Reclaiming Lily (9 page)

The detective eyed his watch. “Captain’ll have my . . . um . . . I need to get back.”

The reverend’s hands steepled. “Please. I’ll just be a moment.”

Kai and the detective stepped into the hall. The detective whipped out his radio. Though the door clicked shut, murmurs seeped around the doorjamb and joined rasps, radio static, and the detective’s mutterings to claw at Kai’s nerves. She breathed deeply and exhaled. Wisdom and an eerie peace had shone from the reverend’s eyes;
wisdom, thank the fates, which hints at a decision to allow me to see Joy at the detention center
.
Wisdom that comes, according to Cheryl and David, from those strange Bible texts.

As Kai ran her finger along the edge of Lily’s file, she studied the antler chandeliers that splashed the hall with glitzy light. How strange to sacrifice an animal just to fashion a fancy fixture. But it was no stranger than the Christian belief of a god sacrificing his life for humanity. She ground her teeth together and straightened her shoulders, preparing herself to endure yet another wait, suffer another setback. She would endure anything to reclaim Lily, even if it meant humiliation, pain, a masking of self. She owed it to Mother, to Father, to her sisters, and to herself.

The odd Texan light fixtures brightened, as if a spotlight had zeroed in on Kai’s life, and she remembered times when the American Dream had not only greeted her but embraced her. Trodding the Harvard stage to claim her diploma. Stepping to the podium at a medical symposium. But none of that mattered now. Kai leaned back and let the wall support her and her doubts. Though she had achieved a modicum of success in this land, would it be enough for the Powells to entrust her with Lily’s health?

Such a void struck Kai that she thrust her hand into her jacket pocket to be comforted by her cell phone. She could call David, who was surely swamped with emergency calls, or Pamela, the MRA receptionist who had made Kai promise to leave her office, her patients—her life—behind. Thinking of the Chang strength, she lifted her chin and withdrew her hand from her pocket. She would not trouble busy colleagues and her doctor boyfriend with her little drama.

Kai released her phone, straightened her spine, and continued her battle with doubt. Could a foreigner succeed in America? In
Texas
? Would fate cede to her efforts and allow her to reclaim Lily? As the lights blinked and winked, Kai clutched Lily’s file, her fears, and waited. It was the only thing she knew. It was the only thing she could do.

Who do you think . . .
Gloria opened her mouth, then clamped it shut and ground her teeth. To keep from grabbing Andrew and shaking him, she dug her nails into her arms. She, who had never dreamed of hurting another—who had barreled out of the house screaming on that awful day nearly thirty years ago when Mommy slapped Daddy—itched to not only shake her husband but strike him! Anger climaxed as she stared into Andrew’s placid cow eyes. How dare he expose their daughter to this woman, to PKD, until they confirmed things? Why, it was downright negligent, when she’d
labored
to keep Joy safe! Not that it had worked.

A sob of frustration puffed the air. She would give her life for Joy . . . not that it had seemed to matter. As a child, Joy had expressed faith in Christ, but years had passed since she’d acknowledged the one who had given His life for her. Despite Andrew’s teachings, Gloria’s prayers and pleadings, Joy hadn’t even been baptized. . . .

“Gloria . . .” Andrew stepped near and held out his arms, offering a hug.

She jerked away, sure his touch would electrocute her. Hadn’t his complicity in this matter swelled a spark into a thousand-volt jolt?

“Fine.” Andrew’s face hardened into flint and sent a chill through Gloria, who wasn’t used to seeing fire and ice in his eyes. Andrew hadn’t glowered at her—or anyone, to her knowledge—since the cataclysm that shook their church’s foundations. “If you’re going to act like a two-year-old, I’ll treat you like one.”

Gloria’s lips trembled. Tears pooled. How could Andrew wound a heart bruised by problems with Joy and now this mysterious sister? Though she tried to will it away, a sob slipped from Gloria.
Lord, it’s too much.

Andrew stepped near. A whisper-touch wiped away her tears. “Gloria. It’s okay. Really.” His calm and sure voice soothed her emotional torrent. “How long have we begged for the Lord to help Joy? How many prayer chains have we contacted, how many counseling sessions have we attended?”

More than I can count—that’s for sure
. She shook her head, unable to talk.

“Out of the blue, seemingly, this doctor—Joy’s
sister
—calls.”

Gloria’s head hung heavy with regret.
Oh, God. I’ve been overreacting.

“She just happens to have an explanation for symptoms that Joy just happens to be having.” Andrew’s voice quivered. “She nailed it, Gloria. Were you listening?”

Gloria shook her head. She’d been too busy falling apart.

“Joy’s sent an SOS.” His voice broke. “For . . . years. We’ve failed. Maybe Kai will succeed.” A warm hand cupped her chin. “For heaven’s sake, Gloria, she’s kin!”

“A woman who
says
she’s kin,” Gloria added, though her feistiness had evaporated. How many times had she lovingly traced Joy’s proud brow, kissed her tiny bow lips? Features so like Kai’s? Though she’d tried to ignore it, her soul broadcast the truth. Kai was Joy’s sister. Perhaps God had sent her after all.

Someone rapped on the door. The sound—and her regret—propelled Gloria into Andrew’s arms. “I’m sorry. Please forgive me,” she whispered.

Andrew squeezed her hand. “We can do this. For Joy. For ourselves.” He locked her in the Spirit-fired gaze that pulled people down the aisle. “For God.”

Her earlier rudeness tolled in Gloria’s heart, as did Andrew’s reminder of God at the forefront. “With your help,” she whispered, looking at Andrew but talking to God.

