Secret Shopper (26 page)

We spoke for another hour about our fathers. It was nice to get his advice. On one hand, Thomas reassured me that my father should be fine. On the other, he added that if I found myself without him, that life would go on, that I could move on and grow, as he did. I didn’t want to face a life without my dad. I felt like I was still his little girl, with a lot of growing up to do.

“
Phoenix. Please keep in touch while you’re on Guam as much as you can. I understand that I may not hear from you everyday, but an occasional e-mail or text will help keep my hair from graying.”

“I
will.” And I hoped that I could.

Chapter 14

Humid Homecoming

After a last minute scan of each level of the empty condo, I stood at the doorway and took stock of my life. If I really wanted to, I could stay on Guam and leave California and my divorce here. I could put my experience as a secret shopper on my resume as a bullet item. I could keep Angelica and Gerard on my Facebook friend’s list and nothing more. But, I would miss Ty and Uncle Tony. I would miss Angelica and I secretly hoped that she would marry Ty and be my official cousin-in-law. I would even miss my work as a Field Agent. I danced around the thought that I could be in love with Thomas. Could I leave him here so easily? Would he move to Guam, where life moved at a slower pace just to be with me?

“Adios!”
I called out to no one. My voice sounded foreign as it echoed through the empty dwelling that was once my home. I locked the condo for the last time and didn’t look back.

Uncle Tony waited in his car with Ty. My cousin had been such a godsend these last few weeks. He was going to drive me to the airport and take my car home with him. As far as anyone here was concerned, I was coming back to
San Diego. As far as my new found friends and family were concerned, I was merely visiting Guam to see about my dad’s health. As far as I was concerned,
I wasn’t so sure
. I would deal with the material things I leave in California for later. Thomas was the one thing binding me to San Diego.

The second leg of my flight home after leaving
Los Angeles went faster than I thought. I had a good book and my laptop to keep me occupied. As much as I’d like to sleep on a flight, I never could. The ambient noise of the jet engines and the constant activity of the flight attendants kept my eyes peeled.

The final leg from
Honolulu to Guam reassured me. I already recognized almost half the passengers—the girl who went to elementary school with me, the cashier from the local market with her family, the bank teller I thought was cute from the Bank of Guam, my auntie’s ex-boyfriend. It was odd that no one really recognized me. I liked it, but I also felt removed. I didn’t have to explain myself in the way you have to explain yourself to anyone from a small town. Guam is essentially a small town with the same mentality. Everyone was in everyone else’s business and I was happy to be above the fray.

Pharaoh was set to pick me up at the airport. I wondered if people thought I would look like the image on CNN, fair-haired
Phoenix who dropped a ton of weight. I had been in my clothes for almost a full day and aside from seeing my dad right away, I just wanted to take a hot shower.

After retrieving my two luggage, easily identified with the purple ribbons I tied on the handles, I headed out into the humid
Guam evening. I scanned the awaiting crowd of family and friends, recognizing every other person. I had enough sense to wash my face and freshen my make-up. A dab of perfume as well, in case a random acquaintance or family member expected a hug.

Then I saw Pharaoh, hairless and massive. He looked menacing, but he still had his baby face. He held up a cardboard sign that read, “Phoenix
L—A**Kicker!” There were three other massive Chamorro boys flanking him. They must be from his gym
, Countershot
. I got teary-eyed when the real purpose of the visit home gripped my heart. I hugged Pharaoh tightly, not caring what other people thought. Then a few flashes from someone’s expensive camera caught my attention. I recognized the photographer from the local paper and the woman next to him had a notepad and pen in hand. They both went to my high school, like I said, Guam is small. I looked at Pharaoh questioningly. He shrugged his shoulders indicating that he was as clueless as me.

“Hi,
Phoenix! My name is Jan Cruz and I wanted to ask you some questions about your visit home and your recent attack in California.” Did she have to be so loud? I didn’t greet Jan with a smile. I realized she was just doing her job, but I had to get to my father. I wondered who called the media about my return and figured it was one of my brother’s goonies. My eyes raked over the three faces, the muscle bound group of cage fighters. My sights landed on the guy avoiding my eyes.

