by Leslie Gould
“She loves me,” Gen said, taking the baby. “Your English is so good. Where did you learn it?”
“School. I study English. I practice whenever I can.”
“Is that your husband?” Gen asked, nodding at the man talking to Binh.
The young woman giggled. “Boyfriend. We’re both studying at the university.”
Dad asked about persecution.
Pastor Tam seemed uncomfortable for a moment and said softly, “Yes. Many have suffered.”
The older woman with the bracelets walked toward them again and then stopped. She wore Western pants, a tailored blouse, and high heels. She probably wants to talk to Pastor Tam. Gen smiled at her. A middle-aged man approached the woman and struck up a conversation.
“Did you know any missionaries here during the war?” Gen’s father’s voice sounded serious.
Pastor Tam shook his head. “I came to know Christ twenty years ago in an underground church here in the city.”
Gen lifted Mai to her shoulder. Binh wiggled out of his grandfather’s arms and tugged on the diaper bag hanging on Gen’s shoulder.
“I’d like to stay in touch,” her father said.
Pastor Tam pulled a card out of his shirt pocket and handed it to her dad, who tucked it inside his wallet. The pastor bowed slightly Binh tugged on the diaper bag again, and Mai began to fuss.
Pastor Tam said good-bye and then turned toward the older woman with the bracelets and the man talking with her.
Gen’s father lifted Binh into his arms and started toward the door; Gen followed and then stopped. The woman waved her hand, her bracelets jangling as they fell toward her elbow.
“Mr. Hauer,” Pastor Tam called out, “this sister knew missionaries here years ago.”
Gen glanced ahead at her father. Had he heard? He turned, his body framed in the doorway, his face lost in the light of the noon sun.
“Mr. Hauer?” The older woman moved toward them. “Marshall Hauer?”
“Yes,” he said, stepping back into the church with a befuddled look on his face.
How did this woman know Dad’s name? Her father walked past Gen, and she followed.
The woman moved toward them quickly. “I’m Kim Long.”
“Pleased to meet you,” he said, shifting Binh to his left arm and extending his hand to the woman.
Bow, Dad. Wait. Kim? Could it be?
“Mom’s friend Kim?” Gen stammered.
“Yes.”
The three adults stood for a moment in a silent circle, the children between them. Time stopped, then lurched forward as Kim let go of Dad’s hand and reached for Gen’s. “You look so much like your mother. I kept staring during the service and then afterward. I was afraid I was hallucinating.”
The small woman wrapped her arms around Gen and Mai. Gen hadn’t even dreamed to ask God for this. All those years she had prayed for Kim. She began to cry. Now God had given her this. She felt Mom’s love, God’s love, Kim’s love. She pulled away and wiped her tears on Mai’s flannel spit rag. She smiled at Kim and saw that she was crying too. She offered her the cloth. They both laughed. Kim took it and dabbed at her tears. The young woman and man took Binh and Mai. Pastor Tam pulled several chairs together, and they sat down.
“I worked with Mr. Hauer’s wife, Sally, in a leprosarium in the early sixties,” Kim said to the pastor.
Gen reached for her father’s hand. He sat perfectly still.
“Sister Kim is one of our most faithful,” Pastor Tam said. “She tirelessly serves the orphans, widows, and poor.”
“It’s because of Sally. After she died, I decided to stay in Vietnam to do what I could for my people. Mr. Hauer, did you get my letters?”
Dad shook his head.
“I wrote to let you know that I prayed for you and Genni and Nhat every day.” Kim folded her hands together, and the bracelets chimed against each other on her wrists. “And I wanted you to have as many details as you could about the accident.”
“Details?” Gen asked.
“I was waiting for a flight out. I was there right after the crash. I’m a nurse.”
Gen nodded.
“You remember that.” Kim took a deep breath. “I helped care for the wounded. I came across your mother’s body after it was pulled from the wreck. She still held a baby in her arms. They both died. It’s unbelievable that she held on to that little one through the crash.”
Gen squeezed her father’s hand and reached out and put her other hand on Kim’s arm.
