ONE

The three Rose sisters gathered around their mother’s bed recording their conversations so they would never forget the sound of their mother’s voice. The eldest, Harriet, thought about how her mother had lived—as a fiercely independent and proud woman on her own terms. As a result, Harriet was not surprised her mother’s last act in life would to be to control when and how she died. In her death, she drew her children close just as she had during her lifetime because family was everything to her. An unshakeable bond connected Harriet, Molly, and Ruby to one another as powerfully as it bound them to their mother. 

Yesterday Harriet had telephoned Molly and Ruby to tell them to come home. They had caught the first available flights back to Massachusetts. Now the three sisters were here, together in bed with their mother—Harriet next to her, Ruby cross-legged at their mother’s feet, and Molly on the far side of the bed where their father usually slept. They had decided they would not leave their mother unaccompanied for any reason—one of them would always remain by her side so she would not die alone.

As the hours passed and their mother alternated between periods of fitful, fevered sleep and amusing stories about her childhood and courtship with their father, the world narrowed to the four of them. Their father was here, of course, but not really. He would be unable to grasp what was happening, so they had decided to leave him in the next room watching television where he now quietly slept.

Eventually, darkness settled like a muzzle over the house, silencing all sounds except the continuous drum of rain. Their mother fell into a sleep so deep that Harriet, curled beside her, frequently held her hand to her mother’s mouth and nose to feel her breath against her palm.

“Mom’s really hot,” Harriet said. “Her fever is back. Should we wake her to give her more Tylenol?”

“Tylenol is not going to save Mom,” Ruby said gently. “She is ready to die, Harriet. It’s why she spent the day with us reminiscing and telling us all about her jewelry and her favorite art in the house. And spoke to all her grandchildren when they called. She’s sleeping peacefully right now without pain. We should let her be.”

Tears rolled down Harriet’s cheeks. She knew her sister was right. Molly stirred, overhearing their conversation, and she reached for Harriet’s hand.

“I’m going to go check on Dad,” Harriet murmured, attempting to extricate her long limbs from the bedding without waking their mother.

“Do you want me to come with you?” Molly asked.

“That’s okay, Moll.”

When she returned to the bedroom ten minutes later, Harriet found their mother awake, speaking quietly to her sisters.

“Oh good. Come over, Harriet. I have something I want to talk to the three of you about.”

Molly rolled over in bed to make room, and Harriet resumed her place beside her mother. Ruby had settled herself in the wheelchair at their mother’s bedside.

“I want you each to promise me something,” their mother said, placing a warm hand on Harriet’s arm.

Harriet stared down at the blue veins snaking beneath her mother’s skin, visualizing a clay handprint impression that would last long after her mother removed her hand.

 “First, I want the three of you to promise that you will always take care of each other. And of your father.”

Harriet’s eyes filled. “Of course, Mommy.”

“And Harriet, I want you to promise that you will organize Rosh Hashanah next year. I won’t be here to do it and want to know that you girls will carry on the holidays without me and, most importantly, that you will all be together.”

Grief rose in Harriet’s chest like nausea, a heavy bile that had lived close to the surface from the moment she had taken up residence in her mother’s bed yesterday.

“And I also want you to promise me that, in your new life, Harriet, you will make the necessary amends so that everyone in the family has a seat at the holiday table. Rosh Hashanah is a time for forgiveness and new beginnings.”

Harriet felt swamped with relief and gratitude at what she understood as her mother’s parting gift—her blessing of Harriet’s decision that months earlier her mother had warned would destroy their family. Molly squeezed Harriet’s shoulder with understanding, and Harriet sank into the sanctuary of her sister’s touch, her unspoken ability to read Harriet spreading through Harriet like dye in water.

“And Molly,” her mother continued, “I want you to promise me that you will forgive your husband. I know it’s a lot to ask, but he loves you and is a good man. Don’t lose him.”

Their mother sighed heavily, her eyes drifting closed. “I’m feeling tired now.”

“Wait,” Ruby said, gently placing a hand on her mother’s arm. “What about me, Mom? Don’t you want me to promise you something?”

“Oh yes. Sorry honey. Promise me, Ruby, that you will not feed your children canned food.”

Harriet, Molly, and Ruby burst out laughing.

“Seriously, Mom?” Ruby sputtered. “That’s the big promise you want me to make?”

“Oh my God, I just peed my pants,” Molly snorted.

“Don’t you dare get pee on my comforter,” Mom said weakly, her eyes heavy. “Actually, never mind,” she whispered. “I won’t be here, so I guess it doesn’t matter. And Dad… well, he’ll never know.” Then she was asleep again.

As the night wore on, Harriet, Molly, and Ruby intermittently dozed and spoke in hushed tones about their mother and her life. But during the early hours of the morning when Molly and Ruby had both fallen asleep, the silence of the dark room where their mother lay dying turned thick and choking and, before long, panic coiled around Harriet like a noose, strangling all breath. She hurried from the room, inadvertently rousing Ruby with her movement.

“Are you hyperventilating again?” Ruby asked as they entered the kitchen.

Harriet nodded, and Ruby retrieved a brown paper bag and handed it to her.

“Better?” She opened the refrigerator, surveyed its offerings, then closed it. “I can’t sleep or eat,” Ruby said. “I’m beyond exhausted and am starving but am on total overload.”

As Harriet poured them each a glass of water, she gazed out the kitchen window at the shadowy trees, more like spiders caught in the web of night rather than their mother’s beloved Eastern Redbuds that would adorn the lawn pink come spring. Their mother’s favorite season. A season, Harriet thought darkly, their mother would never again experience.

“You okay?” Ruby asked.

