Dee had done too much, and the next day, the day before everyone arrived, Polly heard her calling and ran down the hall to the bedroom. Dee said she was just a little weak, and could Polly go find Papa for her? Tell him she needed him.

Polly ran down to the beach, waving at Papa to come out of the water, and he broke into a run, a stricken look on his gaunt face. A half hour later Jane helped him get Dee into the car, to see the doctor to find medicine to get her through the week. After they drove away, Merle marveled at the fact Dee could move at all. Jane asked him not to talk about it.

The next morning, Dee was in the kitchen, waiting for her children and other relatives to arrive, saying she felt fine. They came bearing presents—books, puzzles, calligraphy sets—for Edmund, too. The uncles doled out $5 bills. Odile and Inge brought Edmund and Polly small cameras and a roll of film, which was gone within fifteen minutes. Maude brought them fancy chocolates.

Papa’s brothers visited the city every year to argue and look at art and drink too much—old, skinny, hawk-faced men who were given to silly giggles, who liked to talk about how badly they’d behaved when they were young. Papa was the oldest, and Papa had always been in charge. Merle and Arnold shucked dozens of oysters, and the brothers offered Edmund and Polly money to eat oysters and clams, to suck on crab legs, to try the tomalley in lobster carapaces. They all drank too much wine, even Dee, whom they called the Runaway. She cooked feasts on the first and second nights but got a little snappish, and sometimes she snuck toward her greenhouse, not an easy thing to do these days. Papa bought a tin of caviar by way of apology for the circus of guests, and Dee ate most of it alone in the corner of the kitchen before anyone else knew it existed.

On the third night, the family went into Manhattan. Polly had just gotten her glasses, and the city became a spiky and glittery hive rather than a gray mound. They stayed in a hotel near the park. Polly was Eloise: She fluffed everything, bounced, peered through open doors and underneath furniture. Edmund was fascinated by the mechanics of the place, the elevator men, the dumbwaiters, the mystery of where all the people in uniform came from. They raced around the halls but at dinner they were seated apart at far corners of the long table, left to watch the waiters and women in fancy dresses, the movement of candlelight on chandeliers.

Dee was barely able to stand after the meal. Back in the rooms, Polly saw Papa giving her an injection, her arm wrapped around his neck.