Tiger Girl (23 page)

The phone rang, the loud
br-r-ring
startling me.

It was Anita. “Don't panic, honey. It's going to be okay.”

“What happened?”

“I don't want you to get upset now. We don't want that. That's why I waited to call you—”

“Waited to tell me what? What's going on?”

“Your uncle's going to be fine. I've been talking to the doctors—”

“Anita, what happened?!” I tried to keep my voice calm and level, but her coyness was maddening. I was squeezing the receiver so hard that I wouldn't have been surprised if it had broken in two.

“Your uncle's had a small heart attack.”

“Oh, my god.”

Paul and Arun were staring at me now.

“It's okay, it's—”

“It's not okay if he's had a heart attack! Which hospital? Where are you?”

I took down the name and address, then hung up. I turned to Paul. “Your car's here, right? You've got to drive us to Sacred Heart. Right now. Uncle's had a heart attack.”

Paul was calmer than I would have expected. “It's going to be okay. The critical part is getting to the hospital in time.”

I didn't ask him how he knew that, how he was suddenly an expert. All I could think of was Uncle working around the
clock, popping his Sudafed, drinking all that caffeine, chewing the Nicorette. I should have seen this coming. I should have guessed this would come to a bad end. If he died, Ma would never forgive me. She'd think I caused it. She'd think I stressed him out.

And maybe she would be right. I was the one who thought the donut shop needed more business. Maybe I was stupid. Maybe I was wrong. Why did I have to come and confront him, make him remember the past, make him remember me?

My guilty thoughts circled round and round like a ring of smoke, all my good intentions like so many ashes. I couldn't concentrate on what Arun was saying in the car. Something about her father being a doctor. She remembered something something something. I watched the raindrops slide down the windshield and listened to the squeak of the wipers, while my heart went
boomboomboom
in my chest.

If Uncle died, it would be all my fault.

In the hospital, I had to spell his name three times and then give his American name before the woman at the registration computer finally found him in Intensive Care. They said we couldn't all go up, and I said that we were his children. The nurse looked us over, squinting. At first I was afraid she'd say we didn't look like siblings, or, worse, that she'd make us offer proof, but in the end she just nodded, buzzed us through the security door, and told us that the elevator was down the hall and to the left.

We wandered through a maze of white hallways under flickering fluorescent lights, past white walls the color of mourning, of death, of ghosts. All I could think was that I'd waited too long. I'd come all this way to see my father, to ask him why he hadn't wanted me as a daughter anymore, and I'd
foolishly wasted all this time. I should have said to him straight up, first thing off the bus, I'm sorry I didn't recognize you at first, can you tell me what you remember about our family?

As we stepped out of the elevator, I saw Anita talking to a nurse at the far end of the hall. She looked wan and tired, but she wasn't crying, and she wasn't distraught. I took that as a good sign. I figured she'd look worse if Uncle wasn't going to make it.

“Anita!” I called. She turned and, seeing us, smiled in her friendly, easy, hippie way, but her eyes remained tense—only the corners of her lips turned up.

“Your uncle's resting,” she told me. “They've got him on tranquilizers, blood thinner, and something to reduce the fever. He's going to be okay. He's tough. It's called unstable angina. A mild heart attack. Not much damage to the heart.”

“Can we see him?”

The nurse looked at us. “Only immediate family.”

“Oh, they're immediate family all right,” Anita said, and the nurse let us follow her into his room.

“Don't talk very much. He's very tired,” the nurse warned.

Holding my breath, I walked past the ugly white curtain hanging around his bed. I steeled myself, but I heard Paul inhale sharply beside me.

Uncle looked tiny and very weak lying on the flat white bed, the guardrails up to keep him in place, plastic tubes attached to his nostrils, IVs in both arms.

“Father!” Paul flung himself on his knees beside Uncle's bed and burst into tears.

Great, I thought. “Don't stress him out,” I hissed.

But Uncle smiled and nodded, patting Paul on the back of his head with the hand that wasn't attached to the oxygen monitor.

“My son, my son,” he said.

“Father, I'm here!” Paul cried.

“I know,” Uncle whispered.

