When You Were Here (6 page)

I hop into the rental car and head to the hospital to meet Trina. She’s got a break in a few minutes.

In the cafeteria Trina shakes three sugar packets crisply between her thumb and forefinger. She never uses artificial sweetener. “Too many chemicals. That stuff will mess you up,” she likes to say. “At least with sugar, we know what it does to you.” Then she’ll pause and blow air into her cheeks. “Makes you fat!”

She rips open her sugar trifecta and dumps it into her coffee. “Fuel,” she says, tapping the paper cup. She wears blue scrubs, a white lab coat, and has her long black hair looped back into a ponytail at the nape of her neck. “So what’s the story, morning glory?”

“This chick from Tokyo wrote to me,” I say, and tell Trina about the letter as clinically as I possibly can, like an unbiased reporter, because I want her unbiased report in return. Then I tell her about the absence of meds at my house.

“You’re going to go, right?”

I don’t answer right away, because I expected more back-and-forth. I expected I’d have to convince her. But Trina is decisive, and she has issued a ruling. She leans forward and has this strangely serious look in her hazel eyes, like she’s telling the nurse to get the patient into the operating room, stat. “You’re going to go over there and meet this girl and read the cards and see this temple and go to this teahouse?”

She chugs half her coffee. I wonder if it burns her throat.

“You
really
think I should go there?” I figured I was crazy. I figured I was casting about for something, anything, and Trina would be the one to knock sense into me. But logical, rational, sensible Trina thinks Tokyo is a good idea.

She nods several times. “Next flight. Go.”

“Why?”

“First off, because of the meds. That’s a little weird if she wasn’t taking them when she was in Tokyo.”

“Seriously?”

“Unless she just had them filled. Which could be the case. But yeah, cancer patients usually take their meds. Because, you know, meds make you feel better.”

“So I should go to Tokyo, find Takahashi, and ask if my mom was taking her medicine or not?” I ask, sounding like the parent checking up on the sick kid.

“I would, but maybe it’s just the doctor in me that’s curious about the meds.”

“Would he tell me?
Can
he tell me?”

“Sure, I have to imagine he’d talk to you.”

“What about the whole doctor-patient confidentiality thing? I thought it was against the rules or something.”

She shrugs. “Technically. But that’s all about getting sued, and this isn’t a TV crime drama. There isn’t a trial going on where someone’s being compelled to testify.” Then she raises an eyebrow and gives me a conspiratorial look. “Look,
I’d
talk to you if I were him, but then again, it’s not like I’m an advocate of following all the rules.” Trina, of course, has already been a rule breaker. “It’s different in Japan too. Doctors there, they’re used to talking to the family. Sometimes the family learns stuff before the patient does.” She reaches a hand out and places it on mine. “Besides, Danny, what else are you going to do this summer?”

Trina says it so gently, so sweetly, and it’s so clear that being with her was never an option for summer entertainment for either one of us. I picture a trip. I could do more than just figure out whether to keep the apartment. I could see the Tatsuma Teahouse for myself, not just read some cryptic online review that hints at a wing-and-prayer kind of hope. I could visit my mom’s favorite temple too. I could find the people who knew her, the guy who served her breakfast at the fish market when she was there. I could even meet Dr. Takahashi. I could talk to the doctor—her last great hope—about my mom, about the treatments, find out why she was so damn happy, find out why she couldn’t last two more months. I have to imagine he’d talk to me too.

I could learn all her secrets, as if she were still here to tell them to me.

As if she were here to tell me how to be whole again.

“What does she mean about disposing of the meds?” I ask, keeping things practical, businesslike, with Trina.

Trina shrugs. “It’s probably the same as here. There’s a greater concern in general, at least in this country, about how many meds are now in the water supply. So the government has guidelines for medication disposal. ’Cause otherwise people will dump their unused scrips in the toilet, and then trace amount of drugs get into the water supply,” she says, and takes a long drink of her coffee. She sets it down and then slaps her palms against the table, in a sort of punch-line
bah-bump
sound. “That’s why I say,
Always finish your PKs, boys and girls
.”

