Heat swelled in the back of my eyes. This was the song I used to sing for Lily when she had trouble sleeping, and I only sang it now for Marigold. How much my daughter was beginning to resemble my sister. Their brows even bore the same pinch when they were in pain.
I smoothed it away with my thumb, wrestling with the weight that had arrived in my heart. I hadn’t been able to protect Lily, but I swore no force in this universe would take my child from me.
I love you,I thought, kissing Marigold on the cheek.
Then I picked up the phone and dialed the hospital.
It was pneumonia, Dr. Fung said, and it was a good thing I’d brought her in before the infection spread to her bloodstream.
“She’s not allergic to penicillin,” he reassured me. “She’ll be all right. She’ll recover.”
I blew a long exhale. “What can I do?”
“You need to take care that she doesn’t get sick. Her lungs are weak, so she’s more susceptible to catching bronchitis, and if she gets pneumonia again it’ll be hard for her to recover. Keep her away from cold air. I’ll give you a list of foods for her to avoid, too.”
From then on, I kept Marigold inside. It wasn’t easy. When I wasn’t looking, she’d try to sneak out the door to the market below our apartment.
“I want to leave San Francisco,” I told Philip later that month. “The cold air’s making Marigold sick.”
“We can’t leave. My job is here. The Association, our friends.”
“Your gambling partners?”
Philip flinched. “Marigold loves it here. Look at how happy she is.”
We were at Portsmouth Square. Peony and Rosie were chasing pigeons, and Marigold was trying to climb a tree.
“Careful!” I cried, grabbing Marigold by the shoulders. “You’ll fall.”
“Sorry, Mama.” Marigold wriggled out of my hold. Barely a second later, she was clambering up a different tree.
“Let her play,” Philip said. “You can’t lock her up in the house all day long.”
“Yes I can.”
“She’ll start school soon. Are you going to keep her from that, too?”
I was unmoved. “She’ll come home straight after.”
“Why not put her on a leash while you’re at it?”
“It might be good for her.” I paused to whet my tone. “It’d certainly be good for you.”
Philip’s expression soured. “It’s time to go home,” he said, calling for the girls. Marigold had heard him stand up for her, and she immediately took his hand rather than mine. Led by Philip, the pair walked ahead without waiting, and I pretended not to care.
San Francisco had been good to us in many ways, but it had its demons. For one, Philip had started gambling again. Innocuously at first, to make friends in the Association. I’d evengone with him a few times. Though his losses were only a few dollars, each time he went he stayed out longer. I worried.
I knew the power of addiction. It had almost broken me.
I wouldn’t let it break my family.
Berkeley
1965
Chapter Forty-One
On Sundays we closed Three Flowers at noon and drove into the city for dinner with Francis. My brother-in-law had recently been promoted to senior cook at Orchid Lounge, a new Hong Kong–style restaurant, and though he rarely ate with us, he’d send us a lobster on the house and join us for a sweet bowl of tong sui at the end.
