Chapter Thirty-Seven
thirty-seven
JULY 2024
A WEEK BEFORE VIVIAN YIN IS FOUND DEAD
VIVIAN knew it. The garden was finally coming for her.
At night she dreamed that she stood in the empty, dark foyer. Vines burst through the granite floors and redwood walls. They laced around her limbs and brought her to her knees. They wrenched bones from joints in her fingers and limbs, ripped tendons apart. They wrapped around her neck, crushing the breath from her throat, until spots filled her vision; until the roots gouged through flesh and organs, until her blood pooled on the ground. Until the vines covered the floor, until the house splintered and sank into the ground. Until it finally flooded with her rage. Night after night for the past few months, Vivian had dreamed of this.
She swore she could feel the roots twist and tremble underneath the foundations of the house. Dreams of her husband’s decomposing head had long faded. There were no more visions of Laura and Amos Dalby. Their ghosts, finally, were silenced, overtaken by the presence of the gardener’s daughter.
Vivian had been aware of the garden all these years. She’d watched the roses wilt in the fall, and fade into the ground for the winter. In the summer, they would bloom all over again. She’d stare out the window until she could see Sophie’s figure, tending to them in the dark. Some nights she’d even seen blood trickle from the roses’ centers.
Vivian understood that something of Sophie was trapped in the garden. She sensed her anger and she wanted nothing to do with it. She had stayed in the house, never stepping foot in Sophie’s domain, hoping for her presence to fade with time, like everyone had said Vivian’s grief would. But years became decades, and Sophie’s rage only grew. Repairmen who came to look at leaks in the basement and problems with the pipes said that roots from the garden had pushed their way through the cracks in the rock foundation. The house was buckling. It was only a matter of time.
She had been warned on her wedding day, after all.
Now, Vivian sat at the long dining table with one rice bowl in front of her, and another at the place next to her. She watched the afternoon light shift. She should have left a long time ago. That’s what her oldest had told her. You can’t live in that big house alone , Lucille had tried to reason with her. She needed company. She needed help. But Vivian refused to go. Because there was one final, crucial reason to stay.
She turned and said softly in Mandarin, “It’s time for dinner.”
Something shimmered at the corner of her vision. Then her daughter appeared by the dining room chair. She still had her bright eyes and rounded cheeks. She wore a T-shirt and jeans, the same as she appeared to Vivian every day.
Ada sat down in front of her meal.
Vivian saw her own spotted hands; her skin had sagged and her limbs ached with sharp pain constantly. But her daughter was seventeen. And she would stay seventeen, doe-like and radiant in her youth. Vivian wanted to throw her arms around her. Ada had once had lifetimes ahead of her, and eras to grow into. Vivian would never forgive herself for the fact that Ada was trapped in this house too.
“Listen,” Vivian said. “I’m going to get you out of here.”
Her daughter looked at her wistfully.
“You tried, Mā. You keep trying.”
“No. This time I’m going to do it. You have to go.”
Ada shook her head. “There’s just no use anymore.”
“Don’t you feel her ?”
Vivian saw her daughter’s expression shift to fear. Slowly she nodded. “There’s no love now. Only anger,” Ada whispered.
“I have these dreams,” Vivian said softly, “where the garden is tearing me apart.”
Her daughter said nothing.
“She wants me. I know it.”
“You need to go,” Ada said. “You can still leave this place. I’ll stay behind.”
“My dear daughter,” Vivian said, her voice breaking. “You know I’d never leave you.”
This was why she’d stayed. After that horrific summer, Lucille and Renata had floated away, cut themselves from their anchor. Vivian had let them, partly because she knew it was good for them, but partly because her other child was still here, keeping her company. Each night Ada appeared for dinner. Decades of truth lay bare between them. They were mother and daughter; they would always be together.
And Vivian had tried, desperately, to free her daughter from this house. She’d tried every ritual she could find. She’d reached for the occult and said prayer after prayer. She’d begged to God and to the heavens and every deity to let Ada go. To let her finally move on, to rest, to be at peace.
“She wants me,” Vivian muttered. “She wants to ruin me the way I ruined her.”
There was silence.
“I’m going to do it,” Vivian said. “I’m too old, Ada. I can’t leave you here.”
This was her last chance. She had to try. Her daughter looked up at her. The actress steeled herself, bracing her hands on the arms of her chair. “I want to settle this. I’m going to tell the truth about what happened.”
There was a knock at the front door. With difficulty, Vivian crossed the library and foyer to answer it. The house was now a minefield of brittle, cracked floorboards. Ada was nowhere to be seen, but she could feel her daughter’s presence.
Vivian unlatched the door and opened it. “Hello, Elaine.”
