I return to the dining room. Oma is still deep in conversation with Werner.

Eva makes her way up to me. “Are you and your mom going to stay in Last Chance?”

I shake my head. “School’s going to start soon, and we really should go home.”

She squeezes my arm. “I’m going to miss you, Maizy.”

“I’m going to miss you, too, Eva.”

Logan is circulating, making sure everyone has enough food. Mom is being gracious, accepting the kind words that keep coming at her. I pull her aside and reach into the fishing vest. “From Opa,” I tell her.

She trembles when she reads the fortune out loud. “ ‘Charlotte, you are the best daughter a man could have. You make me proud.’ ”

That day Opa asked me to bring the typewriter home, we wrote fortunes together. He said that I should pass them out when the time was right.

“When is that?” I asked.

“You’ll know,” he said.

The Noisy Family is silent with awe when Werner does tricks using Opa’s playing cards. The mood in the room has slowly turned from funeral to festive and people begin to share their stories about Opa and the Golden Palace. When the Last Chance locals hear about the Lucky 8, everyone wants to talk to them. It’s like they’re celebrities. Soon people are swapping stories about when and how their own ancestors came to America.

Lady Beth and Marty Woo both claim to recognize each other from decades ago. He’s sharing photos of his great-grandchildren. Lady Beth is smiling, something I’m not used to seeing. It looks good on her. She invites his entire family to her house, and he accepts.

Just like that, the world has turned upside down.

I slip Werner a fortune cookie. I’m afraid he may start to cry again, but instead he releases a big, boisterous laugh like I’ve never heard before.

His fortune reads: So what if I cheated at poker? Just try to get your money back now!

“Is it going to be strange here without him?” I ask my grandmother.

Oma is quietly observing the celebration.

“It already is.” Her voice is sad and happy at the same time. “Running the Golden Palace together was the longest honeymoon in history.”

I place something in her hand.

Despite everything, my grandfather had always hoped he’d get well. Still, Opa dictated a fortune for his bride, “just in case.”

Oma cradles the foil-wrapped cookie.

“From Opa,” I tell her.

“Opa?” When she reads the fortune, I can’t tell if she is laughing or crying, or both. “That silly old man. I could never stay mad at him.”

Sweet and sour.

Yin and yang.

Oma uses Opa’s handkerchief and dabs her tears. Her fortune reads:

Aloha to the love of my life.

You can cry now.

Later, I make my way around the Golden Palace and pass out more cookies. Love, live, laugh, and eat Chinese food! they say—a quote from my grandfather, of course.

When the basket is empty, I feel empty, too. I reach into my pocket to steady myself. Among the poker chips is something unfamiliar. I open the velvet box and stare at the fancy gold key. Tears begin to flow. Opa must have slipped it into the fishing vest. But when? How?

Inscribed inside the box are these words: The key to Last Chance, Minnesota, presented to Lucky Chen on his 100th birthday.