“I feel so . . . like a boat that’s drifted off its moorings.” He paced up and down the room. “Do you need a car to help you move? Is there anything you want to take from this flat? No one will miss it. If they do, I’ll say I gave it to you.”

When Dr. Mao learned about Lian and her mother’s predicament, he made a suggestion. His practice had grown to the point where he could afford larger quarters.

“Beihua, let’s just hurry up and get married,” he said. “Life is precarious, happiness fleeting. Come live with me. Let’s be a family.”

Family. The word made Lian catch her breath, chopsticks halfway to her mouth.

“Lian and I will talk it over,” her mother said, fixing Lian with a look that made her close her mouth.

“Of course,” Dr. Mao said. He looked very humble and hopeful. “It should be a family decision.”

When Dr. Mao left, Lian turned to her mother. “Why doesn’t a man like Dr. Mao already have a family?”

“But he did, didn’t I tell you?” Her mother looked perplexed. “He had a wife and two sons. They were staying with his parents in Tongxiang when a cholera epidemic swept through. He lost his whole family.”

“But he seems so cheerful,” Lian said. “Not at all like someone who has suffered so much tragedy.”

“He’s so willing, no, determined to be happy again,” her mother said. “It’s one of the reasons I admire him. He still manages to be kind and generous despite such tragedy. He doesn’t drag around the sorrows of his past.”

THEY MOVED INTO a flat, two small rooms, but it had its own kitchen and bathroom. They were lucky to have a space that could accommodate both clinic and home in a single apartment. A folding screen partitioned the larger front room to create a cramped consulting area where Dr. Mao examined patients. Lian worked at a desk facing the door. After hours, the desk doubled as their dining table and at night Lian slept in the outer room, on the examining table.

Her mother no longer worked at the Mission, laughed more often, and the few times when she was overcome with fear, it was Dr. Mao who soothed her. Not Lian. Not anymore. The tightness in Lian’s shoulders eased and, in less time than she thought it would take, she began thinking of him as her stepfather. Her two-person family circle widened.

And there was Shao. Her mother invited him to supper often. Lian sometimes glanced over and caught him watching the three of them rather wistfully.

“You need friends your own age,” her mother said to Lian. “You’re not at school anymore and he’s a former classmate. And you’re fond of each other, so you should keep up the friendship.”