Secret Shopper

by Tanya Taimanglo

  “You could have called for me.” My voice came out shriller than I expected. My parents’ house was small enough that if you called from one side of the house it was heard. “How’s your side? Did you fall hard?” I shook with anger. I had even put our board game buzzer by his bedside for him to summon someone when he needed us. Granted mom or I were typically in the room with him, but now I felt like crap for not taking my breakfast into his room.

  “I think. I’m okay.” But as dad said this to me, I pulled down his pajama pants and saw the fresh bruise. It was bright red and ran along the side of his right hip and thigh. Dad’s adult diaper had also unfastened. It was obviously full of urine. This time, dad’s pride didn’t stop me from doing my nurse duties. I heard mom’s humming and the door slammed shut.

  “Fee-nux? Yobo?” I heard her sing from the kitchen.

  “Help mom.” I kept my voice just below a panicked scream. Mom’s quick steps echoed in the hall.

  “Oh my God!” She burst the bubble and my mouth went dry.

  Mom helped me hoist my dad’s long, slender legs onto the bed. She pulled his pants down and asked me to leave.

  “I do it, Fee-nux.” I wanted to protest, but obediently left into the hall. My mom gasped at the sight of dad’s fresh bruise. Then, mom became hysterical. “Fee-nux! Oh my God! Fee-nux!”

  I bolted through the door and didn’t care if I saw all of my father, mom had thrown a blanket over my dad luckily. On the floor was dad’s drenched adult diaper, one he wore in case he couldn’t make it in time to the toilet. It was varying shades of orange and bright blood red. Not normal or healthy by any means.

  I carefully picked up the gruesome evidence of dad’s failing health and showed it to him. He twisted his head to the wall, not wanting to see.

  “Dad! This is not normal! Please, look.” He squeezed his eyes shut, like he was about to stare at the sun, but turned to look. The realization and fear in his eyes were evident. Dad had not been eating well for the last month and Lord knows what havoc the medications were wreaking on his insides. Dad had gone from a 6’3” stocky man at 200 pounds to a waifish 140 pounds. It was shocking to think that I was even within the same weight range as my dad. His muscles had gone soft and his bones jutted out everywhere. I didn’t take any pictures with my family since I had come home. I didn’t need to. Dad’s current visage would remain burned in my mind forever. I thought of Thomas just then. How did he handle his father’s deterioration? I wasn’t sure I was strong enough for this. I couldn’t lose my father, not now.

  “Yobo, you need to go doctor, go hospital, please.” My mom now joined in verbalizing what I was already thinking. I felt like I failed at caring for my dad this past week.

  “No.” Dad said defiantly.

  I brought the blood soaked diaper closer. If dad was in any pain, he wouldn’t have told us. He was so adamant about coming home. I felt tricked by the hospital, my dad, God. He wanted to come home to die I finally realized.

  “Please, dad. Let me call an ambulance. I love you too much to let this slide.” Finally, dad’s eyes softened. He reached out for my hand. Mom discarded the diaper in a plastic bag and set it aside for the paramedics if they needed it to gauge the seriousness of what I figured was an extreme bladder infection. As I held my father’s hand, my mom held the other. I dialed 911, then called my brother. I didn’t care if he was at school with the latest girl of his dreams.

  Pharaoh arrived just as the paramedics pulled into our driveway. I gave the paramedic whose name tag read Torres, a synopsis of the morning. He did indeed want to see my dad’s bloody mess. As they maneuvered my father onto the stretcher, mom grabbed her purse and followed. I told dad and mom that we would be right behind them. The other paramedic-name tag Guerrero- recognized my brother from his mixed martial arts notoriety, his attention on Pharaoh.

  “Hey, my brother, aren’t you Pharaoh Lee?” My brother’s professional name was Lee, carrying my mom’s maiden name. The medic had stars in his eyes as he saw my brother up close. I watched him assess my brother from a few feet away and the medic probably thought he could take Pharaoh.

  “Yeah.” My brother barely looked at the medic, keeping his eyes on my dad. It looked like my brother’s biggest fan wasn’t going to let up and as he began to speak again. I felt my face flush.

