by Patti Lacy
“Enough, son of a stupid cow!” Thin Man said. “We have followed our directive.”
The shoe—Kai’s shoe—thudded to the floor. She would never wear it, never touch it again. Even if she must walk barefoot in a pig sty.
Shuffling feet and the baby’s whimpers replaced the men’s nasty words. Dare Kai breathe?
She sat up and again rubbed her cheek, which smarted from the man’s coarse hand. As the door slammed, her gaze fell on the mirror.
A new crack split Kai’s reflection in half—or perhaps she had been split in half. She pinched her arms to make sure she had not lost her mind, like the woman who lived in the mountains, ran with the wild boar, and knelt to lap water from a stream.
Mother, Father, Old Grandfather gone? How would they survive? Hot tears coursed from her eyes, her nose, and her mouth. She fell against First and Third Daughters, felt the quivery breathing bodies of her two sisters. With all her might, she clung to what remained of their family. She must fight the red tide that splashed the walls, the wardrobe, the kang, their very bodies, by crying to the fates.
With tears and pleas and promises, Kai begged that her family be rescued. The fates did not answer.
Finally the sun sank below adobe roofs and trumpeted the end of the struggle.
First Daughter rose from the bed, moved to the washbasin, and scrubbed her face. She helped Third Daughter and Kai do the same. Yet filth from the earlier events had burrowed into Kai like nasty leeches and could not be washed away.
“We will survive.” Though her face had taken on the color of ash, First Daughter spoke without wavering. “The Chang family will recover its honor.”
Kai nodded as she dried her face with her sleeve. Until she died, she would strive to fulfill Mother’s and First Daughter’s commands. The Chang sisters would blow dragon smoke on the fates until they agreed to help.
The noon-hour traffic of Cowtown disappeared in their rearview mirror when Andrew took Exit 54. Yet Gloria could leave neither China nor the images of three little girls with Joy’s delicate features, left to survive while their folks were tossed into prison. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “How long did it last?”
“They killed Old Grandfather.” Hoarseness softened the doctor’s businesslike tone. “My parents spent five years languishing in a makeshift prison in the basement of our school.”
Gloria twisted about, massaging the crick in her neck as a ruse to watch Kai, whose straight-backed dignity conflicted with a teary gaze. What grief she’s borne! I thought my childhood memories were painful.
“Being reeducated?” Andrew asked.
A bold light shone from dark eyes. “The prisoners were paraded out during lunch break so we students could humiliate them with sticks, stones . . . and slurs.”
Gloria’s hand flew to her throat. “You had to denounce your own parents?”
“Or let guards’ clubs stripe our backs.” The doctor massaged her hand. “First Daughter never relented. I did . . . once. I hit Mother . . . with a rock.” Her jaw quivered.
“You were only a child.” Andrew white-knuckled the steering wheel.
Kai strained against the seat belt as she sat up straight. “No, Reverend. When they took our parents, we became adults, even Third Daughter. Thank the fates for maturing us.” Kai’s voice became whispery. “Then hooligans smashed our windows . . . and our last semblance of normalcy. School closed. We boarded up our house, desperate to shut out what China had become.” Like a wilted flower, Kai drooped her head. “We survived by eating pillow stuffing, the braids of garlic plants, food left by kind ones. When not a crumb remained, First Daughter crept out in the dead of night to scavenge carcasses of rats, crows, whatever she could find. I scoured the yard for grasses, weeds—anything to woo a young goat so I could milk her for Third Daughter.”
Gloria massaged her churning belly. She’d never been hungry . . . except by choice.
“We had made a vow to Mother. Thank the fates, we kept it until our parents returned. Return they did.”
Gloria’s arms prickled. After what had been done to her, how could Kai trust “the fates”? With another backward glance, she searched the oval face, seeing Joy’s strong brow, Joy’s steady gaze. There was good in Joy, despite her detour into teenage wasteland. She continued to look at Kai. Lord, there’s good in this face as well. If you will use her to help my daughter, Lord, so be it.
As Andrew veered into a parking lot, Gloria heard paper rustling. Another glance backward showed Kai digging into her briefcase. Surely not more horrid reports . . .