The reverend darted glances in his rearview mirror. Kai gripped the backseat armrest and tried to ignore stain-splotched upholstery, the balled-up fast-food wrappers and torn magazines that cluttered the floorboards of this storage bin on wheels. How could they raise a child in such a mess?

“So . . . how do you like Boston?” the reverend asked.

Kai measured her response, eager to set the right tone. “Boston is now my home,” she managed. Did that sound patriotic . . . or elitist? The former, she hoped.

Andrew wove and maneuvered and zipped down the interstate, Kai clinging to the armrest as if it would protect her. She should have refused the Powells’ offer—the
reverend’s
offer—and accepted the policeman’s.
That would have been awkward as well. But not this awkward.

“I’m sure Boston’s nice,” the reverend continued. “But it ain’t Texas. There’s nothing like the Lone Star State.”

Mrs. Powell continued her mannequin-like ways.

Kai scrambled for a witty American colloquialism, though it was all she could do to keep her nerves from rattling like the nuts and bolts of this old clunker. Christians shouldn’t drive like
him
, shouldn’t act like
her
—should they?

Conversation died.
Thank the fates!
Kai needed clarity, as she approached this pivotal point in her life. Forget Yantai University, Harvard, Dr. Ward, and Massachusetts Renal. The fates had brought her to Lily. She must do her part.

Noisy vans, custom-painted SUVs, and enough luxury cars to build a bridge to China zoomed past on eight lanes of concrete and embankments, their sounds mingling with the grumble of thunder. During their ride, steely gray clouds had blackened and drooped and mixed with smog to canopy the bustling freeway. Kai battled a storm rising within. What friction would her presence create in Lily? She had been so sure of her plan to accumulate money, accolades, and U.S. citizenship before arranging this reunion. PKD and that PI’s report had simplified the decision . . . or had she fooled herself? Had she even the
right
to see Lily? To whom did Lily belong? China, a land ironically boasting ownership by the people? America, founded on the rights of each individual? The Powells? The Changs? Or did fate—nothing more, nothing less—own Lily?

A horn honked. The rolling storage bin darted in front of a truck. Kai clenched Joy’s file and squeezed shut her eyes. This might be the last car ride of her life.
Surely the fates won’t stop me now. Surely—

“Whew!”

Kai’s eyes gaped. Whew? More like
Thank the fates!

“Talk about close!” Chuckling, the reverend banged the steering wheel. “Sorry ’bout that.”

Kai’s heart skittered. Another second and they might have been twisted metal, burning flesh. But fate had intervened. She could trust it. She must trust it.

Mrs. Powell turned her head. Their eyes met. “Um, you’d started to tell us about the beginning of your nightmare.”

A tremor raced through Kai. What had brought the mannequin to life? She studied the profile view of a teary eye and a droopy mouth.
Most certainly my presence brings pain to Mrs. Powell
. Had Lily also inflicted pain on this woman? Kai’s hand throbbed confirmation. Gloria had not had an easy time.

“I wonder if you’d tell me . . .” Gloria bowed her head, which muffled her voice.

Kai leaned forward, wanting, needing to hear every word. Instead she heard a sob.

Kai caressed her right hand. Dared she hope this woman might understand her motives? “Mrs. Powell.” Kai tiptoed every word so as not to misstep. “I do not want to waste your time.”

A prominent chin lifted. A head turned. Bleary but determined eyes met her gaze. “It’s Gloria. Please. Call me Gloria.”

“All right. Gloria.” Kai studied the woman as she would an interesting patient. What word, what action, had disseminated the hostile wind and brought calm?

“I want to hear your story,” whooshed from Gloria. “For Joy.”

Kai leaned against the faded seat cover. Of course. The reverend had talked sense into her. She was just doing her maternal duty. Still, it was an improvement.

Gloria’s jaw tightened. “I also want to hear it for me.” Though the change was inexplicable, it could not be denied. The woman in the front seat had masked her earlier weaknesses, her earlier resentment. “Please tell us, Kai. Now.”

5

C
HINA, 1968

I have endured the worst day of my life
. Kai found First Daughter and entered the flow of noisy comrades streaming through the school gates. The stretch of blue skies and brown earth offered freedom as never before. The tight sash of earlier insults loosened to let her breathe. She arched her neck, threw back her head, and searched for dainty feathered friends. She saw only a greasy black crow.

Someone banged her shoulder and trampled her heel. Kai reached for First Daughter’s lily-petal hand.

“Let go.” First Daughter gave a steaming-teapot hiss. “Mask your feelings.”

They walked the customary way, past fields cultivated by peasants in baggy trousers and wide-brimmed hats. From his pen, Old Cousin’s speckled pig grunted a greeting. Trailing First Daughter like a stray dog, Kai trotted down alleys, past courtyards full of old men sitting in cane chairs, smoking their pipes and rattling
mah-jongg
tiles, past women using brooms to pile trash and shoo away hens. Normal village life. Or so it seemed . . .

Kai hurried into their courtyard and breathed deep of hot oil and jasmine blossoms and the hundred scents of home. Should she speak to Mother of the day’s unfortunate incidents or hide them behind—

Someone screamed. Mother. Inside their house.

Kai tripped over an invisible block of fear and nearly crashed into First Daughter.

“Don’t touch her, I tell you!” shouted Father.

Glass shattered and split a silence, awful after Father’s words.

Third Daughter wailed like a monkey gone mad. No normalcy.
Madness has followed us home!

First Daughter, her breath hot on Kai’s hair, yanked Kai around the house. They streaked past the banyan and huddled under the willow’s droopy branches. All the while, crashes and smashes and screeches joined the
boom, boom
of Kai’s heart and First Daughter’s gasps of breath to create a chaotic song.