Page 93 of The Manor of Dreams

Rennie would lightly shrug and swallow the burning feeling in the back of her throat. She knew Lucille was angry with her. For making friends in this school, for filling her days with choir and theater, for going to parties on the weekends. She felt guilty for running from one thing to the next. But she was scared that if she stayed still and had even a moment to herself, her guilt would consume her.

So she went to class, and then rehearsal. She gave herself highlights in the communal bathroom. She loved not being able to see past the stage. She reveled in the heat of the spotlights. She got the part of Juliet in the Shakespeare production. And it felt good, acting out a part that was on paper, with lines that were already written. Shelovedit.

Rennie was a natural. Everyone told her so. She glowed with the praise. She had arched brows and expressive, doe-like eyes perfect for an actress. She got invited to parties with the older kids from the theater crowd, and they all said she was like their little sister. She played their drinking games, and they called her affectionate names. If they got sufficiently drunk, they would try to guess Rennie’s ethnicity. “You don’t look Chinese,” they would say. They would tilt their heads. “But you do.” They’d turn. “Does she?”

Rennie’s insides would burn. She didn’t know how to explain that she’d grown up eating Chinese food, that she still perfectly understood the Mandarin that Ma and Edith spoke to each other. She realized with a sinking feeling that this was always how she would be seen by others. In-between, always speculated upon. But when they ruffled her hair and kissed her on the cheek, that burning feeling in her stomach eased, just a little bit. She soaked in their affection, smoking joints with them on the balconies while they harmonized and talked about their dreams: New York, Los Angeles, a casting call that was posted in the Boston area for this one coveted movie role. They didn’t see her as the kid who lost two members of her family in one catastrophic summer, and she didn’t tell them. She was only what lay ahead of her: a promising actress. A bright future. They took her in. “You’re so pretty,” someone said, holding her chin and jaw once. “You remind me of someone famous, but I don’t remember who.”

But no matter what she did, at some point in the night Rennie would be awake.

And then she would think about Dad. And Ada.

Now, in the bedroom she’d grown up in, all those thoughts gripped her. She thought about Ada’s soft laugh. The times that she would come downstairs and make a warm cup of milk for Rennie in the middle of the night. When they had been younger and Rennie wanted to tag along with her and Lucille and Sophie, Ada was always the one to relent. Lucille would get annoyed, but Ada was only sweet to her. Except for that last night.

You ruined everything,Ada had said that night.I hope you’re happy.

Rennie glanced outside the window that overlooked the garden, just like she’d done over the summer. Someone was standing in the garden.

“She’s out there.”

Rennie froze. She felt a presence behind her and, slowly, she turned around.

Ada was looking straight at her. “Go.”

A scream curdled in Rennie’s throat. She scrambled backward and squeezed her eyes shut. The back of her head knocked into thewindowsill, and pain shot through her skull. She counted to ten and opened her eyes.

No one was there.

You’re fucked-up, Rennie. You’re seeing things.

She lowered herself to the ground, her knees pressing against the unforgiving floorboards. Ada was gone. Whatever that was—a ghost, a vision, an apparition—had disappeared. And yet a part of Rennie wished she’d kept her eyes open.Jie Jie, a braver version of herself would have pleaded.Don’t be mad at me. What did I do to you? Please, tell me. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.

LUCILLEwoke up weeks later to an uneven knock at her door. They were back at school and it was the middle of the night. A moment later there was another knock. Her roommate snored. Lucille sat up in bed. The unblinking red numbers on the digital clock told her it was past four.

And then she heard, in a soft, muffled voice, “Lucille?”

Lucille jumped down and slipped outside. “Rennie? What’s going on?”

Her sister stood in the hall, arms crossed, wearing a too-tight cardigan sweater. Her eyes were wide and framed with clumped mascara. Her lipstick was half-smeared and blotchy. She said in a blurry voice, “I just want to talk to someone.”

Lucille closed the door behind her. “What happened? Are you okay?”

“I just—” Rennie sighed, and Lucille could smell something sharp and sour on her breath. “Can’t sleep.”

“You can’t sleep?” Lucille blinked awake. They stood in the stark dormitory hallway under the harsh fluorescent lights. It was damp and cold, and she shivered in her T-shirt. “That’s all? Where were you? Were you drinking?”

Rennie shrank. “Not really—”

“You could smell the vodka from Connecticut.”

“Fine. I was in one of my friends’ rooms. Just hanging out. But now they’ve all gone to bed, and I don’t want to sleep. I don’t wanna.”

Jesus, Lucille thought.It’s almost five.“Why not?”

“Because I wake up and I feel awful.”

That stopped Lucille. All this time she’d thought Rennie had moved on and happily shed her old life. She reached out and held Rennie’s arm. Her sister was slightly taller than her, long-limbed and uncertain. They were no longer eye level. Rennie flattened herself against the wall and closed her eyes. Lucille leaned against the wall next to her sister.

“And I get nightmares about her.”

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