Trail of Broken Wings (17 page)

“Yet, you don’t want one of your own,” he accuses.

He’s waiting for an answer. A reason why I would have lied to him. I imagine telling him about my family—the facts that he has no idea about. I have given him a fantasy to believe in, a reality based on a story I have created. If I told him my father, the man I love with all my heart, beat my sisters and Mama, then it would alter his view of me. Because what does it say about me to love a man like that?

“No,” I start and then stop. How do I explain that in the maze of my existence, if I turned even slightly one way or the other, if I became someone other than who I was, then I too chanced being pierced? In telling Eric, I would have to pull aside the curtain and reveal all the ugliness that makes up my existence. Then he would have to ask the
question, the one I refuse to answer—did Papa love me because I’m a reflection of him? “I don’t want children,” I admit quietly.

He blinks away the heartbreak shining through his eyes. A wall comes down, his love lost with my refusal to reveal the truth. “I deserved to know that. I could have lived with that.” His head drops in defeat. “I can’t live with you lying to me. I deserved better. I gave you better.”

Six. Seven.

“What are you saying?”

Eight.

“I’m saying I want a separation.”

MARIN

Every nine seconds, a woman is assaulted or beaten in the United States. Marin can repeat the statistic from memory. Since her discovery of the bruises on Gia’s body, she has researched all the facts. One in ten girls admits to having experienced physical violence in her dating relationship, a one-year study found. The majority of teen abuse occurs in the home.

Since their conversation, Gia and Marin have avoided one another, Marin vacillating between shock and outrage. A perfect life mapped out is fallen to shambles. When Raj returned, Gia stared at Marin silently, wondering whether she would reveal her secret. For Marin, a lifetime of keeping them made the decision easy. She acted as if nothing was wrong. So, they continued, Gia and Marin acting out their fairy-tale life while Raj remained oblivious.

Marin tried twice more to approach Gia, demanding to know how the bruises came to be. Both times Gia shook her head no. Told Marin it didn’t matter. “I’m fine, Mom.” But she was not fine, and Marin was at a loss about how to make it better. But as if she were a child, the decision was made for Marin.

Two days after their confrontation, Gia is preparing to leave for school. As she reaches up to grab the cereal box from the cupboard, her shirt sleeve falls back, revealing a fresh bruise on her arm.

“What is this?” Marin breathes, but she already knows. The grip of a hand around the forearm, tight enough to hold the person in place for a hit across the face, or one in the stomach.

“Nothing, Mom.” Gia quickly covers it with her sleeve. Leaving the cereal, she starts to move out of the kitchen when Marin stands in front of her.

“If I peel your shirt back, there’ll be a fresh one on your torso, right?” Marin knew it was the way it worked. Before the old bruises could fully disappear, a new one would emerge. Almost as if the abuser needed to see his or her artwork on display. To mark the beaten as owned, possessed, for anyone foolish enough to intervene.

“No,” Gia says urgently, dropping her voice. “Why would you say such a thing?”

Because I’ve been there
, Marin almost says, but as always, she holds back, keeps the truth hidden. Brent was brilliant—his bruises were a secret well kept. And Marin, like Sonya and Ranee, became his accomplice, ensuring no one ever saw.

“Gia,” Marin starts, but it is too late. With a wave, Gia goes through the front door, a smile plastered on her face as if it were sewn on. Shutting the door, Marin sinks against it, her breath coming in gasps.

“Gia left for school?” Raj comes down the stairs, his chai steaming. At the sight of Marin on the floor, he rushes toward her, dropping the cup along the way. The spiced chai seeps across the marble floor toward the carpet. Marin watches it in slow motion, wondering absently how they will remove the stain. Reaching for her, he demands, “Marin, what’s happened?”

She stares at him, her husband, but a complete stranger. She has never told him about her past, her childhood. There was no reason to.
It was over, she was sure. What purpose was served in telling him? She would not live in the past when she could control the future.

