“Oh, hi, Ruthie.” Ruthie is Mom’s assistant. Ruthie does all the normal-person things for my mother so Mom can focus on the genius-doctor things. Ruthie shops for Mom’s clothes and purchases wedding gifts and birthday presents for people as needed, and she organizes Mom’s schedule. It’s Ruthie who reminds my mother when I have an art show or Afton has a ballet recital, Ruthie who gently orders Mom to go home when it becomes clear that she hasn’t left Stanford Hospital for days. Or to wash her hair. Or eat something. Because genius doctors can’t be bothered by such mundane details.

It’s also Ruthie who calls to make excuses whenever Mom needs to get out of something.

“Is everything okay?” I ask slowly.

“Oh, yes. Everything is fine. Dr. Bloom wanted me to tell you that she’s going to be here late. She’s working really hard on her presentation for the Hawaii conference, and—”

“How late?” I ask.

Ruthie sounds confused. “What?”

“How late is she going to be there?”

“Oh. How late, do you think?” My mother must be standing right there, because Ruthie is apparently asking her. There’s a pause as Ruthie listens to the answer. “She says to go ahead and have dinner without her. She’ll try to be there to read stories to Abby at bedtime, but don’t wait up, just in case. Okay?”

“Okay,” I say. Everybody is staring at me. “Thanks, Ruthie.”

“You bet. Good night.”

I hang up the phone. I don’t need to tell the rest of my family what Ruthie relayed to me—that much is obvious from the fact that Ruthie called at all. Why couldn’t Mom just call herself and tell us? And why have Ruthie call me, and not Pop?

“Where’s Mommy?” Abby asks in a small voice. “Is she going to miss our special dinner from our ancestors?”

“She’s trying to get everything ready to go to Hawaii,” Pop says, the picture of calm again. Nothing in his face or his voice suggests that he’s upset. But something feels decidedly off.

Abby picks up her fork and absentmindedly starts to eat the nyama na irio without complaint. “What part of Hawaii again?” she asks after a while.

“Where we’re going is the one called the Big Island, because it’s the biggest.” Pop sits down and takes a bite of the food. Then he gets up again and crosses with his plate to the microwave. Pop likes his food so hot it’d burn off the taste buds of normal humans. “You’re going to love it there, honey. I promise.”

“And you’re going, too, right, Poppy?” Abby asks.