Page 84 of The Manor of Dreams

She couldn’t say it. She couldn’t even think it.

Vivian had finished speaking and everyone was standing up now. The coffin was being lowered into the ground. Sophie stood unsteadily with her family. She followed as they walked up to be near Vivian, who was talking with a dignified woman whose face was partially obscured by a wide hat brim. They stood there for a moment in silence, on the grassy slope. Bà reached out and held Vivian by the arm. The woman came over and folded Rennie into a hug, kissing the top of her head. Lucille faced away, her face contorted as if she were trying not to cry. Elaine stood staring at the ground. And Ada looked at Sophie, glassy-eyed. Ada reached out and clutched Sophie’s hand. Sophie squeezed back another wave of nausea.

The families took separate cars home. On the way back, Sophie met her mother’s eyes in the rearview mirror. Her mouth was dry and she knew there was sweat on her forehead. They had barely walked into the foyer when she raced for the bathroom on the first floor and vomited. She sat back, trembling with effort.

On the cold tile, it was finally quiet enough to consider the question that had prodded at her ever since she learned what happened. The question that was consuming her from the inside out. There were hints: A Yí’s sudden interest in gardening. The upended dirt next to theroses the day before Mr. Lowell came home. Hearing A Yí on the phone, requesting no further autopsy in a low, firm voice.

And then the final piece that made everything clear: The next morning, when bouquets poured into the house from every corner of Hollywood, Sophie saw Vivian alone, looking at the cards calmly. But the moment Vivian saw Rennie, Sophie watched as her expression crumbled and her shoulders began to shake. An actress, through and through.

Sophie snuck out of the house later that day with one of the flowers from her nightstand tucked in an envelope her pocket. At the library, she scoured the catalog cards for a book in the gardening section and tore through the pages, comparing photos to the plant in her hand until she saw something that made her blood run cold.

Bouquets piled up on every surface in the house. The sweet smell made Sophie feel even worse. She stole a bottle of aspirin from her mother, took two, and then another two. The pain in her stomach dulled momentarily as she climbed the stairs to Vivian’s room.

She knocked on the door. “It’s Sophie.”

Vivian’s hair was loose, and she wore her silk robe. “What is it?”

Sophie leveled her gaze. “A Yí. I need to talk to you.”

Vivian looked at her, then at the book in her hand, and wordlessly she gestured her in. Vivian went to her vanity and picked up her wooden comb, brushing it through her long hair. Sophie sat on the armchair in the corner. “What is it?” Vivian asked, looking at herself in the mirror.

Sophie held out the book.Mansfield Park. She flipped to page 241. The violet petals were perfectly preserved, so thin and bright. “I looked up what this flower was. Every part of it is poison. The roots most of all.”

Vivian’s eyes snapped up and saw Sophie looking at her reflection.

“Sophie.” Vivian turned to her slowly. “I told you not to keep these in books.”

Sophie tried to keep her voice level. “What did you do?”

“What did I do? My husband overdosed.” Vivian’s eyes bored into Sophie’s with a bloodless stare. She knew, beyond certainty, that her worst fears were true. “I don’t know what you’re trying to say.”

The book clattered to the floor.

“A Yí,” Sophie pleaded. “Why would you do this?”

Vivian looked at the floor. Finally, she spoke quietly in Mandarin. “If I told you he hurt me, would you believe me? If I told you he tore my hair out until I bled and choked me until I thought I would die, would you believe me?”

She had heard her parents talking about it, once. Her mother had seen a bruise on A Yí. Sophie heard the fights. Heard the plates shatter. So her mother’s suspicions were right. He had been abusing her. She whispered, “I’m so sorry, A Yí.”

“He was going to kill me,” Vivian said. There was a tremor in her voice. “That much I was certain of. And then he was going to hurt my daughters. But if I left him, he would have ruined us all. Your family and mine.” She set her jaw. “Now he can never hurt us again.” She lowered her voice. “And now we will never speak of this.”

How could they not? “But—”

“Besides, you were the one that grew this,” Vivian said, glancing down at the book. “You’re as responsible as I am. But we shouldn’t think about it, should we? What’s done is done.”

Sophie jerked back. She remembered kneeling in the garden, her palms buried in the soil. Tending the plant gently. Wanting to please Vivian, who had been so much more accepting of her feelings for Ada than she had ever thought possible. She squeezed her eyes shut. “I didn’t know.” She was crying now. “I had no idea.”

Vivian stood up and moved toward her. “You and I have been protecting each other. And we’re going to keep doing it. It’s better for us—for everyone—if we keep each other’s secrets. Didn’t we already agree to that?”

Sophie stared, horrified, into the eyes of a woman she no longer recognized.

“You understand why I had to do this, right?” Vivian tilted her head. “I’ve kept up my end of the bargain, haven’t I? I could have told your parents about you and Ada. And I didn’t.”

Sophie was falling again, her heart stuttering in her chest.

“Sophie?”

“Yes,” she whispered. “You have.”

---