“Mom is dying,” Harriet said, her focus splintered by tears. “How could I possibly be okay?” Although their mother was still alive, grief already crouched within her, ready to spring. It would be soon, and the thought was unbearable.

“Oh, Harriet,” Ruby soothed, opening her arms for her oldest sister. “She’s been in terrible pain for such a long time. This is her time. She is ready.”

Harriet pulled away, wondering how a sister raised by the same parents could have such opposite emotional wiring.

“But I’m not.”

Three Years Earlier

Harriet stroked the faded cotton dress that hung limp on its hanger, worn thin and colorless. She remembered her excitement when she had first tried it on. She had felt dizzy and romantic and beautiful. But it had been some time since she had felt a trill as the dress slipped over her torso and whispered against her thighs. Although the dress still fit and was comfortable, although she would always love this old dress, its time was past. She craved something bright and hopeful. Something she was dying to wear. Something that turned her head to look twice when she caught her reflection.

So when her mother had offered her a big trip for her fiftieth birthday, the trip of a lifetime, Harriet had responded with a resounding yes. A grand adventure to shake off her restlessness. As a senior editor of a publishing house, Harriet had edited the book of a writer who had lyrically described his adventures in Thailand and, ever since, she had yearned to visit. Now, the trip had become a reality.

Harriet had asked her cousin Barbara and husband Kit to join them, more than a little worried that traveling alone for two weeks with her own husband Charlie, not a fan of travel, did not bode well. So here they were—Harriet, Barbara, and their two spouses—halfway around the world.

Harriet slid into the back of the banged-up taxi. The cracked seat cut into her thighs, and a thin sheen of sweat already coated her skin despite a shower an hour ago. As she drank deeply from her water bottle, she mused that, even in November of 2009, travel in Thailand was not for the faint of heart. Harriet had mentally prepared herself for their adventure while mapping out how the four of them would make their way from Bangkok to Chiang Mai in the north, Chiang Mai to their jungle adventure in the Khao Sok National Park, and then from the jungle to their final destination—the remote island of Koh Lipe on the Andaman coast of southern Thailand. By the end of the trip, they would have traveled by plane, taxi, tuk-tuk, minibus, longboat, and ferry—a huge distance. She wondered whether it would be far enough.

Although Harriet had long ago surrendered to the heat, sweat, grime, and fumes, her cousin Barbara—unaccustomed to roughing it—continued to battle the jolting, heaving, sweat-soaked modes of transport. Buried in work until the day before their departure, Barbara had not had the time to mentally prepare herself for their two-and-a-half-week jaunt through a developing country. Kit had taken care of their travel details, including ensuring his wife had peeled herself away from her law practice long enough to be vaccinated and pack her bags.

For months now, Harriet had immersed herself in reading, researching, and planning. She felt giddy at the prospect of visiting such an unknown, exotic, and far-away place. With Barb too busy to participate in the planning process and Charlie not a fan of either travel or research, Harriet and Kit had met several times and over heaping plates of Thai food come up with their itinerary—one that included a little of everything—cities, countryside, and jungle, culminating with several days of island relaxation. They had included a number of the suggestions of Harriet’s two younger sisters Molly and Ruby, who had both spent time in Asia, including Thailand, after graduating college. Her sisters were thrilled for her but also insanely jealous. Harriet had promised them a continuous stream of photos so they could vicariously share her adventure.

***

Their Airbnb host met them upon their arrival in Chiang Mai and drove them to his jasmine and black rice farm twenty-five minutes outside of town.

“Wow,” Kit exhaled, wandering onto the thatch-roofed deck of their two-bedroom house. Teak floorboards jutted out over the surface of a pond, where reflections of bamboo, palms, and rattan shimmered in the heat.

Harriet and Charlie unpacked in the upstairs bedroom, and Barbara and Kit in the downstairs. The house—more like an open-air bungalow—was enchanting. Aside from the bedrooms and a portion of the bathroom, the bungalow had no walls. Rafters, beams, and posts defined spaces, embellished by simple bamboo furnishings and brightly woven blankets and throw pillows—riotous, verdant vegetation in every direction.

Twenty minutes later, Harriet had stripped off her dirt-streaked shorts and shirt and stood in the open-air shower. Freeing her hair from its high ponytail, she ran her fingers through the long copper strands, sighing deeply at the cool rush of water after the intense heat of the day. As she shampooed her hair and washed the dust from her skin, Harriet gazed appreciatively at the giant lime-green palm fronds and dense foliage an arms-length away. Her lips curved in a soft smile as the sinking sun drenched the rice fields in a syrupy light. It had been a long time since she had felt such exhilaration and possibility.

***

They woke to the sound of exotic bird calls, the clattering of ducks, and the chanting of morning prayers by monks at a nearby wat.

“Wow. I slept great,” Harriet announced, joining the others on the deck. “I can’t believe how cool the night air got.”

“It’s going to be a scorcher today, though.” Barbara glanced up from her phone, where she was checking her work email. “I’ve already slathered myself in SPF 50.” She lifted her thick hair from her damp shoulders. “I don’t think there’s a deodorant made that can stand up to this kind of heat.”

“From the smell of the shirt I wore yesterday, I’d agree. I’m not even gonna bother with deodorant today.” Charlie tossed a glance in his wife’s direction.

“Don’t look at me,” Harriet said. “I live with your sweat. I’m immune.” Charlie owned a small landscaping company and preferring to leave the paperwork to others, generally accompanied his crew into the field, returning home in the evening smelling strongly of dank earth and perspiration.

Kit, engrossed in one of the guidebooks, placed his mug of black tea on the coffee table. “Nimmanhaemin Road looks like the main drag in the Old City. Sounds like there are some amazing temples. Lots of options for massages, too. Or even a fish pedicure. And there’s a great night bazaar we should visit while we’re here.”

