On the morning of Loy Krathong, Noi knelt next to Kun Mere in front of the charcoal stove. Ting had left early, as usual, for the factory.

“I feel so sad that Ting isn’t with us,” Noi said. Tears stung her eyes.

Kun Mere glanced at Noi, then looked back down at the blue-and-red flames licking the burning charcoal. “She’s not as unhappy about it as you are, Noi.”

What Kun Mere said was true, Noi had to admit. Somehow she just couldn’t understand her sister.

“Don’t be too sad for Ting,” added Kun Mere.

As Noi watched the bean curd cook in a sticky sauce, she dried her cheeks with the back of her hand. She reminded herself that on Loy Krathong, prayers were more powerful. Maybe the spirits of water would listen and send Ting home. Or not. Maybe Kun Mere was right. Maybe Ting wanted to stay and earn more money.

When the house was in order, Noi examined her face in the water in the tall black jar in the bathroom. Next Loy Krathong, who would she see inside the jar? A factory worker or a painter of umbrellas?

She broke the surface of the water with the dipper, shattering her face into fragments. When she’d finished bathing, she dressed herself in a sarong decorated with the same butterflies she loved to paint. The night before, she’d pressed her festival clothes using the iron full of charcoal from the stove. She’d pressed Ting’s, too, just in case.

On the kitchen table, she packed clumps of sticky rice with thin slices of mango for the temple monks. She poured coconut milk with ground peanuts on top.

Kun Mere placed a hibiscus in Noi’s hair. Noi felt the hard stem behind her ear. She knew the flower flared open, soft lavender with white streaks, but still she felt the bite of the stem.

Kun Mere and Kun Pa walked ahead down the path through the jungle. Kun Mere wore her festival sarong and Kun Pa his good shirt with the high collar and soft loops of fabric that fastened in front.

Kun Ya and Noi followed, Kun Ya pointing out the different shades of the green leaves. “A lot of blue in that green, a little more yellow in that,” she said.

On Loy Krathong the world seemed new and gleaming, as though anything could happen. Everyone moved quickly toward the pointed spire of the glittering temple emerging through the trees.

Boys and girls slid along the stone dragons that wound down each side of the temple steps. The tiger cat leaped down from one of the dragons to greet Noi.

Noi recalled how, when they were little, she and Ting had slid down the dragons, too, sometimes tearing their clothes on the rough stone. She still felt like sliding down those dragons, but probably Ting, now that she was grown up with a job, wouldn’t find it fun.

Kriamas arrived on a tiny motorcycle, riding behind her mother and father, blowing kisses to Noi and other friends.

Under the heavy shade of giant teak trees, villagers had set up tables and spread out silver earrings, miniature Buddhas, and embroidered silk cloths on tables to sell.

Noi carried two of her coins.

She handed the first coin to a man with cages of tiny birds he’d caught in the jungle. She chose a cage and undid the hook. With a flutter, the bird darted out. As Noi watched it disappear into the sky, she pictured Ting escaping her confinement.

But perhaps Ting didn’t want that, Noi reminded herself. Instead she imagined herself flying freely like the bird, free in the jungle instead of caged in a factory.

She gave a woman the other baht in exchange for a bit of soft gold paste.

With her fingers closed over the gold, Noi climbed the steps. She slipped off her sandals and entered the temple.

A golden Buddha towered so high that his head touched the roof. Like all Thai Buddhas, he had the eyes of a deer, a chin like a mango seed, hair like a scorpion’s stingers, and hands like lotus blossoms about to open.

Standing on tiptoe, Noi just reached the top of a giant foot. She rubbed the gold from her fingertips onto one of the toes while she pictured herself standing forever in the golden sunlight of the jungle.

Surrounded by sweet-smelling, white kasalong flowers, the monks chanted the wise words of the Buddha.

Noi stood in line behind the villagers carrying bowls of fat bananas, slippery white rambutan fruits, and thick curries. Everyone placed the food before the row of monks.

After Noi offered her own dish of sticky rice and mango, she bowed low three times, then pressed her forehead to the floor and closed her eyes.

After the monks had eaten, the villagers spread out the rest of the food on mats and gathered in small groups to eat together.

“May I sit with you?” Kriamas asked.

Noi smiled and motioned toward the mat.

Kriamas settled herself, placing her plate of food in front of her. Even though Kriamas had a year and a half left of elementary school, she was already making plans for her future. “My parents talked with my aunt and uncle in Bangkok. I’ll be staying with them while I go to school.”

Noi took a long drink of water.

“You’re so quiet, Noi. Aren’t you happy for me?”

“Of course I’m happy.” Noi felt quiet because she couldn’t bring herself to talk about her future with Kriamas. Kriamas was so sure of her own destiny and so satisfied with it, while worry tore away at Noi’s heart. Sometimes her heart felt like a seed stripped of its fruit.

To shield herself from Kriamas and her questioning, Noi began to tuck some of her food into a bowl to take to Ting. The curried fish and dish of small, round Thai eggplant had been blessed by the temple monks and was now holy food that would bring good luck to whoever ate it.