2 Empath (27 page)

“I know,” Zane said. “I thought of that, too.”

“My dad isn’t in danger at all, is he? He never was. All along it’s been Emilio. It’s his life she’s been trying to save.”

Zane nodded, his gaze focused on the traffic — and also, I was sure, on the lookout for any more surprise visits from Kalia.

“I wonder if she feels like it’s her fault,” I said quietly.

“Like what’s her fault?”

“That Emilio and my dad are now living within minutes of each other, and neither has any idea that they’re father and son. She must feel partly responsible for that, even if she made the best decisions she could at the time. It isn’t right that neither of them should know. At least not anymore. It needs to be fixed.”

Zane smiled at me. “I think Kalia would agree with you. I think that’s why she reached out to you in the first place.”

And I almost failed her.
I caught myself pushing my feet against the dash. We were moving at a snail’s pace. It was crazy-making. “I’m sure she’s right that finding out about my dad could help Emilio. But what is finding out about Emilio going to do to my dad?”
I tensed even more. “How can I even bring up the subject when he won’t talk about
anything
supernatural?”

“You forget,” Zane said calmly, “That Kalia has been working on that, too. I don’t know how ghosts in dreams work, but whatever you tell him, I don’t think it’s going to come as a complete shock. He’ll believe you, Kali. And he’ll come to terms with the truth — however you found out. It will be easier for him now that we understand the circumstances: the fact that there was no deception. It was just three people doing the best they could in a very difficult situation.”

I was silent a moment, thinking about how, aside from the forgotten scrap of newsprint, all traces of Emilio Lam were absent from Kalia’s memory box. I assumed that she herself had torn out the page in her yearbook — the page her boyfriend had no doubt claimed as his own. I had also assumed that if she were actually in love with someone else, she would have saved letters to remember him by. But I had been thinking about the box all wrong.

The mementos I saw were not what Kalia had collected for herself. She would have kept her yearbook and any letters Emilio had sent, certainly a last love note sent from Korea. She had no reason to hide her past from the man she married, and he had no reason to be threatened by it. But my dad was another matter.

After Kalia died, it would have been my grandfather who took on the painful task of going through her things and deciding what personal mementos should be kept for her son. It wasn’t Kalia’s box at all — it was baby Mitchell’s. And with both Emilio and Kalia gone, my grandfather had every reason to conceal the truth from the boy he was determined to raise as his own. Of course he would not have kept old love letters, and of course he would remove the troublesome page from her yearbook. He would have disposed of the obituary as well if he had noticed it, which I was sure he did not. Albin honestly believed that my father would be happier if the past remained in the past.

And he probably was. Then.

Now, things were different.

“Thank goodness,” I gushed as we reached the end of the stoplights and pulled back onto the freeway. I turned to Zane. “What would I do, by the way, without your driving me all over this rock? I owe you at least two tanks of gas. And a bunch of rides back and forth to the North Shore — as soon as my parents get a second car, anyway.” I envisioned what he would be doing now if I were still back in Cheyenne, and I felt terrible. He would be out on the water surfing, that’s what. Not dodging crazy drivers in rush hour on H1. “I’m sorry about all this,” I apologized, feeling like a drag. “You should be out at Backyards today.”

His green eyes twinkled at me. “Nah. The swell dropped to nothing overnight. Today’s worthless. But even if it wasn’t, I’d never pass up the chance to help a beautiful damsel in distress — makes for too good an ego boost.”

I smiled sadly back at him. “Kalia was beautiful, wasn’t she? I almost couldn’t believe it when I saw her in the gardens. I’ll bet Emilio and Albin weren’t the only two men to fall in love with her.”

“I wasn’t talking about Kalia.”

I blinked at him. “Oh.”

He chuckled. “You’d better watch that self-confidence thing.”

“I am self-confident!” I insisted. “But I’m
not
beautiful. You kept calling me that before, too, and I didn’t believe you then, either.”

He looked at me sideways. “Are you questioning my taste?”

“Zane!” I protested with a laugh. “I’m not beautiful. I’m flat-chested and I have a big nose. Let’s be real, here.”

“I am being real. You said Kalia was beautiful.”

“She was!”

“Her ears stuck out a bit, and her front teeth were crooked.”