Harriet flipped open a second guidebook, adjusting her large tortoise shell glasses. She turned to a page previously marked. “I really want to do the walking tour of the Old City. Is anyone up for that?”

“Depends on the heat,” Barbara said. “I’m getting blisters on my toes and don’t want to ruin the rest of the trip by crippling myself.”

“It’s your shoes,” Kit said, cocking an unruly brow at his wife.

“Don’t start with me.”

He raised his hands in mock surrender. “I just think you might benefit from changing your footwear.”

Barb shot Kit a dark glance, then returned to her phone, and Kit returned to his guidebook. The sun glinted off Kit’s silvering hair tucked loosely behind his ears, long enough to brush his shirt collar. The salt and pepper stubble on his face gave him a rugged look, and the constellation of creases that framed his eyes the appearance of someone who spent most of his days outdoors. But unlike Charlie, Kit primarily worked in an office for the Boston University School of Public Health.

“Breakfast anyone?” Charlie asked, rising. He extended an arm, and Harriet grasped his large, calloused hand.

They breakfasted on black fried rice with vegetables, sweet sausage, and fried duck eggs.  Afterwards, they caught a ride in an open-air truck to the center of the Old City. For the next two hours, they followed a walking tour, wandering in and out of resplendent temples and admiring larger-than-life gleaming golden Buddhas and Hindu Ganesh elephant statues circled by sumptuous offerings of fruits and vegetables.

“What a feast for the eyes,” Harriet said, adjusting the silk scarf that held her long hair off her neck.

“Look over there,” Kit indicated with his chin. “Where all those monks are gathering. It looks like they’re on their way to prayer.”

They crossed the street to the courtyard, where barefoot, orange-robed figures made their way inside a temple. The monks settled into either a kneeling or cross-legged position, closed their eyes and, bowing their heads, placed their palms together at their chests.

Harriet gasped as the chanting began. A haunting intonation that reverberated through her. She lowered herself onto the stairs outside the temple’s entrance, mesmerized by the plaintive incantations. It felt good to rest her legs. Barbara collapsed next to her and, slipping off her shoes, began to rub her feet.

Uninterested in the temples, Charlie wandered into the courtyard to examine the gnarled trees growing there. Kit slipped out his camera, attached a zoom lens, and discretely began to snap photos of the monks.

“Lunch soon?” Charlie whispered, returning to his wife’s side. 

“It’s only eleven-thirty,” she whispered back, mildly exasperated at his lack of interest in what she found so thrilling.

An hour later, they decided on a restaurant where, from beneath the relative shade of a veranda, they could watch the bustle of street vendors, shoppers, and tourists. The Old City was packed because, as they had learned to their surprise upon their arrival, they by happenstance had chosen to visit Chiang Mai during the celebratory Yi Peng Lantern Festival held the evening of the full moon of the eleventh month in the lunar calendar. They had already seen dozens of street vendors setting up tables by the river, as well as women and children creating elaborate colorful lotus-shaped offerings of banana leaves, flowers, and candles. They had been told the release of fire-fueled paper lanterns into the night’s sky was not to be missed.

Harriet and Kit ordered the noodle soup, a savory broth with wide rice noodles, sprouts, and leafy vegetables. Harriet closed her eyes, drinking in the aroma of lemongrass, peanuts, and fish sauce. Charlie selected the barbecue pork, and Barbara a shredded spicy papaya salad. Everyone gulped icy Chang beers.

As they ate, street vendors approached offering chicken satay, plastic bags swimming with yellow curries, and fried insects served on sticks. Barbara cringed at the sight.

“I dare someone to eat a scorpion,” Harriet said, her mouth stretching into a wide grin.

Barbara shrank back.

“Don’t look at me,” Charlie said. “I don’t even eat vegetables.”

The hint of a smile curled on Kit’s lips. “I’ll do it.”

“Don’t,” Barb said. “That’s disgusting. I won’t kiss you for I don’t know how long if you eat that thing.” She pursed her lips.

Sensing interest, the Thai teenager moved closer. “Scorpion? Cricket? Worm?” he asked, lifting three sticks off a cart piled high with plump fried bugs.

Kit pointed to the scorpion. “How much?” After completing the purchase, he raised the stick for all to see. “Before I devour this delicacy, can I offer anyone a taste?”

Harriet despised bugs, but she had chosen to travel through Thailand rather than relax on a beach in the Caribbean for a reason. To take herself away from the expected and predictable, to a place and culture so new and different that it would swamp her senses and encourage a boldness and courageousness that lived inside her but had been dormant too long.

“You go first, and if you don’t vomit, I’ll take a bite.”

Charlie’s eyebrow climbed, but he said nothing.

Kit lifted the spider to his mouth, took a bite, chewed, then swallowed.

“How was it?” Harriet asked, wrinkling her nose.

“Nothing like I expected. It’s deeply fried, so it’s dry and crispy. Heavily salted with a bit of a kick. Maybe pepper? Or chili?”

Harriet bit her lip. At home, she screamed when she saw a large or hairy spider and made Charlie catch or kill it.

“You said,” Kit teased. “You gonna back out?”

Harriet reached for the stick and, without allowing herself time to reconsider, closed her eyes, pinched her nose, and dared a taste. She had a momentary gag reflex, but fought it off and swallowed, then beamed.

“Wow,” her husband said. “You’re a lot braver than me.”

“Unless we want to try a worm next, anyone want to have a look at the dessert menu?” Kit asked.

“Nothing for me.” Charlie grimaced, rubbing his belly. “Something’s not right.”

