Page 1 of Eight Second Hearts

Prologue

Indie

“Ijust think if you’re going to grow roots, you should do it where I can come visit,” my dad says. “Family is important, Indie. You know that.”

I point my fork at him. “Don’t try to guilt trip me. You know that doesn’t turn out well.”

“Yeah, yeah. Last time I tried it, you took off to the other side of the world to be a war correspondent,” he says, shaking his head. “You sure taught me with your numerous awards.” He rolls his eyes, but his smile belies his pride.

He looks good. It’s been so long since we’ve been able to sit down like this, father and daughter, and have a good meal without anything heavy hanging over us. We’ve had a go of it, a real go, and at one point, I truly thought I was losing my dad. We’ve always been close, but after my mom died. . . he changed. He didn’t love me any less. If anything, he seemed to love me more, but Dad went down a deep, dark hole that only Mom could have pulled him from. And thanks to cancer, she wasn’t any help at all. Though, honestly, I don’t think she’d have been much help without dying either.

Mom and Dad had a. . . tumultuous relationship. I never doubted they loved each other, but they were like fire and oil, always fighting, always ready for war. It’s no wonder I ended up with the job I have. Being a journalist was always my dream. Being a war correspondent felt almost. . . necessary. But now, I’m ready to come back home and find something more profound. I want to be a part of history in a different way, without having to be shot at.

Honestly, not being shot at will be the nicest part.

“I’ll take a job where I can get it, but I’m gunning for that position with The New York Times,” I explain. “I’ll try my best to stay close, but there aren’t many options out here in Arizona. You know that as well as I do.”

He smiles at me, and despite him wanting me to stay close, he couldn’t be prouder of how far I’ve come. I know whatever job I get, he’ll celebrate with me. But tonight isn’t about my job hunt. It’s about my dad.

Mom died when I was sixteen and that deep dark hole Dad found himself in lead him into trouble I still don’t fully know about. The little Asian market he built from the ground up had been a steady source of income and had kept our little family afloat through my childhood.

Until cancer.

Cancer kills a lot of things. It kills the person you love, sure, but it also takes your financial stability with it. I watched my dad struggle to maintain the business while taking Mom to chemo appointments. I worked at the store after school so he could help Mom with her treatment. Cancer also kills your faith. I watched my father lose his through the long year of fighting, and then when cancer finally killed Mom, I watched him decide there were no gods. Only people. And not a single one could save her.

That’s where he began to dig.

It was small things at first. I didn’t blame him for drinking after losing the love of his life. I did blame him for drinking so much, he’d black out and forget to go grocery shopping. I blamed him for driving while drunk multiple times until he totaled our car. Luckily, no one else had died with the car. We started to lose the grocery store, and I was just a kid. I did my best to keep us afloat while going to school. I ended up graduating early just so I could work at the store longer, but still, we started to lose it. The harder I held on, the more it slipped away. I was too young to know how to run a business properly and the one person I trusted to ask was usually too lost in the bottle to help. A year after Mom died, the bank started sending letters that Dad didn’t even bother opening. I did, though. I opened every single one of them.

I begged him. I yelled at him. I desperately tried to get him to wake up, to face reality, to help me.

And then one day, he did, but he wasn’t the same. He was colder, more distant, less the calm, gentle man and a more volatile one.

The grocery store went from being three months behind on payments to being just fine. Strange men came into the store and slipped into the back to meet with Dad. Men in suits with lots of tattoos. The alcoholism didn’t stop, but we were no longer in danger of losing the grocery store by some miracle. When I asked about it, he dismissed my questions and told me to keep my nose out of his business. So, I did.

I went away to college, and then went further, to the other side of the world, to escape the pain of watching my father lose himself to alcohol.

I’ve come back temporarily, just because I want to get a job here in the states. The grocery store is still standing, thriving even, but he still won’t talk about business. I can’t help but think he’s gotten into some sort of deal with the kind of people alwayswaiting to take advantage of vulnerable families, but I can’t help him if he doesn’t tell me about it.

Still, the evidence of him following my career is on the walls. Every article I’ve written, every photo of me around the world, decorates his apartment, framed and presented for anyone who comes into his home. I’d paused when I’d seen it all, but now, it makes me feel. . . loved. I haven’t felt like that in a long time.

“Enough about me,Bà ba,” I say, setting my fork down. Dad had whipped up his amazing pork and vegetable dumplings that I know he must have worked on the whole day before I arrived. I’ve missed his cooking. “Let’s see this coin.”

My dad’s smile splits his face, and for the first time in years, I see pride in his eyes for himself. He reaches into his pocket and slaps a large coin on the table between us. I reach for it and pick it up, feeling the weight of it in my palm. It’s golden, and on the surface are the words, “To thine own self be true”. The large number one takes up most of the space.

“One year sober,” he says proudly, tapping his head. “I couldn’t have done it without you,Xin gan.”

I reach across the table and take his hand, my eyes misting just a little bit. “This was all you, Dad. You deserve this.” I press the coin into his palm. “I’m so proud of you.”

I’ve only seen my dad cry a handful of times, and all of those times were around my mom’s death. But right now, his eyes well at my words. I can’t stand seeing him so overcome with emotion, so I stand and wrap my arms around his shoulders, hugging him tight.

I’ve missed this. I’ve missed the man who used to tease me about my penchant for stealing pens. I’ve missed the man who looks at me with clarity in his eyes.

“Méi guan xi.Everything is going to be better now,” he says. “Just you wait and see. You’re going to get a big time jobsomewhere important and I’ll be here cheering you on from my humble little store.”

I hug him tighter, my own emotions trying to come out. The teenager inside me breathes a sigh of relief at having her dad back. I’m so glad I came home. This is why I came home.

He pats my arm, pushing down his emotion and gesturing to my plate. “Eat, eat. Your dumplings are getting cold. It’s no good when it’s cold.”

---