After they parked, Kai leaned forward. She held two gifts, elaborately wrapped with metallic paper and velvet ribbons. “I would like to present you with tokens of affection from the Chang family. Perhaps these gifts will bring you fortune and please the fates.”
“Well, ah, thanks!” Andrew chortled. “We sure do appreciate that.”
“How lovely! Thank you.” Gloria’s southern upbringing brought a pat response to her lips, though she again doubted Kai’s motives for finding Joy. Still, Kai should be here. Kai was Joy’s sister, Joy’s blood. Despite Kai’s beliefs in fortune and the fates, God could use her to help Joy. Couldn’t He?
6
This may be the most important walk of my life. Make that the most important run. Clutching Lily’s file, Kai tracked the Powells’ zigzag through the parking lot. Gloria’s seeming change of heart paved the way for an alliance centered on one goal: saving Lily.
Kai stopped short. Saving Joy. For now, she must call her beloved sister, Fourth Chang Daughter, Joy. Why further confuse a troubled teenager with a new name? Why risk angering the Powells with an old name? Every word, now that Kai neared her goal of reclaiming what was lost, held great import. A slip of her tongue might prove disastrous.
The juvenile detention center, a three-story brick building, sprawled across a prairie-flat lot. Scrubby trees did little to offset windowless sterility and a profound sense of institutionalization. Kai breathed deeply to expand airways constricted by her jog, the unbearable humidity . . . and the unbearable thought of Joy being imprisoned here.
The Powells squeezed into a revolving door, their arms about each other’s waists, shoring up one another. Had they supported Joy? Then why had she wound up here?
The door’s vacuum-air hiss halted Kai’s thoughts. She slipped into the glass compartment and stepped out into a waiting room furnished with blocky module chairs and end tables. A lanky man had buried his face in a ragged copy of Field & Stream. A petite woman wearing short shorts screamed into a cell phone. Vents in the low ceiling blasted frigid air. Kai hugged her arms and stood in the middle of the room. There was nothing welcoming about the waiting area. Perhaps that was the point.
A metal clock pulsed seconds; Kai could not tear her eyes from the needle-thin rotating hand. Though she had waited years, suddenly the stretch of even a minute without seeing Joy clawed her heart. Yet she, a doctor, had been trained to wait. If she suffered so, what must this predicament be doing to Joy’s parents?
“We’re here to see our daughter, Joy.” The Powells, still embracing, stepped to a reception counter. “Joy Powell,” the reverend continued.
“ID, please.” A youthful woman wearing headphones typed their information into a computer and asked Andrew to fill out paper work. Gloria retreated to join Kai and gave her a fleeting, conciliatory smile. Did I gain her trust by sharing my history, or is the Christian God “transforming her,” as David and Cheryl would say?
“Who’s your contacting officer?” the clerk asked Reverend Powell.
“Robbins.”
“Hang on. I’ll get your JD.”
“JD?” Andrew repeated.
“Juvenile director.” The clerk never looked up, as if preoccupied with detention work. The thought of her sister in here certainly preoccupied Kai.
Andrew joined them in the center of the foyer. The three of them represented Joy’s past and present, Joy’s East and West. Surely they could prote
ct Joy. Rescue Joy. Kai battled wobbly knees and bombarding doubts. What I do not know about American teenagers—about any teenagers—fills this building.
A door adjacent to the registration desk opened. There stood a woman in uniform. “Mr. and Mrs. Powell?”
Gloria brushed Kai’s arm. “And Dr. Chang. Joy’s sister.”
“Hello. I’m Officer Ferguson.” The woman’s cool eyes flickered, surely trying to discern, with one sweep, what mismoves, misspeaks, and mishaps had brought them here. Kai wondered the same thing.
“Follow me.” Officer Ferguson stilled a creaky door. “I’ll take you to the director . . . and to your daughter.”
They tromped single file down a carpeted path through a community of cubicles, each manned with desk, phone, and computer screen. Kai’s field of vision narrowed to follow the blue blur of Gloria’s dress, yet her mind expanded to reveal the seas she had spanned, the mountains she had climbed. As she hugged Joy’s file, she begged the fates to allow her one final step—into the heart, into the soul . . . into the arms of her sister Joy.