Elaine Deng looked every bit as bitter as she did when the actress saw her last, as that radical college student who came home that summer with cropped hair, tattoos, and accusations. The once youthful, angry tilt of her mouth now puckered with lines and wrinkles. Her once-short hair was now pulled back into a graying bun.
She almost looked like her mother. Vivian thought of Edith with a pang.
Elaine’s expression didn’t soften. She stood at the threshold and looked around. “This place has gotten ugly.”
Vivian swallowed. “Please, come in. Let’s talk.”
For a moment she saw herself as Elaine did. Shriveled and pitiful. The stairs were lopsided and sagging. The chandelier bulbs above them had long burned out. Dust piled up in the corners and stains crawled down the walls. The house stretched in front of them. Vivian didn’t know if it was her old age and limited mobility that made it seem more cavernous, but she often felt like giving up before she’d even started to cross a room. She took a deep breath and motioned for Elaine to follow her as she made her way to the table. It was a relief to sit.
“Do you remember this house?” Vivian asked in Mandarin.
Elaine considered her for a moment. She answered back in accented Mandarin. “I try not to.”
“Fair enough. You were never very fond of this place, were you? Or of us.”
“Vivian,” Elaine said. Before that summer she had always used “ā yí,” even if it was measured and defiant. But Elaine said her first name coldly. “Why did you ask me here? What do you want?”
“I’m sorry,” Vivian said. “I know this place holds grief for us both.” She lifted her head to meet Elaine’s eyes. “I wanted to talk about your sister. You must promise that this stays between us.”
Two days ago, Vivian had picked up the phone and dialed a number she found online.
“Hello?”
“Elaine. Is that you? It’s Vivian Yin.”
There was silence. Then, “How did you get my number?”
Vivian said, “We should talk.”
“I have nothing to say to you.”
“I want to tell you the truth,” Vivian said. “About your sister.”
She waited for a click, or for the drone of the dial tone. When neither came, she continued. “Where are you right now?”
“What?”
“Are you in California?”
Another pause. “San Bernardino.”
“That’s only a few hours away. Come to the house, then. At your convenience.”
“No. I never want to see that house again.” Her voice dripped with disgust.
“It’s just me, Elaine. I’m alone and I’m not well enough to travel. I want us to talk. In person.”
“No.”
Vivian sighed. “I know you have questions. If you come to the house, I will answer every question you have.”
Elaine finally said, “Why don’t I just ask you now?”
“Elaine. I want us to talk in person about Sophie. I believe you deserve that much.”
“Fine. I can be there tomorrow.”
Now Vivian watched Elaine sit, stiffly, and cross her arms. “Why do you want to talk now?”
“It was about time, don’t you think?”
Elaine scoffed. “It’s thirty-four years too late. But I guess your conscience finally caught up to you?”
Vivian wished it were her conscience. Living with the consequences of her own decisions was so painful that she had been little more than a shell of herself all these years. A living skeleton of her own making. She felt Ada’s presence in the room, in the dust, all around her. She felt Sophie’s presence, in the roots that gnarled under the house. She sat forward. “Ask me what you want to know.”
Elaine straightened in her chair. “You killed Mr. Lowell, didn’t you?”
She had been telling lies for thirty-four years, but now Vivian answered without hesitation. “Yes.”
“I knew you did,” Elaine’s voice was emotionless. “I knew it all along.”
“He abused me. He was going to kill me.”
“That’s what my mother said,” Elaine said. “She told me she tried to help you. You turned her away .”
Vivian regarded her carefully. How could she tell Elaine about how Richard’s wealth had ensnared all of them in the house? Instead, she had said nothing, which she now understood had ruined them just the same. She would not try to absolve herself.
“You poisoned him.”
Vivian settled back. “Yes. I did.”
“How?”
“With the 附子 . The flowers I grew in the garden. They use them in traditional medicine. I knew the roots could kill, so I put it in his sleeping pills.”
“So you poisoned him, and my sister found out?”
“She grew it with me.”
Elaine’s expression went slack with shock. “I don’t believe you. Sophie would never hurt anyone.”
“She didn’t know it was poison. She found me planting it. I couldn’t tell her why I was doing it, so I just said I wanted to grow something next to the roses and she offered to help me.” Even now she remembered Sophie, luminous with hope in the evening, telling her about Ada and cupping the petals. “She took care of the plants.”
“So she helped you,” Elaine said with contempt. “Or you forced her to?”
“I didn’t force anything,” Vivian said. “I’d known about her… and Ada. So I let her confide in me. Trust me. She had no one else to go to. And I thought I could trust her with this in return.”
“I found those flowers,” Elaine said. “In her drawer. After—When I was going through her things. I didn’t know what they were. I didn’t think to look them up until later.” She quieted. “It poisoned her. It must have.” She lifted her eyes to Vivian. “Was that what you wanted?”