Her husband is not her confidant. She has never told him about her stresses at work or career concerns. They never share dreams, or intertwine their lives. Gia is the string that binds them together, and with their child broken, they have nothing to hold on to.

“Gia has bruises on her body,” Marin admits, pulling her hand out of his. “On her stomach, her back, and now her arm.”

“What?!” He steps away from her, revulsion filling his face. “How the hell did she get those?”

“I don’t know.”

It is an odd thing to share burdens with another human being. You imagine it will lessen your own burden, ease some of the ache that sits in you like lead. But it almost does the opposite. Seeing Raj’s reaction only brings home the enormity of the situation. Turning away from it, she focuses instead on the chai that has fully soaked into the carpet, leaving an odd-shaped stain.

“An illness? They can start with bruises, right?”

Marin welcomes the idea, chiding herself for doing so. When would a parent ever choose a disease for their child? “She’s not sick, Raj,” Marin says. “She was beaten.”

He turns toward her, fire raging. A man lost, he attacks the closest thing available. “Did you do this?”

Standing slowly, she faces him—her partner, her husband, and now, when they are both desperate, her enemy. She wants to lash out, to show him that she is her father’s daughter, but she refuses. “I didn’t touch our daughter. Did you?” Turning the tables, she enjoys his look of horror.

“No.” He stares at Marin, both of them outsiders in their own home. “I didn’t.” He drops his face into his hands, his agony like a virus marching through the home, filling every space and crevice available. “Never.”

“Then it’s time we found out who did.”

Raj and Marin have never worked together. When Gia was born, they carved out separate hours during the night to tend to her. Since she was on formula, they each took a three-hour shift. During the day, Marin would work while Raj played with her and vice versa. When they went to restaurants, Marin ate her food quickly while Raj walked Gia, and then Raj ate his. Marin saw couples working together, playing family games, both parents coaxing their child to eat. The partnership felt foreign to her, no part of her desiring to replicate it.

Now they stand on the same side, facing a situation neither ever dreamed of. What parent would? “Has she given any indication whom it could be?”

They have settled in Marin’s office, she in her leather chair, and Raj on the sofa. “No. I asked, begged her, but no answer.” Marin doesn’t tell him about the slap.

“What did the school say?”

“They didn’t. Karen seemed as shocked as we are.”

Raj nods, processing the information. “We need to meet with the school administration. Discuss all the possibilities.”

He has calmed down, taken a step back to view the situation objectively. When Marin’s parents selected his résumé, listing all of his qualifications, Marin was impressed. Holding advanced degrees in both engineering and math, he had climbed the corporate ladder with both his social skills and knowledge base. He had proved himself a capable leader. Though not as ambitious as Marin, he held his own. Marin had never sought out his expertise or called on his skills, but now she found herself grateful for them.

“It has to be someone at the school,” he murmurs, thinking. “She’s been studying late night?”

“Yes, for exams.” Marin goes through the list of Gia’s friends and their parents in her head. All the steps that were impossible to see days ago now are clear. “Let me contact her friends’ parents. If Gia won’t tell us who did this, maybe they will.”

“Let’s wait,” Raj says, the voice of caution. “Gia could end up hating us if we go behind her back. We should try coaxing it out of her.”

Now that Marin had a game plan, she hesitated about not putting it into play. Her instinct demanded she pick up the phone, overriding Raj’s concerns, and call the parents to set up a time to talk. “I already tried that.”

“But I haven’t.”

What he doesn’t say is that sometimes Gia is willing to confide in him instead of Marin. The resentment comes rushing back. It takes Marin a moment to temper it, to remember their objective, and not focus on the course. “Fine. Once she shuts you down, we can take step two.”

“This isn’t a competition, Marin,” Raj says simply, staring at her.

“No,” Marin agrees. “It’s our daughter’s life.”