“You know I follow those doctor’s orders,” I say, then tap the letter. “But what do you think this is all about? This temple and teahouse? Is that like some new medical treatment for cancer? Some alternative healing or whatever?” I don’t mention what I saw on that site. It’s just a site, just a random comment about tea being a cure. But maybe that’s why my mom stopped talking about her visits. Maybe she wasn’t just laughing about doctor’s orders to go to a teahouse; maybe she really was making a last bet on something iffy and unproven when all the other stuff stopped working. It makes me a little bit crazy that she was grasping at straws, but it’s also exactly what I’d do too—fight like hell to hang on, however I had to, by any means possible.

Trina doesn’t answer right away. She takes another drink, considering. “I don’t know, Danny. I’m a little bit more of a meds gal myself. But whatever it was, it sounds like a good thing, like a good way to go.” Her voice softens, like she’s talking to a worried patient. “Drinking tea. Sharing stories. That sounds nice, doesn’t it?”

I nod briefly and look away. It does sound nice. It does sound pleasant. I’m glad my mom was joyful. I’m glad she wasn’t in pain every single second. I hate that she was even in pain at all. Watching her throw up, watching her wither away after treatments—nothing prepares you for that. Not even losing my dad. Because when he died it happened so fast, like a slash. With her, it was a relentless witnessing. And so the days, the weeks, when she felt good were the best. A tear forms somewhere behind my eyes, and I brace myself. I won’t cry in front of Dr. Trina Asvati. I won’t cry here in this hospital where I met Trina six months ago when she was working on her oncology rotation. I was here every day, and Trina was here every day, and soon Trina and I were making out in supply closets and empty rooms and it was like one of those hospital shows where the doctors and nurses are getting it on all the time. Only, I was the patient’s family, but I was eighteen, and Trina didn’t care, and I didn’t care, and we just fit. Two people who barely had the time or energy or inclination to let another person in. We were perfect for each other.

“Hey,” she says softly.

“I’m cool. Don’t worry.”

“I know. And listen, I’m leaving for Seattle in a week. They’re transferring me up there for the rest of my residency.”

“Really?”

She nods. “Really. Remember I told you a few weeks ago I was up for a transfer?”

I nod, but I don’t remember.

“You know how it goes with these programs. They shift you around.”

“Right,” I say, but I don’t have a clue how it goes with medical programs. I don’t even know how old Trina is. I don’t ask. She doesn’t tell. That’s how it’s been. I suppose I should feel sad again, pummeled again, but I’ve got a trip to plan. I’ve got things to learn about the person I loved most in the world.

I’m suddenly a very busy man.

In the parking lot, I look up flights on my phone. I check out prices. I plug in dates. I call Kate as I leave the hospital and head onto the roads back to Santa Monica.

She’s driving in her car, and I can tell I’m on speakerphone because one of Kate’s many rules is two hands on the wheel at all times. She tells me to meet her at her house in twenty minutes, that both her daughter and her husband are out. She doesn’t use Holland’s name with me, just says
my daughter
, as if that designation demarcates her into two separate people—the Holland who is Kate’s daughter and the Holland who was mine.

When Kate answers the door, she is wearing black workout pants and a black workout top. “I just got back from the gym.”

“Good workout?”

“The best,” she says as I follow her into the kitchen. Everything is the Best for Kate. She has the best day. The best time. Sees the best movies. Reads the best books. I want to be as happy as Kate someday. She’s happy about almost everything. Except losing her best friend, but she is steel, and she won’t let on about her own sorrow in front of me.

“I just got three new carpets from my Turkish contact this week.” She gestures to the far side of the house. “They’re in the
den of iniquity
,” she jokes, referring to her rug room, because Kate is the type of person who can joke about her job. She is an antique-rug dealer, peddling fancy, exotic, original, and hard-to-find rugs to the superrich in Southern California. It’s not the kind of job you’d ever think someone would have, but she has it, and she does quite well for herself too. Her husband is a tax attorney. It’s kind of ironic, in a way, that no one I know has anything to do with the film or TV business, but that’s all people think Los Angeles is about.