Arun wiped tears from the corners of her eyes and squeezed my arm tightly. She said, “I remember Paul's father. When I was a child, I was in awe of him. Everyone else looked up to him. I always thought of him as a giant. I thought he was six feet tall.”

Paul was sniffling. I saw a tissue box on a table at the far end of the room, next to the dispenser of latex gloves and the needle disposal box with the orange “HAZARDOUS” sign on it. I grabbed some tissues and handed them to Paul. Then Uncle grabbed hold of my hand. He held me tightly. I leaned closer to him, but I couldn't make out what he was trying to say. His lips opened and shut, but no sound emerged.

The nurse came over. “You'd all better leave now. He needs his rest.”

“We'll be back soon, James,” Anita kissed her fingers and touched them to Uncle's cheek.

Arun helped Paul, who was still crying, stand up.

I patted Uncle's hand with my free hand and he released his grip, not in a scary, final kind of way, but in a tired, I-need-to-rest way. He smacked his lips together again and I realized he was thirsty. There was a plastic pitcher of water on the stand by the bed. I swabbed his mouth out with a tiny sponge on a stick, and he seemed more content. His eyes were shut and he sank into his pillow.

The heart monitor beeped steadily, the green line marking his heart rate as strong.

I leaned over him. “It's me. It's Channary. I'm back,” I whispered in Khmer.

His eyelids fluttered briefly, but he didn't answer.

I turned and left with the others.

The hospital cafeteria was still halfheartedly decorated for Christmas. Red and green garlands were draped over the salad bar like an overgrowth of mold; an artificial tree listed in the corner, burdened with a few colored balls and a strand of broken lights; the strings of popcorn looked likely to attract rats. Construction-paper angels were taped to the walls. Children had written their wishes for gifts in their crooked halos. I read a few of the requests: Power Ranger, Princess Barbie, a gun.

We gathered up our molded plastic trays and let the cafeteria ladies slop mashed potatoes and grayish meat topped with murky vegetables onto our plates, then found a table amidst all the families huddled over their grim meals.

The general atmosphere could not have been more depressing, but I felt giddy, buoyant, as though I'd plunged off a cliff only to be miraculously saved from hitting bottom. Uncle had survived, and he looked better than I'd expected. He'd wanted to hold my hand. And he hadn't seemed fazed to meet Arun. Of course, he was heavily medicated, but still. At this moment, things were looking up.

“Before he's released, we should tell the doctors that Uncle works too hard. He isn't getting any sleep. He won't listen to us, but he might listen to them if they tell him to take it easy.” I wrote a checklist in my mind of things we should tell the doctors. Like all the uppers he took in a given day.

No one else seemed to share my sense of urgency. Paul was pushing the gloppy mashed potatoes around on his tray glumly, Arun picked at the dry turkey, Anita wasn't eating at all.

“So, Anita, what was Uncle doing before the heart attack? Was he volunteering at the church again? Had he picked up anything heavy? Were there any signs?” Everyone was probably still in shock, but I knew if we didn't tell the doctors these things, Uncle never would.

“Oh, I knew it was serious. He was just covered in sweat, couldn't move, it wasn't like him to complain.” Anita pressed her lips together and nodded. “Thank god I only live ten minutes from the hospital. Less than ten minutes. If the ambulance hadn't come right away, I would have driven him myself.”

Paul leaned forward. “What exactly was my father doing with you?”

The sharpness to Paul's tone made me look up from my tray. Anita was blushing a deep scarlet.

“Uncle's a workaholic, Paul,” I said. “Don't blame Anita. It's not her fault. He was this way even in Nebraska.”

“I'm not blaming anybody,” Paul said through gritted teeth. “I just think I have a right to know what's going on with my father.”

I didn't like his possessiveness. “You were the one who just disappeared without telling Uncle where you were going. He was worried about
you
. That was a lot of stress on him!”

“Are you blaming me now?” Paul smirked. “That's funny.”

“Don't fight, please.” Anita pressed her palms together.

“She's right,” said Arun. “You both are worried. No need to argue.”

Anita sighed. I thought she was going to try to brush off our questions, change the subject, but she surprised me.

