by Patti Lacy
Andrew sighed and picked up the paper in front of him.
The doctor’s face deflated, though her expression never wavered. “If Joy has not presented with respiratory insufficiency, if her physician has not detected grossly enlarged echogenic kidneys, we can rule out autosomal recessive PKD. However, if Joy has presented with symptoms . . .” The doctor took off her glasses and rubbed the bridge of her nose. She studied Andrew and then replaced her glasses.
Silence yawned maddeningly. Pressure throbbed Gloria’s temples. Why had Andrew agreed to this meeting, insisting they hear what this woman had to say?
“As Gloria mentioned earlier, Joy’s had a nervous stomach. A few aches and pains. Teenage jitters. Acting out.”
“Could you be more specific?”
“About the acting out?”
“Yes.”
“Some outbursts at home.”
Joy cursing at the top of her lungs.
“Disagreements over . . . her appearance.”
A naval stud. That . . . hair. Boobs hanging out of a doll-sized blouse.
“Supposedly Joy vandalized a school wall with graffiti.”
During a mandatory pep rally.
A buzzing began in Gloria’s ears and drowned Andrew’s recital, the woman’s murmurs.
Joy, tossing her hair and storming out of church. Joy, locked in the bathroom, refusing to come out. Joy, shaving her eyebrows after some jerk nicknamed her Miss Uni. What had happened to their beautiful little girl? What had happened to the best mother in Texas?
Gloria’s chest tightened. She was to blame for not communicating with Joy, though Lord knows, she’d tried. Hadn’t she begged God to protect Joy, to coax her back into His flock?
Andrew and the doctor continued to discuss Joy as if they were chatting over coffee at the Paris Café.
Gloria opened her mouth, ready to defend Joy’s privacy. Another thought punctured the anger smothering her breath. Had her buttinsky ways—smothering and snooping and eavesdropping—handicapped Joy, as Andrew believed? Am I, oh, Lord, keeping her from you? Would you use Kai to help Joy? Gloria straightened, scanned the sheet in front of her, and refocused on the conversation about her daughter, her Joy.
“Those behaviors might indicate PKD?” Andrew surely referred to the behavioral stew named Joy.
“PKD could manifest in psychological and psychosomatic symptoms such as the ones you describe.”
“Let me get this straight.” A drawn, gray complexion altered Andrew’s boyish good looks. “To rule out PKD, we’d have to subject Joy to ultrasound and CT scans and genetic testing?”
Testing would push Joy to an emotional abyss. Just last week she’d balked at a school counseling session! Gloria shoved away the papers and glared at her husband, then the doctor. “We are not agreeing to this. Do you hear me, Andrew?”
“I hear you. If you don’t calm down, so will everyone in the Sundance Hotel.”
“I don’t care!” Gloria clenched her fists to keep from shouting. “We’re talking about our daughter here. Our Joy.”
A loud knock sounded. The conference room doors banged open.
Gloria gripped her thighs. Surely she hadn’t disturbed the peace. Surely—
In strode a policeman. The points of his shiny star-shaped badge gleamed a chilling message. What in the world could it be? If the paper in his hand, the set of his jaw, meant anything, she’d soon find out.
4
The policeman blurred into shades of flesh and blue. Andrew stumbled from his chair, as did Gloria. The air thickened so that Gloria could not breathe, could not find her balance, could not think . . . She clutched Andrew’s arm. What had Joy done now?
“Reverend Powell, I’m Detective Robbins,” Gloria heard dimly. “We’ve met before.”
Gloria’s pulse skyrocketed. Joy had skipped school again, had defaced another wall with graffiti. . . .
“Reverend Powell, I responded to that . . . incident behind your church?”
Waves of relief bathed Gloria. She sat down. When her vision stopped swimming, she took in the policeman’s expressionless gaze. He’d come about the homeless men who’d dug through the church dumpster for food. Joy was fine.
“Of course.” Andrew’s babble echoed her relief. “I remember you. Oh, Officer, this is my wife.” Andrew darted a look toward the doctor. “And Dr. . . .”
“Kai,” the woman said.
Gloria nodded. Everything was fine, just fine.
“Nice to meet y’all.” The officer studied his shiny black oxfords, then cleared his throat. “Reverend, your secretary told me where to find you. I’m not here about the church. It’s about your daughter . . .”
