15. Derrick
15
DERRICK
I shuffled Rachel and the man inside the studio, away from the phones and curious onlookers. Rachel hadn't spoken since the man's declaration, and I was concerned she was in shock.
"What's your name?" I asked, holding the man's arm hard enough that he couldn't escape but not hard enough to bruise.
"Hao Lin. I don't mean to scare. I worry you don't want to see me," the man said with an accent I presumed was Chinese, his English broken and stilted. I glanced at Rachel, but she showed no recognition of the name.
"Who's your daughter?"
"Jessica Lin." Hao stepped toward Rachel, but I held him back.
Life stirred behind Rachel's baffled expression.
"How did you find me?" Rachel asked, standing taller, her brain clicking on.
"I hire a private detective. She found you."
Rachel lowered herself onto the small sofa in the lobby.
"Sit," she said to Hao and glanced up at me and nodded, letting me know it was okay to let him go. I did, but I stood over him, ready to grab him if he tried anything.
Hao sat but on the far side of the sofa, farthest away from Rachel.
"My daughter was ashamed."
"Of me?" Rachel's eyes widened.
"Of what she do. Of giving you away. But the shame is mine."
Rachel leaned toward him, but Hao pressed against the arm of the sofa like he was frightened.
"May I see your license?" I asked, wary. I had learned never to trust anyone at their word. Especially when they'd been stalking someone for weeks.
He handed me his beat-up wallet, and I flipped to his license, which had the same name he had given us, as did all his credit cards. I took a photo of the license and sent it to my buddy at my old precinct and asked him to run a background check.
"Where's my...your daughter?" Rachel asked, her hands clasped tightly in her lap.
"She never forgive me. I make her give up baby."
Rachel reeled back. "Why?" she asked, her voice thick.
"Jessica not married. She a child too. Sixteen when pregnant. And father is not Chinese."
My main association with Chinese culture was from working cases involving Chinese Americans. Over the years I had learned that family and community took precedence over the individual. And the elders in the community were respected above all. Of course, this could vary depending on many things, but it seemed Hao came from a traditional Chinese background by the few things he had said.
From his accent and broken speech, I guessed he had immigrated directly from China, and his daughter was first generation. Especially with her name being Jessica.
These were all assumptions, of course.
"Where's Jessica?" Rachel asked.
"She die last year. Doctor's say cancer, but I think it was broken heart."
"I—" Rachel's voice caught. I stepped toward her, but she put her hand up, stopping me. "What kind of cancer?"
Hao glanced up, a sheen of wetness in his eyes, but his voice was steady.
"Here." He pointed to his chest.
"Breast," Rachel said.
"Yes." Hao nodded. "Her mother die too from this."
"I'm sorry." Rachel covered his hand with hers, and he didn't move.
My phone buzzed, and I stepped outside, keeping an eye on Hao and Rachel through the glass. Detective Jones told me Hao Lin had a nearly clean record besides a couple of traffic stops, and he did have a daughter named Jessica who died nearly a year ago, according to her death certificate.
When I went back inside, Rachel was writing her information on a piece of paper and handed it to Hao.
"Now you don't have to follow me."
Hao held it like it was a precious object. "I must make up to you," Hao said.
"I'm fine," Rachel said. "My life is good, and I was a blessing for my mother. My real mother."
"I call," Hao said, holding up the paper, and walked to the door.
"Wait," Rachel said. "What was Jessica's real name? Her Chinese name?"
"Jing."
Rachel smiled, but it was sad.
"He has my eyes," she said once Hao was gone. She stared at the closed door. "Did you notice?"
I shook my head, more concerned for her emotional state than anything else. I worried what would happen when the shock wore off.
"They were golden brown and had that pigment defect in the corner of his left pupil. See?"
She stepped in front of me, opening her eyes wide. I'd never noticed it before, but there it was, a sliver of yellow amongst the brownish-orange pupil.
"I thought about contacting her. About five years ago, but I wasn't ready to shake up my life." Her shoulders slumped and she shook her head. "This doesn't feel real."
My hands wrapped around her slight shoulders, and she folded into my chest. I put my arms around her and let her rest there.
"I'll never meet her now," she said into my shirt.
My hand cradled the back of her head, her breath warm against my chest. She smelled like grape shampoo.
"I'll take you home."
She pushed off me and screwed up her face. "I have a bout tonight."
"But—"
"I'm fine, Derrick. Besides, curling up in a fetal position and crying over things I can't change isn't going to help. Beating the shit out of some girls will, though."
Rachel wiped the wetness from her eyes with her palms and adjusted her bag.
"I'm not gonna break, dude." She banged her shoulder against my ribs. "Come on. You can walk me to the subway."
I eyed her sideways, not trusting her for a second. There was no way she was okay with this. It was gonna take her a while to process it, and when she did, it wouldn't be pretty.
But she wasn't ready to talk about it, so I wasn't gonna push.
"Promise me you'll call your mother," I couldn't help saying. It was what I'd say to Valeria if something like this happened to her.
"Whatever, Dad."
I narrowed my gaze, not amused.
"Fine. I'll call her."
We walked in silence down the block, the bustle of the city rushing by matching the cacophony of thoughts in my head.
"I always wanted a big family," Rachel said suddenly. "I wonder if Jessica had any other kids. Do you like having all those sisters?"
"It's a blessing and a curse," I said. "That was my sister you saw with me on the subway platform."
"Oh." Rachel chewed her bottom lip. "She seemed nice. Spunky."
I laughed. "That's one way to describe her."
Rachel turned to me. "Thanks for being all big brother protector tonight. And stop worrying. I see it all over your face. I'm fine. I mean, yeah, it's a lot. But I got this."
"Don't quit," I blurted out. "Come back to work for me."
Whatever response I expected, Rachel bending over and laughing wasn't it.
"Why?" she asked. "You want to keep me close and make sure nothing bad happens?"
I shrugged because, yeah. That was exactly right.
She shook her head, still chuckling. "I accept. I've missed it."
Rachel bounced down the steps of the station as if a bomb in the shape of a new grandfather and deceased birth mother hadn't just exploded in her lap.
"And tame that anaconda in your pants," she shouted up the steps before disappearing.
Several commuters rushing out of the subway entrance looked at my crotch.
I ground my teeth. I'd hoped she'd forgotten the whole I-got-a-hard-on-in-the-middle-of-our-fight thing, but nope. Leave it to Rachel to remind me in the middle of a crowded subway station.