  “Do you freakin’ mind if we not talk about this right now?” I gestured to my father. Medic Guerrero turned his attention to me and his scrunched together eyebrows relaxed. A flicker of recognition on his face when he looked at me made my blood boil.

  “Aren’t you Phoenix Lizama? Oh, shit! Yeah, you two are brother and sister!”

  Before I could verbally pounce on the unprofessional prick, my brother turned his full frustration on the uniformed jerk. He stepped to Guerrero who seemed to take in the full massiveness of my kid brother. Pharaoh didn’t say a word, but his stare and pulsing biceps did the trick. Medic Guerrero cowered and grabbed the gurney to maneuver dad from the bedroom, finally.

  As they wheeled my father through the living room, my dad looked at me, uncertainty in his eyes, and in a strained whisper said, “I love you, my princess.”

  “I love you daddy.” I fell into my brother’s arms after the ambulance left. He didn’t say anything. But his body shook with emotion like mine.

  Pharaoh drove, silent. I called Rachel and let Pharaoh figure out what happened as I explained it to her in between sobs. Rachel cried with me, telling me she would meet me at the hospital. I begged her to stay at work and wait for my update. She finally agreed. I wanted to call Thomas too, but I didn’t want to intrude on his workday, calculating the time difference between Guam and the West Coast.

  “Nix, I’m sorry about not calling the therapist first thing.” Pharaoh’s voice was hoarse.

  “Whatever. Dad’s really sick anyway. He must have a bladder infection.”

  “Was there a lot, like bula blood?” Pharaoh shivered with disgust.

  “Yes.” I was curt, bigger things on my mind. It was an enigma that my brother was afraid of needles, hospital and blood when he pounded the guts out of guys in the cage for pure joy. Maybe it was just the blood of family members that made him quiver.

  Pharaoh caught up to the ambulance holding my father and mother, my lifeline. I stared at the vehicle, praying quietly for my dad’s recovery.

  “Sis? Are you okay?” Pharaoh rested his large hand on my shoulder.

  “No. I’m afraid, Pharaoh.”

  Within fifteen minutes, we were at the ER. My mom gripped my dad’s rolling bed, her little legs hustled to keep her near her husband. We were directed by a nurse to wait outside. Pharaoh and I kept to ourselves, although several waiting family members of other patients eyed us too much for my comfort. My brother and I had been mistaken as a couple in the past, and we were united on the front that that was extremely repulsive.

  My phone pinged. It was a text from Thomas.

  As I hang the Guam pictures in the new shop,

  I am thinking of you friend.

  Hope your dad is well. T.P.R.

  Fresh tears flowed and I really wanted to hear Thomas’s voice and his reassurances. But more importantly, I wanted to hear from the doctors that dad was fine.

  “Who’s T.P.R.?” Damn. Pharaoh had been looking over my shoulder.

  “Nosy much?” I said sarcastically, as I buried my Blackberry in my pocket, and wiped my face with a rough fast food napkin excavated from my purse. “He’s a friend.”

  “Why does he miss you so much?” Pharaoh nudged me, nearly knocking me off the concrete bench. I didn’t have to answer the rest of his inquiries since Pharaoh knew the medic who just pulled into the circular ER driveway. My brother stood and waved his friend down. A warm breeze raced up the hill lifting leaves into the air. It refreshed me and I felt hopeful. I hated sitting in the stuffy waiting room inside, even if it was air-conditioned.

  When Pharaoh returned to me, I became painfully aware that his medic buddy watched me. This was
confirmed when Pharaoh asked if I planned on dating again.

  “I told you no. Never. Why?” I already knew the answer, keeping my eyes on the ground. “We have bigger things to worry about right now.” Guam boys were relentless. You could get picked up at a funeral around here.

  “Well, my buddy over there—Vince, he went to high school with me.” I didn’t let my brother finish.

  “That’s nice for you both.” I watched the door for my mom or the doctor or someone to update us on dad’s status.

  “He’s a good guy. Younger than you, but that would make you a mini-cougar right?”

  “Is this your attempt to keep me on Guam?” I punched my brother on the arm. “Anyway, I left my heart in San Diego.” Pharaoh raised his eyebrows, comprehending. Mom appeared suddenly, her face gray, serious. We ran to her.

