Rachel’s teddy bear.

Although she’d grown attached to her rabbit, Rachel still mourned for the bear now and then. The poor thing looked even more chewed up than I remembered, perhaps she wouldn’t even want it anymore. But really, it was hers.

Lillith was still sitting bolt upright, as if she were meditating. God knows what was going on behind those eyes. Was she still Saint Joan, tied to the stake? She turned her skull head, ever so slightly, caught sight of the stuffed animal in my arms. And did nothing. Just waited, to see what I would do.

I blew some of the dust off, ruffled up the honey-colored fur, which smelled slightly moldy, and then leaned to tuck the bear inside the suitcase. It just about fit.

When I looked back at Lillith her eyes were closed.

Before family therapy, when people had just begun to gather in the dayroom, I went into the kitchenette and made myself a cup of chamomile tea. I looked up and saw Mel lounging in the doorway, watching me. There was a hair sticking up at the back of his head like an exclamation point. I wanted to smooth it down but didn’t quite dare.

“Want some?”

He leaned over my arm to sniff the mug. “What the hell is it?”

“It’s supposed to calm you down.”

“Maybe I could have a sip.”

I tore open a packet of honey and watched the gold strands swirl like clouds through the lighter gold of the tea. “Did you know that melmeans honey in Greek?” I didn’t know if this were true or not, but it sounded right.

“You know Greek?”

“Not really. So what did you think of my sister?”

“Cute,” he said in an offhand way.

“Not beautiful?”

Mel shrugged his shoulders, a connoisseur. “You built her up so much in group I expected this bombshell. Truth is, she can’t hold a candle to you.” He reached around me and picked up the mug, which he balanced on my shoulder.

“Ouch, that’s hot,” I said.

“Sorry,” he said, lifting it off. Sipping, he said, “Tastes like dandelions. She’s not as pretty as she thinks she is. You, on the other hand, don’t give yourself enough credit. Still nervous?”

“A little.”

“Go get ‘em, Tiger.” He gave me a rakish smile, the one I’d seen him use on his rabbit-coated girlfriend. “So, we gonna see each other on the outside?”

“You mean, like regular friends?”

“I’m asking you if you want to see me on the outside.”

“I guess so,” I said.

“Pul-leeze, Miss Wang,” he said. “Don’t do me any favors.”

“I mean, yes, of course.”

“You dummy. Don’t you know how much I’m going to miss you?” His face was so close to mine I thought he was going to kiss me, but then he just handed back the mug and turned and walked out of the kitchenette. For the first time I noticed that his calves were slightly bowed, like a cowboy’s.

This was it, the moment I’d been dreading.

“Sally has something in particular she’d like to share.” The MH was smooth, using a casual tone so as not to alarm anyone. Not that this place didn’t give Ma the creeps anyway. Like last time, she was wearing her school clothes—a blue cotton blouse and brown linen skirt with a kick pleat in the front. I watched her smooth a tiny crease over her belly. Her hands were so like Marty’s, only paler and plumper.

My sister was wearing wide white pants, like a sailor’s, and a red-and-white-striped T-shirt. I could see her looking around furtively for an ashtray. When she didn’t find one, she looked peevish and began swinging one leg over the other. She twisted the cameo ring on her right hand.

“Go ahead,” the MH commanded me.

I did. I think I used the word molest.

“Do we all understand what Sally means?” the MH asked. “Mrs. Wang?”

My mother had no expression on her face. It was as if I’d said nothing at all. I noticed that the roots of her hair, which she dyed, were a copper color, instead of the white you would have expected.

The MH leaned forward in his chair. “We’re talking, of course, about sexual molestation. We need you to help fill in the picture.”

Ma finally spoke up. “There is no such thing in our family.”

“Are you sure, Mrs. Wang?”

“I don’t know where she got the idea. Maybe from all the books she reads.”

It was strange, but all I felt was relief.

“Yes, she makes this up, she has a big imagination. Both my daughters have big imaginations.” My mother’s face remained perfectly bland, as if she were giving out a recipe.

“All right,” the MH said. “And what about you, Marty? What do you think?”

“She is an actress.” My mother was smiling. “She doesn’t know.”

It struck me that Marty was right, Ma had gone insane.

My sister said: “Well, he did hit us, I’m sure Sally’s told you about that. Actually, me more than her. I talked back a lot.”

“And?” the MH asked, encouraging.

Marty leaned back in the molded plastic hospital chair, arms crossed over her chest, and shook her head. I wished for once I could see into her brain, past the smooth brown diamond face, the almond eyes that had grown double lids, to my mother’s delight. She wouldn’t look at me. “He gave me a black eye once. The first time he caught me shoplifting.” I hadn’t remembered about the black eye, but of course it was true. We told everyone she’d fallen off the swings.

“It seems we have a difference in perspective here,” the MH said.

I was watching my mother. She was fidgeting quite a bit, with her skirt, the flap on her purse. At one point she took out a wad of Kleenex and blew her nose.

“Monkey King.” My sister was sitting too far away to kick, so I glared at her as I said it.

“What’s Monkey King?” the MH wanted to know.

“Just a story,” Marty told him. “A Chinese folk tale.” I noticed with interest that she was digging the nails of one hand into the palm of the other.

“My husband was a good father,” Ma said. “Sal-lee was his favorite. He never hurt her.”

“Why won’t you talk to me?” I asked Ma. “Why are you still protecting him?”

“He was a good father,” she repeated. “Look what he sacrificed for you.”

That word again. “What? What did he sacrifice?”

“Work so hard to pay for your education. Then what happens. No-good daughter. You disappoint him so much, he can’t say.”

“I think ‘no-good’ is a loaded word, perhaps we could—”

Ma went on as if the MH hadn’t spoken. “Children supposed to give you peace in old age. Your daddy was never peaceful. He talked this all the time, maybe he’s better off back in China, shouldn’t have come to the United States at all. Never have children.”

“Why do you hate me so much?”

“Love, hate, this is so American. You say I love you, what does this mean? Action is important, not words.”

“Listen, we’re getting off the topic,” the MH said. He was practically shouting. “Obviously there’s a lot to be worked out here. Let’s go back to Sally’s original statement about her abuse memories.”

“She knew about it.” I pointed at Marty. “Your precious Mau-mau was in the same room and never said a word.”

My mother clammed up, making her mouth into a line. I knew, if the MH didn’t, that this was absolute. I’d seen her do it too many times in childhood. It scared me worse than anything, than her yelling, than Daddy yelling, even.

“I don’t think incest is the point,” my sister said. “We’re never going to agree on it, so why bother talking about it?”

I wondered if she and my mother had discussed strategy. It seemed possible.

Afterward I walked them to the front door. As soon as the MH was out of earshot, Ma gripped my upper arm so hard I almost screamed. “Your father is dead,” she hissed. “He is an ancestor. You must have respect for your ancestors.”

“She’s been in this place for too long,” Marty said. “I told you, Ma, it’s all these crazy people, they’re a bad influence.” She turned to me making big eyes and I felt like saying, I’m not one of your gullible white boyfriends, this act doesn’t work on me. “Honey, there’s no use brooding about the past. You just have to pick up and go on. Lots of people have breakdowns. It makes them stronger. Like a bone that’s been healed.”