I knew he was toying with me, but I took the bait anyway. “She wasn’t perfect, but she was still beautiful!”

He smirked in triumph. “And so are you. Now stop arguing and help me look for signs to Queens Hospital.”

Despite Zane’s efforts to keep my spirits up, the remainder of the journey was as excruciatingly slow as its start, and my anxiety climbed. When at last we reached the hospital and hustled inside, the mere sight of its information desk set my heart to pounding.
Had I gotten here in time?
Would he still be alive?
I snatched Zane’s hand in a death grip. “Sorry,” I squeaked, realizing what I was doing and loosening my hold a bit. “Bad flashback from Nebraska.”

He turned to me quizzically, but then his eyes softened with understanding. He reached an arm around my shoulders and hugged me to him, dropping an affectionate, impulsive kiss on the side of my head, through my hair. Though his lips never touched my skin, I could feel a searing heat, and I turned to him with surprise. “You kissed me.”

“Oh, crap!” he exclaimed, looking horrified. “I forgot. I mean
no,
I didn’t. That wasn’t a real kiss!”

I smirked. “If you say so.” His resolution was toast.

“Can I help you?” The question from the hospital volunteer brought me quickly back to reality. But I felt stronger, now. Zane was right. I could do this.

I stepped up to the desk. “We’re here to see Emilio Lam,” I said with authority. “He’s my grandfather.”

Chapter 22

We were standing outside the door to Emilio’s room when a nurse stopped us. She was a small, middle-aged woman with an interesting mix of facial features which could have been inherited from any combination of Asian, European, or Polynesian ancestors. Every time I saw a face like hers, I felt a little more at home in the islands. Her flashing dark eyes, however, were less than welcoming. “Are you here to see Mr. Lam?” she asked sharply.

“We are,” I answered, bracing myself for battle.

“What’s your relationship to him? Are you a relative?” she demanded.

“I am,” I said, my tone just as clipped.

To my surprise, the nurse responded with relief. “Well, that’s good. Maybe you can get through to him. Our hands are tied, you know. When a patient refuses treatment, there’s not a damn thing we can do — not as long as they’re of sound mind, which he obviously is. We’ve had the chaplain and social services both in to see him, but he’s having none of it. I’m glad they were able to locate you.”

“He’s… refusing treatment?” I repeated.

“From the minute he could talk,” she said with frustration. “And a fine thanks that is to the people in the ER and the ICU that saved his ungrateful—” She broke off and cleared her throat. “Listen, Miss…”

“Kali Thompson,” I supplied. “I’m his granddaughter.”

Her lips twisted. “So, he has no family, huh?” She shook her head. “Look, Miss Thompson, I don’t mean to be disrespectful of your grandfather. I’m sure he’s a fine man. But I’ve been through this before, which is why they assigned him to me. He’s suffered a huge loss, and he’s grieving. He’s angry and he doesn’t care what happens to him.
Now.
He will, in time… assuming he
gets
that time. But he’s not
going
to get it unless he pulls himself together ASAP and consents to dialysis.”

“Dialysis?” I croaked. The woman spoke quickly; I was having to work hard to take it in.

“That’s right,” she confirmed. “He’s in acute kidney failure, brought on by an overdose of acetaminophen. Other than that, he’s in great shape — better than a lot of men a decade younger, frankly. Odds are, his kidneys could heal just fine, but he’s got to have dialysis while they’re doing it. If he continues to refuse, he’s going to die. Period. Simple as that. You understand?”

I let her words sink in a moment. Then I nodded. “How long…” I began uncertainly, “I mean, how soon would…”

“He could be dead by tomorrow,” the nurse said without flinching, her dark eyes boring into mine. Then, without warning, her face softened. “That’s why I’m glad you’re here.” She opened the door for us and stepped back. “Best of luck to you.”

I gulped.

No pressure.

We stepped inside the room, and the nurse shut the door behind us. Zane squeezed my hand. “I think you should talk to him alone,” he whispered. “But I’ll be right here.”

I nodded. I let go of his hand reluctantly and moved toward the still figure in the near bed. The figure in the far bed, an obese white man in his thirties, was watching something on a laptop with his earbuds in. Both men seemed oblivious to our presence.

