Mrs. Liang meandered back to the cottage. The wind blew through her hair, her skin goose-bumped. She was always cold here, on this continent. Ever since she’d arrived in Nova Scotia, the wind seemed to pass right through her.

Back at the cottage, she placed the flowers in a glass of water. Her husband had lit a joss stick on the kitchenette table and sat on the edge of the bed staring into space. It was almost a full week now, the proper time to invite Tien back home. Had they been in their apartment in Taipei, they’d have posted outside their door a large white flag with Tien’s name written on it in black ink. They’d have had mourners and incense burning and many bowls of fruit. But that was impossible now. They’d make do with what was on hand: one fruit bowl, a candle, a black Magic Marker borrowed from the innkeeper, a piece of typing paper. Mr. Liang held a white handkerchief with Tien’s name crudely inked on it. A bottle of seawater stood beside the framed portrait. It would all have to do. They’d invite Tien here, to this cottage above the Atlantic, for she was still out there in the sea, and they needed to encourage her across the water. The water was the hardest part, Mrs. Liang believed, for the souls of the dead did not like crossing water.

Mr. Liang pulled open the deck door, and the wind gusted inside. Mrs. Liang propped the framed photograph beside the candle and arranged the fruit in front of it.

She looked back at her husband.

Will that do? she asked.

He nodded and said it would.

She took another joss stick from a box and lit it in the candle flame. Then stuck it upright into the flesh of one of the apples. The wind increased outside. A shutter slammed. Was it Tien?

Mrs. Liang shuffled to the edge of the bed and sat and closed her eyes.

Come home, Tien, she began to whisper. Come home with us. Please, Tien, we are here.

Her husband joined her, sitting lightly on the bed; and as he listened to his wife’s entreaties, he began slowly echoing the words “Come home, Tien, join us”; first in a choked whisper, then louder, over and over again. Would Tien come? Who knew? (She could be so stubborn—just like her mother.) They’d have to leave the door open and keep pleading with her. They were prepared to call her name all through the night.