Nooo! Though his statement confirmed her suspicions, Gloria silently fought reality. I drove her in today. Last week her counselor hinted at improvement. “Where is she?” The war between her head and heart propelled her to her feet. “Is she okay?”
Muscled arms folded. “She’s been arrested for shoplifting. We’re holding her at the detention center.” Keys jangled. “I’ll drive y’all down, or y’all can meet me there.”
The officer gave Andrew directions. Then her own thoughts drowned his voice. Gentle Joy, who loved stray dogs and little babes in the nursery. Generous Joy, who gave away her new jacket, lunch money, and candy bars, with equal aplomb. How could that Joy be accused of a crime? Shoplifting, for heaven’s sake, when they’d given her everything! It was too much to deal with, too much to think about, too much . . . Gloria faltered under the weight of his revelation and crumbled into blackness.
Ashen pallor. Unsteady gait. Dilated pupils. Ignoring the adrenaline surge brought by news of Lily’s predicament, Kai guided Mrs. Powell to a sitting position on the floor while cataloguing her physical condition. Syncope, she believed, likely vasovagal. But she must be sure.
“Gloria!” Reverend Powell dropped to his knees beside Kai. “Are you okay?”
Mrs. Powell’s eyes fluttered. A good sign.
“Just lean back.” Her right hand throbbing, Kai eased the woman onto the floor. Practiced fingers found Mrs. Powell’s pulse. Kai checked her watch and began to count.
“You good with this?” asked the policeman, who completed a trio of kneelers.
Kai nodded warmly. ER duty at Mass General had schooled her in what Dr. Ward called CWC, Communication With Cops. “The good cops are on fire to save lives and are comrades in arms. The bad ones must be treated with equal respect, for they can incinerate the lives of everyone they touch.”
“What’s wrong?” Fear shrilled the reverend’s tone. No wonder; his wife had fainted, the police held his daughter. Kai slowed her breathing. One thing at a time. Do not alarm this man, who at this moment is not Lily’s father but the husband of an ailing woman.
“It is most likely a simple fainting spell.” Kai rubbed Mrs. Powell’s arms, patted her cheeks, and tapped her shoulders.
Pale eyes widened. Color tinged wan cheeks. “Where—where am I?” Thin arms flailed.
“It is all right.” Kai rocked forward and gently but firmly hugged Mrs. Powell to quell her angst. The woman stiffened but did not resist. Kai again checked the pulse—stronger and slower—and sighed with relief. “Do you have any chest pain?” Kai asked, now that she could trust the woman to answer. “Back pain? Any trouble breathing?”
Mrs. Powell shook her head and tried to sit up.
“Has this happened before?” Kai asked.
Again Mrs. Powell shook her head. “J-Joy,” she stammered. “I need to see Joy.”
“It’s all right, Gloria.” Reverend Powell patted his wife’s hand and stroked her hair. “We’ll see her. I assure you of that.”
Kai swallowed hard. Clearly they were devoted to one another. Did such devotion extend to Lily? She shooed away distraction. A physician must remain emotionally detached. “Please rest for a moment, Mrs. Powell. Don’t get up until we make sure you’re okay. It will not take long.”
Mrs. Powell struggled against her husband’
s and Kai’s grasp. “I need to see Joy!”
The policeman offered a glass of water. “Should I call an ambulance?”
Kai shook her head, accepted the drink, and battled prickly resentment. This woman’s anxiety surely exacerbated whatever wars raged inside Lily.
“She needs us!” railed Mrs. Powell.
“Gloria, just calm down.” Reverend Powell’s brows knitted. His lips tightened. “You can’t help Joy in this condition.”
Kai let out a breath. At least Joy’s father possessed common sense.
Mrs. Powell’s cheeks flamed. She’s recovered emotions, if not logic. “How dare you talk to me like that, Andrew,” she rasped, “after all we’ve been through?”
Muscles tightened about the reverend’s mouth and thinned into a smile. “When you’re okay, we’ll go to Joy.” He glued his eyes on his wife. “Try to relax.”
