The Jade Emperor Read online

  Tét n. Vietnamese New Year. A time to bid farewell to the family’s Kitchen God (Ong Tao), who then returns to heaven to report on the family’s behavior in the past year to the Jade Emperor.

  The Jade Emperor

  By

  Suzanne Jenkins

  Copyright © 2017 by

  Suzanne Jenkins. All rights reserved.

  Created in digital format in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations in blog posts and articles and in reviews.

  The Jade Emperor – is a complete and total work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Where familiar places in Dearborn are mentioned, it is in a completely fictitious manner.

  Free stories are delivered periodically to subscribers of the author’s newsletter. Go to suzannejenkins.com for more information.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Epilogue

  Chapter 1

  Until one warm Friday evening in autumn, Kelly Boyd’s life revolved around her husband and six grown children. She wasn’t interested in vacations, cruises and trips to exotic places because spending time with her family provided all the fun and relaxation she needed. Almost achieving her childhood goals, all she’d wanted in life was to have her own home, a husband who loved her, and a nice family like the one she came from, but with lots of children.

  The excitement and anticipation of the weekends made the stress of her job and the discontent in her personal life recede. Simmering away in the back of her subconscious was a seed of nonspecific unease that grew and festered if she gave it too much of her attention. The apprehension didn’t seem to have a source she could pinpoint. A common occurrence for her, she thought it was simply due to her age, and women’s intuition instigating worry with no foundation.

  Routine was essential for her well-being. After a week of grueling hospital work as a nurse, Kelly spent each Friday night cleaning house so the weekend would be free for family dinners and outings. While she cleaned, she’d talk on the phone to her twin sister with reruns of Hoarders on the television as background noise. Steve, her husband of over forty years, sequestered in his basement man-cave watching sports events on a ninety-inch flat screen, was oblivious to whatever Kelly was up to until he heard the vacuum running.

  Kelly stuck to her schedule no matter what, Steve once joked that he could be having a heart attack on the floor, and Kelly would finish whatever task she was doing before she’d stop to call 911.

  “That’s not even funny,” she’d replied the first time he said it, frowning, but he wouldn’t relent.

  On this particular Friday, the weather was warm; the last days of Indian summer in progress, and in honor of the beautiful evening she’d left the front door open, locking the storm door. While mopping the floors, she heard a car pull up in front of the house.

  “Hold on for a minute,” she told her sister.

  Going to the door, she saw a Yellow Cab had stopped directly in front of the house. A tall, thin man got out of the back and leaned through the window to chat with the driver. Kelly saw him reach into his pocket to retrieve paper money, watching as he counted out bills, handing them through the window. The driver drove off, and it wasn’t until then that Kelly realized the man was headed to her house.

  “Beaver, come,” she called to the dog in a low voice.

  Their shepherd – boxer mix obediently came to her side and gave a low growl as he watched the man walk up the steps. She wished the TV wasn’t on so loud; if she needed to yell for Steve, he’d never hear her. She stood with the mop handle in her hand and the young man came up the steps, smiling. He was attractive, clean cut, and possibly Asian. She thought, If he’s going to attack me, he’d bust through the door right away, but the dog would get him.

  “Hi, I’m sorry to show up at this hour. Is Augustus Boyd here?” he said loud enough to be heard through the glass.

  It was uncommon for someone to come to their house late, and never for her husband. Kelly hesitated, wondering if she should at least ask his name, or why he wanted to speak to Steve, but decided against it; she’d let Steve handle it.

  “I’ll get him. Wait here just a moment.”

  The young man nodded his head, and Kelly, on a whim, shut the big door and locked it, putting her mop handle against the wall, moving quickly to the basement landing. She opened the door and ran down the steps. Steve looked up when she entered his den.

  “What’s up?”

  “There’s a man at the door asking for Augustus.”

  “Did he give a name?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “I was standing there with the door wide open cleaning when the cab let him out, and all I thought of was how quickly I could get the door shut without offending him.”

  Steve got out of his recliner and followed her up the stairs.

  “Who’d come here in a cab?” he said, his lips set in a line.

  “I have no idea.” Kelly stepped aside so Steve could get to the door.

  Steve opened the door and the young man smiled at him. They watched each other, looking into each other’s eyes.

  “Can I help you?” Steve asked, his heart pounding.

  Not a deep thinker, something told Steve this man would alter the course of his life.

  “Can I talk to you in private?” the young man asked, looking around Steve’s shoulder at Kelly.

  Steve looked at her, too and shrugged his shoulders. He unlocked the storm door.

  “Sure,” he said, stepping out onto the porch, closing the door behind him.

  Kelly wondered what could be so important, or so private that the man couldn’t talk about it in front of her. Picking up the phone, she spoke, but her sister had hung up. Kelly called her back, and for the next ten minutes they speculated about who it might be.

