Trail of Broken Wings (45 page)

Ranee sits next to Brent, staring at his stillness. Marin took Gia home, her outburst leaving the decision in limbo. Trisha gave Ranee a hug, telling her she would speak to her later. Sonya simply left, David watching her the whole time.

“It’s hard for families to make this kind of decision,” explains David, the only one left. “If there’s anything I can do . . .” he begins, but Ranee interrupts him, facing him across the expanse of the bed.

“You care for my daughter,” Ranee says, so sure of the statement she doesn’t need to ask. “And she for you.”

“No,” David says, clearly hesitating to answer the question. “She wants nothing to do with me.”

“That’s not what I saw in her eyes.” Ranee pauses, trying to find her way through unfamiliar territory. She rarely discusses her daughters’ love lives with them or anyone else. Deep within her, she feared hearing their stories, learning how their childhood affected them in adulthood. “I apologize if I am speaking out of turn, but I know what I saw. My daughter is in love with you, I am sure.” She thinks about her relationship with Brent, what defined them. “That is different from love for someone familiar—something I have learned in my advanced years. Love is sometimes demanded, expected when you have blood relations. But to be in love with another, to care for them more than for yourself—that is powerful. And you, you are concerned, worried for her?”

“Yes,” David answers, quietly. He glances out the window. Taking the opportunity to study his profile, Ranee sees whom her daughter has fallen in love with, his strength, his character. Everything Brent is not, could never be.

“Then why the hurt, the distance?” Ranee demands, confused.

“That’s something that you should ask her,” David says quietly, turning back toward her. His voice holds respect, both for Ranee and Sonya. “I don’t want to presume to speak for her.”

“I understand.” Ranee falls quiet, watching the rise and fall of Brent’s chest as the machine pumps oxygen into him. “The vote today must have surprised you,” Ranee says at last. “A family so quick to release the man who raised them, provided for them. To let him go with just one word, an agreement.” She reaches again for the mangalsutra that had a permanent place around her neck for years. Only when
she touches bare skin does she remember again having removed it. “Is it always so simple for a family?”

“No,” David says truthfully. “But Sonya told me what he did.” He pauses, staring at Brent. “How he hurt all of you. I can’t imagine what that must have been like.”

Ranee lowers her head, hiding her shock. Each of them has hidden the secret for so long, gone to extreme lengths to keep anyone from learning it, and yet Sonya, in a few short months of knowing this man, has revealed to him the one thing she has been running from her entire life.

“It destroyed her,” Ranee shares, understanding dawning. Sonya was refusing to love this man, refusing to accept what he was offering her. Ranee could now acknowledge her part in that, recognize her inaction had caused her daughter to react this way. With that knowledge came acceptance, an understanding of what she has to do. Her words will change each one of their paths irretrievably. “But I helped,” Ranee admits, confiding in this stranger as her daughter had already done. “I made her believe she wasn’t wanted, she wasn’t loved.”

“I don’t think . . .” David starts, but Ranee holds up a hand to silence him.

“My daughter must know the truth. She can never be free of him until she does,” Ranee says. “She will never be able to acknowledge or trust her love for you until then.”

“Why don’t you tell her this?” David asks.

“Because I haven’t earned the right,” Ranee admits. “She was the one I left behind, the one I couldn’t be a mother to.” She notices his tie—a mix of superheroes. “Are you a parent, David?”

“Yes. I have a daughter.”

“You would do anything for her,” Ranee says, confidently.

“Of course. Like any parent.” David sounds self-effacing.

“No, not any parent. Not me.” Ranee shifts in the chair, her body hurting past its age. “Sonya believed I didn’t want her, that she was an accident. I told her I wanted to have her aborted; she was right.”

Ranee waits for David to process the admission, to accept what she is saying before continuing. “But not for the reasons she believes. I didn’t want her because I couldn’t protect her. I knew what he would do, and I couldn’t stop him. But my failure was not loving her as she deserved, not saying the words she needed to hear. That was my fault, not his,” Ranee admits, turning her gaze on Brent. “So I lost her because she didn’t know I loved her.”

