Chapter 1

Family Ghosts

I, Anne Nguyen, believe in ghosts. Not the kind of ghosts that hide in dark corners and yell boo! Not scary ghosts, but family ghosts.

Dad and Mom say we Vietnamese believe the spirits of our family, our ancestors, stay with us after they pass away. They hear our prayers. They watch out for us.

My Grandma Nội died in early spring but we still remember her. Today is the new moon, the day each month we make offerings on her altar. It’s my job as the eldest child (I’m nine!) to clean the altar set up in our dining room. As I wipe down the framed picture of Grandma Nội’s smiling face, I smile. I look forward to offering days. They make me feel closer to her.

On the altar, there are three ceramic bowls of jasmine rice, three cups of black tea, barbecue pork, kale salad, lasagna, apples, and oranges. We invite the ancestors to share in our meal.

My seven-year-old sister Elizabeth brings out the chopsticks and I line them up neatly next to the bowls.

Anne, with long hair, in the foreground, wiping the photo of grandma Noi that is set up at the shrine. Elizabeth, with short hair, stands behind the shrine with chopsticks held up high. Jacob, climbs over the back of the couch. Their mom holds a plate of cookies near Anne, and their dad holds Jacob's shirtsleeve to keep him from falling. Everyone is smiling.

“You’re super helpful, Liz. Thanks!”

She grins at me. Attention makes her light up.

“I miss her,” Liz whispers.

I hug Liz. “Me too.”

Grandma Nội came to all my ballet shows. She brought my favorite flowers, pink carnations. She slipped me guava candies when Mom and Dad weren’t looking.

I loved when she put both her hands on my face. The green jade bangle she wore was cold and smooth along my chin.

Mom sets out chocolate chip cookies on the altar. “We are ready.”

I rearrange the cookie platter. Everyone in my family knows I like things super nice and neat.

I look over at my six-year-old brother playing on the couch. “Jacob, no more messes. We’re having dinner soon.”

“Not yet! Grandma Nội eats first,” he replies without looking up from his small building blocks.

I shake my head. Jacob may be spoiled as the baby of the family, but he pays attention.

Anne with the lit joss stick praying. A little smoke rises from the stick.

Dad takes out five joss sticks, long and skinny incense, and lights them. He hands one to each of us—me, Liz, Jacob, and Mom.

Dad closes his eyes. He begins to whisper his prayers, like the rest of the family. It sounds half English and half Vietnamese. I only know a few Vietnamese words.

I hold the joss stick with both hands and close my eyes. I cough as the flowery smell fills my nose and reaches down my throat.

I say very softly, “Hi, Grandma Nội. It’s me, Anne. We went on vacation to Vancouver to visit Mom’s family. I can’t believe grade four starts in a couple weeks. Mrs. Smith’s invitation-only ballet class starts the middle of September too! This is going to be a super-great year. I miss you.”