by C. L. Hoang
“Hello,” she says—as I freeze. “Hello? Who is this?”
I swallow hard. “Lan. It’s Roger Connors. How are you?”
There’s a momentary pause, quickly followed by a cheerful “Good morning, Dr. Connors.”
“Roger, please. I hope I didn’t pick a bad time to call.”
“Not at all. Your timing is perfect. I just got home from my doctor’s appointment.”
It’s my turn to pause.
“Is . . . everything all right?” I catch myself. “Sorry, I don’t mean to—”
“No, no. Everything’s fine. How about you?”
I take a deep breath, then plunge ahead. “I’ve read Lee Anne’s letters. The ones in the package you brought me. I wish you had said something to me, you know, when you were here yesterday. I would’ve loved to have spent more time with you and gotten to know you better.”
Big silence. I cringe. “I’m sorry. Maybe I can call back another time when it’s more convenient to talk?”
“No, no. It’s okay. I’m home alone. I—I just need a minute, please.”
A shuffling sound, like she’s sitting down. I hear her exhale softly.
“Sorry about that. I just didn’t expect to hear from you so soon.” Her voice sounds breathy as she hastens to add, “I mean, I didn’t know what to expect, truthfully. But I’m so excited you called.” She chuckles nervously, clears her throat before continuing. “I apologize I didn’t tell you everything yesterday. There was so much to explain. I thought you might want to hear the story straight from Mom—as told in her letter, that is.”
My heart skips a beat. It’s no longer “Auntie Liên.” Just plain, sweet “Mom” now.
“You mentioned she passed away last year. I didn’t even ask when.”
“A year ago, in July.” There’s an added tremor to Lan’s voice. “It was a Sunday afternoon. She passed very peacefully in our home. Both Sơn and I were by her side.”
She pauses, as if realizing she has just brought him into the conversation. Then, hesitantly, she resumes. “Nobody knew at the time what your situation was. So Mom had asked us and all her friends not to disturb you with her news. Then after the funeral, my husband and I just had no mind to do anything, least of all reopen the past. It was only recently I decided to start looking into all this. Dr. Connors—Roger, may I—may I be completely open with you?”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way. What’s on your mind?”
“I hope you forgive my clumsy handling of things. Sơn doesn’t really know I’ve come to see you. I kind of did it on my own, with Uncle Dean and Auntie Elise’s help.”
My heart sinks. I draw a blank, not knowing how to respond to the new disclosure.
Her voice grows softer, almost pleading. “I love my husband very much. There’s nothing I want more than to see him fulfilled and happy. As an orphan growing up, I missed my parents terribly, so I’ve always felt it would be a shame if Sơn went through life without getting to know you. I do believe deep down he would welcome a chance to connect with you. He’s just terrified of—what your reaction might be.”
“So you wanted to protect him.”
“I—I only wished to make sure he wouldn’t get hurt. When Uncle Dean and Auntie Elise told me you now lived alone a hundred miles south of us and they were trying to meet with you, I begged to tag along. It seemed like a perfect chance to honor my promise to Mom and deliver her package to you in person. And should nothing come of it afterward, well then, Sơn wouldn’t even have to know about it.”
Her voice drops to an apologetic whisper. “I’m sorry I wasn’t straightforward with you. It was never my intention to be deceitful, or disrespectful—”
“No, Lan, I don’t blame you a bit. It makes perfect sense why you did what you did.” In a low voice, I ask, “If you’re not busy now, can you tell me a little about Sơn?”
There’s an instantaneous smile in her voice. “Where do I start? When I first saw you, I was struck by how much you two look alike. His hair and complexion are darker than yours, but the resemblance is unmistakable. I know now what he’ll look like in thirty years! Mom maintained he also has your temperament and your brains, though she thought he’s quieter than you. Most people wouldn’t have guessed this about Sơn, seeing how he’s always been a city person and all, but he loves the outdoors, the mountains in particular, and he takes me backpacking in the Sierra every chance we get. And at the risk of sounding ridiculously partial, I’ve got to tell you also that he’s the most wonderful husband, but most important, a good, decent man with a big heart. I can go on and on about him all day long, if you have the time.”
