The Reeducation of Cherry Truong (36 page)

Her father looked at Cherry. “Do you know how much money he has left?”

Cherry shrugged, her gaze scouring the kitchen floor, dust bunnies gathering in the corners. Only Lum knew how much. Last week, their father found another requested credit card application—triggering another interrogation, another blowout—which ended with their mother crying and their father dramatically tearing up the Visa envelope. Lum didn't even flinch. Her father rarely came home in time to pick up the mail, and Cherry suspected Lum was hiding other cards.

“Why don't you know this?” Cherry's mother pressed, now eager to turn on her. “You're his sister.”

“You could ask him, too,” she pointed out, but her voice felt weak. It always did when she tried to argue with her mother.

“He's destroying his credit,” her father said. “Who knows if he's tapped into our cards as well—”

“This isn't about you,” her mother interrupted. “I don't care about our credit.”

“If you want to keep your house, you will.”

They stared each other down. Cherry slunk away from the kitchen, leaving her parents to what they did best: yell at each other, blame each other.

“Where are you going?” her mother asked, following Cherry to the staircase. “Do you think you're too busy to help your family?”

“I'm getting my bag,” Cherry said, her hand reaching for the stair rail, trying not to cringe as her mother moved toward her.

“Leave her alone,” her father said. “She doesn't know anything.”

Her mother spun around. “She's so devoted to her own studies, she has no time to help her brother.” She turned back to Cherry. “Have you forgotten how Lum took care of you?”

“Daddy,” she pleaded, walking up the stairs.

“Ignore Mommy,” he said.

Safely behind her door, Cherry turned the stereo back on, and softly, deeply exhaled. She no longer cared if she made it to the history group on time.

“Do you think you're so much better than him?” her mother bellowed through the closed door. “Better than us?”

Instead of responding, Cherry twisted up the volume. But there was not enough music, no decibel level to match her mother's rage.

*   *   *

For so long they all wanted to believe Lum, especially their mother: it was just a game, a hobby. But over the last two years, he'd grown sloppy, tired of concealing something he was proud of. If his grades weren't that great, so what? The president's honor roll didn't offer the rewards of a royal flush.

Lum had flunked out of his classes and the junior college had placed him on academic probation. Instead of trying to salvage his GPA by making up his failed courses, Lum took the summer off and worked full-time at the flower shop. Their father didn't even ask if he wanted to go to France. He claimed he didn't want his relatives to see what had become of his son. Lum asked if that was why he and their mother had stopped going years earlier.

Perhaps it wouldn't have mattered if Lum were actually as good as he believed. But he'd grown cocky, finding more games around town, taking trips with his friends to Vegas, and his losing streaks grew far more frequent than his wins. Eventually, any money he'd earned from playing dried up. He started borrowing, first from Huy and Johnny, then from these new friends he was making at these parties. He even asked Cherry.

Lum promised the loans would only last a short while—to earn back his losses. Cherry's college savings halved, then quartered, until hardly anything remained. Cherry couldn't believe she'd just let it happen. When the bank statement arrived in the mail, their parents read the pathetic balance.

While their father threatened to kick him out of the house, their mother sprinkled Gamblers Anonymous brochures around the house, and clipped articles on gambling addictions to tape to the refrigerator and Lum's bedroom door. She even invited a priest home one night for dinner, a recent refugee from Vietnam. At the dinner table, their mother reminded Lum that he was baptized as a baby, and could still be redeemed. Cherry concentrated on chewing her food, too embarrassed to even look in the direction of poor, clueless Father Tung. Lum skipped out early that night, saying he was meeting up with Quynh for dessert. They all knew where he was going.

“What can I do?” her mother asked Father Tung, ignoring her husband's stern, exasperated looks. “I'll do anything.”

“You can pray for him,” Father Tung said. “You all can.”

“And he'll get better?” her mother said, fiercely gazing at their dinner guest. “Can you swear on your savior?”

He didn't answer, struggling to swallow the last shreds of pork stuck in his throat.

Her mother sat back after a minute of silence, looking disgusted. “Then what good is your God?”