“How is Nhat?” Kim asked.
“He went to another family.” He stared at the floor.
“I’m so sorry,” Kim said.
Gen tried to smile. Oh, Dad. We were so brokenhearted about Mom, so sad about Nhat, but we had no idea what we lost when you let him go. She couldn’t bear to lose Binh. Oh, God, I’ll do whatever it takes, whatever you want me to do, but I trust you with him.
“For years I felt it was my fault that Sally died.” Kim folded her hands in her lap.
Gen shook her head.
“No,” her father said, “of course it wasn’t.”
“I know that,” Kim said. “Still it was hard to accept.”
“But you continued on. You were faithful.” Gen’s voice faltered. “You trusted God.”
“So did you,” Kim answered. “And now you’ve come to give these children a future.” Kim glanced behind her at Binh and Mai and then turned back. “Sally’s death will always be a catastrophe, yet we can see the good that God has worked in spite of such a tragedy.”
And we know that all things work together for good to those who love God. That was the verse Gen had resented all these years. Yet she could see the good that God was working. Kim was right; the good didn’t obliterate the loss of her mom. It simply meant that God was greater than the tragedy, than the loss of a mother.
What now? She didn’t want to leave Kim. Gen asked about her work. Kim talked about her job in a pediatric unit and her trips to orphanages and clinics throughout Vietnam. She often assisted American doctors, many veterans, who returned for short stays to do surgeries on children with cleft palates and other disabilities. She had never married but had several nieces and nephews who lived nearby.
Binh ran toward them and pulled a pouch of fruit snacks from the diaper bag. He offered one to each of the adults.
“Cam on,” Kim said to Binh. He smiled and patted her hand.
Gen told Kim about Jeff and the cherry orchard, about her work as a teacher. Her father spoke about his church. He relaxed as he talked. “I never dreamed I would travel to Vietnam.”
“I’m glad you are here.” Kim paused for a moment and added, “Is there anything I can do for you?”
Gen thought for a moment. “Do you ever go to Vung Tau?”
“No, but I could.”
“If I wired you money, could you take it to Mai and Binh’s birth mom? And then let us know how she’s doing? Tell her I think about her every day. Each time I take a photo of the children I think of her. Every time I look into their faces, I see her face.”
Kim took a card from her purse. “Wire it to this address.” She pointed to the card. “This is my e-mail. Send me the woman’s name and where she lives.”
“There’s one more thing you can do for me, for us.” Gen took Kim’s card. “Binh’s adoption is being investigated. We don’t know for sure if he’ll be ours. Would you pray for us?”
Kim squeezed Gen’s hand. Her eyes sparkled. “It is my privilege to pray for you and your children.”
Mai began to fuss. The young woman handed her back to Gen again. Binh followed and patted the baby’s head.
“I remember your mother told me that she named you Genevieve because the name meant peace,” Kim said.
Gen and Dad shared a smile.
“Did you know that ‘Binh’ means peace?”
“Really?” Gen said. Why hadn’t she looked it up or asked someone what “Binh” meant? Especially after having found out that “Mai�
� meant cherry blossom.
“Yes,” Kim said, “peace. Finally we have found peace.”
That afternoon as they crossed the street to go to lunch, Gen took to heart that the drivers of the cars and motorbikes weren’t after her and her family, that they weren’t really trying to run them down. They were simply getting from point A to point B. And, besides, they were the same kind people who helped her with the children in the shops and restaurants. She held up her head and walked quickly, taking in the sounds of the horns and engines, thankful they weren’t racing through a downpour.
Her father began to laugh as they reached the other side. Binh held his grandfather’s hand and parroted the laughter, throwing back his head.
“Dad, what is it?”
“I was thinking that adoption is like crossing the street in Vietnam. You have to push forward, merge, and trust that you’ll get to the other side even when seemingly random and very large objects are speeding toward you.”
Gen nodded. Adoption was like that. So was life. Her life had merged with Lan’s and now with Kim’s. Soon, Lan and Kim would meet too. She smiled and turned her head toward the blue, blue sky. Work good in Lan’s life, she prayed. Bring her hope. Bring her peace.
