Tiger Girl (22 page)

Then, as I ran back inside, my terrible thoughts returned. What a coincidence that on our biggest day of sales ever, we should be robbed. And then today, Paul comes to check out business again. What if he were still tied up with criminals in some way, obligated to find new marks for them?

I shivered. I didn't want to be robbed again. Especially by family.

Anita was bagging up another half-dozen donut holes when I sidled up. “We should get security cameras. We should at least put up a sign saying we have hidden security cameras.”

“It's natural to be nervous after what you and Sitan went through.”

“I mean it, Anita. We should be prepared. I don't trust him.”

“Sitan?” Anita looked surprised.

“No! Paul.”

“Oh, honey. You don't know him yet.”

“He was there, now he's gone. What's he watching us for? We don't really know anything about him. He shows up, we get robbed. He shows up again. I'm just sayin'.”

Anita took a damp rag and wiped it across the counter top while the next group of customers stared at the cases, trying to decide what to order. “All I know is your uncle had a hole in his heart the size of his son. Now he's a new man. I can see it in his eyes. That's good news, honey. I'm not going to look this gift horse in the mouth.” She tapped the tattoo on her arm. “The one thing I learned on the knife circuit is not to live in fear.
Trust that you'll be able to adapt to what comes next.” Then she busied herself with the next customer.

I found Anita's endorsement of Paul less than ringing, but she clearly wasn't going to worry about any of my concerns. For the time being, there was nothing I could do. But while she rang up the next order, I took out a Sharpie from the pen drawer by the cash register and wrote on a blank piece of paper: “Smile! Our security cameras are filming you.” I drew an arrow ambiguously pointing up. Then I taped it to the front door.

By three, Sitan still hadn't come in for work and Anita had to leave. She had a doctor appointment for the tendonitis in her wrists, she said. I told her that I could man the shop all by myself, no problem, even though deep down I was still a little afraid. After she left, I tried to console myself. Maybe now that business had picked up, Uncle would stop volunteering all over town and come back to work, or else hire somebody else to work in the shop. I tried to look on the upside. If Ma ever found out that I'd come to visit Uncle, she'd worry about whether I'd pitched in and helped or if I had been a layabout. I wouldn't want her to be ashamed.

As the sun was setting, the air grew noticeably cooler and a wind picked up, blowing dust and sagebrush and bits of trash across the parking lot. Clouds gathered along the horizon, so that the rays of the setting sun formed waves of deep red and gold, like blood trapped in amber. I looked out the window, up at the roiling sky, and thought it might actually rain. So much for it always being sunny in California. The wind picked up tiny rocks and threw them against the glass. The change in weather thinned the crowd, so by five, as the sky darkened, I could close on time. I watched the headlights creeping down the street, the traffic slower than usual, everyone inching home, heads down against the wind.

I was mopping up when the first clap of thunder shook the glass in the windows. The boom was so loud that it sounded like a truck had hit a car somewhere. I peered out the front window, expecting to see twisted metal and headlights careening across the parking lot, but instead there was a flash of lightning revealing the traffic, the parking lot, the palm trees swaying in the wild wind.

The thunder boomed again, and the rain fell all at once, as if every cloud had a little trapdoor inside, all of which opened simultaneously to release a river of water. The rain pounded onto the asphalt, splashed against the window glass, swept over the cars.

The phone rang. It was Uncle, calling to see if I was okay. He sounded genuinely worried. I was surprised that rain was such a big deal, but he said there was flooding in the canyon, whatever that meant. He said, “There will be accidents. It's like a blizzard here when it rains.” He wanted me to stay put until he could get there. He'd be late, he said, but he'd drive me home. I shouldn't venture on the bus. Not in this weather.

I looked out into the blurry parking lot, the headlights reflected in the rain pouring down the glass. “I'll wait. Don't worry.” He hung up, and I went back to cleaning up the shop.

