Trail of Broken Wings (43 page)

“I don’t want to hear a word from you,” Marin barks at Adam. She notices Raj hasn’t called. Turning to Sonya, she holds out her hand. “You have your phone?”

“Marin”—Sonya cautions, glancing between Gia and Adam—“don’t.”

It is not the answer she expected. One of them has to be on her side. Feeling everything slipping away, she finally begs, her desperation clear. “Sonya, give me your phone right now.”

Everyone disappears while images of the past crowd around her. Locked in a closet for an A-minus, hits that never stopped coming, prayers that were never answered. Sweat lines her palms while her heartbeat speeds up—the telltale signs of a panic attack. Her tongue starts to thicken, making words almost impossible. She has no one else to turn to, no one willing to support her in the battle she is losing. She waits, wondering if she is truly all alone, when Sonya silently lays the phone in her palm. Gutted, Marin stares at her younger sister, who with a simple nod assures Marin she is standing by her side.

“Look, I’m leaving,” Adam murmurs, taking two steps back. “No harm done.”

“Don’t go,” Gia pleads. She turns toward Marin. “Mom, please understand.”

“Understand what, Gia?” Marin says, finding her voice. “Your behavior is self-destructive. I can’t allow it.”

“It’s not your choice!” Gia yells. Without Gia noticing, Ranee has joined them. Slipping her arm around Gia’s waist, she effectively moves her away from Adam and closer to her family.

“Why did you call him?” Marin repeats, devastated. The last few guests have taken their leave, offering Marin and her family the privacy they deserve. Marin barely registers their exits, her entire focus on her daughter. “Why did you invite him here?”

“Because I love him,” Gia admits, her stance seeming to beg her mother to accept this. “You still love Dada, even after what he did to you. Why is this any different?”

The house is empty, the bustle of the party long past. Raj took Gia out after Adam left, insisting to Marin he needed time alone with his daughter and saying they would be back later. Now numb, Marin watches with detachment as Ranee brings three cups of chai to the table. Needing something to do, she starts to make a list of the guests who witnessed the interaction. She will call them tomorrow, apologize for the scene. Having to do so is salt on a wound, knowing everyone’s life is perfect while hers, in shambles, is on display for the world to see.

“Drink this,” Ranee encourages, scooting her chair closer to Marin’s. “When I was young, and there was a problem in the family or village, we would all gather at someone’s home and have cup after cup of chai. After enough hours, the problem that seemed insurmountable was suddenly solved.”

“The children drank chai?” Sonya demands. “Filled with caffeine?”

“Of course,” Ranee answers, smiling. “In India, chai is one of the main food groups.” Ranee pushes the cup closer to Marin. “Take a sip, Marin. Things will seem clearer.”

“Chai’s not solving any problems,” Marin returns. Her hand trembling, she pushes the steaming cup away. She checks her phone for a
message from Raj. Nothing. She slams it back down, the tremor of her hand the only clue to how scared she is. “I don’t want to keep you,” she murmurs, her shame having no limitations. “I appreciate you staying but we’re fine.” She begins to pace, glancing out the window repeatedly. Almost to herself, in a daze, she admits, “I can’t imagine where they went.”

“Is there someplace Gia likes to go?” Sonya asks gently, trying to ease her sister’s concern.

“No.” Marin picks up the phone and calls Raj again, but it goes straight to voice mail. She follows up with another text. Only silence in response. “Where are they?” she cries. Her hands shaking, she accidentally drops the phone, watching in horror as it bounces on the marble floor. Rushing toward it, she checks to make sure it’s not broken. Like a compass without a magnet, she is lost, only she hadn’t realized how much until now. “It still works,” she says aloud, reassuring herself. A frenetic energy driving her, she glances around. “I have to clean up.”

“It’s all done,” Ranee says gently. “The waitstaff took care of it.”

“Right.” Marin begins to pace, oblivious to Sonya and Ranee watching her with worry. “Where are they?” Glancing at her watch, she calculates the amount of time they’ve been gone. Only minutes have passed since her last call. “Let me try Raj again.”

“Hey,” Sonya says, slowly pulling the phone out of her hands. “What Gia said outside, about you still loving Dad?” She pauses, giving Marin a chance to talk. When she stays silent, Sonya asks, “You’ve never told her?”

“Told her what?” Marin demands, pushing because Sonya is the only one in front of her.

“That you’re scared,” Ranee says quietly. When Marin turns toward her, Ranee starts speaking slowly, every word difficult. “That you don’t trust her.”

“Trust her with what?” Marin asks.

“The truth.”

Marin’s face falls, grief washing over her. She tries to hide it, keep even this last secret hidden, but everything has become too much. With no turn left to take, she collapses into a chair, tears coursing down her cheeks. “What do I do?” she pleads.

“Offer her your trust—the thing I never gave you,” Ranee answers quietly. She starts to play with the gold bangles that line her wrists, three on each hand. She seems to hesitate, struggling. She swallows twice, biting her lip. Finally she begins to speak, her words halting, unsure. “When the three of you were young, I took all the gold I had received in my marriage dowry and melted it down to have six gold bangles made, two for each of you. But you were young, so I wore them, saving them for when you were old enough to take care of them.” She slowly slips each one off, setting them in the middle of the table. “You see, the gold was the only thing in this world that was mine. Everything in our life was bought with your father’s money. But the gold from my dowry, that was mine, given to me by your grandparents.”

Ranee reaches for Marin’s hand, holding it tightly. “But I have yet to give you them. I didn’t trust what you would do with them if I did.” Ranee lowers her head. “Maybe you would throw them in a drawer. Maybe you would laugh at the value I gave them. Maybe you would reject me because it is all I have to give to you.”