“Too much sausage this morning?” Harriet studied her husband, his usual denim-colored eyes washed out.

Charlie mustered a half smile. “No such thing.”

“I’m up for sharing something,” Harriet said, her shameless sweet tooth speaking.

After enjoying a decadent sticky rice with mango served in a puddle of sweetened condensed milk, they made their way back onto the street. “What next, team?” Kit asked.

“I don’t know about you, but I vote for a post-lunch massage,” Barbara said.

“I read about a place where all the massages are given by ex-convicts,” Kit said.

“Perfect,” Barb responded. “Just what we had in mind.”

“Seriously, the guidebook said the place hires female ex-convicts to give them a second chance in life, and the massages are supposed to be some of the best. Good tea, too.”

“Should we?” asked Harriet. “It sounds like it could be an experience.” She dragged a wrist across her forehead.

Barbara took a deep swallow of water. “As long as we get off the street and away from the heat and fumes of all these tuk-tuks, I’m on board.”

***

They stumbled back into their bungalow shortly before five, weary from a full day of exploring. “Does anyone mind if I jump in the shower?” Barbara asked. “I don’t think I can stand another minute of being in these disgustingly sweaty clothes.”

“Go for it,” Harriet told her cousin. She grabbed another bottle of water from the fridge and made herself comfortable on the deck. The lush heat of the day was beginning to soften, and the pond was quiet, stippled in shadow.

Charlie started a hand wash but after a few minutes called Harriet over. “I’m not feeling great,” he said, rubbing his belly. “I think I may have eaten something bad.”

“I wonder what? The only thing you had that no one else did was the pork at lunch.”

“Not sure, but I’m gonna go lay down for a bit.”

Harriet finished the hand wash, then returned to the deck where Barbara now sat, computer in her lap. “I’ve got a major problem at work I need to deal with,” she said, massaging her temples. “I’m not sure I’m going to be able to go back into town with everyone tonight.”

“No,” Harriet said. “Come on, Barb, the lantern festival’s tonight, and it’s supposed to be a blast. You have to come!”

“I want to. I really do. I just don’t think it’s going to be possible.” A slight frown creased her brow.

Harriet tried to hide her disappointment. Since Barb had become managing partner of her firm’s litigation department, she had been consumed with work and often canceled plans. And when she had time off, all she wanted to do was stay home and chill. Harriet thought that if Barb and Charlie had been married, they would have been living their best introverted lives. Her husband rarely wanted to go anywhere either.

By the time Harriet and Kit had showered and dressed, it was nearing seven and time to return to the Old City. Their Airbnb host had recommended a restaurant on the Ping River and called the owner to reserve a table. Both Barbara and Charlie had bailed—Barb because of her work emergency, and Charlie because he had taken up residence in the bathroom.

“Looks like it’s just you and me,” Kit said, tucking his wallet into his pants pocket.

“Yes.” Harriet slipped her phone, a credit card, and some Thai baht into a small cross-body purse. “Anything you need before I take off, Charlie?” she called through the bathroom door.

“Nope. All good in here, relatively speaking.” He sighed raggedly.

Harriet and Kit caught a Grab—Chiang Mai’s version of Uber—into the Old City. They wound their way through narrow streets where hundreds of paper cut-out lanterns and long, shimmering fringed streamers in gold, silver, and fuchsia hung from every tree. Flowers, candles, and incense adorned folding tables set up in the streets like elaborate icing on a wedding cake, the exquisite heads of flowers cushioned like infants in green swaddling, then skirted with ruffles of white flowers. Some of the arrangements took the shape of swans. The streets vibrated with excitement.

They were seated outside on an open-air deck facing the river, strains of music drifting from the far side. Glowing white rice paper lanterns lit from within swayed from rafters in the cooling night air. And from where they sat, Harriet and Kit could see the Thai kneeling on makeshift wooden jetties to add their flower and candle offerings to those already adrift in the slow-moving river. Their waiter told them the floating offerings and launched paper lanterns represented the carrying away of sorrow and troubles. As the sky darkened, the water quietly lapped as hundreds of candles floated dreamily past them.

Except for the time they had spent planning this trip, Harriet and Kit were not accustomed to spending an evening together outside the company of their respective spouses. Harriet had worried it might be awkward, but realized in no time she had nothing to worry about.

“I wish we had a holiday like this one back home,” she mused. “It’s incredible.” She sipped her white wine, the glass sweating. “The closest we have is Tashlich, but that’s not nearly as much fun.”

“Isn’t that the ritual some people do during Rosh Hashanah? Where they throw breadcrumbs into water as a symbolic casting off of their sins?” Kit asked.

Harriet was surprised Kit knew this. Barb had told her Kit had been raised with no religion—his mother agnostic and his father a non-practicing Catholic. “Exactly,” she said. “Charlie and I used to take the girls to a duck pond near our house. We gave each of them a pocketful of breadcrumbs to toss into the water. But they used to get really upset when the ducks gobbled up their bread before it had a chance to float away.”

Kit laughed. “But in all seriousness, it’s a ritual people can relate to. How do we cast off our troubles like we cast off stale bread? I wish it were so simple.”

“I like Rosh Hashanah because it forces me to examine my life anew every year. I mean, we all from time to time think about our lives—whether we’re happy, the people we want to be, whether our lives are going where we want them to. But honestly, who would ever devote two full days to this if there wasn’t a holiday that carved out the time for it?”

“I can’t say I’m a fan of synagogue, or any organized religion for that matter. But I agree. With the craziness of our lives, I can get behind a holiday that encourages us to stop and take stock.” Kit grew pensive and began to finger a small gold earring. “I wish Barb could see the benefit of slowing down and taking stock of her life. She’s been working herself into the ground. This year was the first time since I’ve known her that she worked both days of Rosh Hashanah.”

