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“I brought you here,” her husband said. “I gave you everything you have.”

There was a creak from behind them. Vivian turned. The door hung ajar.

Her husband jerked away from her.

Ada stood there, her eyes wide.

“Hua-er,” Vivian whispered, Ada’s nickname. She swallowed, again.

“Go back to bed, Ada.”

This time Ada didn’t move. “What’s going on?” Her eyes narrowed and she stepped forward. “What are you fighting about?”

He walked toward Ada. “We were talking. Just go back to bed.”

“No,” Ada said, and her voice trembled. “I’m tired of not knowing. Tell me!”

Her husband lunged forward and slammed his fist against the door. He roared, “Get out!!”

Her daughter froze. She stumbled back and opened her mouth, but then she ran.

Vivian staggered after her. “Bao bèi,” she croaked. Ada ran up the stairs. Vivian tried to follow her, but she got dizzy and fell on the first step. Ada’s door closed and the lock clicked.

It was the first time she had seen her husband’s violence turn toward her children. She felt both trapped in her body and as though she was floating outside of it at the same time. Her breaths were ragged and painful.Wake up, she told herself.Wake up.

But this was not a dream.

Her husband came into the foyer and when he looked down at her his expression was empty. “Look at what we’ve done to ourselves.” He shook his head. “Look at what we’ve done to our family. Let’s just go to bed.”

twenty-seven

JUNE 1990

VIVIANsearched the house the next morning, but the letters were gone. In the kitchen she saw Edith talking to Richard. Their heads lifted when they saw her. Her husband had his hands on his hips. His sleeves were rolled down. He held his bag at his side.

“Morning.” His gaze lingered to the scarf she’d tied around her neck. He kissed Vivian’s forehead and then left. Vivian tried not to recoil from his touch. Edith didn’t meet her eyes. She busied herself with breakfast. In the kitchen, Lucille, Ada, and Sophie sat at the table. Edith had driven Rennie to her theater camp. Ada stared into her bowl of cereal. Vivian looked at her. Was her daughter going to say something? Had she told everyone? How could Vivian possibly explain it away? She tried to think of what she could say to comfort her daughter. “Does anyone need breakfast?”

Lucille spoke up. “A Yí already made us hard-boiled eggs. What’s wrong with your voice?”

“Just a cold,” she said. “I’m not feeling very well.” It hurt so much to speak that tears came to her eyes. So she poured a cup of white tea and retreated to the library. She sat at the desk and stared ahead listlessly.

She’d start calling up directors herself. She would be spare with the details: marriage troubles, a husband who would fly into a rage.That’s not the Richard I know, they would say, and she would brace herself for the answer.I know. That’s not the man I married.

She had to try.

She rifled through the drawers and pulled out the magazine feature she’d done with him.

The Power of a Dramatic Duo.

“What a beautiful couple,” the photographer had said. He’d told Richard that he could run for president, and Vivian had known exactly what the photographer meant; Richard captivated. You wanted to confide in him. Do anything for him. Before, she’d been proud. Possessive. Now she felt sick. She felt like she was going to vomit. She closed her eyes and waited for the room to stop spinning.

Richard came back in the late afternoon. She greeted him with a cool kiss. He made dinner for the girls, which she skipped, saying she had a headache. She lay in bed for hours as dusk sank into night, her head pounding, feeling like the room was still spinning. There was still that buzzing sound in her ears, that low roar. She heard her husband come in. He kissed her shoulders, the top of her head, the back of her neck, and she felt revolted.

In the middle of night she lay awake, still thinking about the rejection letters. She went downstairs and searched her husband’s briefcase for any remaining copies. She had to know that she didn’t make this all up, but she came across something else instead.

PALISADES PSYCHIATRIC CENTER

RECOMMENDATION FOR VIVIAN YIN LOWELL