“I have a confession. He didn't want you to know, but it's going to come up. You're his family after all. I don't want to
keep secrets from you.” She paused, rubbing the tattoo on her forearm. Then she plunged ahead, “We were at my place. I'd wanted him to wait out the storm. Then one thing led to another. You know how these things go. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, until suddenly he changed color. Turned dark red. He said he couldn't breathe.” Anita turned her flaming cheeks toward the wall. “He was embarrassed, he didn't want me to call an ambulance, but I told him they've seen worse.”

Arun and Paul exchanged glances. Arun smiled slyly. Paul looked away. He looked embarrassed, and a little angry.

Then I realized what the blush meant. Uncle had been with Anita, as in making love with Anita. I felt the heat rising to my cheeks. I tried to push the thought of them together out of my mind, but now it was all I could think of.

It dawned on me that Uncle hadn't been working around the clock, supervising the bakers every night, as I had thought. The Kasim sisters were capable of supervising any of the new refugees they were training. All this time Uncle had been going over to Anita's place. He just hadn't wanted to tell me. “Oh, my god,” I said aloud.

Anita blushed even deeper. Paul shook his head as though he wished he could shake the idea out of his ears. I didn't know what to say anymore. I pressed my Coke to the side of my face, something to soothe my burning cheeks.

A terrible thought came to me. Had Anita and Uncle been seeing each other when Auntie was alive? I'd seen Ma kiss Uncle once in the kitchen when I was eleven. I think Auntie had known that Ma had fallen in love with him. Auntie couldn't love him anymore, but she was still possessive. She hadn't wanted any woman to replace her. I had been naive to think Uncle could have turned off his heart just because he moved away from Ma, just because Auntie had turned off hers. I should have known there would be another woman.

I tipped some ice into my mouth and chewed on the cubes, concentrating on the burn inside my cheeks. I crunched down on the ice, letting the sensation of cold seep into my blood.

It was Arun who broke the uncomfortable silence that had settled over the table.

“We haven't been introduced.” Arun offered a hand to Anita. “I've known the family since I was a child. Paul and I were best friends in elementary school in Phnom Penh. I'm Arun Chey.”

“Anita Powell. Nice to meet you.” Anita shook Arun's hand gratefully. “What a reunion this month is turning out to be! First Nea, then Paul, now you.” She smiled warmly. “So do you remember Nea?”

“I didn't know any Nea. Paul told me she was Sourdi's sister.” Arun turned to me, eyeing me carefully. “Funny thing is, you don't look like Sourdi. I remember her. She wore her hair in two long braids, like this.” Arun gestured down her back gracefully. “But you look just like Auntie Sopheam. Isn't it funny, Paul? Your cousin looks just like your mother.”

I swallowed.

“I would have guessed you were Channary if I hadn't known better,” said Arun.

I stood up abruptly. No one had called me by that name since I was four.

“You sure remember a lot about our family,” I said, my mouth dry, my throat constricting.

“Are you all right, Nea?” Anita asked.

“I'm thirsty. I'm going to get a refill of my Coke.” I grabbed my plastic cup and headed to the soda dispenser, my back to the table so that no one would be able to read my face.

I didn't know why it scared me to hear Arun speak about the past, my past, a past I couldn't remember. I hadn't imagined that someone else on this earth might recognize me for
the person I'd once been, for a member of the family I'd once been part of.

I filled my soda glass, but when I tried to drink, the liquid tasted like bile on my tongue. I dumped the soda out and filled my glass with water and ice and pressed it to the side of my face.

When I returned to our table, everyone was laughing. Arun's cheerful banter had set them at ease. The past seemed a more comfortable subject for them. Only I was terrified.

“Nea, I remember your aunt very well,” Arun said. “She was a very nice lady. Very beautiful. The most elegant manners. She invited me to go along with the family to see the royal ballet at the palace. I'll never forget this experience. All the perfect little dancers like angels. And your aunt like a queen herself, dressed in a silk gown. People turned to stare at her, she was that beautiful. I felt so proud sitting next to her. I would have given anything to have seen her again.”