Page 78 of The Manor of Dreams

During the day Sophie drove around with Lucille and Ada. They got ice cream. Her and Ada’s hands brushed in the parking lot. She went to her shifts at the library and stood under the blast of the air conditioner, punching numbers into the catalog cards. At night, after she’d carefully washed the dirt from her fingers, she’d hear a knock andAda would slip in. She loved that Ada reached for her before the door had even finished closing.

Days dripped by. One night in late June, when Sophie was working alone in the garden, she found herself entranced by Vivian’s small flowers. Thinking of which books she could press them into for Ada, she caught a bud that was detaching from the stalk. She cupped the flower in her hands and observed it closely, rubbing the petals between her fingers. The flower had no distinct perfume; it only emitted the bitter, damp scent of the earth.

Suddenly she imagined something so clear that it startled her. She was looking out over a haphazard and rugged garden, filled with lettuce and tomatoes and rhubarb and wild dandelions, lined with moss and rich compost. She knew somehow that it washergarden. There was a house, too. The windows were open and she was painting the shutters. Ada was stepping out of the back door in a tank top and shorts. The light was warm on her skin, and she shaded her eyes against the sun.

Sophie tumbled forward and suddenly she was back in the dirt of Vivian Yin’s garden. But the vision had been so vivid and the joy so visceral that she ached with the hope of it.

She looked up at the house. Yin Manor, Mr. Lowell called it. This house was dedicated to A Yí. This was the garden that Bà had helped build for her. Sophie tore off her gloves and dug her fingers into the dirt, until they touched root. At this she radiated again with the memory of her own garden. Was it in her mind or could she now feel the flower vines threading under the dirt with their own pulse, the roots all reaching to intertwine? She drew her fingers back and giddily plucked some of the purple buds and tucked them into her pocket.

In what seemed for a moment like a mirror of her vision, she saw Vivian come out onto the terrace. Sophie expected Vivian to appraise the flowers, but she barely looked at them. Instead, she came straight for Sophie.

“He’s coming home tomorrow,” Vivian A Yí said. “My husband.” She paused. “You should probably take the flowers out of the books.”

“Oh.” Right. Vivian wanted to protect them. “Okay. I will.”

Sophie brushed the dirt off her pants and walked back to the house.In the library she pulled out all the books she or Ada had pressed flowers into and removed them. Then she erased the penciled notes she’d written. Back in her room, she put the now-dried flowers in her drawer. The violet butterfly-shaped flowers she tucked under her pillow.

She looked over at the empty twin bed where her sister used to sleep. It was strange, having had this room to herself for the past year. She missed her sister. Elaine had rarely visited the last year. She seemed happy there and reluctant to come back. She’d only come back when dormitories were closed down for winter break. She dressed differently now, with plaid shirts and baggy jackets and jeans. Her hair had been chopped short, too, unevenly, as if she cut it herself. She brought tattered books to the dinner table and stirred things up until Bà took her aside and quieted her, and she seemed sullen for the rest of break until she got to go back to Berkeley again. Sophie wondered if Elaine would ever return to this house, or if she’d put it all behind her and Sophie was now on her own.

The next day when she went into the garden, Vivian’s flowers were gone. What remained were only gaping, clotted holes in the dirt, as if they’d been ripped out.

“They didn’t look right,” Vivian said when Sophie asked about them. “I changed my mind.”

Sophie felt slightly hurt. She’d tended to them so carefully and had been looking forward to showing their progress to her bà. Now the only evidence left was in her room.

That night, after she came back from Ada’s room, her head rushing and her cheeks flushed, she reached under her pillow. She cupped the petals, hoping to bring back that vision, that faintness, the elation, that happiness. Her heartbeat stuttered as if in response. She fell asleep with the flowers curled in her hand.

twenty-nine

AUGUST PRESENT DAY

DAY 6 IN THE HOUSE

MADELINEcarefully poured the kettle of boiling water over the loose-leaf tea. “Sometimes it feels like we’re the only two people staying in this house.” The steam warmed her cheeks. She held it out to Nora. “Careful, it’s hot.”

Nora lifted it to her lips anyway and flinched. “Fuck.”

“What did I just tell you?”

“I’m bad at taking other people’s advice,” Nora said. “Personal flaw.”

“At least there’s self-awareness.”

Nora set her mug on the counter. “Everyone keeps locking themselves in their rooms. I haven’t seen my mom in twenty-four hours.”

“Is she okay?”

Nora sighed and pushed up the sleeves of her flannel shirt. Her short hair was up in a blunt ponytail. Nora was taciturn with her thoughts, so Madeline focused on her expressions. The way her jaw would set, the way her voice lowered. What made her eyes narrow. Her perfectly controlled eyebrow raise. But despite so much observation, Madeline still was unsure what Nora was thinking most of the time. “I think so. I’ll check on her again tomorrow morning.”

“My mother hasn’t spoken to me,” Madeline said. “Ever since I asked about Ada. I tried looking her up, but cell service sucks. And I couldn’t find anything.”

Nora glanced her way. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t. I wanted to know.” Madeline fixed her eyes on therefrigerator across the kitchen. “It explains a lot, actually.” Ma had a twin sister who died. She had always thought that it was Ma’s stepfather’s death that splintered the family, but it had been two deaths, that same summer, in catastrophic succession. A double tragedy.

Richard Lowell existed on the internet. Madeline had found him. She could read about him.Actor, director, producer. Died of an overdose.But Ada was a ghost everywhere. Nothing about her, on her, from her. Madeline only heard herself say, faintly, “There’s so much I didn’t know about my family. Ada livedhere.I keep believing that maybe if I stay here, I can understand what happened.”

Nora faced the door that led into the gardens.

---