Marigold
Pacific Ocean
“They’re serving lunch,” said Helen. “Western or fake Asian, you pick.”
“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 a way of making others look up to her and want to please her. The only person who didn’t notice it was Helen herself.
Once Pamela was out of sight, Helen opened her purse and dropped her dessert spoon inside.
Marigold gasped. “What are you doing?”
“You said it’s free.”
“I said the drink was free.”
“Same same. We paid for it. Besides, the spoons are small—they’ll be good for feeding the babies.” Helen smiled whenever she spoke of her soon-to-come grandchildren. “Aunty Yip told me they use real silver.”
She reached over Marigold’s tray, seizing her dessert spoon.
“I’m not done,” Marigold protested.
“You don’t need dessert. Your face has gotten rounder since you dropped out of school. Too chubby and no man will want you.”
Marigold wished she’d asked for a double shot.
Helen closed her purse. “You’re not young anymore, when are you going to get married? At your age I already had two children.”
“Times are different.”
“Not so different. Look at Peony, she’s having twins.”
Marigold took a long sip, letting the vodka burn down her throat. “How about you ask Aunty Winnie to introduce someone to me?”
That got Helen’s attention. “A Hong Kong boy?”
“You met Dad in Hong Kong. Why not?”
“Don’t bring your father into this,” Helen said, but she looked pleased.
“Then it’s a deal. You can pick someone for me to meet, so long as we plan out the rest of our trip.”
Her mother made a slow cut across her chicken. She’d hardly eaten. “What is there to plan?”
Marigold gathered her nerve. “We have a week in the city. Rosie wants me to take a picture of your old house where you grew up. I know you’ve lost touch with your brothers, but maybe someone still lives there who could—”
“There’s nobody,” Helen interrupted.
“Not even your sister?”
Helen dropped her fork and knife onto the tray. It was as if all her muscles had seized. “How did you know I had a sister?”
Fuck. “Dad must have mentioned her,” Marigold said quickly.
A lie, of course. No one had ever mentioned Helen’s sister.
Marigold wasn’t even supposed to be aware that she existed .
. . But then again, Marigold had a talent for knowing things she wasn’t supposed to.
No, it wasn’t like her knack for fixing cassette players or her gut feelings about what might be on an exam.
This was something more mystifying, something akin to how her mother could disappear.
It was how she’d found out Helen’s secret in the first place. And how she’d discovered that thirty years ago, Ha Yut Ying had been one of the most famous faces in Hong Kong.
Still frowning, Helen picked up her wine. “I doubt the house is even there anymore.”
It was true, most of Hong Kong’s old houses had been torn down, the charming old streets of mansions and villas rebuilt into blocks of condo buildings and high-rises.
But not 12 Harbourage Road.
It was still there, Marigold already knew.
First chance she got, she was going to pay it a visit.