Lucille looked up from vigorously highlightingKing Lear. “What?”

“I don’t know. They argue all the time. They didn’t used to be like this.”

“It’s just their midlife crisis,” Lucille intoned. “Everyone’s parents are fighting these days.”

There was a knock on the door. Sophie, Edith and Josiah’s younger daughter, peeked her head in. “I’m bored. You guys wanna get iced lemonades?”

Lucille threw her book down. “Please.”

Ada looked up. “Who’s driving?”

Lucille opened her mouth, but Sophie spoke up first. “Obviously me. Because your dad’s car is gone and your mom would kill you if you took her convertible.”

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