No.“I’ve... I’ve got a feeling she vanished.”
His eyes widened. “Let me park, I’ll stay with you.”
“It’ll be better if I’m by myself.”
Her tone was firm. She could tell Kenji didn’t like it, but he didn’t argue. He’d heard everything Philip had said about him on the phone.
He reached into the glove compartment and pulled out a small tote bag. “An emergency kit for you.”
Inside were snacks, a spiral notepad and a pencil, along with two books she’d never read. “There’s paperclips in the Altoids tin for your glasses—and coins, in case you need to call.”
She threw her arms around Kenji’s neck, her way of sayingI love you.
He kissed her. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”
Alone in the waiting room, her confidence faltered. Just this morning she’d told Kenji she wanted to try using her power to understand her mother. Now this had happened.
She’d always been good at fixing things. The wobbly tables in the bakery, the creak in her father’s back. But how did you find someone who could vanish the way the moon hid behind its own shadow?
You didn’t.
You waited until she reappeared.
. . .
In the morning, Marigold followed the nurse down the hospital corridor toward the inpatient rooms, passing a procession of stretchers and doctors carrying clipboards. In four years, when she’d return to this same floor, she’d no longer notice the smellof bleach, the oatmeal walls, or the orange linoleum tiles, no longer feel out of step with the bustling rhythm of a seven A.M. workday. This life would be second nature.
But right now she was a college student visiting her critically ill father.
They turned the last corner, and a gust of cold grazed Marigold’s cheeks.
She took off her gloves and followed the chill into Philip’s room.
The nurse was opening the curtains, saying something about her dad waking up, but Marigold didn’t register a word. The chill was now emanating from the bathroom, its door ajar. In the mirror she saw a reflection of the air inside swirling, coming together in the shape of—
Helen Yuen. The door pushed open. There was her mom, holding the door handle with a paper towel.
The nurse was startled. “Oh, honey! I didn’t know anyone else was here. Did you sign in at the front?”
“She’s my mom,” Marigold said quickly, knowing full well her mother hadn’t signed in anywhere. “She doesn’t speak much English.”
“Tell her everything’s going to be okay.” The nurse patted Helen on the shoulder.
The door shut with a click, leaving Marigold alone with her mother and father.
Helen stood to the side of the bed, which was raised to a forty-five-degree angle. The steady electronic beep of Philip’s heartbeat filled the tense silence.
Marigold sat on the doctor’s stool next to her mother. “Why didn’t you call?” she asked.
“I didn’t have any coins.” Helen sounded far away. “I didn’t know how to ask the staff in the front.”
“So you stayed here all night?” Concerned, Marigold reached for her mother’s arm, but Helen jerked away.
Philip was stirring. His eyelid twitched, and he struggled to gather focus as his eyes opened.
Confusion was a common symptom after suffering a stroke, Marigold reminded herself. She strove to sound bright. “Good morning, Baba.”
Philip didn’t move his head. With great effort he drew a rough breath, his speech coming slowly. His eyes gained clarity as he spoke. “Don’t call me Baba.”
