His face goes still. “It’s not the same.”
“It’s absolutely the same and you know it.” I glare at him. “Fangli wanted it. That’s what makes the difference. Fangli was the one asking.”
“That’s not fair, Gracie.” His voice is hard. “Your uncle is real and your mother is real. Fans have an idea of Fangli—they don’t know the real person and they don’t want to. They want the fairy tale.”
“I’m asking you to do this.” I don’t add because I’ve done a lot for you and Fangli but the silent words hang between us, unsaid but not unheard.
He turns abruptly as if to walk away.
“Fine, leave,” I say. “If you’re not going to help me, get out. You hypocrite.”
Mom starts to call for her brother again. I’m about to go to her when Sam turns around and starts to speak in Mandarin, a soft and assuring tone with no trace of his earlier reluctance. I have no idea what he says, but Mom calms almost immediately, eating him up with hungry eyes.
It only takes a few minutes for Mom to begin to drift, her face relaxed. She’s having more trouble staying awake, and the violence of her emotions would have tired her out more. Sam speaks in a lower tone that takes on the feel of a lullaby and soon Mom’s fast asleep.
He waits until her chin is buried against her chest before he looks at me with a grim expression. “I want to talk to you.”
We move into the doorway because I want to stay near Mom but also don’t want to stand in the middle of the corridor for all to see.
“What did she say?” I ask. “What did she talk about?” I know Sam’s mad but I’m desperate to know what could have upset her so much.
“She said she was sorry and she did as he asked. She said she wished she could have seen him again and that he needs to be at peace.” He reports on their conversation without comment on what it could mean.
“Thank you.”
Sam leans against the door and crosses his arms, the image of a man taking his ease. “I don’t want your thanks. I wanted you to not make me do that.”
“I didn’t make you,” I say. “I asked and you agreed.”
“You knew I would do what you asked, Gracie, and you took advantage of it.”
Fuck. He sounds resigned, like he should have expected it. “I didn’t assume you would, if that’s what you’re saying.”
“No?” His expression is unreadable. “Making it a ranking between you and Fangli wasn’t a deliberate choice?”
I can feel the prickling heat of shame. “It was an emergency, Sam. You saw how she was.”
“Would she have calmed down if you tried a bit harder to talk to her?” He runs his hand through his hair in what I now know is his habit whenever he feels uncomfortable. It falls back over his eyes. “Without making her believe her dead brother was talking to her? Without making me do that? It was wrong.”
“So?” I turn on him. “Maybe I’d take a bit of wrong to give her some peace.”
“She said she admired your integrity,” he snaps back. “Do you think she wants truth or peace?”
“I think you don’t know her, so you can keep your speeches to yourself.”
“You could be right. I don’t know her but I know you.”
“You don’t know me,” I say. “We’ve known each other a month. You don’t know a fucking thing about me and I don’t know anything about you, okay?”
Even as I say the words, I want to grab them back. Sam’s face goes hard. “Is that what you think?”
“Forget it,” I mutter.
“How am I supposed to forget it?”
“I didn’t mean it.” Now that the flush of my anger is gone, I’m mortified. I was in the wrong to ask Sam. The nasty motivation that made me push him would be as obvious to even the worst Psych 101 student as it was to Sam. I wanted him to show me he cared by making him do what I wanted. I feel nauseous that I stooped so low. This is not cool. Not remotely cool.
Mom stirs and I glance over at her. “We can talk about this later. Are you staying?”
“I think I should leave.” He hesitates, then looks over my shoulder. Someone’s coming down the hall. Sam tilts his head down and jams on his hat, then leaves without saying another word.
“Gracie?” The brief rest has brought Mom some clarity. I walk over. Damn, I should have taken the photo album away while she was sleeping.