She had to admit the thought had crossed her own mind.
But no. Mr. Duke wanted to see her.
It wasn’t until the nosy receptionist had finally left them alone in the cramped little room (which smelled like the sweat-soaked stuff in the overflowing lost-and-found box) that the counselor got down to business.
He blurted out:
“Willow is missing.”
Mai was not one for drama. Her voice was unmoved as she replied:
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Dell felt his jaw clench.
This girl needed an attitude adjustment! She should have been intimidated by him and at the same time shown deep concern for her missing friend.
He saw no evidence of either.
Dell cleared his throat and reminded himself not to get too cranked up.
“A woman from Social Services picked her up from your mother’s nail salon. Willow was at their facility when she fell and cut her forehead. She needed stitches and it was all taken care of at the emergency room at Mercy. But then before they could leave she said she had to go to the bathroom and no one’s seen her since.”
Mai’s eyes narrowed.
“What do you mean she fell?”
Dell’s eyes widened. Why did she have to question the facts?
He tried to remain in control.
“She fainted.”
Mai’s voice was smug.
“That’s not falling. Falling is an accident. Fainting is a medical thing.”
Dell pulled an old piece of beef jerky out of the inside pocket of his jacket and ripped off a chunk with his coffee-stained teeth.
He silently cursed himself for thinking this smart-mouth teenage sister of the troublemaker known as Quang-ha could ever help.
He found himself chewing the jerky with loud, thrashing vigor, hoping it made him look tough, not just hungry.
“Her injury is not the point. Maybe I didn’t make myself clear. The problem is that no one can find her.”
Mai couldn’t help but smile. Willow had given them the slip.
“You took her to the hospital?”
Dell was relieved that he could at least answer:
“No. They only brought me in to help find her after she disappeared.”
Mai liked that his idea of finding Willow was to come to her for help. She smiled as she said:
“She will probably end up back at the salon. But I have some ideas for where she’d go before she gets there. You need to sign me out of here.”
Dell didn’t like the way that sounded. This wasn’t an episode of CSI: Bakersfield. They weren’t all of a sudden crime-fighting partners! He wanted Mai to give him a few leads. That was all.
Dell sputtered:
“Well, I didn’t—that wasn’t what I—”
But Mai was already out of her chair and heading for the door.
Chapter 28
My eyes open and I realize that I’m looking at a pair of green shoes without laces.
I know these feet.
One of the shoes lightly taps my left boot for what I realize must be the second time.
But I’m wedged back between the doughnut-chair and the wall, and I have to wiggle out.
When I do, I see my teenage friend, who whispers:
“They’re looking for you.”
The Old Me would have been flooded with shame or worry or guilt.
But not now.
Mai looks at me more closely.
“You got stitches. How long do they stay in?”
My hand goes up to check my glabella. I forgot about the elephant attack.
I mumble:
“They are made from Vicryl, which is polyglycolic acid. They will absorb by hydrolysis. So I won’t have to have them taken out.”
Mai appears to understand the principle of absorption.
“Do they hurt?”
I’m not able to feel anything between my eyes right now, but my hip is sore from the position on the floor.
And the rest of me is just so emotionally numb that I have no idea where the pain stops and starts. I pull myself into a seated position and my right hand goes up to my cheek.
I have the swirled carpet pattern on one whole side of my face. I must have been asleep for a while.
Mai continues:
“Dell Duke is trying to find you. Maybe there’s some kind of reward, because he’s pretty fired up.”
The smile on Mai’s face is both kind and wicked at the same time.
I admire that in her.
Dell calls Social Services right away and I hear him report the news.
He is extremely excited.
I get in his car and sit in the back with Mai like we are in a taxi, which we are not.
Dell thinks that he’s going to take me right back to Jamison, but Mai puts her foot down, metaphorically speaking.
She says we must go to someplace called Happy Jack’s Pie n’ Burger shop.
He doesn’t stand a chance against her.
And not just because she says that she’s going to open the door and jump out of the moving car if she doesn’t get her way.
Mai whispers to me that she’s never actually been in the hamburger and pie place, but she’s driven by many times and I guess she intuitively believes that a place named “happy” might be moving the car in the right direction.
She says she wants to try their French fries.
Mai is thin, but I’m starting to realize that she has a monster appetite, especially for things that she previously has been denied.
I don’t say anything about the long-term health issues associated with potato consumption, which has a link to juvenile weight gain.
I’m done with my job as consumer advocate/health adviser.
Inside Happy Jack’s, I sit, puffy-eyed, next to Mai, who orders me a slice of chocolate peanut butter pie.