Harriet tugged her gaze from Kit’s ear. Some years ago, she had tried to persuade Charlie to pierce his ear, but he would have none of it. An earring was not his style.

A server shyly approached. She set before them plates of whole fish in a fragrant broth with lime slices, garlic, green onions, and herbs, accompanied by sticky rice and green mango salads.

“This looks amazing,” Kit said.

Harriet placed her napkin in her lap. “Almost too pretty to eat.”

“Almost.” Kit’s mouth quirked.

Harriet took a bite of salad, relishing the juicy explosion of sweet mango, then circled back to Kit’s last comment. “What do you think’s going on with Barb? Do you think it’s just the pressure of becoming managing partner?”

“I don’t know, but it’s gotten pretty bad. She works around the clock and doesn’t get enough sleep. And when she’s not at the office, her work is often all she can think or talk about. She has a hard time unwinding.”

“Have you spoken to her about it?”

“A bunch of times, but nothing I say seems to make a difference. She gets defensive and thinks I’m criticizing her. I’ve tried to explain that I admire her commitment to her work, but that I just want her to find some balance in her life so there’s room in it for me.”

“I’m sorry, Kit. I didn’t realize it had gotten that bad.” Harriet tucked a fluttering wisp of hair behind her ear. “Barb has always been a perfectionist—ever since she was a little girl. That must make it super tough in a demanding career like hers, where there’s always more to be done. She told me on the flight over that her litigation department is down two lawyers right now and that the firm doesn’t plan to replace them. It sounds like she’s under a lot of pressure.”

Harriet berated herself for missing the signs of her cousin’s struggle. They had always been close, but life had gotten in the way in recent years—a full-time job, a husband, and her two daughters. Not to mention an ailing mother. Now she thought about her cousin. High strung, smart, and driven. And with one of the largest hearts of anyone Harriet knew. But unlike Harriet who struggled to contain her emotions, Barb had always held her emotions close. So, when Barb had learned after three grueling years of failed IVF that she could not have a child of her own, she had changed course and thrown herself into her work with a ferocious drive. And with each passing year, she had become more and more singularly focused.

After dinner, they set off in search of the lantern release. The streets flowed like the river, ferrying high-spirited Thai teenagers, parents holding tight to children too big to sit astride their shoulders, and couples enjoying a night out, all giving themselves over to the current.

They drifted with the crowds until they came upon what their map identified as the Narwarat Bridge, where a noisy crush of people suddenly swallowed them. The sea of people carried them forward, buoyant, floating like the huge paper lanterns that filled the sky. Surrendering to the pull of the throng, Harriet grabbed hold of Kit’s hand to keep from being separated.

The night felt swollen with the full moon. Harriet and Kit watched spellbound as thousands of fire-fueled paper lanterns the size of five-gallon drums gracefully floated upwards, luminous against the dark velvet of the sky. Clusters of people squat in tight circles, lighting their lanterns and holding them close to the ground to fill the huge lantern space with hot air. Then, with outstretched arms and soulful expressions, they rose, surrendering their golden lanterns to the sky, staring upward to follow their paths.

Kit caught sight of Harriet’s face, head thrown back, radiant in the light. Strands of hair clung to her damp neck. She caught him looking at her and lobbed him a disarming smile. He grinned back, their hands still entwined.

TWO

Ruby lowered her nose to the pot and inhaled the rich aroma. Matzah ball soup had been a Rose family holiday favorite for as long as she could remember. She and her sisters had gorged on fluffy matzah balls and fried potato pancakes every Jewish holiday, their bellies usually too full for the meal that followed. She eyed the potato pancakes that now drained on paper towels on her mother’s kitchen counter, bits of shredded potato and onion lacing their golden edges. She thought about sneaking one, but her mother returned to the kitchen too soon.

“When will Harriet be here?” Ruby asked, excited to see her oldest sister. Ruby had flown into Boston from San Luis Obispo last night with her two children to spend the first few nights of Hanukah with family.  

“Not until later this afternoon,” her mother said. 

“Can I help set the table, Mom?”

“That’s okay. I’ll do it.” Sophia unfolded a blue and gold tablecloth.

“Let me help.” Ruby took hold of one end and, with her mother, spread it across the table. “You’ve been at it all morning, Mom. Why don’t you take a break?”

Sophia pointed Ruby to the plates and wine glasses she wanted to use, then circled the table, carefully arranging cloth napkins in napkin rings shaped like dreidels.

“It looks nice, Mom.”

“Here,” Sophia said, handing her daughter a bag of gold foil-wrapped chocolate coins. “Scatter these around the center of the table.”

Ruby did as she was told, standing back to admire her mother’s flair for the festive; then she peeked at the brisket roasting in the oven. “This is a real change from the dinners I’m used to. I can’t remember the last time I cooked a meal.”

“Don’t you cook dinner for Hannah and Jack every night?”

“They’re impossible because they don’t eat the same things. It’s not worth it. Neither of them cares, so we mostly just order in. Or sometimes I’ll throw something together that doesn’t take much time.”

“It’s important to sit down every night for dinner as a family.”

“That doesn’t work for us, Mom,” Ruby responded tightly. She could not stand it when her mother criticized her parenting. As a child, Ruby had often felt like a disappointment to her parents. While Harriet and Molly had thrived in school, she had struggled, drawing in her notebooks instead of completing her class work, forgetting to turn in homework assignments, and earning mediocre grades. And while her sisters had been athletes, she had never had the skill or desire to play team sports. Her fingers went to the choker that circled her neck, worrying the beads there.