Kate and I fall into our familiar spots in her kitchen. I head straight for the fridge, reaching for a Diet Coke on the side of the door where they’re kept. Kate goes through her regular routine too, filling a glass with her cold, filtered water and adding a slice of lemon to the edge of the glass. I swear, if you saw her water routine, you’d never think this woman worked out at Animal House.

I lean against the counter, taking a drink of the soda,
and then I place the can down. “What do you know about Kana Miyoshi?”

“Mai’s daughter?”

I nod.

“What do you want to know about her? They take care of your mother’s apartment. Now
your
apartment. They took over the building a year ago from the previous company, so I don’t think you ever met them.”

“How old is she? Kana.”

“She’s seventeen. She has one year left in high school, I believe. Are you having some online fantasy relationship with her?”

I laugh silently and shake my head. Kate doesn’t mince words. I love her directness on all topics but the one verboten subject that we both know to never broach.

“Why are you asking, then?”

I want to show Kate the letter, but what if she just explains all those things away? What if she just rattles off a quick and obvious explanation of the temple and the teahouse, and then this door is slammed shut? I need this door open.

I shrug. “Curious, okay?”

“It’s your standard apartment-management business. Most of the places they manage are owned by foreigners or other people who only go to Tokyo a few times a year. Most don’t live there year-round. So they need someone on the ground for any issues or problems with the apartments. That’s what Mai does. But she felt her English wasn’t good enough, so that’s why Kana is so involved. Anything else?”

“Did my mom stop taking her meds when she was there?”

“I don’t think so. Why would she do that?”

“Did she stop taking her meds
here
?”

Kate shakes her head. “Not that I know of. Why?”

“Well, where are they?”

“There were things I cleaned out after…” She lets her voice go. Finds it again. “But I didn’t inventory her meds. I didn’t count pills. Besides, there weren’t many left when…” Another deserted sentence. Another side effect of death. Words go AWOL. “So I just got rid of what was left.”

Maybe the meds in Tokyo were unopened because my mom had just refilled them on her last trip there. And maybe she never took them simply because she never returned to Tokyo. That would make sense. But even so, I’d like to hear it from the doctor. I’d like to know what the
doctor’s orders
were.

Kate takes a few steps closer and puts her hand on my arm. “What’s going on, Danny? How can I help you? You know Elizabeth asked me to look out for you, but you should also know that she didn’t have to. I’d do it anyway. I love you like you’re my own son. And I would be here for you whether she asked me to or not.”

I dip my hand into the pocket of my shorts, feeling for the letter but keeping it safe. “I’m going to Tokyo.”

Kate takes a minute to digest my news, probably debating whether to weigh in or not. She seems to know her role right now isn’t to approve or disapprove. “You are?”

“Yes.” It’s real. It’s happening.

“Why?”

“Why not?” I counter.

But before she can respond, her cell phone rings, that grating sound of her ringtone, a James Taylor song. “I’m so sorry, Danny. This will take just one second. It’s a client who’s been having a problem. And I promised I would sort it out today.” In one swift, smooth move, she inserts a headset into her ear and says hello. There’s a pause, then she says, “The rugs arrived yesterday. They’re fabulous. They’re the best. They have this interlocking pattern….”

I tune out the rest as she romances a client. I finish my soda and look around the kitchen and peer down the hall. Even though Holland isn’t here, I can’t help where my eyes go. That’s the hall where her room is.

The call ends, and Kate looks at me again. “Are you okay?”

I nod. “Yeah, totally.”

“Come with me. I have to go see this client for literally ten seconds. It’s not that far and we’ll talk in the car. You and I—we like cars, don’t we?” She gives me a smile, trying to get me to laugh. “And I’ve got the big, comfy Audi with the leather seats. And we’ll chat about your trip. And I’ll tell you about all the plastic sushi I need you to find for my plastic-sushi collection, okay?”

“I’m fine. You go ahead.”

“Then please stay here. Will you? Let’s have dinner. I’m ordering Chinese. I’ll get your favorite. Pepper steak and
sizzling rice soup. I’ll be back in thirty minutes. I just have to take care of this. But stay here. Watch TV. Play the Xbox, okay?”

“I have to water the yard,” I say, though I haven’t turned on the hose in ages. We have a sprinkler system. “I’ll just come back in thirty minutes.”