  “You daddy is in ICU again.” She whimpered before collapsing into our arms, sobbing. Everyone turned to look at the three of us. Pharaoh held mom up with ease and Dr. Pallid approached us tentatively.

  “Hi, Phoenix.” He nodded. I was surprised he remembered my name. He looked around, then stepped closer to us. He kept his voice to a whisper, which I appreciated. “I’m sorry. Your dad seems to be having renal failure, well kidney failure basically. We need to put him in ICU. Running more tests. At this time, he’s unresponsive and we’ve given him morphine for the pain.” In retrospect, I knew my dad was in extreme pain these past three days. He just never let on how bad it was, but I remembered his groaning in the night, my mom’s whispers of comfort. I thanked the doctor and he lingered uncertain when I started crying. We all knew where to go and like zombies we shuffled to the ICU.

  Being in the ICU was a death sentence for many patients. Dad escaped it once, but many people do not. The weary look on these families’ faces mirrored ours as we walked down the long hall. Mom was buzzed in and Pharaoh and I were asked to wait again. We sat together on the cold tile floor, the only space available. I rested my head on his shoulder and my brother and I wept quietly together.

  Chapter 16

  Funerals Suck

  “I never regarded myself as ‘Daddy’s Little Princess,’ but many of you have told me that that was how my father, Sterling Thaddeus Lizama, spoke of me. You may have known my father fondly by his nickname, Thad. I will forever miss conversations with him. His comedy, his wit, and his undying love for family didn’t just make him unique, but the combination of all these characteristics embodied in one man defined my father. His generosity and limitless love can be seen in my mother, Sun Lee Lizama. Dad’s strength and protective spirit carries on with my brother, Pharaoh. In me? Well, in me is my father’s song.” The microphone magnified my frail voice.

  My tears overwhelmed me now, reading this eulogy. I held on to the cold marble podium. The small sea of family and friends watched me patiently. I cleared my throat and took a deep breath. I fixed my eyes on my dad’s silver casket adorned with white and red roses. I sang the chorus to the Everly Brother’s song dad loved hearing me sing, All I Have to do is Dream.

  Everyone in the church melted away and my father’s smiling face filled my head. I closed my eyes and finished the song, as if I was only singing it to him. I never wanted to sing my dad’s favorite song again and the idea that I could never talk to him overwhelmed me, but I finished strong. I braced myself as I stepped down to my dad’s casket. I draped my body over it and whispered, “I love you daddy.” My mom wept loudly, and several aunts and cousins joined in. I felt naked suddenly, realizing all eyes were on me. Hearing my mother’s wail helped me regain consciousness. I had to finish the eulogy before my knees gave out. I shaky knees brought me back to the podium.

  “On behalf of my mom and brother and the rest of the Lizama and Lee families, we thank you for your support in our time of sorrow. And to dad, we love you and,” my voice broke with emotion, “daddy, I will always be your little princess.” I left the podium and fell into the arms of my family.

  My father had died two weeks into the New Year. He was 60 years old.

  Funerals on Guam are an all day affair. After nine days of evening rosaries and service of food at our home, I still didn’t want this day to end. I had made it through the mass without breaking down again. The long procession of cars were about to caravan through the Guam roads to my father’s final resting place at the Veteran’s cemetery. The church was only two miles from the cemetery, but many family and friends wanted to give their kind words as we exited the church. It wasn’t expected for everyone in attendance to follow us to the burial site. That group would be headed to the church’s social hall, where there was a catered luncheon, a never ending buffet. Immediate family and friends would dine after the actual burial.

  I had Rachel by my side and Bradley even flew in from California. It was awkward to have the Farmer family there, but Guam is so small that their attendance was expected despite the divorce. Pharaoh even put aside his anger at Bradley for the day. The solemn funeral director drove my family, Rachel and me to the cemetery. I rested my head on Rachel’s shoulder and held my mom’s hand.

  I knew Pharaoh was having a lot of guilt with dad’s passing. He wondered if he did enough to help dad. The evening dad died, Pharaoh lost it. It was hard to see him so fragile. I reassured my little brother that he did his best. It was something he would have to deal with in time, much like Thomas’s sister, Tamara.