*   *   *

Walking to the school parking lot, Cherry spotted Lum's car in the fire lane. His blinkers were not turned on. She looked behind to see if anyone from her project group was around. Not that they knew anything about her brother.

“Sorry,” Lum said, a sheepish smile on his face when Cherry opened the passenger door, a gush of air-conditioning greeting her. “At least I remembered to pick you up.”

“Thanks,” she said, falling into the bucket seat, slamming the door hard.

“I called home when I realized,” he said.

“What were you doing, anyway?” she asked. “I didn't think you had to work today.”

“I was with Dat.”

“Dat?”

“He knows a good poker club in Tustin.”

“Oh, yeah?” Cherry asked, pulling out her sunglasses from the front pocket of her backpack.

“It's not what you think,” he said. “College students play poker, too. This is a good one. Lots of rich boy investors. That's why the returns are so big.”

“Since when does he want to help you out?”

“I think he's serious,” Lum said, pulling off his hat and laying it on the dashboard. His hair was growing long, hanging over his eyes.

Dat had heard that Lum was out of money and wanted to offer him a deal. Dat would bankroll Lum in this new poker club in exchange for playing under his supervision. When Lum asked why he wanted to help, Dat said he didn't want Lum's gambling to ruin their family's name. If Lum listened to his advice, he could use the cash advance to earn his way out of debt.

“What happens next?” Cherry asked.

“What do you mean?”

“When you go through his money and can't pay him back?”

“I didn't tell you this so you could shit on me,” Lum said, his upper lip curling. “I know this is my last chance.”

“Or you could stop right now, and work it off,” she reminded him. “Mom and Dad said they'd help.”

“I don't want their money.”

“You'll pay them back, like any other responsible person would. You don't need to break the law.”

“You sound like Dad,” Lum said. “Do you know how long that would take? You want me to work like a slave like Mom and Dad have all these years. And for what?”

Cherry glared at her brother. “You mean the house that they love?”

“The bank owns the house,” Lum said. “In one hand, I could make enough to earn out my loans and clear three months of their mortgage payments.”

“When was the last time you won?” she asked.

His arrogant, self-assured smile faded. His eyes resumed the frostiness she'd grown to despise over the last two years.

“There used to be a time when I didn't have to convince you to believe in me,” Lum said.

She exhaled sharply, straightening her shoulders. “Maybe I'm growing up.”

“No,” Lum said. “That's not it.”

They looked out of their respective windows, silent, the rest of the ride home.

*   *   *

Dat's offer was not news to Cherry. A week earlier, her cousin and Grandmother Vo had dropped by the house in the middle of the day. Only Cherry was home. At first, the visit appeared impulsive, since Grandmother's physician had relocated to a clinic in Irvine, and she often liked to stop by the house unexpectedly. The three of them sat in the living room, Grandmother in Sanh's suede chair, Cherry and her cousin on opposite ends of the sofa, sipping on the jasmine tea Cherry had taken as long as possible to prepare.

“Do you want me to call my mother?” Cherry asked. “She's not supposed to be home until five.”

“We came to visit you, child,” her grandmother said.

They looked at her expectantly. “For what?” she asked.

“Your brother,” she said, sighing loudly, wrapping her spearmint-colored scarf around her wrist, once, twice. “What else would I be talking about?”

Since Cherry and Lum's parents had proven incapable, Grandmother felt obliged to clean up the family's reputation.

Cherry sat silently as they outlined their plan. Dat found a poker club, a circuit populated by wealthy undergrads from the local UCs and small colleges like Chapman. The club held their games after hours at a popular tea shop in Westminster. The club typically lured college kids in, allowed them to win for a while, then slowly but surely, leeched their winnings, and eventually their bank account balances, away.

A fixed game wasn't a shocking system. Cherry was sure Lum had seen it done before, maybe even participated in a scam or two himself. But Grandmother and Dat were counting on Lum's ego to do him in. When he was gambling, he believed he was smarter than any system, any person. He thought he could beat the house, a gambling addict's fatal flaw.