My heart thumping with excitement, I seize on the opening. “Better yet, how about we all get together soon. This weekend maybe? I’d love to invite the two of you to my place. Or I can drive up to Orange County, whatever’s more convenient for you.”
I sense her hesitation, ever so slight, and immediately reproach myself for moving too fast.
“I haven’t had a chance to discuss any of this with Sơn,” says Lan with a hint of a sigh. “He hasn’t broached the subject since Mom brought it up before she passed away. But I’ll talk to him tonight after he gets home from work. I promise.” Thoughtfully, she adds, “And Roger, I’ll be sure to let him know you really want to see him.”
Before I can thank her, she has spontaneously arrived at the next decision. “Let’s go ahead and tentatively plan on Saturday for Sơn and I to come visit you, if you’re free that morning. But I’ll jot down your number . . . in case it doesn’t work out.”
Without being asked a second time, I hurry to give her my phone number. “Thank you, Lan,” I mumble in a daze, still not believing it’s really happening. “I can’t wait to see you and Sơn this weekend.”
Never before have I meant anything more sincerely.
And never have I wanted something so badly yet dreaded it at the same time.
I get up before sunrise on the big day.
The early morning stillness feels wonderful. To my relief, the phone never rang once all day and all evening Friday, and that’s an auspicious sign that nothing has changed. Our planned get-together is still on for later.
By the time my coffee is ready, the birds are raising a ruckus in the pepper trees by the patio, but I’m much too excited to sit back and enjoy the scene at leisure. Already wide awake, I barrel through my morning routine so that by seven o’clock I’m all scrubbed and dressed, ready and anxious to welcome my expected guests.
Slowly, the hours tick on by, with no sign of visitors.
I can hear occasional passing cars on the street out front, but not a sound of one pulling up to curbside. Doubtful thoughts race through my mind, and I fight in vain to turn them away. As I check the clock for the umpteenth time, the shrill ring of the telephone shatters the silence, making me jump from my chair.
I pause for a deep breath before reaching for the receiver. “Hello,” I say, struggling to keep my voice calm even as I’m telling myself, That’s it. He’s not coming.
“Roger. Did I wake you?”
I drop my head and force a polite smile. “Hi, Lan. You guys can’t make it today?”
There’s a brief silence on the other end, and then, “Roger, it’s your neighbor, Margaret. I’m calling to invite you over for a lunch barbecue later this morning. My boyfriend Buster is handling the grill.” She goes on sweetly in that little-girl voice of hers, which I have mistaken for Lan’s. “Nothing fancy. Chicken, hot dogs, and corn on the cob. It’ll be just you, Dottie, Buster, and me. You don’t want to miss Dottie’s delicious lemon meringue pie.”
I shut my eyes, suppressing a big exhale. “Thank you, Margaret, but I’m expecting company any minute now. In fact, I thought this was her calling from the road.”
A pause, then she recovers with aplomb. “You’re welcome to bring your lady friend wi
th you. The more the merrier. And we’ll all get to meet her, too.”
I shake my head wearily. Oh, dear. Not now, please. But I manage to control my voice. “It’s a couple I’m waiting for, actually. And we’ve made plans already, I’m sorry. But thanks again, Margaret. It’s very nice of you all for thinking of me.”
Replacing the receiver, I’m about to go sneak a peek out the front window when I hear a hesitant knock on the door, like a question hanging in the air.
They’re here. This time there can’t be any confusion.
My feet are glued to the floor, even as my heart sets off on a gallop. The big moment I’ve been anxiously awaiting—it’s here. Upon me.
And then panic sets in. I mustn’t keep them waiting, or they might give up and leave. Mouth dry and jaws tightened, breathing harder and faster by the second, I fight off the jitters and scurry to the door. My clammy hand fumbles for the knob. It finally turns, and the door creaks open.