“Hey, did you call them?” I asked.
Busted
. Pharaoh grabbed him by his gruff and yanked him aside to have a word. I didn’t want to be perceived as a bitch, so I gave her a nibble.

“Jan. I’m here for my dad and I
really
need to get to GMH right now.”

“Oh, I totally understand, but perhaps you can give me a brief summary of the ill-fated night in
San Diego?”

“No. I can’t, and it really wasn’t ill-fated since I’m alive. Correct?” Pharaoh returned and growled at the poor girl. I placed my hand on my giant brother’s arm and looked at Jan again. “If we can set this up for some other time, I should be able to give you a proper interview, but really, I miss my dad and I have to see him. Now.”

That seemed to do the trick and Jan offered her business card. I asked her to give me until the end of the week to get over my jetlag and settle matters with my ill father. I hoped she wouldn’t write anything up yet. I didn’t want to be misquoted. And, I wouldn’t want to have to visit her, or worse yet, Pharaoh. She trotted off and I flicked her card into the trash when she rounded the corner.

Leaving the airport, the humid air felt like someone dumped a giant circle of uncooked pizza dough on me. I sweated instantly. Pharaoh and his hanger-ons managed my luggage and Hello Kitty backpack with ease. Pharaoh still drove his old white
Toyota truck. It was nice that some things didn’t change. His friends piled in the back of the truck. W
as that still legal on Guam?
I wondered. Pharaoh and I retreated into the air-conditioned comfort of the cab.

“Sorry, about Ken. He’s a dough-head. He just likes attention.” My brother said. “I think Jan’s his ex or something.”

“That’s obvious, that he’s a dough head. Can we just get to dad already?”

“Of course.” Pharaoh peeled out once he got a green light. We felt the men shift in the bed of the truck, they cursed loudly and Ken knocked on the back window. My brother and I shared a laugh.

My mother had carefully chosen our unique names. She learned English by watching
Sesame Street and had my dad read her Encyclopedias. Those thick brown books, pages trimmed in gold from the 70s? Yeah, we still have our set. My mom always loved the letter P, perhaps because she mastered those words easily. She asked my father for strong things that start with P. He offered her Pewter, Power, Pharaoh, Phoenix, Platinum and Piranha. She chose wisely.

“What’s with the bald head?” I touched the sandpaper skin on the side of Pharaoh’s coconut head. He swatted my hand away playfully.

“You look pretty fit there big sister! So, how much do you weigh?” It was nice that the athlete in our family noticed. I wore my favorite red t-shirt, which was considerably spacious now, a pair of dark blue jeans and my black Chuck Taylors. I wasn’t home to impress anyone, even though a few of Pharaoh’s buddies asked him about my availability. They really were numbskulls to think that they would get pass him to me.
My heart was already claimed anyway
, I thought.

“How about I tell you how many pounds I lost. Thirty five. And you never ask a lady how much she weighs.”

Pharaoh drove forty miles per hour and was technically breaking the law. Once, we hit Marine Corps Highway, the largest vein of road on Guam, the speed limit was thirty five and nothing more. The pace was excruciating to bear since I knew the hospital was only about five miles away from the airport, if even that. I was so used to moving at warp speed on the mainland. I turned up the rock music and closed my eyes. I hadn’t been gone long enough to miss the island and no major changes occurred in the last year, I was sure, so I caught a kitty nap.

Less than ten minutes later, we parked at the hospital. We loaded my luggage in the cab and locked up. Pharoah placed his heavy arm around my shoulders, pointed at his buddies and he walked me in. His buddies hung back, faces buried in their smartphones. I guess by my kid brother’s simple gesture they were instructed to stand guard. I needed privacy with my father anyway. He was still in intensive care unit and might be moved to a regular room by evening according to Pharaoh. Mom saw us walk by the cafeteria and raced after me.

“Fee-nux!
Aigoo
! My girl! Oh, you look so good! But, too skinny.” We embraced tightly. My mom was always a superb hugger. She was both soft and hard and I felt like a little girl every time she hugged me even if I was almost a foot taller than her. Her smell was familiar, a mix of her flowery perfume and lots of garlic. It was distinctly my mom and I loved it. She told us to wait for her while she grabbed the cup of coffee she abandoned at the table.

