Later when they were alone in the kitchen, Trang squeezed Kim’s hands in the pillows of her own and whispered, “I’m afraid my husband fears nothing, just kittens and butterflies leading to . . . birds and bees.”

In this house there were always secrets and alliances. There were the things everyone was supposed to know. For example, that Huong was an insomniac, so if she was sleeping, it meant tipped- toes for the entire house. And then there were the things one knew but pretended not to know, like big Trang’s mixed blood, or Lam’s volatile temper, or the fact that Huong and her husband no longer had sex. So if Viet is sleeping out in the hallway, don’t ask. But be careful you don’t trip over his body in the middle of the night on your way to the bathroom. This was what it meant to live with your extended family, an entire nuclear family to a room, in a three-bedroom house.

That night little Sophia fell asleep immediately, exhausted from her fits of crying. Marcel stayed quiet, withholding his affection, stubborn like his father. Kim changed as usual behind a sheet dotted with faded blue cornflowers, hung in the corner of the room. “If you’re nice, I’ll read you Father’s letter,” she said. She raised her arms, quickly pulling her pajama top over her head. Kim couldn’t stop thinking about the women on the big screen. She longed for their abandon, the way they had stretched and curled with nothing on except for those rhinestone collars with the little heart shaped name-tags dangling from their necks like jewels.

Kim asked Marcel to scoot his younger sister to the far side of their bed. She reached into the bedside drawer and pulled out the familiar grainy envelope, marked par avion. She received Duc’s letters with pure relief. These thin sheets and tight scrawls were the only proof that her husband was still alive.

Duc’s first words, I love you. I miss you. Prison teaches you this, to not waste time. The best comes first, don’t save anything for last. Kim whispered her husband’s words into her son’s ear. Marcel closed his eyes and pulled the blanket to his chin. His father said, get good grades, listen to your mother, take care of your sister. She told him that his father was proud of him. She left out the lines from a husband to a wife that said I miss your smooth skin and your soft touch . . . . I do not think I will ever be released from the fate of this grave site . . . . I want my son to grow up with a father. You must move on. Remarry . . . . You have always been and will always be the great love of my life.

She covered her face with the letter, trying to gather Duc’s scent. She had read it at least ten times since its arrival. But the last line destroyed her each time. You have always been and will always be . . . . It wasn’t the voice of the hot-tempered, hard-headed man she knew. Only a defeated man would give up his woman. She felt her eyes welling up and quickly wiped it away.