  Thomas. God. I had left him out of all the latest developments. I could only hope he would understand. I didn’t feel that he should feel obligated to worry about me. He didn’t know my father after all. My father’s funeral should not be a reason he should return to Guam, as much as Thomas loved the island.

  Mom’s cell phone rang and shattered my thoughts of Thomas. Mom received a call from our Korean relatives who flew in from Seoul. I closed my eyes and tried to comprehend what I could of their discussion in Korean. They got lost in the shuffle of cars and needed directions.

  “Phoenix?” Rachel called to me quietly. We slinked along at ten miles an hour with about thirty cars behind our van and my dad’s hearse. It would be another fifteen minutes or so until we reached my dad’s final destination.

  “Hmm?” My eyelids were so heavy.

  “Promise me you won’t get mad.” Oh, no. I never liked it when Rachel prefaced her declarations with this comment. I opened my eyes, the sun shone brightly illuminating Rachel’s pretty face. “I know you didn’t want Thomas to know about dad’s passing, but I had to call him and at least tell him to call you. He was very persuasive and shook it out of me.” She whispered as she described another act of defiance.

  “Did he?” I was too tired to be angry or to choke my bestie. “How does one do that from 6,000 miles away and over the phone?”

  Rachel explained that she called Thomas two days ago when she saw that I was too preoccupied with arranging the funeral and handling my dad’s affairs to even mention his name. I’m not sure if I blocked him out on purpose, because he was indeed the one person I wanted to talk to during all this. He had his life in California, and for some reason I didn’t feel like I was an official part of his realm. I couldn’t imagine him flying out here, just for me. He was fervent about our friendship and yes we had some almost romantic moments, but did that define us in any other way other than friends. Were we even good friends? I was quietly relieved that he knew, but I felt guilt for not sharing this news personally. It was like I refused to blend with him, being oil in his water.

  I didn’t want Pharaoh or mom to hear our discussion about Thomas, so I patted Rachel’s leg as a promise that I wouldn’t do her more physical harm and remained silent. She kissed my cheek and whispered, “Please don’t kill me.”

  The white canopy erected over a large hole in the ground marked the spot where my dad would be buried. I swallowed hard, the ever growing lump of despair threatened to turn me into a crying ball of crazy. I had been to so many funerals in my life, but this was the first time it really mattered. This was my father. This place
in the earth, here on our island would be his final resting place. The only image I wanted of my father was not of him in his coffin, or buried in the warm soil. I wanted to imagine him always in his favorite chair, watching his favorite show and with a glass of iced tea in his reach. And my mind knew my dad was gone—in heaven, in limbo, in a parallel universe, but my heart worried that he was still suffering somehow. Was he watching us? Was he proud of me? Was it selfish for me to be relieved that he no longer suffered physical pain?

  Mom cried softly as we walked arm in arm. Being dressed in black, the island sun’s heat magnified our pain. This would be a day I would never forget. Rachel and I almost matched in our skirt and suit jackets, hers in lace and mine in linen. I twisted up my long hair and as if Rachel could read my mind, she offered me a hair clip. Irritating wisps of layered bangs floated around my face, snagging in my sunglasses.

  Our priest was already waiting under the canopy, Bible and mic in hand. I looked at the parade of cars and knew it would be at least twenty minutes before everyone else joined us. There were three rows of plastic green chairs and we sat in the front row as expected. Mom produced several oriental hand fans from her purse and Rachel fanned us both and I offered Pharaoh some relief. He was sweating even in his stiff white shirt, and he wouldn’t be caught dead holding the little fan adorned with cranes and cherry blossoms.

  I watched each car and noted the people I recognized. Bradley and his parents arrived. There were a few “aunts and uncles” I didn’t quite recognize, and it dawned on me that I didn’t have my dad around now to point out who to pay respects to.

  Towards the end of the line of cars was a blue Prius, exactly like Thomas’s. For a second I thought that it was realistic for him to have had the time to fly to Guam. Albeit, his last minute ticket purchase would have been astronomical at two thousand bucks, but why would his car be here? I pointed at the car and told Rachel, “Look, Thomas made it. Maybe his little Prius transforms into a fast going submarine.”