“Why don’t you tell her then? Why me?”

Ranee thinks back to the day of the graduation. She knew what was happening, knew Brent would never let Sonya be happy with her decision. Sonya had to be free, so Ranee said the only thing that would release her—the truth, knowing it would push her daughter away.

“Because I already told her the truth,” Ranee says. “She won’t believe another truth now. Would you?”

David watches her, his emotions guarded. He finally shakes his head, admitting his confusion. “Telling me all of this—I don’t know what to say,” David says, clearly struggling.

Ranee nods in understanding. “It may very well be too late for my daughter and me, but it is not late for her to accept the love waiting for her. I can imagine there is no greater joy than to offer someone love, knowing it is returned completely.” Ranee offers a sad smile, knowing that will never happen for her, but grateful that her daughter can have it, willing to pay the cost. “But a mother cannot give birth to a child and not lose a piece of herself. The child takes a part of the parent with them, holding it as their own. Whether it be their heart or soul, they are now connected for always.”

“She never knew how you felt?” David asks.

“No. I let my daughter go.” Ranee shakes her head. “But then I got tired of missing her. Of yearning for her as only a mother can for a
child born from her womb. They are a part of you and when they leave, they take that piece with them, leaving you half of your whole.” Sweat lines her palms and pools in her bra—she fears what she is about to do, but knows there is no choice. “I had to make a choice—either my husband or my daughter.”

She glances at Brent, shocked that after all the steps taken, this would be the one that decided everything. That the man Sonya loved was the final piece of Ranee’s life. He would hold the fate of her future in his hands, but it was worth it for Sonya to finally be free. Ranee says the words slowly, forcing David to strain to hear. “I knew she would never come back as long as Brent was alive.”

“Ranee,” David says, comprehension dawning on his face. He holds up a hand to silence her. “I don’t think you should say any more.”

“No, I think it is finally time for me to say the truth.” Ranee stands up to put as much distance as she can between the man with whom she spent most of her life and the person she is now. “Brent had started to lose his eyesight. The only thing that helped him was his prescription eye drops.” Ranee rummages in her purse, finding what she is looking for. “It was important he take three drops every day, if only to help him see our loss. It is truly a miracle drug. It helps you to see when you fear you are blind. With it he used over-the-counter drops, to help with the redness.”

Ranee sets the Visine bottle down on the table next to the bed, only inches away from Brent. “But it is a drug with many uses, I learned. Something so simple used the wrong way can kill.” Ranee swallows the breath she is holding. Her fingers play with the bottle, remembering the drops she put in his chai every day.

The night of Sonya’s birthday, when Brent said Ranee and Sonya were alike, he meant it as an insult, but Ranee wanted it to be true. She wanted to have the strength Sonya exhibited—to take control and refuse Brent the permission to continue destroying.

Looking up, she sees the shock on David’s face. She feels a moment of shame, of remorse for having revealed the truth to the man Sonya loves, but as with so much of their life, their choices are limited. For the daughter who refused to let anyone in, David may be the only person she will love. Ranee had tried to tell Sonya she loved her but accepted it was too late. Sonya didn’t trust her enough to believe. But she trusted David, and maybe, if the news came from him, she would finally accept the truth that she was loved.

“But tell Sonya this. It is important she knows. You see, my daughter believes everything I do, I do for Trisha. This I did for Sonya. Because I love her. Because I missed her and wanted her to come back to a safe home.”

Ranee turns away, accepting what she has done and the consequences that will follow. She knows David will have to report her, that the world will soon know her crime. She has left one prison only to be headed for another. But it is the only way she knows how to free Sonya. The only gift she has to give to the daughter she has previously given nothing.

“And one more thing,” Ranee says before leaving. “Make sure my daughter understands it was before I learned the truth of what Brent did to Trisha, not after. It was long before.”

SONYA

I left the hospital room as soon as possible. I want the decision done, the life support turned off. I will never be sure if I am ready for him to die, but after hearing Marin’s and Trisha’s unequivocal yeses, I knew it was past time. But with Gia’s refusal, we are back to limbo. Waiting indefinitely for something other than what we have now.