They try to work for the rest of the day, but find themselves wandering the house, desperate for a distraction. Marin’s normal five-minute shower turns into twenty. She lingers under the hot water, wishing the spray could wash away the ache that has become permanent in her heart. Leaning against the cold tiles, she watches with detachment as the soap bubbles circle the drain before disappearing from sight. She reaches for the shampoo before remembering she has already shampooed. Twisting the knobs, she increases the hot water, welcoming the scalding sting. When her skin begins to shrivel from the heat, she turns on the cold, blasting her body with the arctic water. She refuses to stand back, though. Accepting the self-torture she is inflicting feels good. She wonders if Gia felt the same pain when she was hit. If her mind cried for the torment to stop while her body acclimated itself to the pain. Maybe she is her mother’s daughter and stood silent while her
body was beaten. Marin turns toward the tiles, hitting her head against them, wishing for tears to rush down her face.

“Marin?” Raj calls into the bathroom. “It’s almost time for Gia to be home from school.”

“I’ll be right out.” She quickly dresses, pulling on jeans and a T-shirt instead of a business suit. She pulls her wet hair back and clasps it together with a pin. Slipping her feet into a pair of loafers, she rushes downstairs to wait with Raj.

Gia arrives home on time. Her backpack thrown carelessly over her shoulder, she waves to her friends still in the car as it pulls away. Raj opens the door before she can insert her key. “Dad!” Gia smiles at the sight of him. “You scared me.”

“Hi, Beti.” He takes her backpack and sets it down in the foyer.

Gia notices Marin standing there, both of them staring at her. She swallows, shaking her head in clear disgust. “You told him?” she accuses Marin.

“Yes.” Marin imagines reaching out, enfolding her daughter in her arms, but instead chooses to stand in place, her arms lying limply by her side. “I’m sorry.”

“Great.” Gia pulls her hand away when Raj reaches for her. “It’s not anyone’s business.”

Before Marin can yell, demand to know whose business it is if not theirs, Raj says, “When you are hurt, it is our business.”

“I’m not hurt,” Gia cries out, begging both of them. “I’m fine, I promise. It’s not a big deal!”

“Who says?” Marin demands, losing patience. “Bruises on your stomach, on your back.” She reaches out, grabbing Gia’s hand and pulling up her shirtsleeves to reveal the most recent. “A new one on your arm. Are you stupid enough to think this is right?”

“You forgot the one on my face. When you slapped me,” Gia says coldly, silencing the room. She cups her own cheek, facing Marin head on. “Did you remember that one?”

Marin does not look at Raj but can feel the anger vibrating off him. The truth she has failed to reveal. “I never meant to hurt you.”

“No, no one ever does.” Gia grabs her backpack and starts to head up the stairs. “I have homework.”

“Gia.” Raj’s command stops her in her tracks. She pivots on the stairs to face him. “Last chance, Beti,” he says, love lacing his words. “Who did this to you?”

“Please, Daddy,” Gia whispers. She grasps the banister with her other hand. Marin can see the whites of her knuckles as she holds on tight to the only thing she can. “I’m OK. Please let it go. For me.” With that she turns and runs up the stairs and into her room, slamming her door shut.

They convene in Marin’s office. First, they call all the parents they are friendly with. Marin has spent her career making decisions that affect thousands, and yet, these calls are the hardest she has ever made. Each is answered by voice mail. Marin asks the parent to call back without explaining why. Marin hangs up, no closer to an answer than before.

They are on a road with no exits, no danger signs to warn them. It’s hard not to storm upstairs and throw open Gia’s door, demanding answers. But Gia is not the one to give them. She has made her decision clear.

Raj starts to snap his fingers, demanding Marin’s attention. He holds his cell phone to his ear. “Yes,” he says to someone on the other line, “this is Raj. How are you? We definitely need to catch a game.” He makes small talk for a few more minutes. Marin jumps out of her chair and stands alongside him, listening. “Marin and I have a favor to ask of you.” Raj falls silent, listening. Seconds later a smile breaks onto his face. “Tonight is perfect. Thank you.” Hanging up, he beams at Marin. “The Ahbrams. Eight o’clock tonight.”