“Oh, how was
you
flight?” She asked, even her bad grammar was welcoming. I smiled, but I didn’t want to exchange pleasantries. I wanted to see my dad. I held her hand and kept her in step with my pace.

“Mom, how is dad?” She explained his ordeal from the start, but I kept my frustration with redundancy at bay. Mom finally said that she believed he was getting better. I hoped she was right, but I wanted to hear it from the doctors. I felt like a zombie and I eyed my mom’s coffee. She always drank hers black and I wasn’t that desperate. We arrived at the ICU, which was a cluster of rooms locked awa
y from other rooms—the rooms with hope. We had to be buzzed in. Mom drank the rest of her coffee quickly, complaining about the heat.

The smell of the ICU hit me first. It was the bitter smell of dread. I held my breath outside dad’s door. I really didn’t want to see my dad in any other way
than the way he was last year.
Strong, robust, happy
. Pharaoh held the door open for mom and me. I walked in and looked at everything but my dad. A tray full of medications, machines, wires, blinking lights, tubes. All attached to the blanketed man who was my father. I finally looked at his face. His sad, helpless face. His eyes were closed and sunken in. His gaunt face rocked me to my core. He looked like the shell of the man I knew. My dad’s brown and gray hair wasn’t combed to the left like it usually was and for a split second I was mad at my family for not grooming him. Dad’s mouth was wedged open by a clear tube that entered the side of his mouth. If this was dad improving, it didn’t look right. I kept that thought to myself.

I knew dad had an
Ischemic stroke. The more common kind, but I wasn’t comforted by that truth. I wondered if stress caused it. Dad never told me about his health problems, and we never asked. Maybe dad had high blood pressure and bad cholesterol and diabetes. I didn’t really know. What kind of daughter was I? Rachel’s aunt had a stroke several years ago, but she didn’t suffer many adverse affects from it. I was hoping for the same for my father. I wasn’t that confident though, since being in ICU was pretty serious.

“Is he sleeping?” I whispered. I wanted my dad to wake right up, jump out of bed and give me a hug.

“Yes. You daddy sleep
a lot
.” Mom spoke loudly. I walked to his side. The room was so cold and smelled of rubbing alcohol and something repulsive that I couldn’t identify. I reached out for dad’s hand pierced by a large IV needle. I stroked his hand and traced the IV line to the source of its feed. I took his cold, bony fingers in mine cautiously and squeezed. He didn’t move. I desperately wanted him to know that I was there. I began humming, the tune emerging from me like a sorrow call. I sang his favorite Everly Brothers’ song. 

I whispered the song to his ear. When I finished, he squeezed my hand. It did the trick. Dad’s eyes popped open and he searched for me. He smiled, then grimaced. I saw that the right side of his lips did as commanded, but the left side of his face rebelled and stayed in place. I began to cry softly and I kissed my father’s bony cheek.

“Hey, Nix, my princess.” I looked away. Tears flowed without pause now, because I had never heard my father call me his princess. I was always his tough girl, his tomboy, his ass-kicker. I smiled at him. I didn’t want to upset him and if he wanted me to be his princess, I would. Dad slurred and the sound of his deep, strained voice broke my heart.

I kept my eyes on his and whispered, “Hi, daddy. I’m so glad I’m here with you.”

“You. Look. Good. How. Are. You?” I was thankful that I could understand his slurred words even if it was slow coming and measured.

“Thank you, daddy. I’m doing great, but I think we need to work on you, huh?” Dad chuckled. As he attempted another smile, tears soaked his pillow. I used my fingers to smooth out his hair to the left. I desperately wanted him to look his usual self. To be healthy, to be normal again.

When dad finally fell asleep, I left the room and felt completely drained. My cup was emptied and I wavered between calling Rachel or Thomas. Rachel was in Japan and would get to see me by the weekend. I didn’t want to bother her. I decided to text Thomas while I waited for the doctor.