They passed what seemed like the millionth dreary cubicle. Gloria’s imagination continued to balloon, envisioning Joy in handcuffs, Joy being harassed. How would even a minute of jail time scar her?
At the end of a dimly lit hall, a young woman stepped from a corner office and nodded, as if expecting them.
“Hey, Barton.” Officer Ferguson approached the young woman. “These are Joy Powell’s parents, Reverend and Mrs. Powell, and Joy’s sister, Dr. Chang.”
“Hi. I’m JD Barton, but just call me Nicole, like the kids do. To my face, anyway.” Nicole wore blue jeans, a camisole, and a lightweight jacket. A tied-back ponytail, funky metallic glasses, and multi-studded ears created a hip look. Not the stereotypical cop. Thank goodness.
Gloria risked a smile. Joy just might talk to, might trust Nicole.
“I saw your daughter. She’s in the back. Chatting with the AO.”
“The AO?”
“Arresting officer. Just filling out paper work. Prelims.”
“But she’s a minor. Surely you could have waited—”
Andrew’s hand-squeeze shushed Gloria’s rant. How maddening to lose control of their daughter . . . of their life.
Nicole shrugged. “We could’ve waited, but Joy told us she was nineteen. And had the ID to prove it.”
A fake ID? Gloria blinked. How? She’d rifled through Joy’s purse, backpack . . .
“So she lied,” Andrew said dully.
Again Nicole shrugged. “It’s not uncommon.”
Sweat trickled down Gloria’s back. Their home had disintegrated to the point that lying and stealing were common. Oh, God, help us. . . .
Andrew’s jaw hardened. “Uncommon or not, I assure you, it’s not acceptable. With us, anyway.”
Nicole’s smile dimpled her cheeks. “I appreciate that, I really do. I want to help y’all get to the bottom of this.”
“Thank you.” Andrew, ever cordial and gracious, managed small talk, as did Kai. Yet I can barely breathe.
They were led into an office. With a hand wave, Nicole invited them to sit around a table. “Just make yourself comfortable. Joy and Robbins should be here any minute.”
Comfortable? To keep from chewing her nails to nubs, Gloria studied a Warhol soup can poster, a bowl overflowing with chocolate of the expensive kind, a metal rack of CDs, and two computer stations. Her stomach muscles loosened enough for her to inhale, exhale. She rested her hands on the table and stared at a framed photo of the Colorado Rockies, praying that the tranquil scene would one day symbolize their family life.
“Water? Coke?” Nicole picked up a pitcher atop an ancient microwave.
Andrew nodded. “Water’s fine.”
Kai nodded. “Yes, ma’am, that is fine.”
Nothing is fine. Gloria’s face scrunched up. Tears burned her eyes. This is my fault.
“We will help her,” Kai whispered, leaning forward.
She knows what I’m thinking . . . and reacts like a saint. Gloria stifled an impulse to touch Kai’s shoulder. Hearing congregants criticize Andrew . . . and Joy . . . had perfected Gloria’s bent toward cool propriety except with a trusted handful of friends. Joy’s situation demanded change, like accepting this Chinese sister.
As Gloria leaned toward Kai, someone knocked on the door, then opened it. There stood the detective who’d come for them at the hotel. By him stood their daughter . . . or a desperately unhappy teenager, masquerading as Joy.
Something rustled in the hall. Kai tore her gaze from the attractive young policewoman and settled it on the door, which creaked open.
A young woman flanked Officer Robbins. With the help of teased purplish-red hair, she reached the policeman’s shoulder. Kai clutched at her haywire heart, noting the arch of the girl’s brows, the shape of her face. Despite grungy clothes, that hair, she was looking at Lily. Her Lily.
Kai’s mouth opened, though air neither went in nor came out. As she honed in on Father’s cheekbones, Mother’s bow lips, images from the past and present mingled. The precious little baby she had cupped in her hands while First Daughter cut the umbilical cord stood before her now.
Though Kai said not a word, her heart cried, Blow, ye winds of fate! I have withstood you! The youngest child of the Chang clan stands before me!