It’s been impossible for me to imagine what a moment such as this would feel like. But nothing could have prepared me for the eerie feeling of staring into the mirror of time and gazing at my own ghost from years past.
Standing erect on the patio before my unblinking eyes is a younger version of myself. Thirty years of age, dark-complexioned, with a solemn expression, much as I must have appeared to my family upon returning from Việt-Nam in summer 1968.
For endless seconds we stand awestruck, face-to-face, peering in disbelief at the flesh-and-blood incarnation of our respective past and future. Then a flash of recognition lights up his handsome young face. In that moment, our hearts know with final certainty.
We are bound together for all time by inseverable ties.
“Hello,” he utters in a hoarse voice, his upper lip dappled with perspiration. “I am—”
“Yes, I know.” I smile and rush across the threshold, my hand extended.
Everything I’ve practiced in my mind for this precise moment—it’s all gone by the wayside. Nothing I can say or do seems appropriate enough.
He reaches out and accepts my offered hand. This first physical contact between us sends a jolt through my body. I take another clumsy step toward him, gently pull him closer to me, and wrap my arm around his shoulders.
He tenses up but doesn’t resist. And then, ever so lightly, his free hand comes to rest on my back. All at once the fences come crashing down.
Shedding all inhibitions, I throw both arms around my boy and hug him—for the first time in our lives. As his arms in turn close around me, swells of emotions ripple through me like never before. A sense of joyful pride and loving tenderness, infused with the most acute feelings of nostalgia and regret. In my mind’s eye, I’m holding the lonely young boy who so yearned for his unknown father. And yet, even as I clutch his shivering body in my arms, it strikes me with immense sadness that they aren’t nearly big enough to soothe away all the despair and heartache of his solitary youth.
“I’m sorry, son. I really am . . .” I whisper in his ear, unable to continue.
His grip tightens around me, his shoulders heaving in silent struggle. Swept together by unleashed emotions from three decades, in danger of losing our last shred of control, we hang on to each other. An old man and his grown son.
It is a while before we break apart.
I step back, take another good look at my boy, then grasp him by the shoulders again.
“Welcome . . . welcome home, son,” I say.
Simple, magical words that fill my heart with wonder and gratitude.
They are the traditional greeting among Việt-Nam veterans, but somehow they seem natural and appropriate in this instance. As much as any of us who served over there, if not more in some aspects, Sơn has been a victim of this wicked war, a “veteran” witness of all its horrors and bloodshed as well as its devastating aftermath.
The fact that he made it through and has found his way to me is nothing short of a miracle.
It suddenly dawns on me. “Where’s Lan? Didn’t she come with you?”
He scratches his head and gives me a shy, crooked smile reminiscent of Lee Anne’s. “She wanted to give me a few minutes with you first. I’ll run get her now.”
His voice is warm and measured, with a faint trace of Lee Anne’s Vietnamese accent. My eyes also catch the familiar-looking Rolex Oyster on his wrist. The watch I’d left behind.
He turns to go, then stops, looks back at me with gleaming eyes. “I’m really sorry I didn’t come sooner,” he blurts out, blushing in the ears like a guilty kid. Before I can react, he has slipped out of sight around the corner.
My head is still buzzing from his words when I hear their footsteps hurrying back.
What appears next before me takes my breath away. Slowing down as they approach the patio, with her arm looped around his like a happy new bride hanging on to her prince, is Lan. Beautiful, smiling Lan, dressed in that dazzling yellow-silk áo dài that captured my heart years ago. Instantly, I’m back at the Tết flower market on Nguyễn-Huệ Boulevard with Lee Anne.
Her soft hand touches mine. “Are you all right . . . Dad? May I call you that?”
I reach out, wrap her in my arms, which she reciprocates warmly.
Eventually, we regain our composure. Lan sidles back next to her husband, and my heart brims with joy at the lovely sight of the two together.
