Page 55 of The Manor of Dreams

Lucille huffed. “One of these days.”

“Dream on.” Sophie smiled, jingling her keys. The house was mostly empty. Rennie was at her after-school rehearsal, and Ma was upstairs taking a nap. They crowded into Josiah Deng’s Camry. Lucille took shotgun. Ada sat in the back seat. Sophie rolled her window down.

“You have to actually come to a complete stop at the sign, youknow.” Lucille rolled her window back up as Sophie drove. “It’s a miracle you passed your driver’s test.”

“I stoppedenough.” Sophie looked up at the rearview mirror, where she met Ada’s eyes. Ada offered her a reassuring smile.

They got fries and iced lemonades from the local burger place and ate leaning against the hood of the Camry. The heat rippled off the pavement in dry waves. Palm fronds fluttered limply in the hot gusts of wind.

“I’m thinking of throwing a party.” Lucille shaded her eyes against the bare sun. “When our parents are in France.”

“What, with your debate club?” Sophie said. She wiped her mouth with the heel of her palm. Her freckles were more prominent now, Ada noticed. She fixed her gaze on Sophie’s shoulders. They were getting pink.

“Anactualparty,” Lucille said sharply. “I want to invite a ton of people. That reminds me. Do you think you could ask Elaine to get us stuff?”

Sophie took a long sip of lemonade. “First of all, she’s in San Francisco this summer, so she’s not even around. Second of all, she’s nineteen. She doesn’t have a fake.”

“Right. I forget she’s more with the stoners.”

Sophie shot Lucille a look.

“What? It’s true. That was her whole high school friend group. I swore she came home baked one day. I didn’t tell your parents. She owes me for that one.”

Sophie didn’t say anything. Ada brushed fry crumbs off her lap and cleared her throat. “What’s Elaine up to in San Francisco?”

Sophie looked at her gratefully. “A lot. Volunteering for Democrat campaigns, organizing for housing justice on the side. She was going to try to get involved with earthquake relief and gentrification, too. That kinda stuff.”

“She should be on the Hill.” Lucille scooped the last two fries. “Working as a Senate intern or something. Dad probably knows someone from Yale. He could put in a good word on her behalf.”

“It’s okay. She doesn’t need it.”

“What? Why not?”

“Well,” Sophie said, and now Ada could hear the irritation in her voice. “She probably wants to figure it out on her own.”

Surely Lucille would stop pressing now. But she said bluntly, “Our parents are already paying for her degree. What’s the matter with a few more connections?”

There was a silence. Then Sophie crumpled up the bag. “Are we good?” She got her keys. Lucille opened the door. Sophie said, “Isn’t it Ada’s turn in shotgun?”

“It’s fine,” Ada said in a neutral voice. “I like sitting here anyway.”

“See?” Lucille sat down in the passenger seat. On the way back, Sophie cranked the radio up when the Cure came on. No one spoke. Ada tipped her head back, in the saturated beams of light, and gazed at the blue mountains in the distance. She glanced at Sophie through the rearview mirror again and their eyes met. This time it was Sophie who smiled at her. When the sun flashed through the window just right, it pooled her brown eyes to honey.

Ada noticed that Dad hadn’t been coming to dinner for a week straight. Ma was agitated. The food Edith made for him grew cold and sat out on the table. Later that night, Ada couldn’t focus. Lucille had already finished writing her essay and gone to bed, but the words in the heavy thesaurus swam in front of Ada. She heard the front door open downstairs. She tensed, waiting for her parents’ voices to rise. A plate clattered and Ada flinched.

Her stomach was still in knots long after the voices faded. Downstairs, the kitchen was spotless, no broken dishes. It looked peaceful in the garden, so she went onto the terrace and descended the cool stairs, down to the gravel walking path.

Ada jumped when she saw something move behind the fountain ahead. Sophie emerged. Her eyes widened. “Oh. It’s you.” She pulled off her gardening gloves and tilted her head in question. “What are you doing out here?”

“I couldn’t sleep,” Ada said. She hovered next to the fountain and peered into the bowl, at the puckered reflection of the moon. “What were you up to this late?”

Sophie folded the gloves. “Just doing some watering. The flowers soak up water better at night because the sun’s not out.” Her fingertips broke the still surface of the fountain’s pool. “There are some things that bloom at night, too, so I wanted to check on them.”

“Oh? Which ones?”

“Want to see?”

Ada followed Sophie into the garden. The main walkways branched off into smaller, meandering paths. There, next to the delicate lavender and bursting pink hydrangea bushes in the left section closest to the house, was a cluster of small, peaked white flowers, with a clear, fragrant scent. “Jasmine,” Ada said in wonder.

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