Reclaiming Lily (30 page)

“‘Sewall gained notoriety presiding over the Salem Witch Trials.’” They stood under a stand of trees, Joy reading as Kai tried to follow along. “‘Few know he later apologized.’” Joy slapped the guide against faded denim. “That’s what bugs me about religion. It’s all about rules and values that in ten years are, like, obsolete.”

Anxiety crept in. As she’d carefully stepped on this hallowed ground, Kai vowed to tread lightly on this volatile subject. She did not want religion to erect a barrier between them now that walls were crumbling like centuries-old grave markers.

“It is a difficult situation.” Kai nodded slightly, a motion contradicting the waves that rocked her stomach. She must digress. “We all face difficult situations.”

Joy puffed out her lips. Her hands flew to her hips. The guide fluttered in the midmorning breeze. “What do you mean?”

“We stand on sacred ground.” Kai panned the now-crowded cemetery. “Patriots choosing freedom.” Determined to change the subject, she avoided Joy’s eyes. “I cannot help but think of our ancestors, buried in such a different place.”

As she had hoped, Joy’s eyebrows met that purple clomp of bangs. “You mean, like, not a cemetery?”

Kai shook her head. “On a hill overlooking our village. Hallowed ground, just the same.” Kai pictured lush green rises, the view of seven distinct villages, Father and the three daughters, carrying money and incense to be burned.

“Do . . . did you visit them?”

“Days are set aside to do so. A failure to honor ancestors brings the wrath of—”

Joy’s countenance darkened. “More rules, huh. Figures.”

Kai battled an urge to shake this impudent being. “It is an honor,” she managed. “Something done out of respect, out of love.”

As if in agreement, or because Kai had let indignity swell her tone, a flock of sparrows whooshed from the trees. Birdsong drowned out the tourist chatter and the rush of traffic on nearby Tremont. Kai had put Joy “on the spot,” as David said. It was right where Joy needed to be.

Joy scuffed her tennis shoes against spring-green grass tufts. Was that remorse heightening the lovely blush of her cheeks?

“It is the Chinese heritage.” Kai lowered her voice. She did not want to spoil this special time with lectures. “Your heritage. My heritage. Perhaps one day we will walk that ground together. Then you will understand.”

Joy nodded, as if her heart were too full to utter a word.

Kai smiled and pulled the guide from Joy’s clenched fist. “Speaking of walking, there is much ahead if we are to conquer the Freedom Road by lunchtime.” With Kai leading the way, they continued north—Bunker Hill their eventual destination.

One if by land, two if by sea
. Old North Church, with its historic bell chamber, captivated Joy, who responded with wide eyes and oohs and aahs. Thankfully the flickering candles, sacred garden, and arched windows had not spawned more religion talk. Fatigue took hold of Kai as they soldiered on, Bunker Hill now in sight. Yet Joy’s exuberant arm-waving acted as a tonic. Never had the word
cool
sounded so good. They crossed a busy Charlestown street and entered the park.

Joy, her hand a visor, faced the famous monument. “Like, that’s amazing.”

Amazing. Like
. If Kai got a dollar for every time she’d heard those words, she could buy an airline ticket to China. She glanced at Joy. Make that two.

Joy’s chatter and the lure of the granite obelisk coaxed Kai to soldier on. They browsed at a gift shop filled with flags, decals, and shirts, all in red, white, and blue. Liberty bells of a dozen sizes and prices festooned a table. One youngster clanged away, to the irritation of a harried clerk. Kai feasted on the boy’s dimpled chin and impish smile. David’s hints—which seemed to have occurred in another century—had led her to dream of marriage . . . perhaps even children. Another horizon, dimmed.

“Look, Kai!” Joy’s squeal returned Kai to reality but did not ease the strange heaviness in her chest. “We can go to the top!”

Kai suppressed a groan. Cheryl’s nagging about an exercise regimen just paid off.
A thirty-five-year-old should not be this out of shape.

“Two hundred ninety-four steps! Are you up to it?” Joy grinned, showing well-formed teeth—a blessing to one born where dentistry was an unheard-of luxury.

