“She ignored me. She thinks she’s high class, but she forgets that she’s the second wife.”
“Mama told me to treat her well,” I said.
“Mama toldme—”
“What?” I asked when my brother didn’t finish. “She told you what?”
“Never mind.” He yanked on the flimsy yellow curtain that separated our sides of the room. He’d chosen the side with the lamp, I the window—something I now regretted as he switched off the light. “Go to sleep.”
My fists curled at my sides, and I glared at him even though he couldn’t see.
I fell back on my mattress, oddly reassured by the creaks it made under my weight. Yi Gor was already snoring, the blessing of an untroubled mind. Me, on the other hand, I had work to do. In the dark, to the clicks of the fireflies bouncing against the windowpane, I practiced turning invisible.
I held my breath, tracing my fingers over the gold bracelet Mama had given me and counting its links.
Three, four, five.
Mama called what we had a demon inside us, but I disagreed. There was something powerful, something thrilling about having this secret. Thiscurse.It made me feel untouchable in the way that beautiful people—like Sai Ma—were.
Twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two.
I wondered if my great-grandmother, who could speak to heaven, had felt the same. What would she say to me, a girl like dust and shadow, who could shimmer in and out of this world?
I made it to forty-nine—almost a minute—before I slipped from this world past the doors of sleep.
Tomorrow I would try again.
Pacific Ocean
1980
Marigold
“Marigold.”
Someone prodded Marigold on the shoulder, and she blinked her eyes open.
“They’re serving lunch,” said Helen. “Western or fake Asian, you pick.”
Their stewardess was there and addressed Marigold in Cantonese: “Would you like the seafood au gratin or ginger chicken with broccoli?”
Marigold glanced at her mother’s chicken paired with a tall glass of Coca-Cola.
“Seafood au gratin,” she said. “And a vodka on the rocks, please.”
“Alcohol?” Helen clucked her tongue. “I didn’t know you drank.”
“It’s free.”
“Free?”
The stewardess confirmed this with a subtle nod. “The red wine is lovely, Mrs. Yuen. Would you like a glass? It’s from France.”
“A little will do—” Helen lifted her hand to stop. “Yes, that’s enough. Thank you, Pamela.”
“My pleasure.”
Sometime during her nap, her mother and “Pamela” had developed a first-name rapport. Nothing surprising. Helen had away of making others look up to her and want to please her. The only person who didn’t notice it was Helen herself.