“There are lots of recipes that don’t take much time. I’ll give you a few.”

“It’s not worth my energy. I’d rather spend my time with the kids doing things we care more about.” Ruby shoved a red curl behind her ear. “You had Dad to help when we were growing up. I have no one. I think you forget sometimes that I’m a single parent. There are only so many hours in the day.”

Sophia raised a slim brow at her daughter. “Your father was rarely home when you were growing up. I had you three girls to myself all day. And on many weekends.”

Ruby had heard all of this before, how her mother had polished the shoes of her three daughters nightly, ironed their dresses, braided their hair with ribbons before school each day, cooked them breakfast, packed their lunch boxes, made a full dinner every night for the family. “You’re a better person than me, Mom. What can I say?”

Sophia flushed, eyes narrowing at her daughter. “That’s disrespectful, Ruby.” She rose to her full five foot, two inches and, turning on her heel, strode from the room, her long silver braid swatting angrily against her shoulders.

***

“Knock knock!” Harriet called, shoving open the door with her shoulder. Her parents’ bearded collie skidded into the foyer, greeting her with a body wag.

“Ruby?”

“Up here!” her sister called from the top of the stairs. The last of the day’s sunlight streamed through the hall window, casting Ruby’s high cheek bones into sharp relief and bathing her face gold. A slip of her flat belly showed above her jeans.

Harriet smiled broadly at her baby sister—the mirror image of their mother, except Ruby still had her lustrous red curls. “It feels like ages,” she said.

“Mom’s already pissed at me. I swear. It’s why I live on the other side of the country.”

“Good grief, Rube. You just got here last night. What happened already?”

“She’s constantly judging me. Nothing I ever do is good enough.” Ruby took Harriet’s hand and pulled her downstairs. “Come on. Let’s get a glass of wine so I can get into a better mood.”

They made their way into their parents’ large, rustic great room—a room aptly named because it truly was great, with a huge floor-to-ceiling river rock fireplace, reclaimed wood flooring, old barn timber beams, sheepskin throws, and alpaca wool rugs. Their mother had vision and style and could have been a phenomenal decorator in another life.

Ruby rummaged behind the bar, then uncorked a Cabernet Sauvignon and poured a generous glass for herself. “Want some?”

“Sure.”

“I just don’t understand why Mom can’t talk nicely to me. I’m hardly ever here. I look forward to coming home for weeks, get all excited, and then within ten minutes of arriving, I already regret coming.”

“Come on, Ruby. It can’t be that bad.” Harriet sipped her wine. “You’re not here enough to see it, but her arthritis has gotten a lot worse. She’s in pain all the time.” Her mouth pulled into a straight line. “Couldn’t you just try to give her a break while you’re in town? Let the things she says that upset you roll off for the few days you’re here?”

Ruby let out a long breath. “I can try.” But she knew that despite her best intentions, she could only hold her tongue so long. Her mother’s need for everything to be perfect grated on her, particularly when her own life was under her mother’s magnifying glass. “She’s just so critical of me all the time. There’s nothing I can ever do or say to please her.”

“Just promise me you’ll try, okay?” Harriet glanced out the window to the front drive. “Is Dad home?”

“No. He was called in for an emergency.” Ruby flopped onto the couch. “A dog was hit by a car. He called to say he would be late.” With only one partner in his veterinarian practice, their father was on call every other weekend—something that upset their mother to no end—but not their father, who was not nearly as social as his wife and, with the exception of his family, preferred animals to people.

Harriet slipped onto a bar stool next to a bowl of herb-roasted cashews, and the pungent pine aroma of rosemary met her nose. “I need to get this recipe from Mom.”

“Hand me a few?” Ruby asked. “I’m too comfortable to move.”

Harriet placed a handful of nuts into her sister’s outstretched palm.

“Where’s Charlie?”

“He got home later than expected and had to shower. He should be here soon.” Harriet shifted on her stool to face her sister. “So, tell me about this new guy you’re seeing.”

At forty-five, Ruby continued to doggedly search for her soul mate. She had promised herself that if by the age of thirty she still had not found a partner, she would buy sperm from a sperm bank and have children on her own. And she had done just that. Harriet had been there for the birth of her niece Hannah, now fourteen, and her nephew Jack, now eleven.

A smile played on Ruby’s lips. “He’s an Israeli filmmaker, and he’s amazing. I really think he may be the one. We’ve got incredible chemistry, and he’s always making me laugh.”

“Who makes you laugh?” Hannah asked, joining them in the family room. She carried Waffles, her grandparents’ syrup-colored tabby cat.

“My new boyfriend,” Ruby said.

Hannah rolled her eyes at her mother and, sighing dramatically, took a seat at the bar. “Pop Tart!” she shouted as a second cat darted across the room.         

Harriet stroked her niece’s cheek. “I’m glad you’re here, Hannah, banana.” Harriet wished her own daughters Aubrey and Jade could have been here tonight, but Aubrey was in nursing school and Jade in college, and neither could get away. “Do you know where Grandma is?”

“Kitchen.” Hannah buried her nose in Waffles’ hair. “I always think Waffles smells like syrup. Isn’t that funny?”

Harriet grinned at her niece. “I sometimes think she smells like syrup as well.”

She found her mother in the kitchen arranging a platter of sufganiyot—round jelly doughnuts topped with powdered sugar traditionally eaten for dessert during Hanukkah.

“Mom, you’ve been going nonstop for hours. Will you please come into the living room and join us?”  

“I can’t yet.”

“I can do whatever it is you still need to do. Just tell me.” Her mother’s increasing loss of control over her body weighed heavily on Harriet. She could not imagine being trapped in a deteriorating body with no way to stop the progression. Her mother’s joint pain, swelling, and stiffness sometimes were so terrible she could not button her skirt or cut her own food. As a result, she rarely dined out any longer, too proud to have someone cut her food in public.