Kai glanced at her watch. They had time before meeting the Powells for lunch. She squared sagging shoulders and mustered false bravado. “I am if you are.”

Joy heaved open a heavy door. “One, two, three . . .” Her pattering echoed in the tight-spiral staircase. “See you at the top!” rang in Kai’s ears.

Kai took a deep breath and gripped the handrail.
Maybe next year,
she bit back.

“A hundred ten, a hundred eleven . . .”

Kai’s chest hammered, echoing in her ears along with Joy’s counting. She stopped twice to wipe sweat from her face, to ease the burn in her lungs. The stairs wound so tightly, she could only see one staircase segment at a time.
Perhaps that is a good thing
 . . .

No longer could she hear Joy calling out the step number for the buzzing in her ears. Surely Joy neared the top.
Will I make it?

Her legs screamed, as did her lungs. She changed tactics and approached each step as an old friend, caressing it with the sole of her shoe, lingering as if it had something to teach her.

“Kai! I made it! Are you down there?”

Joy seemed to be calling from China.

Kai leaned against musty stone and summoned the strength to utter, “Um-hum.”

“C’mon! It’s so cool!”

Then I must hurry
. Fortified by Joy’s wondrous tone, Kai clambered on, her gaze nailing each weathered step. She began to mentally count the steps, for the breath to utter numbers had evaporated.

Around ninety-nine, an image of Father flicked in Kai’s mind . . . along with a horrid thought. Perhaps Cultural Revolution indignities had not caused Father’s stroke. Perhaps the Chang line had been cursed with heart disease as well as PKD.

Kai’s chest heaved, both to fuel her movements and to expel the horrid thought. Mental counting—mental anything—stopped. Finally a rectangle of light carpeted the step above her foot. Though her lungs burned protest, her spirits rose. Joy. A view. The top.

Huffing, sweating, she stumbled onto the final step.

Joy whirled about. “Look! There’s four of these!” Sun rays beamed through an oblong window and tinted Joy’s hair brown-pink. “You can see north, south, east—” Her eyebrows crunched. “Hey, you don’t look so hot. Are you okay?”

Kai nodded, not able to speak. To divert attention from her poor conditioning, she slogged to the south window.

The harbor unfolded. Squinting, she spotted the masts of Old Ironsides, which were solid, sure, still standing even after a war. Sunlight glittered the water. Kai’s breath slowed. She rested her palms on the Plexiglas, drawn to this city—this country—that had opened its harbor to her and unlocked the treasure chests of education and career.

“When I look out there”—Joy’s voice echoed across the space they were fortunate enough to see by private viewing—“I can almost believe there is a God.”

Kai leaned forward, bent her knees, and arched her back until the window supported her. Religion had dogged them the distance of the Freedom Trail. Could she not escape it?

“You never said what you think about religion.” Joy’s words smacked Kai’s back.

So we will discuss it, whether I wish to or not
. Her face pressed against the cool window, Kai closed her eyes and envisioned Old Grandfather. Though it felt awkward, she begged him to help. Slowly she turned, shifting the support of her body to her arms, which were propped against cold stone. With all the honesty she could muster, she met Joy’s gaze. “Like you, when I look out there”—she nodded toward the window—“I want to believe there is a God.” Emotion swelled her achy chest. “When I make the rounds at the dialysis unit, I want to believe there is a God.”

Joy stepped closer. Neither of them blinked.

“When I look at your face and see both the hope of tomorrow and what was good about our past, I want to believe there is a God. When—” Her throat closed. There was nothing left that language could express.

A breathy lunge brought Joy into her arms. With abandon, Kai drew her close, felt sobs against her breast, felt tears trickle down her face.

“Thank . . . thank you.”

Kai drank in the priceless elixir of Joy’s words. She had erected no new wall with religion talk. Perhaps she had further cleared the path to intimacy with this sister. Another miracle.

