Trail of Broken Wings (27 page)

“Yeah. Of course I’m ready.” Not leaving room for anything else, Gia rushes up the stairs and into her room.

Marin waits in the car for Deborah and the police car. She awoke at the crack of dawn, made her own chai, sipping on the creamy milk until she felt her gut settle. An hour later, she heard Gia’s alarm clock go off and then the sound of her showering. Leaving the kitchen for the security of her office, she stayed there until Gia finished her breakfast and left for the day. Then she drove to the school and, from a spot hidden in the distance, watched all the students enter.

“Are you ready?” Deborah taps on the closed window of Marin’s car.

“Yes.” Marin joins her on the street, both watching as the patrol car parks alongside them. “I have the pictures.”

Late last night, the investigator e-mailed Marin the pictures of Gia and Adam at Adam’s house. The last few Marin could barely glance at. The curtain had been open so the PI was able to get shots of Adam striking Gia, her face streaked with tears. Marin had immediately e-mailed them to Deborah, who agreed it was time to move. Neither woman wanted Gia going home with him even one more night.

Marin hands the prints to one of the officers. He reviews them before nodding once to Deborah. “Let’s go.”

Marin follows them silently into the school, where she points out the office. Karen has already been notified by the district attorney about the officers’ visit. “They’ll be breaking for lunch soon,” Karen says upon their arrival. “I’ll bring them to the office.”

Though it’s only minutes later, it feels like forever when Karen finally returns with Adam and Gia. Both look confused until they see the police.

“No,” Gia says first, not noticing Marin. “He didn’t do anything.” The officers ignore her while reading Miranda rights to Adam. They pull his wrists behind him and cuff him. Adam stares ahead, his jaw tense. “Please let him go,” Gia begs, staring first at Karen and then Deborah for help.

“Enough.” Marin steps forward, catching Gia off guard. “Stop now.” Gia, clearly shocked, falls silent. She watches with tears as Adam is led out of the office and the school.

“We need you to come with us,” Deborah says gently, breaking the silence that had descended. “Your mom can drive.”

“Go where?” Gia looks at Deborah and Marin, her face pained and scared.

“To the hospital. We need to make a record of the additional bruises on your body.”

SONYA

When I was a teenager, Mom and Dad took us to Disney World in Florida. From there, we drove through Alabama, Mississippi, and Louisiana to Texas, before boarding a flight back to California. Dad loved driving and said the open roads of the South were like no others. Along the way we met many people, in restaurants, at the hotels. Everywhere we traveled, people were wearing crosses around their necks. We could see large churches from miles away. “Jesus Will Save You” was spray-painted on stop signs. At a gas station, a woman was passing out Bibles. Bored, I took one. She told me as long as I accepted Jesus Christ as my savior, I would be saved from the inferno, and, better yet, I could help save my loved ones. “What if I don’t accept him?” I asked, curious.

Mom did diya every morning, and we stood around her while she prayed for us to be safe and protected. We visited the temple on certain holy days and for celebratory events, but otherwise religion played a very small role in our lives. Maybe Mom had a hard time believing in a God who would allow us to live the life we had.

“Then y’all going to spend the rest of eternity in hell,” the woman answered with a rare surety.

On the road again, I wondered aloud if there really was a hell.

“No,” Dad answered with complete confidence. “There’s no such thing.”

With hours on the road to reflect, I thought about his quick answer and could only come to one conclusion: he dared not believe in a hell, otherwise he had to know he was destined for it. But if I didn’t do as they said, if I didn’t accept this savior as mine, maybe I was headed for the same place. I knew the answer before it came to me—if my burning in hell meant my father would spend the rest of his soul’s life swallowed by fire, then I was sure it was worth it.

It is David who pages me to tell me the news. Every day at work I slip on a little pager in case of an emergency. It’s standard issue for all employees. I wanted to laugh when they gave it to me but held back. As if there would be a photography emergency. I was surprised when I started to get calls from nurses a few weeks in. Pediatric patients asked for me, wanted to take pictures, took delight in their creations. Though I was scheduled to leave work at four, I often found myself staying past dinner to meet all the requests of the day.

When I receive David’s page, I assume he has a patient he wants me to work with. He seems to know the needs of the children outweigh those of his adult patients, so he rarely contacts me. Every time he does, I feel a jolt when his name shows up on the little screen. I always ignore the sensation, stamping out any feelings to keep our relationship completely professional. I use the nurses’ desk phone to call him.

“You caught me,” I tease, as soon as he picks up. “I was going to sneak out early today.”

We have started to meet up with one another two to three times a week in the early evening. With few people left on the floors past dinner time, we grab a bite to eat together. Usually in the cafeteria, or if
it is already closed, we munch on whatever we can find in the vending machines. We keep our conversations light, away from anything too serious. He never pushes me or asks for more than I am willing to say. It guarantees the impromptu meetings can continue. I won’t be forced to run as long as he gives me nothing to run from.

“I’ll believe that when I see it.” David’s voice holds an edge I haven’t heard before. “Are you busy?”