“It wasn’t.”
“You’re lying.”
“No. I swear,” Vivian said. “I just didn’t tell her it was poisonous. It would be too suspicious. I didn’t think she’d take care of it as much as she did…” She squeezed her eyes shut. “And it affected her. Which I never wanted.” Sophie had knelt on the floor of the study, with pale lips and tears in her eyes. She’d been so young and frightened. How could Vivian let that happen? “I still don’t entirely understand what happened myself. I don’t know if it was from having too much contact with the plant while she was taking care of it.” She lowered her eyes. “That I do regret. I’m sorry for not warning her.”
Elaine considered her. “But that doesn’t explain why they were in the car, then?”
“They were trying to run away. When Sophie found out the truth about the flower, she got Ada to leave with her.” Vivian took a labored breath. “But I think by that time her body may have already been reacting to the poison.” This, too, she could never forgive herself for. She was the one who had ultimately, inadvertently caused the accident that ended her daughter’s life.
“ You promised to take care of my family.” Elaine’s voice cracked. “My parents saw you as their savior. Instead, you ruined them. My sister never got to grow up with me. Your daughter died because of you. What a monster you are.”
Each breath she took felt like the opening of a new wound. Vivian closed her eyes and let herself be eviscerated. Torn clean. “I know I am. I’ve been paying for it all my life.”
“Not enough,” Elaine seethed. “You’re still here, in this big house of yours. Sitting on all your money. After everything you did, you lived the longest out of any of them.” Her voice broke at the last part.
Josiah. Edith. The kindest people she knew, the family she’d made, all gone. “You hate me,” Vivian said. “You wish I were dead.”
“And yet we’re not that lucky, are we?”
“I’m sorry about your parents,” Vivian said. “I tried to help your mother, you know. I did everything I could. I’m so sorry she suffered as she did.”
Elaine said slowly, “How did you know about her? She never spoke to you.”
Vivian lifted her chin. “Who do you think made those anonymous donations to your page?”
Elaine rose from her chair.
“I cared about her,” Vivian said. Every few months she had looked them up on the internet, until finally, she saw each of their obituaries. “She was like a sister to me. I know you don’t believe me, but it’s true.”
“I don’t. You didn’t do that because you cared about us. You did all these things to absolve your guilt. You wanted forgiveness. That’s why I’m here, isn’t it?” Elaine towered over Vivian now; for a moment she believed Elaine would hit her. “We will never forgive you for what you’ve done. And I want you to live the rest of your pathetic life knowing that.”
Vivian nodded once, ruefully. “So this is how it ends, then.” She pushed her chair back. “Now you know.”
Elaine glared at her one last time. Then she shoved her hands into her pockets. She stalked through the house, pausing at the door. And then she spat onto the floor.
As Vivian stared at the glistening wad of spit, the front door slammed shut, startling her. She was alone in the house again.
She hunched over, her forehead resting against her clasped fists. Finally, she allowed herself to weep. Her shoulders shook; her chest ached. She could feel the vengeful roots under the house trembling. She imagined them tearing her apart and shredding her brittle bones from her flesh.
She felt a hand on her arm and looked up into the face of her daughter.
“She was never going to let this go, you know.”
“I’m sorry,” Vivian whispered. “I thought confessing might placate her. There’s nothing else I can do.”
Ada nodded. “I know. So now you have to get out of this place.”
“But I can’t leave you.”
She had thought that Sophie was the one keeping Ada here, but what if Ada was here because she was? Because—beyond Sophie’s rage—Vivian herself had never let go? Because a selfish part of her clung to the remnants of her daughter?
She had wished for Ada to be set free. She knew deep down that the Ada she ate dinner with every night was not truly her daughter—it was a version of her frozen in time. But after losing Ada, she had treasured the ghost of her all the same. How could any mother not want to be with her child, even if it was just a piece of her? Vivian was terrified of being truly alone in this life. She wanted Ada to be near, to stay here, tethered to her. Sitting down to dinner with Ada’s ghost every night had become a ritual. It was both a penance and a comfort.
No, she wouldn’t be able to let go of Ada as long as she was alive. But maybe if she died, her daughter would be set free.
She looked up at Ada. “I can’t do this anymore. I just want this pain to end. I want to rest with you.”
She’d finally said it. Her daughter’s eyes widened. “Mā. Are you sure?”
Vivian nodded.
She looked toward the door. There was one last thing she had to do. She shuffled to the living room table, where the landline was. She felt her daughter’s eyes on her as she dialed another number.
“Hello?”
The garden— Sophie— was going to take her. Probably destroy the house. She needed to save her other daughters from that possible fate.