“Oh, God! Why are y’all here?” Smudged makeup ringed swollen, sullen eyes. Tiny feet clad in laced-tight leather boots stomped a clear message: war.
Kai’s internal chorus faded. Joy, who had invoked the name of the Christian God, who had pointed at her parents as if they were hated class enemies, was screaming for rescue. Kai’s right hand throbbed as if arthritic. Have I not come all this way to help her? To recover the stolen years? Fates, just give me the chance. . . .
A chair scraped against the floor. Gloria, a grayish cast to her skin, wobbled to her feet. “Why . . . are we here? We’re your . . . parents, Joy!” Sobs spewed from Gloria’s mouth and garbled her words. “I know I haven’t done the things I should have. I know . . .” Gloria stumbled toward her daughter, her arms extended, her face slack.
A force akin to a million volts of electricity zapped the particles of air in the room. Kai could not breathe, could not think, could do nothing except stare at flared nostrils, a mouth smeared with purplish-black lipstick, a creamy complexion marred by angry acne breakouts, hair thick as First Daughter’s but cheapened by garish dye.
Kai’s hands fell limp into her lap. The pain, the distrust, the distance in this room . . . it could slay a hundred families. If fate did not intervene, it would surely slay this fragile American mother, whose composure and gait were deteriorating.
Kai leapt to her feet. Perhaps I did not catch something earlier. With effort, she ignored Joy. “Mrs. Powell. Please sit here.” Kai guided the mother into a chair while assessing her breathing and general condition: skin pale, cool, slightly clammy; breathing normal. Kai then found Gloria’s radial pulse. Mildly tachycardic. Not surprising. Yet combined with her earlier fainting—
“Who is that?” Lily emitted the most obnoxious shriek Kai had ever heard.
As Kai stood frozen, life hovered in a state of inertia. She could not have moved . . . even with the help of the fates.
A chair—the young policewoman’s?—scraped, a sound that made Kai grind her teeth. She tried—failed—to raise her head. To be here, to see this, after so much hope, so many trials, and to know she could do nothing to help, was unbearable!
“That, my dear Joy, is your sister, who has traveled across time and space to find you.” It was the reverend, who had found his calm voice. “Her name is Dr. Chang Kai.”
It took every trial Kai had endured, every procedure she had been taught, to lift her head and meet her sister’s eyes. If my presence in any way wounds you, dear child, blood of my ancestors, may the fates strike me dead.
“My sister?” A strange lilt infused Lily’s voice. So like dear Third Daughter’s, Mother’s . .
. Lily had inherited their sense of melody!
Their eyes locked.
Waves of tenderness muddled Kai’s balance. She grabbed for the table. Stared into the eyes of that innocent baby. Eyes like her own. She wobbled toward the one she had sought.
Joy minced forward in those boots, then clicked to a stop. Indifference frosted her eyes. She cocked her head, shoved her hands in the pockets of shredded jeans. “My sister?” A glacial floe had chilled her lilt. “Why are you here now?” She threw back her shoulders. A beaded choker rattled against collarbones exposed by a low-cut top. “Where have you been all these years?”
Kai bit her lip against a torrent of words that might surge like a wave and sweep them away. Dear child, where shall I start? When Father agreed that Mother did not have to abort you? Where shall I end? One minute ago, when a glance at your face made my life worth living . . . but nearly killed me? The denim-and-lace vision that broke Kai’s heart . . . and made her whole . . . blurred into blues and whites.
The policewoman made her way to Joy and held out her hand. “I’m Nicole, the Juvenile Division officer who’ll work with y’all.”
If Joy heard, she gave no sign of it.
Nicole joined Officer Robbins, who stood by the door. “It looks like y’all could use a minute together. Take five. Maybe ten. We’ll be right over there.” Nicole pointed through the glass door. “In a waiting room.”
Joy dangled her hands. “You’re going to leave me in here with them?”
“It’s either that or book you.” Officer Robbins jingled those keys. “Fingerprints, a mug shot, the whole shebang.”
Nicole harrumphed and laid a hand on Joy’s shoulder. “You’ll be fine. Just take a minute. Straighten things out.” Gray eyes seemed to land on each of them, then settled on Joy. “We want what’s best for everyone, Joy. Especially you.”