“What’s going on?” I start to have trouble breathing. It’s been two days since I last visited my father. When I had a break between patients, I would beg myself not to go see him; there was no point. No words were strong enough. Even if I just sneaked briefly into his room, it calmed my nerves to see him still lying there—almost dead. “Is it Dad?” If he has awoken, then I will leave tonight. I won’t see him. I will stop by Trisha’s—say good-bye. She will understand. She will have to. I have my escape plan mapped out. My mind whirling, I barely hear David’s next words.

“It’s not your father. It’s your niece.”

I run when David finishes talking. He doesn’t have details. Only that Gia is in the Trauma Unit and has asked for me. The sound of my heels hitting the sterile floors thunders in my ear. I wait impatiently for the elevator to arrive. When it refuses to, I run into the stairwell and down the flights to her floor. My badge is enough to get me past the security desk protecting the identity of the patients inside. Uniformed officers are in and out, a sea of blue among the walls of white.

“My niece, Gia, was just admitted . . .” I demand at the nurses’ station. When my name is called, I turn around to see Marin as I have never imagined her. Her arms are crossed over her rail-thin body, her body tense. Instead of her normal suits, she has on jeans and a jacket. Circles underneath her eyes show hours of sleep lost. I rush toward her. “What happened?”

“Gia asked for you,” Marin says, ignoring my question.

My face betrays my shock. Gia and I barely know each other now. When she was born, I was enthralled with her. Her unabashed happiness, delight at every turn. I didn’t know a human was capable of such joy. When I left, I gave up any hope of us having a relationship.

“She said she knew you worked here. Wanted your support.” She glances back, toward the closed curtain. “I didn’t know how to get ahold of you so I contacted Dr. Ford.”

“I’m glad you did.” I want to reach for her hand, the one with the nails digging into her forearm, but I don’t. “What happened?”

Before she can answer, a doctor I don’t recognize pulls the curtain back to reveal Gia standing in a hospital gown, her face washed with tears. Another woman, not a hospital employee from what I can gather, stands nearby. The doctor motions us in. I glance at Marin for approval, but she is focused on her daughter.

“There are some new bruises,” the doctor says. “I’ve read the notes from Deborah and agree with her assessment of the older bruises. Gia’s ribs are also fractured. She’s lucky they weren’t broken.”

“Any internal damage?” Marin’s voice is steady, a contrast to her demeanor.

“I can run further tests, but from my initial exam I don’t believe so.”

I stand, listening in shock. When I meet my niece’s eyes, I see what is as familiar to me as living—fear.

“Once we get the all clear, you can take her home. I’ll make sure the police get my report immediately.”

Marin nods, any words of thanks seeming out of place. The doctor walks past her, leaving just the four of us.

“I’m Deborah.” The woman I don’t recognize reaches out to shake my hand. “The family resemblance is striking.”

“Sonya. Gia’s aunt.” It is odd to say. I haven’t been anything to anybody for so long, the words sound foreign on my tongue. I move toward Gia, unsure where else to go. “Are you all right?”

“No, she’s not,” Marin answers instead. “Her boyfriend has been beating her up.”

In shock, I drop my gaze, unable to look at her. I stare at the floor, willing the nausea to subside. The story is not over as we had hoped. It didn’t end with our generation. Innocent, untouched by Dad’s violence, and yet here Gia stands, bruised and broken as if she had been raised under the same roof as us. Before I can speak, before I can fathom what words to utter, the curtain is pushed aside to reveal a hurried and distraught Raj.

“Tell me now,” he says, going straight toward his daughter.

I walk out, unable to bear witness to their heartbreak. First their voices are loud and then a whisper. Raj’s voice holds the tears that Marin’s speech never will. I want to walk away, to be as far away as possible, but my feet refuse to move. Gia asked for me. I cannot run, not today.

I’ve never been to the Trauma Unit. There was never a need for me here since patients don’t come to stay. The wing houses doctors and nurses who care for victims of rape, assault, anything that can be dealt with medically within hours, though the scars might last a lifetime. After their traumatic event, victims often yearn to stay within the confines of safety the hospital corridors offer. Here, no one can hurt them again.

“How is she?” David asks gently, coming to stand right in front of me.

His concern cuts through my thoughts. I didn’t see him arrive. “Beaten, bruised, ribs fractured,” I whisper, staring at nothing in the distance.

“Damn it.” He runs his hand through his hair. “Did they catch the person?”

“It was her boyfriend.” Shame fills me at revealing this new family secret. One that can be added to the skeletons already spilling into our lives. “That’s all I know.” My legs start to buckle beneath me, but I
refuse to let them. Instead, I lean against the wall, amazed that no matter how hard we try, we can never seem to wash the grime of my father’s touch from our existence.

“Sonya.” He doesn’t touch me. Taking a step closer, he comes as near as I can allow. “What can I do? Anything at all. Name it.”

I want to ask him to stop trying to save the man who created this. The one who left a trail of broken wings in his wake. To just let my father die so we can continue living. Instead, I shake my head and push back the curtain, reentering the hell we have been fated for.