  “I’ll call you as soon as I know what’s going on,” she said before hanging up.

  Walking to their bedroom, she grabbed the linen hamper, circling through the rooms to grab what needed washing, taking it to the basement. Nothing, not even a mysterious stranger could disrupt her routine. Moving clothes from the washer to the dryer, she then fed more dirty clothes into the washer. If she timed it right, she’d have all their laundry done by midnight.

  Life had become regimented for Kelly and therefore tolerable; grocery store after work at the beginning of the week, housework on Friday, visiting her children on Saturday, outings on Sunday. Monday she’d start all over again, cooking for the week, stopping by her children’s homes when she could in the afternoons, often lingering over their kitchen tables long after she should’ve been home. Getting things done, being organized, that was what mattered to her. Having every area of her life under control was what brought her anxiety-ridden thoughts into submission.

  Their six children lived locally. Augie Jr., twins Ben and Lisa, Ken, Reggie, and Alice. Two were married with children of their own; they lived in houses and apartments spread around town. Proud of her children, she and Stev
e had worked hard to educate them, and they were all employed in some form.

  Running up the stairs with a basket full of folded laundry, she yelped when she opened the door, Steve’s standing in the kitchen surprising her.

  “You scared me. Who was it?” she asked, taking the laundry back to their bedroom.

  Not answering, he followed her.

  “I’m going to drive him to his hotel so he doesn’t have to wait for a cab,” he said, picking up his wallet and money clip off the dresser.

  “Who is he?” she asked again, making his and hers piles on their bed.

  He didn’t answer again, and Kelly turned to look at him.

  “Steve, who is it?”

  “The son of a friend,” he said. “I’ll be gone about an hour. Do you want anything while I’m out?”

  It was so odd, him leaving like that on a Friday night; she was concerned only from the standpoint that he’d be safe and nothing else. She didn’t distrust him, certainly. There was no reason not to trust him.

  “No, I can’t think of anything. Are you okay?”

  Taking a moment to really look at him, she noticed he was as white as a sheet. “What’s going on?”

  He went to her and took her by the shoulders, kissing her forehead - so out of character she knew something was terribly wrong. Steve hadn’t kissed her in months.

  “I’ll get the full story from him on our way into town. I have my cell phone if you decide you need anything.”

  She thought, What would I need?

  “Hurry back,” she said, concerned.

  Trying to think what friend had a son who’d show up on a doorstep at ten at night, no one came to mind. Steve was a pipe fitter, and the shop where he worked had almost zero turnover. When he retired in one more year, it would be the first opening they’d have in almost fifteen years. She knew everyone he worked with, and his friend-pool, although she could hardly say they were friends, was made up of other pipe fitters. They’d all worked together since they were kids. Could it be a son of someone from work? She picked up the phone, wanting to speculate with her sister. It was almost eleven, but she knew Karen would still be up, running the vacuum.

  “What did the man look like?” Karen asked.

  “He might have been Hispanic or Asian,” Kelly said. “Foreign. Tall. Black hair, high cheekbones. I couldn’t really tell because the light is dim on the porch and it was late. Anyway, like no one I know. Maybe late thirties.”

  “Well, you’d better text me the minute he comes back because now I won’t sleep. I’m getting ready to take my shot, so you know I’ll be up for a while.”

  Kelly laughed heartily. Karen had a shot of vodka nightly, and Kelly’s concern for her sister’s liver was a running dialogue.

  “Your husband will drink a six-pack tonight. How good can that be for his liver?” Karen said. “Pour another glass of wine. You deserve it.”

  “That’s not a bad idea,” she said, going to the fridge. “I’m going to do it right now.” She took the bottle out and poured a healthy glass of wine. “Okay, I’m all set. Thank you for listening.”

  “Don’t forget to text me,” Karen said.

  “I won’t. It might be late. He said an hour, but who knows,” Kelly said.

  She’d polish the furniture while drinking the wine.

  “I’ll talk to you later,” she said.

  Puttering around, she dusted the photo gallery of her children: framed studio portraits and enlarged Kodak pictures of all six kids from the time they were infants until recently. Taking the time to print photos she’d taken with her phone, she was afraid someday all the pictures she had on discs would be obsolete, and no one would be able to view them like they could the old albums.

  Picking up Augie’s college graduation picture, she remembered he’d said, “I look like a portly Harry Potter in that photo.”

  Holding a special place in her heart, Augie was her first. She had only been nineteen when he was born. Shortly after that, Steve left for Vietnam. The separation was torture for her, having to say goodbye, knowing there was a good chance he might not return. Caring for precious Augie was her salvation during Steve’s absence.

  In the early 70s he was discharged for good, and Kelly often thought of that episode in their marriage as the years from hell. Other military wives had warned her that some returning soldiers were suffering from a yet unnamed trauma from their experiences. Steve had it with a vengeance.