Now Mrs. Powell had tight lips . . . but normal pulse and color. Satisfied her patient was stable, Kai’s mind . . . and heart . . . turned to the girl with Mother’s bow lips, Father’s strong cheekbones. What had the fates done to their Lily? What had this country done to their Lily? Would this family who believed in the Christian God allow her to lend a physician’s helping hand? Kai’s fingers trembled against the thrum, thrum of lifeblood through the body of Lily’s mother. Oh, that the fates would turn Mrs. Powell’s affections toward the Changs! Lily’s real family . . .
Kai glanced at her watch and rechecked Mrs. Powell’s pulse. Reverend Powell, still kneeling, bowed his head and closed his eyes as if he were praying . . . waiting . . .
The policeman, who had moved toward the conference room door, fidgeted with his keys. He too waited . . . to go to Lily, who was in jail.
We are all waiting. Kai’s right hand throbbed with such intensity that she struggled to hold it steady. The fates had presented this fainting spell as an opportunity to assess Lily at the detention center . . . and comfort her as only a true sister can do. She masked excitement by furrowing her forehead and rechecking her watch. “It has been long enough, Reverend.” She nodded toward a chair.
Reverend Powell scrambled to his feet. “Come on, dear.” His voice rang with a falsetto tone. “Let’s get you up.”
With no indication of weakness, the woman stood. Her husband guided her back to her chair.
Kai massaged her hand and rose from the floor. She has recovered from a simple fainting spell. But for now, I will keep that to myself. Besides, there is no harm in being ultra-conservative. “Mrs. Powell, I think you are fine.” She spoke lightly, enunciated carefully. “However, you should be monitored.” With what she hoped resembled efficiency, she gathered her papers. “For an hour or so.”
Mrs. Powell jumped to her feet, dizziness gone. “Please take me to Joy! Now!”
“Of course.” Kai tucked her hair behind her ears. “I propose to go with you.”
“That’s impossible!” the woman spluttered, her face blotchy. She jerked out of her husband’s grasp and planted her hands on her hips. “This is a family matter.”
The reverend’s lips pursed. “Gloria, I just pulled you off the floor.” Kai became the subject of that calm-eyed gaze. “Kai is a doctor, and family to Joy.”
“Not really!”
“Yes, Gloria, really.”
“She doesn’t even know Joy.”
Kai’s muscles tightened. I wasn’t allowed to know Joy.
“In Joy’s present state—”
“Forgive me for interrupting.” Kai fought to maintain a courteous tone, despite the woman’s insults. “Perhaps my training would permit me to monitor you and evaluate Joy’s present state to assess whether her personal physician should be contacted.”
“We do not need your help in that decision,” spat out Mrs. Powell.
“Gloria!” The reverend’s reprimand froze a sneer on his wife’s face. “That’s enough.” He smoothed his pants and straightened his shoulders. Kai battled her own sneer. Imagine, unmasking such emotions in front of a policeman, a doctor, and her husband!
“Detective? Kai?” Utter calm had returned to the reverend’s countenance. “Could you give me a moment with my wife?”
The detective eyed his watch. “Captain’ll have my . . . um . . . I need to get back.”
The reverend’s hands steepled. “Please. I’ll just be a moment.”
Kai and the detective stepped into the hall. The detective whipped out his radio. Though the door clicked shut, murmurs seeped around the doorjamb and joined rasps, radio static, and the detective’s mutterings to claw at Kai’s nerves. She breathed deeply and exhaled. Wisdom and an eerie peace had shone from the reverend’s eyes; wisdom, thank the fates, which hints at a decision to allow me to see Joy at the detention center. Wisdom that comes, according to Cheryl and David, from those strange Bible texts.
As Kai ran her finger along the edge of Lily’s file, she studied the antler chandeliers that splashed the hall with glitzy light. How strange to sacrifice an animal just to fashion a fancy fixture. But it was no stranger than the Christian belief of a god sacrificing his life for humanity. She ground her teeth together and straightened her shoulders, preparing herself to endure yet another wait, suffer another setback. She would endure anything to reclaim Lily, even if it meant humiliation, pain, a masking of self. She owed it to Mother, to Father, to her sisters, and to herself.
