Nola stretched her limbs. She was tired, her body ached, and her sticky skin needed a shower. Fleeting images of her moment of glory on the stage at the Forbidden City floated through her mind. Her songs. The excited audience. Her glimmering dress that had opened like a butterfly. The applause. Her life before Lulu. And here she was, breathing air steeped with the stench of excrement, sharing her drinking cup with men whose diseased gums made her gag, fearful of bandits hiding in the mountains, afraid the truck might turn over at the next curve, worried people might detect her and tell the police, and knowing there would not be enough milk for Lulu. Even with all these separate fears, she was more scared of the unknown. Still, instead of feeling diminished, she felt enriched.

She looked into the cab, where Lulu, freed to use the length of the bench to crawl, tried to bring herself to a sitting position. The driver watched her, munching on a foot-long unlit pipe. Standing outside, Nola wanted to steal more minutes of freedom for Lulu's exercise. She put her arm in to prevent her from falling backward and gushed words of encouragement. Too soon, though, an attack of flies with glistening blue bellies sent her and Ming-Ji back inside.

“Do you miss America?” Nola asked Ming-Ji once they resumed their trip.

“Banana split. I miss Baskin Robbins ice cream with cherry syrup and pecans.” Ming-Ji brought her bunched fingertips to her lips and kissed them. “The best.”

Nola laughed. “I could gobble one down right now.”

“I miss husband.”

Nola stopped laughing. “You have a husband in the United States?”

Ming-Ji nodded gravely. “Not want to come back for my mother.”

“When was the last time you saw him?”

Ming-Ji’s glasses misted. “He have new wife.”

Oh. “I’m so sorry,” Nola said. “It’s so sad.”

“Love is to want the same things.”

“Love is to want the same things,” Nola repeated. “You’re a brave woman, Ming-Ji. You’ve left your husband, whom you still miss, to be with your mother.”

“And with babies who need me. They need good doctor.”

Nola envied her convictions. “Love is to want the same things,” she said again. She’d remember that every time the dissolution of her marriage sent her into a state of gloom. Love is to want the same things. What a wonderful theme for a song. “I admire you. I’d like to be your friend.”

Ming-Ji giggled. “Don’t be polite. You are my friend.”