“How’s Will?” I ask the attending nurse. “Any updates?”

“Discharged last night,” she says. “Diagnosed with epilepsy. Sent him home with meds to take if the seizures continue.”

“What type?” I ask. I know there are all types of epilepsy, some that can last a lifetime, others intermittent.

“Benign rolandic,” she says. “He should grow out of it by eighteen.” She pauses to answer a patient’s call before continuing. “Late onset is a good sign. He’ll only have a few years to deal with it.”

“What about the soccer?” I ask.

Swiveling her chair toward me, she says, “As they were leaving I overheard him tell his father he didn’t want to play anymore. His dad hugged him, said all that mattered was that he get better.”

I watch her leave to attend to a patient. Will and his family had no choice with the epilepsy, but how they handled it was their decision. I
think about my own reaction to the events that shaped my life. How many times have I hurt myself, by my actions, my running, because it was the only way I knew how to handle the situation.

What if there was another way to right the wrongs? What if happiness was the trajectory, and not sadness? I see David coming down the hallway, his face looking tight with worry. He sees me just as I start to turn away; our gazes lock. With a simple nod, we acknowledge one another and then both, as if in agreement, turn away, accepting what cannot be. I dismiss my thoughts, accepting the choices I have no option but to make.

MARIN

They are silent on the drive home, everyone still processing the scene in the hospital. Marin sits quietly next to Raj while he drives, a rare departure from her giving him directions at every turn. She yearns to speak to Gia, to ask her about her decision, her vote, but no words feel like the right ones. From the side-view mirror she sees Gia’s earplugs in, imagines music is blasting through them. Stealing a glance at Raj, she sees his face set, his concentration on the road.

They have come a long way from the day they circled the fire seven times to bind them together in marriage. The wedding took place in a church hall her parents rented for the occasion. A makeshift gazebo was built inside, where the Brahmin conducting the ceremony could sit and recite the vows in front of the five hundred members of the Indian community who had come to bear witness. If pushed, Marin can only remember a dozen or so names of the attendees—most of the guests were her parents’ friends, not hers.

“Thank you for today,” Marin says, startling Raj. “I know you had work.” It is the only thing she can say to convey her appreciation.

“I did it for Gia,” Raj explains quietly, glancing at their daughter in the backseat. “I wanted to be there for her.”

“Right.” Marin turns back toward the window, watching the trees fly by on the ride home. On the day they married, Marin assumed it was forever, because the culture dictated it be so. She didn’t factor in love or care for the other person; it was a marriage of equals, brought together to raise a family and offer support through the years. Brilliant, when Marin thought about it. Businesses could learn from the practice.

Two people whose résumés, backgrounds, and accomplishments had to match before even being allowed to meet. After, even more pieces were required to fit. Looks had to match. A dark-skinned individual couldn’t dream of landing a light-skinned partner. A heavy person could only hope for someone equal or heavier to be matched with. Each factor considered with excruciating detail before the match was blessed by both families. But love was never an element mentioned or discussed. It was assumed, because when everything else fits, love should follow.

But it didn’t. Marin can accept that now. She never fell in love with Raj. Never needed him like you should someone you love. Never thought of him above herself or considered his needs more important than hers. She did exactly what was expected of her when the marriage was decided—she merged with him to create a perfect union. A home and life filled with all the luxuries hard work could offer. A daughter molded to perfection, her every step ahead of others. But love’s absence took its toll. Without it to bind, the connection proved too fragile, too susceptible to breakage. They each stood separate, only familiarity and comfort keeping them in the same place.

Gia’s cry to save her grandfather was instinctive, born from a place where love was the inspiration. She faced all of them without fear, saying whatever was necessary to give him another day, another chance to come back to them. She couldn’t lose him, she said. Because she loves him. Marin wanted to scream at her daughter that her grandfather is incapable of love, that he has shown her a version of himself that doesn’t really exist.