The odd Texan light fixtures brightened, as if a spotlight had zeroed in on Kai’s life, and she remembered times when the American Dream had not only greeted her but embraced her. Trodding the Harvard stage to claim her diploma. Stepping to the podium at a medical symposium. But none of that mattered now. Kai leaned back and let the wall support her and her doubts. Though she had achieved a modicum of success in this land, would it be enough for the Powells to entrust her with Lily’s health?
Such a void struck Kai that she thrust her hand into her jacket pocket to be comforted by her cell phone. She could call David, who was surely swamped with emergency calls, or Pamela, the MRA receptionist who had made Kai promise to leave her office, her patients—her life—behind. Thinking of the Chang strength, she lifted her chin and withdrew her hand from her pocket. She would not trouble busy colleagues and her doctor boyfriend with her little drama.
Kai released her phone, straightened her spine, and continued her battle with doubt. Could a foreigner succeed in America? In Texas? Would fate cede to her efforts and allow her to reclaim Lily? As the lights blinked and winked, Kai clutched Lily’s file, her fears, and waited. It was the only thing she knew. It was the only thing she could do.
Who do you think . . . Gloria opened her mouth, then clamped it shut and ground her teeth. To keep from grabbing Andrew and shaking him, she dug her nails into her arms. She, who had never dreamed of hurting another—who had barreled out of the house screaming on that awful day nearly thirty years ago when Mommy slapped Daddy—itched to not only shake her husband but strike him! Anger climaxed as she stared into Andrew’s placid cow eyes. How dare he expose their daughter to this woman, to PKD, until they confirmed things? Why, it was downright negligent, when she’d labored to keep Joy safe! Not that it had worked.
A sob of frustration puffed the air. She would give her life for Joy . . . not that it had seemed to matter. As a child, Joy had expressed faith in Christ, but years had passed since she’d acknowledged the one who had given His life for her. Despite Andrew’s teachings, Gloria’s prayers and pleadings, Joy hadn’t even been baptized. . . .
“Gloria . . .” Andrew stepped near and held out his arms, offering a hug.
She jerked away, sure his touch would electrocute her. Hadn’t his complicity in this matter swelled a spark into a thousand-volt jolt?
“Fine.” Andrew’s face hardened into flint and sent a chill through Gloria, who wasn’t used to seeing fire and ice in his eyes. Andrew hadn’t glowered at her—or anyone, to her knowledge—since the cataclysm that shook their church’s foundations. “If you’re going to act like a two-year-old, I�
�ll treat you like one.”
Gloria’s lips trembled. Tears pooled. How could Andrew wound a heart bruised by problems with Joy and now this mysterious sister? Though she tried to will it away, a sob slipped from Gloria. Lord, it’s too much.
Andrew stepped near. A whisper-touch wiped away her tears. “Gloria. It’s okay. Really.” His calm and sure voice soothed her emotional torrent. “How long have we begged for the Lord to help Joy? How many prayer chains have we contacted, how many counseling sessions have we attended?”
More than I can count—that’s for sure. She shook her head, unable to talk.
“Out of the blue, seemingly, this doctor—Joy’s sister—calls.”
Gloria’s head hung heavy with regret. Oh, God. I’ve been overreacting.
“She just happens to have an explanation for symptoms that Joy just happens to be having.” Andrew’s voice quivered. “She nailed it, Gloria. Were you listening?”
Gloria shook her head. She’d been too busy falling apart.
“Joy’s sent an SOS.” His voice broke. “For . . . years. We’ve failed. Maybe Kai will succeed.” A warm hand cupped her chin. “For heaven’s sake, Gloria, she’s kin!”
“A woman who says she’s kin,” Gloria added, though her feistiness had evaporated. How many times had she lovingly traced Joy’s proud brow, kissed her tiny bow lips? Features so like Kai’s? Though she’d tried to ignore it, her soul broadcast the truth. Kai was Joy’s sister. Perhaps God had sent her after all.
Someone rapped on the door. The sound—and her regret—propelled Gloria into Andrew’s arms. “I’m sorry. Please forgive me,” she whispered.
Andrew squeezed her hand. “We can do this. For Joy. For ourselves.” He locked her in the Spirit-fired gaze that pulled people down the aisle. “For God.”
Her earlier rudeness tolled in Gloria’s heart, as did Andrew’s reminder of God at the forefront. “With your help,” she whispered, looking at Andrew but talking to God.