The phone rang as Gen locked the door behind her. They were headed to the hotel restaurant for breakfast and then to the market so her dad could do some shopping. She quickly unlocked the door and hurried back in, juggling her umbrella. It had been raining since sunrise.
Maybe it was Jeff. She had talked with him once since he had arrived home; she had told him about Mr. Tran being the children’s uncle and wanting to adopt Binh. Somehow Jeff remained optimistic and unflappable. She both longed and hated to hear him say, “Everything will work out.” He told her that José and Marta had arrived, that harvest was under way, that his father would be released from the hospital soon, and that Janet had flown in from Texas.
Now Gen longed to tell him about yesterday’s meeting with Kim. “Hello!” she said into the receiver, a little out of breath.
“This is Mr. Davis with the United States INS. May I speak with Mr. or Mrs. Taylor?” the voice said.
“This is Mrs. Taylor.” She braced herself, wishing Jeff was with her.
“I wanted to inform you that I have completed the investigation into the adoption of Tran Van Binh.” He paused.
“And?”
“It’s been approved.”
Approved? Gen wanted to hug the man through the phone. “Thank you,” she said. “Thank you!”
“It’s been a most remarkable case,” the inspector said. “I was afraid it wasn’t going to come out in your favor. I had my doubts, even after Mr. Tran … removed himself from the case. But I found no evidence of any ill motives or wrongdoing.”
“Thank you,” Gen said again, counting off the days. She would call Bao, have him set up the appointment for the physical, hopefully for the afternoon, and then they would apply for the passport the next day and go to the U.S. Consulate on Wednesday morning. They could fly out by Thursday.
She said good-bye to Mr. Davis and hung up. For a second she thought of the Gordons. She would call before they left; she would e-mail them once they were home; she would keep them in her prayers. She would call Kim, too, and share the good news.
Gen picked up the receiver again and began dialing Jeff’s cell number. She didn’t care how much the call would cost.
Chapter 48
Lan stood on the sweltering beach, her head turned toward the sky. High above, a jet headed north, flying far away. Que ta volonté soit faite, sur la terre comme au ciel. Thy will be done, she prayed, on earth as it is in heaven. She shifted her eyes down. In the distance, Hang walked slowly through the waves. Mother had rented a chair and sat back on the beach, ready to nap.
A man approached Hang. He wore tan trousers and a white, short-sleeved shirt. Lan strained against the bright sun as she watched Hang laugh and walk toward him. The man laughed too. Older Brother. It had been so many years since she had seen him out of uniform. Why wasn’t he in Hanoi? He walked toward her.
“Why are you still here?” she called out, trying to keep her voice even. “I thought you were in Hanoi.” She searched his face for a sign. Did he know she’d told the United States INS officer that he was her brother?
“I was delayed. I ended up going back to Ho Chi Minh City to clear up some business.”
“Hang, go check on your grandmother.” Lan motioned her head toward Mother. Hang glanced at her uncle and then walked away.
“How are you?” Quan raised his dark brows.
“Sad.” She paused. “I told INS that I am your sister.” The words shook as they fell from her mouth.
“I know,” Older Brother said. “I tried to find Mr. Davis here in Vung Tau after the last time I saw you. When I couldn’t find him, I went back to the city.” Older Brother chuckled. “Mr. Davis returned that afternoon, and I talked with him then. I told him that I had wanted to adopt Binh but then changed my mind.”
“Thank you,” Lan said.
“I saw Sister, too.”
“How is she?” Lan asked.
“Discouraged. She leaves tomorrow. Actually, she’s being deported.”
Lan swallowed hard. She didn’t want to cry in front of Brother. That was the last thing she wanted. It was just that she’d lost so much at once, again; it felt like the end of the war, like when Chinh had left.
“Did you see Binh and Mai?”
“No. The staff at the hotel told me that Mrs. Taylor’s father came to help her with the children. They said that they are all well.”