Dat met one of the club's members, Thinh, through a classmate. Dat would pay Thinh on the side to make sure Lum didn't win. Lum would run up a large enough debt that Dat would then claim to be unable to cover. When Lum couldn't pony up the money, the house would scare Lum out of ever playing in Orange County again.

“How are they going to scare him?” Cherry asked.

“They're not allowed to touch him,” Grandmother Vo said, explaining that part of Thinh's payment included protection for Lum.

“And you just believe them?”

“They're getting paid for it,” Grandmother said. “These boys aren't stupid when it comes to money.” She overturned her teacup, indicating she needed a refill.

In the kitchen, waiting for the teakettle to boil, Cherry listened to her cousin and grandmother chat about her doctor's appointment earlier that day.

Some people may have been surprised that grandmothers were capable of saying such things, concocting such schemes. But Grandmother Vo, if you believed the rumors, ran a black-market operation with some American officers in Saigon (
How do you think she could afford that house as a widow?
Linh once reminded Cherry). There were plenty of Little Saigon business owners who either worshipped or despised her, depending on how much money they owed her. As she talked, she sipped on her tea, adjusting her scarf. Blackmail, extortion, she spoke about these actions as naturally as she complained about the weather or her heart condition.

“Why are you telling me this?” Cherry asked, returning with the teapot.

“I knew you'd be suspicious of Dat offering to help your brother,” Grandmother said. “You're a smart girl, smarter than your mother. The only way to help him is to scare him straight. He needs us. He needs you.”

Cherry shot them a doubtful look as she poured their tea. “What am I supposed to do?”

“This plan to rescue your brother is delicate, with a lot of my money at stake. If you suspect that Lum is catching on, you must tell Dat.”

“Not you?” Cherry asked.

“Dat is now responsible,” Grandmother said, sitting back into the sofa cushion. “I only provide the funds. I want nothing more to do with it. I have enough to worry about with my failing health.” She wheezed into her scarf.

“What if I say no?” Cherry asked, crossing her arms.

Grandmother looked unimpressed. “You're not stupid, child. I know you. We have sat by and watched Lum humiliate our family for far too long. But this is no longer about family honor. When gamblers become desperate, they will turn to anyone for cash. That is dangerous.”

“He wouldn't do that.”

“Are you kidding?” Dat cried. “He probably already has.”

“Dat,” Grandmother warned. “We are all on the same side here.”

Her cousin shook his head at Cherry. “I don't understand you,” Dat said. “Don't you want him to be better?”

“Of course she does,” Grandmother said. “She loves her brother. She knows this is best for him.”

Cherry bristled. This was not her brother. The night before, after realizing her ATM card was missing, and after searching the house for it, she had confronted him. He hadn't even looked apologetic. The Lum she knew would have recognized the hurt in her face and would have wanted to fix it, because he once loved her, and once cared about what she thought. He was no longer that person. Cherry was tired of defending him, tired of being disappointed in him, tired of being angry, tired of being tired. Grandmother and Dat were merely speeding things along to their logical, inevitable conclusion. In losing everything, Lum could finally be her brother again.

“Okay,” Cherry said.

*   *   *

Once Dat introduced Lum to the new poker club, they became inseparable. These two boys who wanted nothing to do with each other as children now called each other on the phone every night. Cherry would come home from school and find Dat, Lum, and Quynh watching a movie or eating takeout in the family room.

This new friendship became the family's preferred topic of conversation. Dat's parents loudly worried about the possible corruption of their precious firstborn, while Cherry's mother hoped some of Dat's strong work ethic could rub off on Lum.

Inexplicably, the plan seemed to be working. From what Dat told her in discreet phone calls, they were settling in at the new poker club—a few wins to keep Lum interested, enough losses to rack up a reliable debt. With new funding, Lum's confidence had returned: he whistled throughout the house, cheerily chatting on the phone to Quynh or Dat, saying nothing to Cherry; he was still sore over his sister's lack of faith in him. She longed to fast forward to the next stage of the scheme, when the lucky hands, Grandmother's money, and her brother's smug smirks would dry up for good.