We are in a booth with a very high back and I can see right away that Mai likes it here.
She says it’s cozy.
It takes some effort, but I manage to eventually communicate that I’d like hot water with honey and three tablespoons of white vinegar. This is harder than it should be.
Dell orders a cup of coffee.
The school counselor goes back and forth between looking very happy and very anxious.
I ignore the mood swings.
I’m ignoring everything, so it’s not too hard.
After our food has arrived, Dell gets up and goes to the bathroom. But I see him peek over his shoulder before he disappears behind the squeaky men’s room door.
His face says that we’re potential runaways.
He doesn’t need to worry because I know for a fact that Mai’s not leaving this place until she’s finished her French fries.
And I’ve run out of options for fleeing.
But once he’s gone, Mai gets up from the table.
I see her talking to our waitress, who is definitely someone’s great-grandmother. Or at least old enough to be. She is very kind. I wonder how she’d feel about taking care of a twelve-year-old.
I manage to get down a few small bites of the pie.
Chocolate and peanut butter—despite the fact that I do my best to avoid the intake of refined sugar—are a worthy combination.
But right now the food tastes like a wood product.
Mai comes back, and she and I speak in Vietnamese. Or to be accurate, Mai speaks in that language. I only listen.
She is still working on her food when Dell returns and flags down the waitress.
He asks for the check and she says:
“You’re gonna have to wait for the rest of your order, Big Boy. It’s not up yet.”
Dell looks at Mai, who is expressionless.
I fixate on
the idea of someone calling Dell Duke “Big Boy.”
It’s a very aggressive thing to do.
Especially if the woman is looking for a good tip.
And then I realize the waitress has him right where she wants him. He looks more anxious now.
But I just stare at my chocolate peanut butter pie with the two missing bites and wonder how it all came to this.
The next step in my journey also turns out to be Mai’s idea.
She finds out that Dell’s apartment has two bedrooms.
She’s talking and I realize that she is giving him an explanation of why her family doesn’t have the right kind of living conditions for me.
Dell has no idea about their garage setup. And she’s not telling him.
But before Dell realizes what’s going on, the teenager is on his cell phone, speaking to her mother in a language that he can’t understand.
Minutes later the senior food server returns, carrying a large white sack filled with take-out containers.
Mai gives the waitress a sweet smile and accepts the greasy bag.
Dell looks down at the bill, which has just been dropped in front of him.
In addition to the food on the table, there is a to-go fried chicken dinner, a fish and chips plate, a fresh fruit plate, and six large pickles.
Dell finishes my pie while the waitress runs his credit card.
And he doesn’t look happy about it.
Foster parents.
That’s what I need.
I have studied astrophysics and even waste management systems in space aircraft, but I have never given any thought to the procedure for custody or guardianship of a minor in the state of California.
Life, I now realize, is just one big trek across a minefield and you never know which step is going to blow you up.
Right now I’m back at Jamison.
They are talking about me in other rooms.
And while it is physically impossible for this to happen, I can hear them.
I’ve been left in the nurse’s office.
No one wants me fainting twice.
The attack elephant was still in place in the waiting area out front. I steered clear of that on my own.
I’m now on an examining bench in a dark room. That white crinkly paper underneath my body means that I literally can’t shift a muscle without making the same noise as eating potato chips.
Fortunately, I’m an expert at not moving.
My friends stand outside in the parking lot.
I can see them through the spaces in the window blinds.
From a distance, they look suspicious.
Their bodies are too close and their postures are rigid.
The late-day Bakersfield sun beats down, bouncing off from the cars and the blacktop. Anyone in his or her right mind would have gone inside to the air-conditioned building.
I can see Mai brokering the deal.
She is speaking to her mother. I will find out later that she says:
“We’ll put down his address. And then in the future, when they come visit, we can go over and make it look like we live there.”
I see that Pattie is silent and her face is sour.
Dell has no idea what’s actually happening. Mai talks so fast:
“If we don’t do this, they will keep her here. And then they’ll just stick her in a foster home. She will end up being put somewhere with people she doesn’t even know. She’ll run away again!”
Mai stares into her mother’s eyes.
“She needs us.”
I watch as Pattie breaks the gaze and looks down at Dell’s small hands. He chews his fingernails.
I’m guessing that she hates that. She keeps her eyes on his cuticles and I can see her speaking. She is probably saying:
“I don’t want to get involved.”
It’s a strange thing for her to say, because she took a bus over to Jamison as soon as she heard that I had disappeared from the hospital.
