Round Robin (23 page)

Anger still roiled in the pit of her stomach. “‘If our places were reversed,' she says. As if she could ever understand my place. ‘I can infer they did not part amicably.' What a joke. He abandoned us. We could have died for all he cared. If we hadn't got out before the VC took Saigon, I can't even imagine what would have happened to us. They weren't exactly kind to the children of the enemy and the women who bore them.”

She was shaking. Hot, angry tears blinded her until she couldn't read the letter anymore. Steve put his arms around her and murmured soothingly. She clung to him, and his strength bore her up until she could calm herself. She had never been so angry, so hurt, in all her life. It bewildered and alarmed her. In the back of her mind she knew the letter should not hurt so much. She should be joyful. After all these years, she had a sister, a sister who wanted to know her.

“He couldn't even write to me himself,” she whispered, stunned by how much that pained her.

“Maybe he's not able,” Steve said. “He doesn't sound like he's in the best of health. If—” He hesitated. “You might not have much longer to meet him.”

“Do you think I should?”

He stroked her cheek. “I think you should consider it very carefully and then do what you feel is best.”

His expression was so compassionate it made her heart ache. Steve loved her so much, and yet Robert Scharpelsen could not bring himself to love her even a little.

But she had two sisters and a brother.

“I wish she would have given me more information,” Judy said. She picked up the letter and scanned it, hungry for details. “I don't know how old she is, the names of her brother and sister—there's so much she doesn't say.”

“My guess is she's younger than you.”

“Oh. Well, of course, she would have to be. He was with my mother for two years before he went back to the States and remarried. Married,” she corrected herself. Her mother had considered Robert Scharpelsen her husband, but they had never officially wed.

“You're right, but that's not why I thought so. It's her style of writing. She's obviously educated. She has a solid grasp of grammar and access to a laser printer. I'd say middle class, possibly upper middle class, or aspiring to be. She's young, though, maybe in her mid to late twenties. Notice the way she uses overly formal diction sometimes and other times she sounds like an anxious teenager?” He pointed to the fourth paragraph. “‘But it is enough for me to infer that they did not part amicably' is soon followed by ‘I really want to meet you.' She's trying to be formal and dignified but her youth keeps sneaking through, probably because she's furious at her father for keeping you a secret.”

Judy stared at him. “You got all that from two sentences?”

“What can I say?” He shrugged. “I'm a writer. After you and Emily, words are my life.”

In spite of everything, Judy smiled. She hugged him to show him she was all right, then took his hand and led him back to their room. The sleep that had eluded her came quickly now that she knew what the letter said.

The following evening, Judy went to Elm Creek Manor. Ordinarily
she would have brought Emily along, but she expected to be out past her daughter's bedtime. She felt guilty for taking up Steve's writing time when it was her turn to watch their daughter, but he assured her that he'd had a productive afternoon. “She'll be going to bed soon, anyway. I can write then. Besides,” he added, smiling, “I'll be able to work better if I know you're having fun with your friends instead of worrying about the letter.”

For his sake she tried to put the worries out of her mind as she drove through the woods to Elm Creek Manor. An evening with her friends was exactly what she needed. Tonight the Elm Creek Quilters had invited a group of theater arts students from Waterford College to put on three one-act plays for their guests. Judy joined the others in taking care of the last-minute tasks before the performance. Then she took a seat with a few guests she had befriended that week and settled back to enjoy the show. Before long she lost herself in the drama onstage, but all too soon the show ended. As the delighted campers showered the actors with applause, all the worries crowded in—the letter, her siblings, her father, the voucher—forcing out thoughts of the play, of her friends, of everything but the decision she had to make.

After the students left and the quilters went upstairs to their rooms, the Elm Creek Quilters and their friends returned the ballroom to its normal state. From where she was working on the dais, Judy saw Sylvia and Andrew putting away the audience's chairs. They were talking and laughing quietly, somewhat apart from the others.