“This gown belonged to Mom, but she said she only wore it a couple of times many years ago,” says Lan as she smoothes down the front flap with the exquisite chrysanthemum design embroidered on it. “I admired it so much Mom wanted me to have it. I had it refitted to wear at our wedding.” Clutching Sơn’s hand and lowering her gaze, she adds, with color rising on her cheeks, “You weren’t at the wedding, so I thought I’d put it on for today’s special occasion. Before I grow too big for it.”
There are no words. All I can do is smile.
“You look wonderful in it, sweetheart,” I say, recovering at last. “It fits you to a tee.”
She glances up at Sơn with a cryptic smile, and together they step closer to me.
“We’ve got something to share with you, Dad. We want you to be the first to know,” she announces sheepishly, though beaming with uncontainable excitement. “We . . . Sơn and I . . . we are expecting our first baby.”
I can only imagine the stunned look on my face because Lan has to repeat the news again, this time more slowly to allow it to sink in. “You’re going to be a grandfather, Dad.”
Sơn follows up in earnest, his face bright with expectation, an excited tremor in his voice, “We’re so thrilled for the baby, that it will get to meet Ông Nội—Grandpa—when it arrives.”
Without warning, from some deep cracks in the hardened soil of my soul, tears spring up and roll down my cheeks before I can blink them back.
All these years . . . the emptiness . . . the incessant longing for that mysterious something.
And then, like the mulberry field of old that emerged from the bottom of the sea, this huge missing part of my life has miraculously surfaced, with surprises beyond my wildest dreams.
I stagger forward, my arms wide open. We all come together in a tight hug circle.
“When . . .?” I finally manage. “How long have you known?”
“The other day when you called, I had just gotten confirmation from my doctor.” Lan can’t stop smiling even as she’s dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief. “I was still in shock and hadn’t had a chance to tell Sơn yet.”
“How far along are you? When’s the big date?” The questions roll off my tongue before I stop short and tap myself on the forehead. “Forgive your old man’s manners, letting you stand out here all this time. Come on in, both of you. We’ve got a lot of catching up to do. I don’t want to miss a single detail.”
Tenderly, I put my arms around their shoulders and guide them toward t
he door.
As we’re heading in, I catch something out of the corner of my eye.
The morning sun is just coming around to bathe the walkway in a pool of golden light, and for one split second, I glimpse a ribbon of sunlight flitting around the corner—like the front flap of a white áo dài fluttering in the breeze.
A wonderful peace descends over me. A lightness I haven’t known ever before.
Epilogue
San Diego, Labor Day Weekend, 1999
To my (yet unborn) grandchild,
My dear little one, I’m not sure what sweet nickname to call you since we don’t yet know if you’re a boy or a girl and your ecstatic parents seem determined to keep it a surprise until you actually arrive. Not that it makes any difference one way or the other. You’re going to be as cute as a bunny all the same, and we already love you more than you’ll probably be able to stand it. It’s just that Grandpa can’t wait to cradle you in his arms, and short of that, I only wish I could visualize you better while sitting here writing to you.
Let me start this letter by saying I’d love nothing more than to stick around a while longer to welcome you into this world and watch you grow up. But that decision, my sweet child, is not entirely up to me. To be clear, I’m doing everything in my power to tilt the outcome in our favor. The Monday after I learned the fabulous news of you, I called my doctor and asked him to set me up at once for whatever course of treatment he deemed necessary to combat my lung cancer and make me well again. Kind Dr. Graham reassured me the chances of success are excellent in my current condition, but I’ve learned long ago that on these matters only time will tell.
So just in case I might be gone before you come to us, I want to make sure I say hello to the newest and cutest member of our clan and tell you how much Ông Nội loves you—how much I am going to miss being here with you. It’s what prompted me to start this note. If on the other hand, luck is on my side and I do get to hold you at your moment of birth, this can still serve as a reminder of Grandpa’s love for you, when I’m no longer around.