“I don’t understand,” Marin murmurs.

Ranee’s face fills with grief. “Forgive me, my daughter. I was too weak to stand up for you. To tell you that I loved you. To stand in front of him when he hit you. All I had was these,” she says pointing to the gold bangles, “and even this I was too afraid to give. I see now it wasn’t the three of you I didn’t trust; it was me.”

“Mummy,” Marin whispers. Closing her eyes, she allows Ranee’s words to break through. The armor that has protected Marin from herself and the world slowly starts to fall away, leaving her vulnerable and open. “What do I give her? What do I say?” She grips Ranee’s hand tightly, begging for an answer. “How do I get my daughter back?”

“You tell her the truth. You let her in.” Ranee pushes the bangles toward both of them, handing Marin hers first. She watches as Sonya and Marin slip them on, leaving two on the table. “You give her all you have, the truth that is both good and bad, and then trust it is enough.”

Gia and Raj arrive home late that night. Marin sat on the sofa in the den, waiting in the dark for them. Raj finally texted Marin to let her know they were fine, but that was it. No further information. Marin had seen her mom and sister out, both of them offering hugs. For the first time in a long time, Marin had returned their embraces, thankful they were in her life.

When Marin was four months pregnant with Gia, she had been offered a promotion. It required a move back to California, near her childhood home. For Marin, the move, like everything else in her life, came after careful consideration to arrive at the most pragmatic choice. She never went on emotion, trusting logic more. Rationality worked with facts and figures, each decision based on a careful analysis of the pros and cons. It was how she had survived her childhood. Every time her father hit her, she assessed the circumstances, tried to evaluate what led to the beating. She promised herself it would not happen again. Next time she would be sure to get the A-plus instead of just the A. She would control every aspect of her life so she would never again be vulnerable to attack. Her plan had worked. Her life was mapped out to perfection. Until Gia grew up and became her own person.

Gia fell in line for so long that Marin became used to it, assumed life would go on as she planned. But now nothing is working. She is losing her daughter, if she hasn’t already lost her completely.

Marin twists the bangle on her hand. She examines the diamonds set throughout the thin gold, making the bracelet sparkle. She had
admired the bangles on her mother’s wrist, but never imagined they were meant for her and her sisters.

It is hard for her to admit Ranee was right to have feared Marin’s reaction. Before, Marin would have thanked Ranee for the gift and then placed the bangles in a drawer, worn them occasionally. Not understanding the sentiment behind the bequest, she would have treated them like everything else in her life—something to use only when it served her purpose. Now she understands her mother’s directive—appreciates what she has given because the gift symbolizes all she has to offer.

The sound of the garage opening causes Marin to sit up straight. She wipes her sweaty palms on her pants, never having been so nervous in her life. She starts to pull her hair back and then chides herself for it. Gia is her daughter, she reminds herself. She will accept whatever explanation Marin offers. Just like she has accepted Ranee’s explanation.

“Raj, Gia.” Marin meets them in the hallway, facing her judge and jury. “Where were you?” she demands. When she sees their wariness, she kicks herself for defaulting to the same behavior. Cautioning herself to take it slow, she whispers, “I’m sorry.” She takes a step toward Gia, who automatically steps back. “Are you okay, Beti?”

“I’m fine,” Gia murmurs, moving toward Raj.

“I can’t imagine you are,” Marin says, seeing their surprise at her words. “This wasn’t the best birthday.”

“No,” Gia answers, avoiding looking directly at Marin.

“That was my fault.” The words, which once would have been impossible for Marin to say, now feel right. They make sense. “The party, it wasn’t the best idea.”

“Marin, I think Gia is tired. She wants to go to bed,” Raj interrupts, fatigued. “Let’s just call it a night.”

“Actually, I was hoping to talk to you for a few minutes, Gia?” Marin shrugs. “I haven’t given you your birthday gift yet.”

“I don’t need anything, Mom,” Gia answers. “Dad’s right. I’m pretty tired.”

“A quick story,” Marin returns. “While you’re getting ready for bed.” Marin takes a breath, saying a word she had never before thought to. “Please.”

“No, Mom,” Gia says. “Maybe another night.”

TRISHA

I finally find my way back to some semblance of living. I borrowed Sonya’s clothes while living at Mama’s. Mama seemed to enjoy the company, having two of her daughters under her roof again. The house felt different without Papa in it; it was quieter, calmer. Though I was never the recipient of his rage and violent anger, I knew it existed and lived under the cloud of darkness he perpetrated. I felt the fear of my loved ones. Watching them walking and breathing freely within the same walls where they once moved in fear was a revelation. It was as if they were different women but with the same bodies and features.

After Mama and I spoke, I decided to return to what still feels like my house. Once inside, I glance around at the home I had spent so many hours perfecting, feeling like a stranger in it. Shaking off my malaise, I check my phone, the bracelets Mama gave me slipping up my arm. There are no messages from Eric demanding the house be cleared. He must be as hesitant to return to the home as I once was reluctant to leave it. When I walk around, only silence welcomes me, but I am quickly reminded of what is mine, what has always been mine. My home, my decorations, my life. All of it waiting for me to claim.

I run my hands over the boxes still stacked—I was so sure when I packed them. I stood in righteous indignation of Eric’s anger and felt his betrayal was greater than mine. Now it feels like a window has been opened—one whose glass was opaque, impossible to see through. I have built my marriage on lies, and Eric and I both suffered for them. I owe him an apology, an explanation for my actions. I know I don’t deserve an audience with him, but I have to ask.