BooksBarbecue
Back VICTOR Save as PDF
Chapters (44)
  1. Cover
  2. PART I
  3. 1
  4. 2
  5. 3
  6. 4
  7. 5
  8. 6
  9. PART II
  10. 7
  11. 8
  12. 9
  13. 10
  14. 11
  15. 12
  16. PART III
  17. 13
  18. 14
  19. 15
  20. 16
  21. 17
  22. 18
  23. 19
  24. PART IV
  25. 20
  26. 21
  27. 22
  28. 23
  29. 24
  30. 25
  31. PART V
  32. 26
  33. 27
  34. 28
  35. 29
  36. 30
  37. 31
  38. PART VI
  39. 32
  40. 33
  41. 34
  42. 35
  43. ALSO BY THEODORA TAYLOR
  44. ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Four more months, I reminded myself as I finally drifted off into a fitful sleep. I just had to hold out for a few more months. And then I’d be free.

22

DAWN

No time for awkwardness the next morning. I had to get up bright and early to drive my mother to the hospital for her surgery.

I expected Victor to use this opportunity to slip away to the comfort of the Four Seasons. But over a breakfast of dakjuk, the Korean chicken porridge my mother made for us even though she was unable to eat, he asked for the keys to her car.

So that’s how he ended up driving us both to the hospital in my mom’s fourteen-year-old Kia Forte. And the surprises kept piling up from there.

I was planning to ask if they had any nurses on staff who spoke ASL so that my mother wouldn’t have to read lips to understand everyone when I wasn’t there. But no need. A representative appeared in the lobby shortly after we began the check-in process. She spoke sign language and assured Mom she’d be by her side until they put her under for the surgery. Then she escorted us herself to my mother’s hospital room.

I was a little confused as we followed her to the elevator bank. I mean, how had they even known that mom’s implant wasn’t working, and that she’d need further assistance?

“Is this the standard protocol for all hard of hearing patients?” I asked in the elevator, trying to get some clarity.

“I wish it was,” the translator answered carefully. Then she glanced at Victor.

And if that didn’t let me know he had something to do with his better than usual treatment, I figured it out when we walked into my mother’s room. What turned out to be a large, tranquil suite with dark bookshelves, several pieces of well-made furniture, fine art on the walls, and huge windows that displayed panoramic views of the Dallas skyline and the Trinity River.

My mom took one look at the space and demanded to see the bill.

“Insurance didn’t pay for this big room,” she insisted. “I’m not going to let you upcharge me! That’s not what I agreed to!”

Maybe because mom was getting so upset, Victor stepped forward and signed, “Not insurance. Me.”

My mom’s angry expression immediately collapsed into soft shock.

“Why did you do that for me?” she demanded. “You shouldn’t have done that! This is too much!”

Before he could answer, though, she turned to the translator and bragged, “This is my son-in-law! See how good he treats me!”

Victor once told me that he didn’t remember his mother. She had died when he was so young, and he only had a single picture of her, taken before her marriage to his father.