Then the power went out. First the lights flickered, and then the freezer made this slow knocking sound, whined, and was suddenly silent. I stood in the middle of the front room, the world outside suddenly darker, too. All the streetlights were out, as well as the Christmas lights at the strip mall. I hadn't realized how I'd grown used to their blinking in the night air until now that they were gone and I was staring into the dark, the headlights on the street suddenly brighter and slower, unfocused-seeming, like glowing myopic eyes.

A huge clap of thunder followed, then lightning flashed across the entire sky. I saw the stark outline of the palms, their
spiky leaves pointed at the dark clouds in accusation. The metal skeletons of the dark streetlamps seemed as forlorn as dandelion stems with their white seeds blown clear away. Another quick flash and its rolling peal of thunder made me feel like the earth was opening up, ready to swallow us all.

Then I saw two figures standing before the window, their faces pressed to the glass, peering inside, the whites of their eyes catching the light.

I shrieked.

Everything was black again. The two figures were still standing at the front window, rattling the door, pounding on the glass, trying to break inside.

I dropped to the floor and scurried behind the counter so they couldn't see me. I should call the police, I thought. Two holdups in a row was serious. I crept toward the phone on the wall, but then I couldn't remember if I'd checked the back door, if I'd locked it after Anita had taken the trash to the dumpster. My heart leaped to my throat. It would take forever for the police to arrive. It would be too late if the gang members got inside.

I ran to the kitchen, which was completely black. I bumped against the counter, the stool, the metal fan. I tripped over a garbage can and jammed a finger against the wall. I patted my way with both hands toward the back door until I made sure it was locked, then felt my way up the wooden frame till I could find the deadbolt, and turned that, too. Then, carefully walking in baby steps, I made my way back to the front room so I could call the cops.

I was feeling for the phone on the wall when the lights hummed and spluttered. Flat white light flooded the front room as the lights in the parking lot burst back on like little fireworks sparking in the night sky. The freezer hummed back to life. Then the zombies at the front door burst inside.

I gasped.

It was Paul and a stranger. Was this part of the plan? Casing us out this morning. Now he was back for the actual robbery.

“I called the cops!” I shouted. “They'll be here any minute!”

“You shoulda called the power company,” he said nonchalantly. He shut the door carefully behind him, ushering his friend to the booth. “Cops won't do any good.”

“There's no money. Anita took it with her.”

“I don't need any money.” Paul looked at me strangely. “What's wrong with you?” He brushed past me to grab paper towels from the roll behind the counter.

“Oh, little sister, did you think we were going to hold you up?” A deep, throaty voice spoke up from the booth, then laughed. “Bang, bang!”

I peered round Paul's shoulder. The person in the booth had long bleached-blond hair pulled back in a tight, low ponytail. I realized it was the woman from this morning. Her makeup had run in the rain, and raccoonlike pools of black mascara puddled beneath her eyes. She dabbed at her face with the paper towels Paul handed her. “Thanks, babe.” Then she batted her eyes at him.

“How'd you get in? You didn't break the door, did you?”

“My father gave me a key,” Paul said haughtily. “I just couldn't see to get it in the lock at first.”

“Poor thing. She thought we were going to rob her.” Paul's girlfriend laughed again. “We didn't mean to scare you.”

“Why didn't you call first? Why did you come and then disappear like that? What's wrong with you?” I asked angrily. I didn't think it was funny the way they'd treated me.

“Half his church group was here,” Paul growled. “What did you expect?”

“Of course they're here! They're so happy for him. They think it's a miracle you've come back and he's found you. This
place is practically a shrine. If you'd stayed, everyone would've wanted to touch the hem of your jacket.” I hadn't expected that to come out sounding as bitter as it did, but once I'd spoken, I couldn't take the words back.

Paul inhaled sharply, then blew the air out over his teeth, slowly, as though I were testing his patience, as though I were the one inconveniencing him.

Then his friend sashayed over, took some napkins from the dispenser, and began patting Paul's hair dry. “It's okay, babe. You know what's right.”

With most of her makeup gone and her hair pulled back from her face, I could get a better look at Paul's girlfriend. In the unflattering fluorescent light, she looked tired, shadows under her eyes. Her skin was uneven, acne-pocked, and her jaw was sharp and determined as she wiped Paul's face dry. Her hands were really large.