  To protect herself from painful memories, those years were hidden in a secret place in her brain that she didn’t access much. Not sure why they were trying to sneak out now, it could’ve been because she was alone in the house at night, which didn’t happen often, or the wine, or a combination of the two.

  The next picture she dusted was of their twins, Ben and Lisa. When Augie was five, Kelly got pregnant again. It took that long for Steve to pull himself together and decide he wanted to keep living.

  “Let’s have another baby,” he’d said.

  She remembered how excited she had been; he seemed to have finally been able to put the horror of his experiences behind him in spite of continuing screaming nightmares and bouts of depression that were in danger of consuming him. But Kelly fought to overcome it with him. No matter how bad things got, she stuck it out.

  She’d never forget the day she went off the pill. The doctor said to give her body a few months before she had unprotected sex, but they didn’t wait a week and she got pregnant right away. Memories of what it was like to have two babies at once flooded over her, both thrilling and insane. Going from picture to picture, she allowed a glimpse into that door of the past for each child. Most of the memories were delectable, but a few were too painful to linger upon. Not all of the arrivals had brought her joy, largely due to Steve’s response.

  Finishing off the glass of wine, she went back to the basement to put a final load of clothes in the washer. While she was folding, the dog barked and she could hear the garage door opening. Steve was home. Finished folding the load, Kelly went back up the stairs again, a little peeved that he didn’t come down to find her and let her know he was there. Glancing at the clock on the microwave as she walked through the kitchen with her basket of clothes, she was shocked that it was almost one in the morning.

  She saw his knees first; he was sitting in a stiff pose in an armchair flanking the fireplace in the living room. When she had bought the chairs, he’d called them the most uncomfortable-looking chairs he’d ever seen. But tonight he was in one, sitting ramrod straight, his hands on his knees.

  “What are you doing in here?” she asked, concerned.

  There was something not good happening, and heat flooded her body before she even knew what it was.

  “Put the basket down and come in here,” he said, not in his usual voice.

  “Let’s go to the bedroom,” she replied.

  “No. I don’t want to have this conversation in our bedroom. I have to tell you something.”

  Kelly’s heart was banging like a drum in her chest. It was not going to be good, whatever it was.

  “Did you get in an accident?” she asked, throwing the basket down and going to him.

  Irritated, he grabbed her arm, pulling her to the other chair.

  “Sit down, Kelly,” he growled through clenched teeth. “No, I didn’t get in an accident! Just shut up and listen.” He stood up and started to pace. “There is no easy way to say this, so I’m just going to come out with it.” There was silence for at least ten seconds.

  “When I was overseas, I had a relationship with a Vietnamese woman, and that man who was here earlier is her son. My son. He’s forty, almost forty. They were airlifted to Laos during the fall of Saigon and came to the US the following year. They’ve been right in Chicago all that time. It took him a month to find me once he decided to search.”

  Kelly sat in the chair, watching Steve’s mouth moving, heard the words he said, and saw that they were coming from his mouth, but they weren’t registe
ring. How could he have had a child with another woman? When was he with her? Was it in between the letters he wrote Kelly? Or the MARS Radio/phone calls they had with each other once a month? How did he manage to write her a letter a day, sometimes more, when he was having a relationship with another woman? He’d said they worked twelve hours a day, seven days a week. When did he fit her in?

  How oddly she was reacting. Had this surfaced twenty or thirty years ago, she’d be a madwoman, in a rage, possibly throwing things at him, screaming and crying. But a sixty-two-year-old woman hearing for the first time that her husband had been unfaithful over forty years before? Numb.

  Trying not to dwell on all the time it had taken for him to snap out of his craziness when he got home from Vietnam, how he’d neglected her, avoiding her for so long she lost a sense of her own value, the thought passed through her mind that maybe he was crazy back then because he’d left his true love behind in Vietnam.

  Mouth dry as sand, she struggled to get the words out. “Did you know she was pregnant before you left?”

  Steve shook his head.

  “No. I don’t think she did either, because I left in June and he was born in December.”

  Hearing Steve talk about her set Kelly’s teeth on edge. Deciding to avoid any mention of betrayal, feelings, insanity, murder, she would make it about fact gathering. He’d had a child that was Augie’s younger brother, an older brother to the rest of their children. Kelly had had Steve’s children, but so did someone else. The shock of this coming less than an hour after her walk down memory lane while she was dusting the photographs caused a new wave of chills to pass over her skin. What was the universe trying to tell her?

  “What are you going to do now?” Kelly asked calmly, realizing the impact of her questions. What indeed?

  Steve sat down again, facing her in the uncomfortable chair, grasping his hands in a death grip, knuckles blanching in the lamplight, she wanted to say, “Stop that, you’re cutting off your circulation.”

  But then she thought she didn’t care if he did; she almost wished he was holding his hands around his own throat.