“He’s not deceased yet,” the girl said softly.
“Of course. Forgive me.”
“Actually,” the girl said, staring down at her lap, “I haven’t been completely honest with you.”
“Oh?”
“I’m not the one who wants you to write my husband’s obituary. He asked me to come. He wants you to write it.”
She looked up, her eyes wet with tears.
“Do you think it’s bad luck to write the obituary before he dies?” she asked.
“I don’t believe in luck,” Vivien said. “Bad or good.”
“Our maid does,” the girl said. “She’s always reminding me not to put shoes on the table or death will walk in. She makes me cross my legs if the wind blows from the west. Or is it the east? I can never remember. And if I tell her my dream before I’ve eaten any breakfast, she covers her ears and hums. I say, ‘Fu Jing, how can you remember all these silly rules?’ and—”
“Fu Jing?” Vivien asked. Listening to the girl talk, she felt her throat go completely dry.
The girl tilted her head. “Yes,” she said. “Fu Jing. I believe it means Fortunate One?”
Lucky Light. Vivien knew Fu Jing meant Lucky Light. She tried to swallow but couldn’t. Coughing, she got awkwardly to her feet and hurried into the kitchen for water. Standing at the sink, she let the water run cold, then drank a glass straight down. Still, her throat felt parched. She drank another.
Vivien heard the door slam shut. Without turning off the water, she ran into the living room. Once again, the girl had gone. This time, Vivien ran outside. She stood in the middle of the street in her lavender robe, looking left and then right. But the street was empty. It was as if the girl had vanished. Or had never been here in the first place.
Slowly, Vivien went back inside. There, on the table beside the girl’s coffee cup, lay a white business card with black writing. Vivien knew what it would say without having to pick it up and read it. But she did pick it up. She read the familiar words: DAVID GARDNER AND DUNCAN MACGREGOR, ESQ. On the back, the girl had hastily scrawled a note.
My husband would like to meet you. Please come to our
home in San Francisco. Soon.
Vivien read the address the girl had written below her note. It was her own flat, the one David had bought for her. Trembling, Vivien stood trying to figure out what to do next.
“I have to go,” Vivien told Sebastian. “You see that, don’t you?”
He had arrived on Friday night with a bottle of Robert’s best wine, a small posy of flowers tied with kitchen twine, and a look of such hope it almost broke Vivien’s heart.
“You think this girl is . . . what? Married to your amante?” Sebastian said. The brightness that had been in his eyes when he’d first walked in was replaced with a flat steeliness.
“I don’t know,” Vivien admitted.
“And if she is, what will you gain from seeing him?”
“I’ll know,” she said. “Finally.”
Sebastian rubbed his hands together as if he were worrying away a problem.
“What if he’s alive?” he said at last. “What if he wants you back?”
These same questions had troubled Vivien since the girl’s departure. Was she married to David? And if so, where had he been all these years? What had happened on that long-ago April morning? Did he want some deathbed confession?
“Would you go back to him?” Sebastian was asking. “After all this time?”
“I . . . I don’t know,” Vivien said. “I would need to understand what’s happened.”
“But you might?”
Vivien sighed. “I’ve waited so long,” she said.
At first, she refused to have Sebastian drive her. But he insisted. He insisted she let him take her there right now.
“But we won’t arrive until so late,” Vivien pointed out.
“Then we arrive late,” Sebastian said, putting on his tweed hat and the coat he had taken off so hastily when he’d arrived.
He drove too fast along the dark country roads, and it was with great relief that Vivien saw the city lights ahead. She exhaled, and loosened her grip on the seat. When she directed him through the city streets, it was the first time either of them had spoken.
Once, she had had calling cards printed up with her name and that address on it. She used to write it on letters beneath her name. That address had been home. Saying it now felt familiar on her tongue. At last, after all the time spent getting here, Vivien calmed down.
They pulled up to the house.
“This is it?” Sebastian asked, peering out the window.
Vivien peered out too.