The girls loved Francis. Whereas Philip and I were painfully frugal, Francis spoiled his nieces. He’d surprise them with flower-shaped barrettes and paper dolls, then take them into the kitchen, where he’d let them roll dough and pour mango pudding mix into carp-shaped molds.
Their favorite, however, was going to the bar and mixing their own Shirley Temples. For a whole twenty minutes, the girls could entertain themselves swirling the grenadine in the ice and soda and munching through a bowl of maraschino cherries.
I never failed to take away Marigold’s glass before she stole a sip.
“Ma!” she cried.
“I’ve told you before,” I said, “you can play, but no drinking. The cold isn’t good for you.”
“Let her have a sip,” Philip said. Peony and Rosie chimed in, taking Marigold’s side. Francis was wise enough to keep quiet.
“The doctor says she can’t have anything cold. It’ll make her sick.”
I sent her drink away with a waiter. Philip muttered that I was being unreasonable, and Peony and Rosie consoled her with their paper cocktail umbrellas while she sat, deflated, in her chair.
I pretended not to see. Or rather, not to care. I had to be firm, because Philip certainly wouldn’t be.
Francis offered her a treat. “Our best tong sui in the house are hot. We’ve got red-bean soup tonight, and I’ll give you a big chunk of rock sugar to melt into it, how’s that?”
Marigold mustered a smile. “Thank you, Uncle. That’s very nice, but only if Mom says it’s okay.”
I folded my napkin over my lap, wishing I hadn’t heard.
“Well, Helen,” said my brother-in-law extra loudly. “What do you say? Marigold’s such a good girl.”
Francis was Marigold’s favorite adult, and she his favorite child. They’d shared a bond since that long night when she was born.
“Not a big chunk of sugar,” I allowed. “A small one will do.”
“That’s the spirit!” Francis grinned and decided to push his luck. “You see, Marigold? It’s all about compromises.” He nudged me. “How about this? If she does well in school, you treat her to ice cream.”
Francis was shameless, I’d give him that. He was lucky he was family.
“It’s not good for her lungs.”
“Just once won’t kill her. I can buy it for her if you don’t want—”
“Straight A’s,” I interrupted then.
Philip cast me a surprised look. He hadn’t expected me to give in.
I didn’t think of it as giving in. Neither Philip nor I were academic, and despite our dreams to study hard, we both had lacked discipline. I expected Marigold to be the same.
“Straight A’s,” Francis repeated, giving the table a jolly slap. “My Marigold can do that, can’t she?”
Marigold exhaled. “Yes.”
Her mood lifted, she pulled out a book while her sisters finished their drinks. I wanted to tell her not to read in such dim lighting, that it was rude to ignore everyone at the dinner table—but Philip passed me the menu.
Let her be,he mouthed.
I ordered fish even though Marigold didn’t like it. It was good for her asthma, and I watched her finish her entire plate, spitting out the bones as they poked the inside of her mouth.
Come spring, Marigold proudly showed me her report card. Straight A’s.
“Can I have ice cream tonight?” she asked, waving at me through the steam coming from my pot of soup. The cardstock was bright yellow like her name, a vertical line of A’s scrolling from top to bottom.
She looked so much like Lily, I thought, holding myself back from straightening the spectacles on her nose.
