Page 73 of The Manor of Dreams

I’ll take care of it, her husband had said.I’ll take care of everything.

She thought back to the beginning of her marriage, where they didn’t want to make a decision without asking the other. They were the architects and conspirators of their shared lives. Had it all—everything—been a lie? Had she misremembered all of it?

Them rehearsing lines with each other, him making her laugh with silly voices.

His hand on her knee, at the screening of his movie.

Of course you can do it, he’d said, when she told him about her screenplay.You write it, I’ll read it.

Him reading the script over her shoulder and helping her revise her lines, his pen patiently hovering next to hers as he thought of the words she’d struggled with.

The way he’d looked upon her on their honeymoon in Provence and said,I don’t think even a lifetime with you could be enough.

The way he’d gotten her flowers when she got the phone call for the role of Jia-Yee inFortune’s Eye.

Their fast drives through the enchanting slip of the twilight hours, the long afternoons reading with their children in the living room, the late-night calls that poured forth when one of them was away.

All these years she had waited by the mailbox for any response. All these years her husband had sat across from her at the dinner table as she dared to hope that one day there could be a movie on the screen that she’d written. A movie about a big, happy Chinese family. He’d offered to mail them for her. She’d opened these letters—his letters—right in front of him. Each time he’d told her that there would be more chances.

She had never had a chance. He’d made sure of it.

If he’d done this, what else was he capable of?

This time she didn’t stop her thoughts. She let each horrifying possibility tear through her. Eugene Lyman’s words from Cannes came backto her:How are you feeling?Tears sprang to her eyes. She ran out of the room and lurched down the stairs. Edith rushed to her side. “Lian-er, are you—”

Vivian pushed past her. She ran barefoot onto the terrace and knelt by the railing, sobbing. She looked over the gardens she once dreamed up withhim. He had promised her everything and he had taken it away from her too. She could barely register the sounds that came out of her, the hoarse, muffled, wordless wails. She bent toward the railing and rested her forehead against the stone balusters.

Eventually, the door opened behind her.

“Ma,” Lucille called out. “What’s wrong?” The twins stared at her, bewildered.

Vivian drew herself up. The sight of her daughters blurred through her tears. She couldn’t bear for them to look at her. “I’m going for a drive.”

She pushed through the girls, refusing to meet their eyes. Edith stood in the kitchen with Sophie, both staring at her. She headed straight for her convertible. The car her husband had taught her how to drive.

I’ll take care of everything.

Vivian stomped on the accelerator and threw the clutch into gear. The car jolted backward. The tires screeched and she could smell the rubber burning away on the hot pavement. On the road, the kicked-up dust stung her eyes and the wind knocked the breath from her chest.

She pulled over when she saw a phone booth. Shakily, she climbed out of her car. She lit a cigarette, took the address book out of her purse and dialed Eugene Lyman.

“Hello?”

“Eugene,” she said. She couldn’t stop shivering in this dry heat.Stop. Stop!“This is Vivian. I need to ask you a question.”

At the end of the day, Vivian waited for him in the library.

Edith called her to dinner, but she didn’t answer. She watched the grandfather clock. She knew he would come to her. She couldn’t stopshivering. She’d draped her suit jacket over her shoulders. At 6:47, there was a knock at the door. After a moment, Edith’s steps receded. At a quarter past eight, there was another insistent knock.

“Ma,” Rennie said. How her daughter had grown. It was as if Vivian had walked to the door expecting her toddling figure. But now Rennie was taller than her and long-limbed. “Are you—are you thinking of eating?”

Vivian shook her head. “I need to speak with your dad first.” She softened. “Don’t worry about me, bao bèi. Okay?”

Rennie nodded and retreated warily.

She finally saw his headlights at a quarter to midnight. She heard the front door open, and his steps approach the library. “Hey,” he said, unbuttoning the collar of his shirt and running his hand through his hair. “Edith said you were in here. Are you—”

His eyes landed on the sheets of paper in front of her.

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