“Please don’t argue with me, Harriet. I need to do this. My body is failing me in so many ways. This is what I have left—to bring my family together to celebrate when we can.” Her eyes grew filmy. “It’s important to me to make a nice holiday for my family.”

Harriet moved to comfort her mother, but her mother turned away.

“You are making a really nice holiday, Mom,” Ruby said, overhearing the tail end of their conversation as she joined them.

Sophia slipped her hands into potholders three sizes too big, then opened the oven door to remove the brisket and roasted vegetables.

Harriet saw her struggle with the weight of the platter but stayed silent.

But Ruby lacked a similar instinct. “It could still be a nice holiday, Mom, even if we brought in some of the food. Every single thing does not need to be homemade for it to be nice.”

Sophia’s spine tightened as she pinned her daughter with an irritated gaze, then set the brisket on the counter and began to slice.

***

Shortly after they sat down for dinner, Ben ambled into the dining room, darkening the doorframe with his six feet, five inches. “Good evening,” he said, a warm smile creasing his weathered face. “Sorry I’m late.” 

A bear of a man, he bent low to kiss his wife, placing a leathery hand on each of Sophia’s cheeks. Like two baseball mitts holding the head of a porcelain doll, he brushed his lips against Sophia’s with the tenderness of a gentle giant.

“Is the dog okay, Grandpa?” Jack asked.

“Took a bit of a beating, but I think he’ll be just fine.” As he excused himself to wash up, the family returned to discussing the new piece of art Ruby had created. An artist and art professor at Cal Poly in San Luis Obispo, Ruby’s passion was mixed media. 

 Several minutes later Ben returned, scotch in hand, and took his seat at the head of the table opposite his wife. “So how about whoever’s been smart enough to keep the brisket and potatoes nearby sends them down my way?”

  “Molly wants us to Skype her tonight,” Ruby said, her absent sister on her mind. “I really wish she could have been here.”

  “We all do,” Sophia said. “It’s been some time since I’ve had all three of my daughters under the same roof.”

Once the table was cleared of dishes, the family gathered in the living room around the old family menorah. Ruby had set up a laptop, and Molly and her family peered back at them, their own menorah in the background. A scrawny black cat sauntered across the screen.

“Meet Stella,” Molly’s son Danny announced. “The newest member of our family!”   

“Aww,” Hannah cooed. “When did you get him?”

“It’s a her, and I found her on the side of the road in the snow.”

      “Okay, everyone. Eyes up here.” Ben gazed at his wife, who held a box of matches ready.

Harriet and Ruby watched as their mother struck the match, and the room hushed. With an outstretched arm, she lit the center candle, the shamash, then held it up and began to sing the first of the three blessings on this holiday celebrating religious freedom. The family joined her in song as she touched the flaming shamash to the wick of the first night’s candle. Ruby gazed at her mother’s face, which glowed in the flickering light and, in that moment, glimpsed not only her mother’s physical fragility, but her powerful will.

THREE

Kit moved easily about the kitchen, sautéing shallots and garlic, then dicing tomatoes. A bowl of jumbo shrimp and a creamy block of feta sat on the counter, along with cumin, red pepper flakes, and a jar of dark honey. Kit and Barb’s golden retriever sat attentively by the counter.          

Harriet eyed the ingredients. “Are you making that Greek shrimp dish I love so much?”

“Yup,” Kit said, sliding out two wine glasses from an overhead rack. “White or red?”

“White is perfect,” Harriet said, opening the refrigerator. “I’ll get it. You’ve got your hands full.”

“Thanks.” Kit added the tomatoes to the pan on the stove and stirred. “A beer, Charlie?”

“That’d be great.” Charlie settled into an armchair and turned on the television. “Do you mind? There’s an important game on.”

Harriet pitched her husband a silent warning as the raucous calls of a sportscaster momentarily overpowered the sultry saxophone playing over the speakers.

“I’ll mute it.” Charlie muttered.

“Can I help with anything?”

“I think I’ve got it. Just a couple last minute things.”

“Where’s Barb?”

“She should be down in a minute.”

Harriet sank onto the living room couch and picked up Barbara and Kit’s photo album from their trip to Thailand. She couldn’t believe nearly three months had passed.

“Hey there,” Barb greeted them, pattering down the stairs. “Sorry I’m late. I worked today, then waited until the last possible minute to exercise.” She deposited a kiss on Harriet’s cheek, then Charlie’s head. “Oh good. I’m glad you’ve got some wine.” She poured herself a glass, then lit the tea candles on the kitchen counter and coffee table.

Kit pulled up an ottoman. “That trip feels like a distant memory.”

“It does,” Harriet agreed. “It was the most amazing trip, though. I’d go back in a heartbeat.”

“Seriously?” Barb asked.

“Absolutely. I felt so alive in Thailand. The jungle excursion, the remote islands. The colors and smells and food. It’s hands down my favorite kind of travel.”

“I’m glad we went, but you couldn’t pay me to go back. That was a once in a lifetime experience for me.” Barb sipped her wine. “Too hot, too crowded, too buggy, too long a flight to get there.”

“I’m with Harriet on this one,” Kit said. “I’d love to return some day. We explored only a fraction of the country.”

“Remember the crazy monkey on the jungle trek that swiped the hat off that guy on his honeymoon?” Charlie chuckled, eyes trained on the television.

“I nearly jumped out of my skin,” Barbara said. “He was literally a foot in front of me.”

