Vathana argued on. Chhuon stood by the door like a delivery boy waiting to be acknowledged by an important feudal lord. “Oui. Oui. Adieu.” She closed the phone, turned and gasped. “Papa! I thought it was Teck.”
“You are in good health?” Chhuon smiled broadly.
Vathana launched into an excited prattle of greeting and reacquaintance, as if she hadn’t talked to anyone in months. As she chatted she prepared a buffet for her father who barely got in a word. She spoke French at first, a habit she’d fallen into in Neak Luong, but soon she switched to a beautiful Khmer full of sound redundancies which pleased Chhuon immensely. Finally she ran down. She hung her head low and whispered, “I’m pregnant.”
Chhuon reacted to her tone. “But that’s wonderful.” His eyes sparkled as they had not since earl