If she really didn’t want to get involved, what is she doing here?
And then I see Pattie suck in her breath and cross her arms in a way meant to show firm resolve.
I know that posture well.
It was always my mother’s last stand.
Decisions are made.
I will officially be turned over to my old family friends: the Nguyens.
Temporarily. Just for now.
Is there anything anymore but Now? There was Then. But that world was blown up in an intersection.
I hear logistics being discussed.
At Jamison, they believe the Nguyens reside at the Gardens of Glenwood, which is where Dell lives.
Everything decided today is TEMPORARY.
Again. So that we all understand.
Temporary. Brief. Not permanent. Provisional. Passing. Short-term. Interim.
We all get it.
The temporary arrangement means I must go to Jamison once a week. And I will continue to see Dell Duke as my counselor.
I have been placed on a leave of absence from school because I told them that I didn’t want to go. No one wants to make me do anything right now. They are afraid that I’ll run away again.
Dell Duke has agreed to supervise my homeschooling. He looks guilty when they ask him how I’m doing in my class work.
I think that he might say something about the tests and why I had started going to see him, but he doesn’t.
I don’t care whether he lies or tells the truth.
It’s all taking me to the same place.
Dell drives us all back to Happy Polish.
Everyone is exhausted and silent.
Pattie Nguyen signed all kinds of things back there. So who knows what she just agreed to?
The Old Me would have read every word of that paperwork. The New Me couldn’t care less.
I’m out of there, that’s all that matters.
The sunlight has a way of dulling the world in Bakersfield, and I gaze out the window and everything is like a copy of an original.
The whole place is faded.
It all looks like it would be easy to tear apart.
I’m surprised when we get back to the nail salon and it feels familiar.
The strong odor of the colored lacquers can be smelled out on the sidewalk, even with the door shut.
I’m certain that it is carcinogenic.
Before the world came apart, this would have been a concern.
Now I take a deep breath and hold the noxious fumes in my lungs.
Bring it on. All of it. Bring it on.
Dell hangs around for a while but he’s just in the way.
I can see that he’s pleased with himself as he finally says good-bye and walks to his car.
At Jamison a lot of people thanked him.
And he looks like someone who hasn’t been thanked very often.
One of his shoes is untied but, with his belly leading the way, he has a new swagger in his step.
I don’t see anything anymore, but I can’t help but notice.
According to Pattie Nguyen, who seems to have seen her share of heartache, activity and a glass of water cure almost anything if you give it enough time.
So she makes me drink two glasses of water.
Then she sits down next to me and says:
“I will help find a good place for you. I will not let them take you until we do. You have my word. You will stay here until we have the answer.”
I would like to express my gratitude, but I can’t.
Because I can’t express anything.
I only nod.
Pattie gets up from the table and starts unloading little square bottles of nail polish into the back cupboard.
People usually find a good place for stray
dogs, or for the elderly when they can no longer go up stairs or use a can opener.
Finding a good place for a kid seems like a much bigger challenge.
Chapter 29
A memorial service for my parents is held in a neighborhood community center on the second Saturday after the accident.
Dell drives me there and Mai and Pattie come too. Quang-ha has other plans, and I watch him head down the alley with what look like bolt cutters in his backpack.
Lenore meets us at the community center and I see the nurse from Jamison who helped me when I hit my head.
I can’t look at them.
I can’t look at anyone.
As we walk to the front doors, Mai takes my hand. It feels warm.
It is colder than normal and a sea of mostly unfamiliar faces press too close, saying some version of how sorry they are.
I’m not sure that I can breathe. The air is sticking at the top and the bottom of my lungs.
They put me in the front row.
Workers from my dad’s union organized this event and three people are speakers.
I do not hear a single word that they say.
On an easel next to the podium is a poster-size picture of my mom and my dad taken back when my dad had hair and when my mom was skinny.
They have their arms around each other and they are laughing.
I know this picture.
It sits at an angle on my mom’s bureau in a frame made from seashells.
I remember when I was younger asking my mom why they were so happy in the photo, and she said because they knew one day I was coming into their lives.
It wasn’t logical, but it made sense.
After the service everyone is given white balloons and we are ushered outside.
The helium-filled inflatables say JIMMY AND ROBERTA in chunky purple letters.
The idea is to release them while some guy in a suit (but also wearing sandals with white socks) sings about love being the answer to everything.
I watch in horror.
I know for a fact that the latex lumps will end up tangled in electrical wires.
They will find their way into rivers and streams, and even travel for miles out into oceans, where they will choke fish and endanger marine mammals.