The Father of Her Son - By Kathleen Pickering Page 0,106

the pillow and stuffed them against her ears. With her family hovering on the other side of the curtain, the pleasant buzz of the painkillers evaporated, and her stomach churned.

Shadows streaked into her cubicle from beneath the partition. “Tiffany?”

For a moment, she considered pretending to be comatose, or ducking away and hiding somewhere until they left. But there was no avoiding the inevitable. Sighing, she propped herself up in the hospital bed, smoothing the blanket over her knees. “I’m here,” she called in a rusty voice.

The rings on the curtain railing clattered as the partition was yanked aside. Mom, Dad, Daniel and Poh-poh took her in with dark, wide eyes.

“Ai-ya!” Her grandmother began speaking rapidly in Cantonese, waving her hands.

“Bah, she’s fine. I told you she was fine,” her father said impatiently, giving her a cursory once-over. His stained white kitchen apron still clung to his narrow hips, the front dangling to his knees, and he smelled strongly of fryer oil. “You’re fine, right?” he asked.

She didn’t reply, knowing any answer apart from “yes” would cause only more trouble.

“What were you doing driving so fast in the rain?” Her mother placed her dry, papery palm against Tiffany’s forehead as if she had a fever. Her fingers brushed the bruises along her cheek and jaw and Tiffany flinched. “It’s that car, I bet. I told you not to buy used.”

“There’s nothing wrong with used cars,” her dad said. “She’s just a bad driver. She should have learned from me instead of paying for those classes. ‘Defensive driving’—bah.” He snorted in disgust. “Daniel learned from me, and now he teaches driving.”

Poh-poh cycled through relief, exasperation and hysterics as she berated her only granddaughter in her native tongue. She was reckless; drivers today were careless; the weather had cursed her; her face was all bruised and now she wouldn’t be able to find a husband and why hadn’t she stayed in Everville with the family instead of moving to New York City?

“I’m sorry, Poh-poh.” She felt bad for making her grandmother worry.

“Sit down, Grandma. Don’t work yourself up.” Daniel pulled the cubicle’s lone chair next to the bed, but their grandmother argued that her dad should sit after his long day in the kitchen. Tony insisted his wife sit. Rose insisted Daniel sit. Tiffany closed her eyes as they argued, voices rising until a nurse asked them to quiet down. Grudgingly, Poh-poh sat.

The E.R.’s attending physician interrupted to talk to the family about Tiffany’s condition. Dr. Frewer was a nice-looking middle-aged man with salt in his dark hair and a fat gold wedding ring on his finger. Tiffany bet he was wondering the same thing she did whenever her family got together: How did four people manage to make such a racket? He greeted each family member and ran through the list of Tiffany’s injuries: a few bruises, a sprained wrist, but nothing serious.

“Sounds like nothing she can’t sleep off,” her dad said once the doctor finished speaking. “You don’t need to stay here, right?”

“For God’s sake, she was in an accident,” her mom said in exasperation, adding in Cantonese, “Have some compassion. The doctor will think you’re cruel.”

“No point coddling her if she’s fine.” Tony folded his arms across his chest. “They didn’t have to drag us all out here for a few bruises.”

“Let’s listen to what the doctor says,” her brother interrupted. That was Daniel. Always coming to the rescue.

“Of course, of course.” Tony switched back to English and said to the doctor, “My kids are strong. They heal fast. Tiffany doesn’t heal as fast as her brother, though.” He turned to Daniel. “Remember that time she broke her arm? She had that cast on for six weeks. You only had it on for five.”

Daniel rolled his eyes. “You guys stay here with Tiff. I’m going to talk to the officer out front and see about Tiff’s car.”

Rose looked at her. “Why didn’t you tell us you were driving up?” she asked.

“It was a last-minute decision.”

Concern became suspicion, and small lines appeared around her mother’s dark eyes. “Last minute? With no phone call? What happened?”

Tiffany didn’t want to get into it while she was wearing nothing but a hospital gown. She sat up and forced a smile. “Can I be discharged?” she asked the doctor to stave off her mother’s interrogation.

“There’s nothing to keep you here,” Dr. Frewer said, shrugging, “though I would recommend you see your family doctor if anything gets worse. He or she can prescribe you physical therapy,