“Except me,” Marigold echoed. She turned the comb idly in her hands. “I don’t know why, it’s so strange. No one else notices that her shadow is missing. It’s almost as if I’m supposed to figure out some way to... to...”
“To break the curse?”
“To understand her,” Marigold whispered.
He caught her hand before she removed her gloves again. He’d heard how her voice still trembled, he could see how her fingers still shook. He took the comb, set it down gently. “Later,” he said. “Even superheroes need a break.”
Kenji opened the top drawer of his desk and passed her a paper bag with a book inside. “The lady at the store said it’s about a telepathic recluse. Made me think of you.” He grinned. “It also won a big fantasy award—”
“The Forgotten Beasts of Eld!” she exclaimed. She’d fallen in love with the first pages of the novel. Its wizards and dragons felt like a grand and fabled fairy tale. But that day she’d only had enough money to buy the photography book for her mother. “How did you knowI—”
“I saw you engrossed by it at the store. First time I’ve ever been jealous of a book.”
He was still holding her, his arms locked around her waist.
She traced her fingertips across those Band-Aid–thick eyebrows, down to the freckles on his cheeks from years of pitching under the sun, down to his mouth. There she let herfingers linger, and she said, “Give me all the books ever written, and my favorite line would still be the one between your lips, my favorite world the one where you exist next to me.”
Kenji’s voice turned husky. “Shakespeare?”
“No, silly. Yuen.”
She set her mouth upon his, soaking in the heat of him and letting it chase away her demons.
Berkeley
1978
Chapter Forty-Nine
Helen
“Where is Marigold?” Philip asked.
“She’s not coming with us,” replied Rosie. “She’ll meet us at the restaurant.”
“It’d be nice if she’d told us.”
I agreed. These days she’d been coming home later and later.
“I was in the library... I lost track of time.”
“I had study group with some pre-med friends. We were working on applications until late. I’ll let you know next time.”
Philip believed her each time. She certainly had the marks to explain her late hours: She’d scored in the top two percent on the MCAT, and unless her grades took a nosedive in the next semester, she’d be graduating with highest distinction. Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling that Marigold was keeping something from us. Once or twice, I’d overheard her giggling into the kitchen phone. Recently she’d hinted about going on dates with someone, but after Philip said, “So long as he’s Chinese,” she’d stopped talking about it.
Philip sank onto a chair, his eyes closed. His cough came out a deep and rattling hacking sound. Rosie brought him a glass ofwater. “I’m fine,” he said gruffly, taking a sip. “Just a headache.” He looked haggard, his eyes flat and pupils glazed like lozenges.
Philip unwrapped a new stick of gum. He’d finally given up smoking and chewed gum incessantly. He coughed again, wheezing.
“Francis’s car is still here from last week,” I said. “Rosie can drive Mama to Caruso. We’ll go to the store first to buy aspirin.”
“I’ll pack the tarts,” said Rosie. “Po Po, can you help me?”
Mama was descending the stairs into the kitchen. “Give me a box.”
“Thirty-two tarts, right?” Rosie asked me, getting to work. “Two for everyone.”
“We only need thirty. Paul’s grandmother can’t come.”