It touched Judy's heart to see Sylvia and Andrew together and happy. Maybe she was imagining things, but there seemed to be more than friendship between them. Judy had never told her so, but she admired Sylvia very much and hoped that she had indeed received the blessing of new love in her golden years. If anyone deserved that, Sylvia did. She had lost so much, and yet she had never succumbed to despair. In many ways, Sylvia reminded Judy of Tuyet.

Suddenly, an image flashed into her mind—her mother and Robert Scharpelsen, both alone again, rekindling their long-dead love. A wave of nausea swept over her.

“Judy?” Matt took her by the arm to steady her. “Are you all right?”

Judy nodded, unable to speak. No, that couldn't be what Kirsten intended. Mrs. Scharpelsen's passing was too recent, Robert's health too uncertain. Either way, Judy's mother would never consider it. She had not even wanted to read Robert's letter. To do even that would dishonor the memory of her husband.

“Judy?” Gwen said, alarmed. “Are you ill?”

The others, hearing Gwen's words, looked up. “I'm fine,” Judy assured them, but to her dismay, they began to gather around.

Carol brought her a chair and maneuvered her into it. “Could someone please get her a glass of water?” she asked, pressing a hand to Judy's brow and peering intently into her eyes. Summer nodded and ran off.

“Really, everyone, I'm fine,” Judy insisted. She almost laughed when Carol lifted her wrist and began taking her pulse, but it came out as a sob. “It's late. I'm tired, that's all. I'm not sick.”

“Let Carol be the judge of that,” Diane said.

“Have you been under stress lately?” Carol asked.

That was an understatement. “Maybe a little.”

“What's wrong?” Bonnie asked.

“Yesterday I—” Then Judy fell silent. She looked around at her friends' faces. They looked so worried, so concerned for her well-being. This wasn't how she had wanted to tell them, but with everyone watching her, expectant and anxious, she had no other choice.

She took a deep breath and told them about the letter, and as she shared her worries, she felt them lessening. She had almost finished when Summer came racing back with a glass of water. Judy thanked her and drank it, as grateful for the pause in which to collect her thoughts as for the water itself. Then she told them that she wasn't sure what to do next. Her thoughts were in such turmoil that she feared she'd never sort them out.

“Take all the time you need,” Gwen urged. “You don't have a deadline.”

“But I do,” Judy said. “Kirsten hints that he's in poor health. If I don't see him soon, I might never have the chance.”

“That's his loss,” Summer snapped. “He had all your life to see you. You don't owe him anything.”

Everyone looked at her, astonished by the sharpness in her voice. Summer, who was usually as sunny and cheerful as her name, was sparking with anger. When Gwen sighed and put an arm around her, Judy remembered that Summer, too, had never known her father.

“Summer's right,” Diane said. “He had his chance, years ago. Why is he so interested in seeing you all of a sudden? He probably needs a kidney or something. Well, I say don't give it to him.”

“Diane,” Sylvia admonished.

“War can do strange things to a man,” Andrew said. “He made some bad choices in the past; there's no denying that. Even so, maybe it's time to forgive him.”

“He doesn't deserve it,” Diane said.

Andrew shrugged. “I don't know if that's for us to decide.”

“Forgiving him and going to see him aren't the same thing,” Sarah said. “Judy could just write him a letter. If she goes to see him, that might make everything worse.”

Carol made a strangling noise in her throat and sat down on the edge of the dais, her back to them. Sarah didn't seem to notice.

Matt pulled up a chair beside Judy. “I think maybe I know a little of what you're feeling. I don't know why my mom took off when I was a kid, and I probably never will, but when I got older I finally realized it wasn't because she didn't love me. It wasn't because I wasn't good enough. Something in her just told her she wasn't ready to be a mom, to have a family.” He rested his elbows on his knees, thinking. “If she wrote to me tomorrow. . . I think I'd go see her. I think I'd like to give her the chance to make peace with me and with herself.”

