Shanghai Girls (Shanghai Girls #1)(120)

My heart throbs with grief and fear, but I grab on to one word: Mom.

May dabs away my tears. “She is your daughter,” she repeats. “Now stop crying. We have to think.”

May’s right. I have to regain control of my emotions, and we have to figure out how to stop my daughter from making this terrible mistake.

“Joy will need a lot of money if she wants to get to China,” I say thinking aloud.

May seems to understand what I mean. She’s been modern for a long time and has kept her money in a bank, but Sam and I followed Father Louie’s tradition of keeping our earnings nearby. We hurry to the kitchen and look under the sink for the coffee can where I keep most of my savings. It’s empty. Joy’s taken the money, but I don’t lose hope.

“When do you think she left?” I ask. “The two of you stayed up talking—”

“Why didn’t I hear her get up? Why didn’t I hear her pack?”

I have these same self-recriminations, and a part of me is still angry and confused about everything I learned last night, but I say, “We can’t worry about things like that right now. We have to concentrate on Joy. She can’t have gone far. We can still find her.”

“Yes, of course. Let’s get dressed. We’ll take two cars—”

“What about Vern?” Even in this moment of terror and bereavement, I can’t forget my responsibilities.

“You drive to Union Station and see if she’s there. I’ll get Vern situated, and then I’ll drive to the bus station.”

But Joy isn’t at the train station, and she isn’t at the bus station either. May and I meet back at the house. We still don’t know for sure where Joy has gone. It’s hard to believe that she’ll really try to go to China, but we have to act as though that’s what she’s doing if we’re to have any chance at stopping her. May and I make a new plan. I drive to the airport, while May stays at home and makes phone calls: to the Yee family to see if Joy said anything to the girls; to the uncles on the chance she sought their advice about getting into mainland China; and to Betsy and her father in Washington to check if there’s an official way to catch Joy before she leaves the country. I don’t find Joy at the airport, but May receives two distressing pieces of information. First, Hazel Yee said that early this morning Joy called in tears from the airport to say she was leaving the country. Hazel didn’t believe Joy and didn’t ask where she was going. Second, May learned from Betsy’s father that Joy can apply for and receive a visa to Hong Kong upon landing.

Since we haven’t eaten, May opens two cans of Campbell’s chicken noodle soup and begins to heat them on the stove. I sit at the table, watching my sister and worrying about my daughter. My beautiful, wild Joy is running headlong to the one place she shouldn’t go: the People’s Republic of China. But Joy—as much as she thinks she’s learned about China from the movies, that boy Joe, that dumb group she joined, and whatever her professors might have taught her in Chicago—doesn’t know what she’s doing. She’s followed her Tiger nature, acting out of anger, confusion, and misplaced enthusiasm. She’s acted out of last night’s passions and confusions. As I told May, I believe that Joy’s rushing off to China is as much a flight from us—the two women who have fought over her from birth—as it is about finding her real father. And Joy can’t possibly understand how traumatic—not to mention dangerous—finding Z.G. could be.

But if Joy can’t avoid her essential nature, then I can’t escape mine either. The pull of motherhood is strong. I think of my own mother and all she did to save May and me from the Green Gang and protect us from the Japanese. Mama may have agonized over her decision to leave my father behind, but she did it. Surely she was terrified to step into the room with the soldiers, but she didn’t hesitate then either. My daughter needs me. No matter how perilous the journey or how great the risks, I have to find her. She needs to know that I’ll stand by her, unconditionally, without question, whatever the situation.

A small smile comes to my lips as I realize that for once not being a U.S. citizen is going to help me. I don’t have a U.S. passport. I have only my Certificate of Identity, which will allow me to leave this country that has never wanted me. I have some money tucked in the lining of my hat, but it isn’t enough to get me to China. It will take too long to sell the café. I could go to the FBI and confess everything and more, say I’m a rabid Communist of the worst kind, and hope to be deported …

May pours the soup into three bowls, and we go to Vern’s room. He’s pale and confused. He ignores the soup and nervously twists his bed-sheets.

“Where is Sam? Where is Joy?”

“I’m sorry, Vern. Sam died,” May tells him for what I know must be the twentieth time today. “Joy has run away. Do you understand, Vern? She isn’t here. She’s gone to China.”

“China’s a bad place.”

“I know,” she says. “I know.”

“I want Sam. I want Joy.”

“Try to eat your soup,” May says.

“I need to go after Joy,” I announce. “Maybe I can find her in Hong Kong, but I’ll go into China if I have to.”

“China’s a bad place,” Vern repeats. “You die there.”