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When they were 9 years old, almost every time Scott visited, they would play dominoes, each shaped like a little figure, hollow-eyed and wide-mouthed. Scott would line the figures in the order of colors. With a click of Mavis’ finger, the dominoes would clatter down, forming the shape of a crisscross on Sundays, an egg on Easter, or a piece of cake on Mavis’ birthday.

“Dominoes is always a lost cause. You spend time to build it, but in the end, all falls down and you cannot stop it—totally vain effort.” On her birthday, Mavis, still in thought after a bitter scolding of her mother, commented solemnly, “My mother’s life fell like dominoes. So did my birthday cake today. I’m the trigger. I wonder what would be next. Is it my life?”

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