Lily sighed in disappointment and turned back toward Grant Avenue. She glanced at her watch. She was still a little early to pick up Frankie, so she decided to head home first. Perhaps one afternoon she should bring Kath to Thrifty and show the book to her. The thought was startling, and she began to imagine the two of them in that alcove in the back of Thrifty, spinning through the book racks. She pictured herself finding the book and plucking it out of the rack, handing it to Kath. She wondered what Kath might say upon seeing the cover with those two women. An excited thrill went through her.
Lost in thought, Lily barely noticed when she reached Clay Street. She climbed the last uphill block automatically, and then she inserted her key into the front door. Inside it was cool and dim, and voices floated down the wooden staircase. It sounded like her parents were home early, which was unusual. She climbed the stairs, and as she approached the top floor she heard someone come out of the kitchen—her father. He stood waiting for her on the landing, and he was still wearing his doctor’s coat, as if he’d come straight from the hospital and forgotten to take it off.
“Is something wrong?” she asked.
He studied her almost clinically, and she paused a few steps from the top, wondering for a terrifying moment if somehow he knew she had been thinking about that book.
“Put down your things and come into the kitchen,” he said. “Your mother and I need to talk to you.”
The tone of his voice was grave. She left her book bag on the bench and hurriedly slipped off her shoes, following him into the kitchen. Her mother was sitting at the table, holding a water glass. She was still wearing her nurse’s uniform; she hadn’t even taken off her shoes. Her father leaned against the counter and crossed his arms.
“Sit down,” he said.
She pulled out a chair and took a seat. Her mind raced. “Is it Eddie? Or Frankie?” she asked.
“No, they’re fine,” her mother said.
“Two FBI agents pulled me out of work today,” her father said. “They wanted to interview me about a young man I treated last week. They think he’s a member of a Communist organization in Chinatown.”
His words were so unexpected that at first she simply stared at him, dumbfounded. Finally she said, “But why would they ask you?”
“The FBI and the immigration service are very worried about Communists.” Her mother spoke almost primly, sitting ramrod straight in her chair. She made no move to drink her water, only kept her fingers squeezed around the glass as if it were a safety railing. “When they find someone they think is a Communist, they interview that person’s acquaintances as part of the investigation.”
Her father put his hand on her mother’s shoulder briefly, pressing down. Her mother’s fingers twitched around the glass. “The agents asked me if I knew anything about this man—my patient—but I said no,” her father said. “I only knew him as a patient. And then they said that he was part of an organization that was known to harbor Communist sympathies, the Chinese American Democratic Youth League. The members call it the Man Ts’ing.”
A small shock went through her. “They’re a Communist group?”
“That’s what the agents said,” her father answered.
Lily wondered which of the boys at the picnic was her father’s patient.
“They’re leftists,” her mother said, spitting out the word as if it were dirty. “They’re young, and they don’t know what they’re doing.”
“The FBI agents said that you were seen with the Man Ts’ing,” her father said. “You and Shirley. You were seen at their headquarters and again at Golden Gate Park.”
Her mouth dropped open. “Someone saw me? It was only a picnic! I went to the picnic because—because Will Chan invited me.” The idea of Will being a Communist was ridiculous, and she almost laughed, but the expressions on her parents’ faces smothered her laughter. “Does this mean Will is in trouble? He’s not a Communist. Will Chan?”
Her father seemed to stiffen slightly.
“I think that this group, the Man Ts’ing, has someone on the inside telling the FBI these things,” her mother said.
The statement sounded like something out of a movie, and Lily gaped at her mother. “Really?”
Her mother frowned. “Lily, you need to pay more attention. You spend too much time in some kind of dream world. Fantasizing about rocket ships! You’re exactly the kind of girl they would try to recruit. You don’t notice they’re putting ideas into your head.”