“There’s work going as a telephone operator at the uni,” Peggy’s friend Sandra told her. “I noticed an ad on the noticeboard when I was waiting for my archeology class last night and wrote down the number for you.” She pulled out a scrap of paper, and checked before handing it over. “Yeah, that’s the one. My bag’s so full of junk, I’m always amazed I can find anything.” She held it open to let them see a jumble of hairbrush, wallet, makeup, checkbook, pens, and umpteen torn packs of Juicy Fruit gum.

Val called immediately on Peggy’s phone and arranged an interview the following morning. “I don’t have any experience,” she confessed to Peggy. “I hope I can wing it.”

“You need a good speaking voice and a few grains of common sense. You should slip under the wire.” Peggy smiled.

Her friend Lynette was also invaluable, providing the number of a woman lawyer who specialized in marital law. Val tucked it in her wallet. She was determined to find a way of accessing her inheritance as soon as possible so she could send money to Harbin to pay for her mother’s care. If only she could get her to a Western hospital, they might be able to save her.

There was a lot to do, a whole life to reconstruct, but she felt energized by her trip. Even if she had not found answers to all her questions about her father, being reunited with her mother had brought a profound sense of comfort. She felt proud of herself for getting there and back, and knowing how much her mother loved her had boosted her belief in herself. She had returned to friends who were doing their best to help, she had a roof over her head, and Nicole loved staying at Lenny’s house because it meant playtime started as soon as she opened her eyes in the morning.

The Saturday after Val’s return was unseasonably warm, with temperatures in the low seventies, and Peggy’s husband announced he would do the first cookout of the season. He and Peggy invited half a dozen other couples on a potluck basis, where everyone brought a dish and you hoped you didn’t end up with ten bowls of potato salad. Val made deviled eggs, with paprika and mustard mixed into the yolks, and wrapped strips of salty bacon around some dates she had wrestled the pits out of.

At six in the evening all the guests were there, beer in one hand and plate of food in the other, children screeching in the sandbox, when there was a loud blaring outside. Someone was pressing their car horn insistently, the sound cutting through the air, stopping everyone midconversation.

Val peered toward the source of the noise and her blood froze. It was Tony’s car. He was leaning out the driver’s window.