Page 53 of The Manor of Dreams

Haunted?

The word hung in the silence between them.

“And if it… was,” Madeline pressed on, “do you think we should leave?”

Nora studied the wood grain of the floor.

“I’m not saying this to—convince you to. Obviously I know our families are still working that part out. I just wonder if this place is… unsafe,” Madeline said. “I mean. What happened to me was…”

“Absolutely terrifying? Yeah.”

“Yeah.” Madeline sighed. “But I don’t know. I don’t think I can get my mom to leave this place.”

“Did you tell her what happened to you?”

Madeline laughed bitterly. “I tried to. She didn’t believe me. How could she?”

Nora’s head started to hurt. Things didn’t add up in this place. Her mother told her not to go into the garden but wouldn’t tell her why. Strange things happened, but then people pretended not to notice them. “I don’t think my mom would leave either.”

“So we’re just stuck here.”

“Seems like it.”

“Part of me still does want to stay,” Madeline said. “Is that twisted? Aside from whatever’s in the garden, I feel like… so much of my family history is here. My mother got to grow up in this place when it was beautiful. I wish I had that. But even if I can only live with the remains of it, I want to.” She sighed. “So, I guess I’m not leaving.”

Nora nodded. “We avoid the garden, then. And keep an eye out for each other.”

Madeline looked at her. She seemed to be taking her in fully for the first time, and Nora realized suddenly that she was still holding on to Madeline’s arm. She let go as if it were scalding.

Madeline glanced down quizzically. “Well. Thanks, Dr. Nora. For this. And for saving my life.”

Now what? Were they going to go back to their silences? Nora said, “Thanks for making me tea.”

“Equally heroic.”

They laughed. Madeline’s laugh was a beautiful sound. The room felt warm, and they were standing close now. It took everything in Nora not to pull away. Madeline was entirely still, too. Nora’s breath was loud in her ears as time seemed to dilate. She started to say something, but whatever words had been on her mind dissipated the moment Madeline leaned in.

Nora felt Madeline’s lips meet hers, soft at first, and then with more pressure. Madeline put her hand on Nora’s waist. Nora deepened the kiss, her tongue trailing gently, lingering for long seconds or minutes; she lost count. She had already felt like the night had transcended into an alternate reality. Now they were in a parallel dimension.

When they finally drew apart, Nora looked at the floor and realized she was squeezing the Neosporin with sweaty fingers. “I…”

“?’Night,” Madeline said softly. Nora kept her eyes on the floor. Her cheeks were burning. She was still thinking through a response when she heard Madeline get up and close the door behind her.

MADELINEdidn’t sleep for a long time. She lay in her bed staring up at the round light, her body buzzing and filled with euphoria. She thought about Nora, about the kiss, about her soft, low voice and her careful touch, over and over again. So Norahadwanted her too—maybe even as much as Madeline did. That thought elated her. What would happen next? Would they talk about it? Acknowledge it? She lay back down and tried to slow her breathing.

There was something else. The longer the night stretched on, the more her thoughts shifted to what Nora had said. The name.

Madeline had only heard Ada’s name once before. When she was eleven, she had gone through her mother’s desk when she was away on a work trip and discovered a thick paper envelope filled with pictures of her mother as a kid. She had never seen photos of her mother when she was young. And yet here she was, in what looked like vacation photos. Her mother, leaning against the side of a car. Her mother in ski goggles. Her mother, framed by the portraits and paintings behind her in an art museum. Her mother had the same the telltale straight posture, the thick eyebrows, the angular features, the prim set of her lips, the pressed collared shirts and the baggy jeans. Then there had been a photo of her mother and Aunt Rennie. And a third person. A cousin, maybe, one who looked exactly like Ma.

She asked, days later, when her mother came back and they were eating dinner, who the cousin was. Ma set her bowl down. “What cousin? I don’t have any that I know of.”

“The one who went to Europe with you and Yí Ma.”

Her mother’s expression had paled, and she slammed down her bowl so hard, Madeline jumped. “That’s my sister Ada,” she said. “She’s gone.”

And that was that. After Ma left the dinner table, Bà leaned over and told Madeline, very quietly, to never mention Ada’s name again.

In the morning she got up and paced her room. She wanted to godownstairs and see Nora again. But already she heard voices from the kitchen. The quiet pocket of night they had between them was long gone, and now she had to think about what Nora had said. She had to find her mother.

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