Emilio’s head was turned toward us on the pillow. But his eyes hadn’t moved when we entered. They were fixed on some random point in space. On nothing. Unlike the patient in the other bed, he was attached to no tubes or wires. He just lay there, staring.

I studied his face. There could be no doubt that this was the same man I had watched in mourning at Kalia’s grave. He was much older, of course, but time — if nothing else — had clearly been kind to him. The arm that lay above the blanket was still surprisingly well muscled. His skin might now be lined with age, but the healthy figure of the mature man nevertheless compared well to the gaunt, skeletal frame of the returning POW. Comparing the two, I had the fleeting thought that something about that process wasn’t quite right, but I lost it when Emilio’s eyes took a sudden dart towards me.

I hesitated only a second. Then I reached out and pulled up a chair, putting our faces level without his having to move. He looked tired. Dehydrated. Nauseous. Indifferent.

Ready to die.

“Mr. Lam,” I began, my voice sounding girlish and shaky. I steadied it. He was looking away again. “My name is Kali Thompson. I just moved here a few days ago, from the mainland. I was named for my grandmother, Kalia Haluma. She grew up in Waianae.”

His dark eyes shot back to mine. His pupils widened.

I smiled. “I’m afraid I don’t look much like her. I take after the Greeks on my mother’s side.”

His lips moved, but his mouth was obviously bone dry, and no sound came out. He seemed surprised, then irritated at the difficulty. I looked around to see a water pitcher placed close by his head. A full cup of ice water stood ready, straw in place. Had he refused to drink, as well? I grabbed the cup and lowered it down to him, and he sucked greedily at the straw. After a moment he pulled his head back, and I replaced the cup on the stand.

“You have her eyes,” he said hoarsely, smiling at me a little.

My heart warmed, and I smiled back. My eyes looked nothing whatsoever like hers, being a light gray to her dark brown, but I chose to accept the compliment anyway. “You were her high school sweetheart,” I said softly.

His brown eyes twinkled. His lips formed a small, sad smile. “I was.”

“I know the history,” I explained, not wanting him to waste any words. “I know that you were reported as killed in action, and that Kalia married someone else. By the time you got back, she had died.”

He nodded slightly. The depth of pain in his eyes was haunting.

Enough sadness!
“I came to see you today because there’s more to that whole story than you know. And I believe that Kalia would want you to know it.”

His eyes became more alert. “I’ve seen her,” he murmured.

My pulse quickened. Kalia’s spirit had been busy. “Did she say anything to you?” I asked.

He shook his head slowly. “I could see her… but a long way off. She waved for me to go back.”

“That’s because she wants you to live,” I said quickly. “And so do I.”

I leaned in closer. “Mr. Lam, what I don’t think you realize is that when you left for Korea, Kalia was already pregnant. With your child. When you were reported killed in action, Albin Thompson offered to marry her. He knew the baby was yours, but he agreed to raise it as his own.”

Emilio’s eyes widened to saucers. His breathing became rapid. I didn’t want to stress him, but if I stopped now, I knew he would only stress himself by trying to ask me more questions.

“The baby was a boy,” I continued, “and they named him Mitchell. He grew up as Mitchell Thompson, and he never had any idea that Albin wasn’t his biological father.”

Emilio’s head lifted. He shifted his shoulders awkwardly, apparently struggling to make himself more upright. Zane slipped behind me and touched some controls on the bed, and the back of it began to rise slowly, propping Emilio up. I adjusted his pillows and offered him another sip of water, which he took without argument, despite the fact that the movement had made him look even more nauseous. He struggled to speak again.

“She… she told me the baby was Albin’s… that it was born a year later…”

“Who told you that?” I asked.

“My…” his jaws clenched. “My mother.”

“I’m sorry about that,” I said, meaning it. “But I really don’t think there’s any doubt. My dad was born in February of 1954. And… well, I’ve had some DNA testing done. It’s just general ancestry stuff, not specific to individual people, but Albin was Scandinavian, and I don’t have any Scandinavian ancestry, according to the test.”

Emilio looked at me for a long time, his eyes drinking me in with awe.

I smiled at him. “I’m your granddaughter.”

His still-greenish face beamed. After another long moment, he cast a questioning glance toward Zane, who had moved back to the corner.