Binh and Mai had grandfathers. She liked that. “What else did you find out from the staff?”
“That Mrs. Taylor is relieved the investigation is over, and she’ll soon be going home with the children.”
Lan turned and started to walk back toward Mother. Merci, Père, she prayed. Still, sadness overcame her.
“Lan, I’m sorry,” Older Brother said.
“Sorry?” To say one was sorry was to lose face. She bowed her head. Why would Older Brother say he was sorry?
He stopped walking. “Do you remember when we were children, when we came here?”
Lan nodded.
“We were so happy then. I think that’s why Mother chose to move to Vung Tau after the war. Because of that one week. Remember Second Brother? Remember how much he loved the ocean, how he always smiled? Even Father was happy that week. And you. I remember you wearing a little pair of sunglasses and filling a pink bucket with water and sand.”
Lan nodded again.
“That’s why I’m sorry. I’m sorry for the way life turned out, for all of us. I’m sorry you could never have the family you deserved. I’m sorry this has all been so hard.” He stood with his hands at his side.
“Its not your fault.” Had she forgiven him? He had been so young, so idealistic, so unaware of how his neglect affected their lives.
He faced the ocean. “Some of it is my fault. I shouldn’t have turned my back on you and Mother after you were in the hospital. I didn’t protect you. I could have cared for you. Your life would have been different.”
“You didn’t know. You were young.” She reached for him with her scarred hand. They stood quietly. “Take us out to dinner before you leave,” Lan finally said. “It would mean so much to Mother for us to be together for one last meal.”
They walked around a fishing net spread across the sand, waiting to be mended. Mother waved as they approached. Hang gazed past her mother and uncle; Lan followed Hang’s gaze out to the jade-colored ocean.
“I’ll help with Mother,” Quan said softly. “I’ll send money for her medicine and cash for her to spend.”
Mother stood. Older Brother bowed his head.
Lan longed to lose herself in the roar of the warm water behind her, in the crashing waves, in the salty smell of the sea. Instead she took Hang’s hand and headed up the sand dune to Older Brothers waiting car.
Gen and
her father locked eyes over Binh as their plane took off from Tan Son Nhut Airport. She had never felt so close to her dad. She knew they both held on to her mother for just a moment. Good-bye. Thank you. The sprawl of Saigon turned into emerald green rice fields that met the baby blue sky. Then in no time the landscape fell away as drifts of clouds covered the plane like a soft blanket.
Binh kept Gen awake from Saigon to Seoul and then from Seoul to Los Angeles, thrashing around in the seat beside her. He pulled on his ear several times in his sleep and whimpered. Gen had planned to take him to the doctor in a day or two; now she would call as soon as they arrived home. Mai slept in the bassinet in front of Gen. She kissed the children as they landed in L.A. Thanks to the new adoption laws, all it took for them to become U.S. citizens was to land on U.S. soil. They would just need to file the paperwork to make it all official. Joy and sadness welled up inside her—the loss of their country, the loss of Lan, the gain of security. The paradox of adoption.
Her father took care of both children on the last leg to Portland, insisting that she sleep.
“We’re about to land.” He gently touched her shoulder from across the aisle. She opened one eye. He held Mai in his arms. Binh slept on the seat beside his grandfather.
“Thanks,” she said, sitting up straight. She could see Mount Hood through the window for half a second as the plane began to descend.
A half hour later she pulled the carry-on bag from overhead, slung the backpack over her shoulder, and then took Mai. “Go first,” Gen said to her father as he lifted his grandson into his arms. She couldn’t wait for Binh to see Jeff. She followed her son and her father off the plane, up the warm Jet-way, and through the open door. Binh lifted his head from his grandfather’s shoulder.
“Ba!” There was Jeff holding out his strong arms. Binh flew into them, followed by Gen and the baby. They were home. They were safe.
“Thank you,” Jeff said to his father-in-law over Gen’s head. Sharon, Jake, Janet, and Aunt Marie all gathered around the family.
Gen began to cry. Jeff pulled her face to his. They were finally home.