Judy nodded. Some of what he said made sense to her, but other parts simply didn't fit. Unlike Matt's mother, Robert Scharpelsen must have been ready for a family or he wouldn't have raced off to Wisconsin to start one as soon as his tour of duty was over. And unlike herself, Matt had no reason to feel as if he would be rejected simply for who and what he was. Judy was
con lai,
a half-breed. Her American blood made her an outcast in the land of her birth, and her Asian heritage could earn her the same treatment from her white relatives. She didn't know much about
Robert Scharpelsen, but what she did know suggested that he probably thought of her as diseased wood to be excised from the family tree.

She was proud of who she was, but her pride did not blind her to the fact that some people considered her beneath them because of her ethnicity. Robert Scharpelsen could be one of those people. Why should she go see him so he could fling the acid of his prejudice in her face?

“Give him a chance,” Carol said, as if overhearing her thoughts. “He might surprise you. Maybe it wasn't neglect that kept him from contacting you sooner than this. Maybe it was shame. He's probably as nervous as you are, and he has just as much at stake.”

“We're forgetting something,” Agnes said. “This isn't about Judy's father, and how he feels, and what he deserves or doesn't deserve. He isn't the one who wrote to her.” She turned to Judy. “This is about your sister. She wants to see you. Don't punish her for what your father did.”

Her gaze was so imploring, so full of regret for her own missed opportunities, that Judy's anger and confusion dissipated. Her thoughts became clear for the first time all week. She knew what she had to do. It was the only possible choice and always had been.

But before she informed Kirsten that she would be accepting the invitation, she had to speak to her mother.

First she told Steve, who didn't seem surprised by her decision. “Do you want me and Emily to come with you?” he asked as they held each other in bed that night.

Judy thought of how proud she was of her family and how pleased she would be to show off her wonderful husband and her beautiful daughter. Surely, Robert would want to see his grandchild. But what if he rejected them both? Nowhere in Kirsten's letter had she written that her father looked forward to seeing Judy. Maybe he didn't want them to come.

Judy could bear his rejection; she was used to it. But she would not subject Emily to anyone's contempt.

“I think it's best if I go alone,” she told Steve.

“Maybe next time.” He shifted in bed and held her close to him. “Or maybe we can invite them out here.”

“Sure,” Judy said, though she didn't want to think about a next time. One visit, one weekend, was difficult enough. She had to survive this initial meeting before she could contemplate building a long-term relationship with her father's family. Besides, after her visit, perhaps neither side would want that.

On Saturday morning, while Emily was “helping” Steve work in the yard, Judy called her mother. Tuyet asked about Steve and Emily but said nothing of the letter. There was not even a hint of curiosity in her voice. Either she hid it well or she had truly put Robert Scharpelsen so far out of her thoughts that she honestly didn't care what he had to say.

When Judy told her who the letter's real author was, however, her mother grew excited. “I do not care about that man,” she declared, “but this, this is different. This is wonderful news. I always regretted that I did not give you a brother or sister, and now you have one.”

“I have more than one,” Judy told her, and read her the letter.

Tuyet remained silent for a long moment after Judy finished. Then she let out a heavy sigh. “What are you going to do?”

Judy had already made up her mind, but out of respect, she asked, “What do you think I should do?”

“You should cash in the voucher and use the money to come see me, instead.”

Judy erupted into peals of laughter. “Oh, Ma.” It seemed ages since she had laughed, and it felt as if iron bands compressing her chest had been released. “You know I can't do that. I'm going to return the voucher to Kirsten. We can still come visit you later this summer.”

“So you aren't going to Wisconsin. Good. That is the right decision.”

Judy hesitated. “Actually, I. . . I think I'm going to go.”

“Why would you want to do that?”

“I want to see my sister. You yourself said it's wonderful that I have a sister. What good is having a sister if I refuse to see her?”

“Write her a letter or call her on the phone.”

“I'll do that, too.” She would have to, she suddenly realized, in order to make arrangements for the visit. Nervousness stirred in her stomach. She wasn't ready to talk to Kirsten yet.