And then I got it.

Paul's friend wasn't a woman.

“Oh,” I said, then shut my mouth.

I turned away once then turned back toward them. Suddenly, Paul's hesitancy to introduce his friend to the church crowd made more sense.

I wondered if Uncle knew, but as soon as I asked myself the question, I knew that he didn't. My heart beat faster. I felt afraid.

“I'm Arun,” the friend said, extending his hand to me to shake.

I wiped my sweaty palms on my jeans and shook Arun's hand. “Nea.”

“My cousin,” Paul said.

“You look so familiar,” Arun said, “but I don't remember anyone named Nea.”

“It's my American name.”

“She's Sourdi's younger sister,” Paul said.

“Sourdi! I remember her! Such a pretty little girl. She used to play at your house all the time, before it became too dangerous, moving around in the city. I remember her. Where is she now?”

“Married. Three kids. Lives in Iowa.”

“Wonderful!” said Arun. “I'm so happy.”

“Paul told us how you two survived.”

“We were very lucky. Very, very lucky. I always thank Buddha we survived. And my big brother.” Arun squeezed Paul's arm.

I wasn't sure if Arun wanted me to consider him a man or a woman. His mannerisms were feminine, his voice softer than a man's. But without his makeup and with his hair slicked back, in his blue jeans and jacket, he looked distinctly male. I wondered if this was part of the plan, a way of introducing Arun to Uncle, or if it was merely an accident of the storm. I wondered if it was bad of me to even wonder.

“I'm so pleased Paul has found his father again. The family reunited. It's like a dream come true,” Arun said. “And then to meet a cousin!”

“Did you find any of your family?” I asked.

Arun shook his head. “No. I heard what happened, though, from other survivors. My mother died under Pol Pot. In one of the work camps. My father never even made it to a camp. He was killed en route. What could he do? He wore glasses. He had light skin. He looked like an intellectual. How could he hide from those brutal tyrants?”

“I'm sorry.”

Arun paced in the small space between the booth and the counter, patting at his hair with one of the napkins. “They're in a better place. They're in Heaven. Or they've been reincarnated.
Maybe they're darling little babies right now while we're standing here talking about them.”

Thunder rattled the glass again, but it wasn't as loud as before. The storm was finally moving on.

“Would you like something to drink? A soda? A bottle of water?” I rummaged in the refrigerated case. “I already emptied the tea and coffee pots, but we have bottled ice tea.”

“Thank you for your thoughtfulness, but I'm fine.” Arun sat in the booth. Arun had excellent manners, spoke in a formal Khmer, the grammar impeccable. Watching Arun sit gracefully, legs crossed, I decided I'd think of her as a woman. It seemed to fit. At least for now. She put her arms across the tabletop and lay her head down, her long hair fanning out around her so that I couldn't see her face, couldn't read her expression.

“Is Arun okay?” I whispered to Paul.

“Yeah, Arun's just tired. We had a long drive today.” Paul grabbed a bottle of Coke out of the refrigerator case and opened it on the edge of the counter, popping the top off quickly. It spun on the floor like a top. He didn't bother to pick it up.

Still the rich man's son, acting like he expected servants to pick up after him. I tried not to let my irritation show.

“So when's my father coming back?” He downed a big gulp of the Coke and then belched.

“Disgusting,” I said.

He smiled. “Sorry. I haven't eaten yet today.”

“You were in earlier. You should have bought a donut or something.”

“I didn't want to cut in line.” Paul winked.

“You should be more considerate. Uncle's been waiting for you all weekend.”

“I had to find Arun.”

“How come you didn't know where Arun was?”

“We had a fight—”

“It's okay, babe,” Arun said from the booth. Then she said in carefully enunciated English, “ ‘Let bygone be bygone.' ”

“I don't even know what that means,” Paul said. His voice tacked toward anger, as though they were on the verge of picking up where the last fight ended. My body tightened, the air in the room growing tense.