“Reid.” Vivian cleared her throat. “Listen. I need to make some changes to my will.”
The day was ending.
Vivian had finished her call with Eugene Lyman’s son and handwritten the amendment to the will. She signed the codicil, sealed it in an envelope, and put it in the mailbox. She shuffled through the house, straightening things to the best of her abilities. She couldn’t do much. Her joints ached. Her steps were difficult. Maybe her body was finally giving out.
The medicine cabinet in the kitchen was littered with bottles for muscle aches and headaches and blood pressure. Now she reached for a long-expired prescription bottle for heart medication at the back and shook out an unmarked pill.
Vivian had planned out how she would do this long ago. She had thought about it constantly. It surprised her now that she had been able to delay it for so long. But there had been reasons to stay. There was her Ada, but also other joyous and fleeting moments. She’d been in the hospital when her granddaughter was born; she’d held Madeline in her arms, small and wailing with all her might. She’d felt a strange joy that blossomed so fiercely in her that she thought her heart would seize up right then and there. She’d become a grandmother, against all odds. Her granddaughter was so very perfect, free of the terrible history that hung over the rest of their heads. How she wanted to give Madeline all her love. She’d visited briefly. She’d brought her to the park and taught her how to fold dumplings. But mostly, she stayed away. She wanted to keep her granddaughter far from her own rotted fate. She visited each of her children separately, afraid that if they were under the same roof again, something terrible might happen. She watched Madeline grow through photos, and it hurt her more than anything. She saw Lucille march, tight-fisted, through her life as she always did. And she watched Renata fade from her. Her calls coming less frequently, until they didn’t come at all.
But this was the end.
Vivian wondered if she should call her daughters. What would she say to them? What if they didn’t pick up? If Vivian told them, I love you , would they be tipped off?
It was better to slip away. Vivian looked at the capsule in her palm. 附子 , aconite. The Chinese name meant daughter root. What was once a beautiful violet flower now filled the contents of the pill. Just the same as she’d given her husband. A life for a life. She swallowed the pill.
She had often thought of that fateful, fatal decision. She should have done it differently. Or she should have not done it at all. How many times had she wondered what would have happened if she had just proceeded with a divorce instead? In so many ways, her life now was worse than she could have ever imagined. All that was Vivian Yin now lay around her in shambles.
It was no use dragging all this back up. The sun would dip below the horizon soon, and she wanted to see it. She said her daughter’s name and turned.
There Ada was, in the waning light. She smiled, and Vivian’s heart broke for the last time.
“I’m sorry, 亲女儿 .” Tears slipped down her cheeks. “I’m so sorry.”
“You tried everything you could.”
“No,” Vivian whispered, shaking her head. “I’m sorry for what I did to you. Will you forgive me?”
Ada said nothing, but held out her hand. Vivian took it. Ada’s grip felt cool. They walked toward the terrace. Vivian felt a tug at her wrist.
Her daughter said, “Don’t go into the garden.”
“I know,” Vivian said. Ada had said this to her so many times before. “I won’t.” She looked back at her daughter, her flesh and blood. She said in Mandarin, “I love you. More than anything in this world.”
Ada nodded. “I know.”
Her grip eased. Vivian walked out onto the stone terrace and looked out over the rotting mass. Once this had just been a grassy field that she took her young daughters to. She was going to build a house that was big enough for their dreams. They were going to live a better life than she ever did. They had struck gold.
Now she saw that she had spent decades trying to prove herself to this place. She’d given it everything: her ambitions, her youth, her children, her sense of self, and still it held its mouth open for more. She thought of her ancestors who’d come in search of gold; of the people who made it in, only for their bodies to be blasted through mountains. If you could survive this place, you got to dream. That was the privilege you fought for. It was never a done deal, and it would never be enough. You would bury yourself, hoping that under the weight of it all, your roots would grow strong enough that your children might be able to reach toward the sky.
She had clung to her dreams for herself and her children for so long. She had wanted to give them everything: this house, a good education, this life she thought they had secured the moment she married Richard under that summer sky. In the end, she had killed for it, rather than risk it being taken from them. And even then, when her daughters had been in pain and at a loss, she had kept pushing them—away from her and toward some unknown, better thing. She had cut herself out of their lives so they wouldn’t have to bear the burden of doing it themselves. Wasn’t that why she had exiled them from this house? So they could excise the poison of this place and continue onward?
Now, far too late, she saw that the rift she had forged had broken her children, too. She couldn’t expect them to understand she had done it all out of love, when she had never told them the truth in the first place. But there was no going back now. All she could do was try to save them one last time by offering herself to this place. And maybe this time, it would be enough.
Vivian was ready to die. She opened her eyes to the setting sun and braced herself for the pain.