Harriet opened the album to its first page—a picture of the four of them toasting in a Logan Airport bar. The next photo showed their arrival in Bangkok twenty hours later. “This is one you could have skipped. Not a pretty sight,” Harriet wrinkled her nose at a photo of her bleary eyes, slept-in top, and disheveled hair. “We all look exhausted. Or at least I do.”

“Yeah, rough start,” Barb said. “I couldn’t see straight that first day.”

Harriet nodded. “Me either. I wish I did better with time changes, but two days in the sky, plus a twelve-hour time difference. More than I can handle.” She turned to Charlie. “I don’t know how you managed to stay up.”

Charlie shrugged. “Don’t need much sleep.”

***

Barb placed a platter of grilled nectarines on the table. “My contribution to the meal, minus their grilling,” she said. “I eat mine straight up, but the recipe says to serve them with vanilla ice cream.”

“Fancy,” Charlie said. “Would it insult you if I just had the ice cream straight up?”

Harriet flung a chiding gaze her husband’s way. “You’re not even going to try it?”

“You know how I feel about fruit.”

Harriet sighed. “Well, I’d love a grilled nectarine,” she told Barb, then turned to Kit, who stood ceremoniously, ice-cream scooper poised over a carton of vanilla ice-cream. “With a scoop of ice cream.”

 After dessert, Harriet and Kit cleared the table while Barb did the dishes. Charlie offered to take out the garbage and, on his return, made himself comfortable on the couch, turning on the television with no sound.

“Kit?” Barb asked.

Kit poked his head from the pantry.

“I know you cooked,” she said, “but I’ve got a migraine coming on and am so incredibly exhausted. Would you mind terribly if I headed upstairs?”

“That’s fine. I can finish up.”

“I’m sorry, Harriet. Do you mind?” Barb asked. “I don’t want to put a damper on our evening, but I’ve been working hellish hours, and it’s all catching up with me.”

“Please. No worries. It’s been such a nice evening.”

“Thanks.” Barb trudged up the stairs to her bedroom, and Harriet took her cousin’s place behind the sink. She twisted her long hair into a loose knot and began to soap a pot.

Moments later, Kit emerged from the pantry, a boyish grin on his face. “Look what I found,” he said, boasting a jumbo bag of peanut M&Ms and a box of chocolate truffles.

Harriet’s face lit at the sight of the chocolate. “The best way to end a meal.”

He placed both the M&Ms and the truffles on the dining room table next to the photo albums Harriet had carried in from the living room.

“Scoot over,” he said, slipping behind the sink and bumping Harriet with his hip. “I’ve got this.”

 “No way,” she said, unmoving. “You cooked.”

He cocked his head at her, the hint of a dimple showing through his cheek stubble. “Are you going to fight me on this?”

“Maybe?” Harriet teased, a flush creeping up her neck.

When the dishes were finished, Kit retrieved two cordial glasses. “Care for some port? I’m going to have a glass.”

“Sure,” Harriet said, turning to see if Charlie wanted anything, but he had kicked off his shoes and now slept soundly, the dog at his feet. “So much for not needing much sleep,” she mumbled under her breath.

Returning to the dining room table, she opened the photo album to where they had left off. Kit placed a glass of tawny port before her, then pulled up a chair. With his head inches from her own, she could not help but notice the small scar on his right temple and his impossibly long lashes.

Forcing her attention back to the album, she flipped to a picture of the four of them in a longboat touring Emerald Lake—a gorgeous spot in the rain forest notable for its majestic limestone cliffs and unusual geologic formations. In the photograph, the water shimmered a pale green from the minerals that ran off the cliffs and, with a brooding sky and skittering sunlight, the four of them looked like they had glided through a rock cleft into another world. Layer upon layer of rock surrounded them. Some formations jutted from the water bare and stone-white like massive dinosaur teeth, while others rose soft and undulating, carpeted in dense, jewel greens.

“Remember that tree we paddled past with the hundreds of bats hanging upside down from the branches?” Harriet took a tiny sip of port, tasting the leather, dried fruit, and spice.

Kit laughed, remembering. “Barbara almost fell out of the boat.”

He leaned forward to open the box of truffles, his thigh grazing Harriet’s under the table. She blinked at the sensation of the hard plane of Kit’s leg through the filmy gauze of her skirt and watched as he slid a pecan-crusted truffle into his mouth and rolled it into his cheek to savor.

What was wrong with her? She shook her head to clear the picture like clearing an Etch A Sketch. “The jungle was one of my favorite places we visited. It was a blast staying in the treehouses.”

“Barb and I were up all night in our treehouse. It was like a sauna in there when we closed all the shutters to keep out the monkeys and mosquitos.”

“I know. It looked so romantic with the cascading canopy of netting, but it was beyond hot, and our bed was like a slab of stone. But still, I’d do it again. I loved being up in the trees with the monkeys. It was worth the sleepless night.” Harriet turned the page, then selected a cocoa dusted truffle from the box. Slipping the chocolate into her mouth, she let the chocolate ganache center dissolve on her tongue, rich and buttery, and suddenly she wanted more. More of everything. She washed it down with a greedy gulp of port.

Glancing up, she found Kit’s gaze on her, a slow smile curling on his lips. He lifted a brow as she held up her glass for more. “Careful,” he said, eyes creasing with amusement.

He poured them both more of the heady wine. But as Harriet drank, his words lingered in the space between them and ignited a warmth in her belly. Then she remembered herself. This was Kit. And her husband slept on the couch right in the next room. She must be drunk on the slippery jazz and flickering candlelight. Not to mention all the wine and port.

When she lifted her face from her glass, she saw Kit’s eyes on her, and color flooded her cheeks.

Something had changed in Thailand, and it both thrilled and terrified her.