For the first time since discovering that word
miracle
, Kai did not question its reality. As she reveled in Fourth Daughter’s embrace, two questions tugged at her consciousness: Was the Christian God the author of such miracles? If so, how could she thank Him?

21

They’d reunited with a rosy Gloria, a jovial Andrew, and ate what Joy called a “yummy lunch” at a Bunker Hill bistro. The cabbie had pulled by the Stanford to drop off the Powells and then weaved and honked his way past mounted police, a funeral procession, and harried motorists.

Kai checked her watch. Two hours until the consult with the Powells and Dr. Duncan. With Joy waving her arms and laughing, with the delightful spring breeze, Kai had convinced herself the seizing of her breath on Bunker Hill was stress-related. She had always enjoyed excellent health. If heart disease ran in her family, likely it would take years to develop. She walked more often than she rode, favored a vegetarian diet—

The cabbie screeched to a halt at a light, avoiding a collision with careless pedestrians.

Kai sat up straight. No. She would not take a chance. Father had had a stroke at age forty. Perhaps a genetic predisposition was a nasty accomplice to sadistic prison guards to foil Father’s health.
Those genes might doom my plan of action for Joy. I must know. Now.

The atrium’s beauty failed to soothe her as usual. Kai hurried in the back way, a rare avoidance of the waiting room. She stowed her handbag under her desk and checked her messages. Nothing pressing. Good.

Not bothering to change into scrubs, she pattered to the nurses’ station. By the counter stood Deanne. Another miracle, though minor compared to the others she had experienced. Kai shoved down the anxiety that tickled her throat. “Good afternoon.”

“Back at ya, Doc.” Deanne jotted on a chart and stuffed it into an examining room rack. “I wondered if you’d ever come in. You’re gettin’ wild and crazy in your old age.”

Kai grinned. This month, she had taken more vacation than in two previous years.

“Guess that happens when you meet a long-lost sister,” Deanne continued.

Not wanting to talk about Joy, especially not now, Kai continued a silent smile.

“She’s a doll,” added Deanne, with a cheerful yet perceptive glance, then returned to her work.
Your sixth sense, Deanne. Another reason you are my favorite
.

“Thank you.” Kai stepped to the counter and waited. It would not do to interrupt a nurse, especially with a personal request.

Deanne slung files into the out-box, called a pharmacist, then took a message for Dr. Salvadore. Again Kai yearned to claw her hands.

“Doc, can I help you, or are you looking over my shoulder, waiting for me to mess up?” Deanne’s curls proved as lively as her wit. Kai chuckled to keep up a gaiety charade.

“You should be looking over my shoulder.”

“Aw, c’mon,” gushed her favorite nurse. “Spit it out. Whaddya want?”

“When time permits, could you check my blood pressure?”

“Time permits.” Deanne cocked her head and gave Kai the once-over. “Now.”

That’s what I hoped you would say
. Kai followed Deanne into check-in, partitioned from the nurses’ area by a glass-block wall topped with pots of ivy. Kai sat at one of three vitals stations. Vines curled toward skylights and added texture and color to soothing gray walls. A prestigious architecture firm had designed their offices to nurture and heal via this organic, fluid design.

The design did nothing to calm the stiffening of Kai’s muscles.
Please, Mr. Christian God, help me,
ran through her mind
.

Deanne moved a monitor stand close to Kai. “So what’s this about?” Big brown eyes probed and poked.
Better than needles.

Kai crossed her leg. “You nurses know us best.” She adopted a jaunty tone. “Physicians do not heal themselves.”

Deanne craned her neck, as if checking the hall for big ears. “C’mon.” She wore the expression of an irritated professor. “You gotta tell me more than that.”

“I am sure it is nothing.”

Deanne snorted, as if irritated to be excluded from a secret.

“How is Daniel?” To soothe the nurse’s ruffled feelings, Kai asked about Deanne’s son, diagnosed with Asperger’s. “Still building model airplanes?”

“Seventy-six and counting.”

A little boy, shut off from so many, yet desperate to fly. Kai managed a melancholy smile. “That takes perseverance. Intelligence. You should be proud of him.”