Tiger's Quest (57 page)

“Thank you! I love it!”

I hugged him and pecked him on the cheek, and his golden eyes sparkled with pleasure.

“Thank you everyone!”

“Uh, there’s still my gift. It’s definitely not as interesting as any of those.” Ren pushed a hastily wrapped gift toward me and missed my shy smile when he stared at his hands.

The package held something soft and squishy. “What is it? Let me guess. A new cashmere hat and gloves? No, I wouldn’t need that in India. Ah, I know, a silk scarf?”

Nilima said, “Open it so we can see.”

I tore open the present and blinked my eyes a few times.

Mr. Kadam leaned forward. “What is it, Miss Kelsey?”

A tear plopped onto my cheek. I quickly dashed it away with the back of my hand and smiled.

“It’s a very lovely pair of socks.”

I turned to Ren. “Thank you. You must have known I needed a new pair.”

Ren nodded and pushed some uneaten food around on his plate. Nilima sensed something was wrong, squeezed my arm, and then said, “Who’s ready for cake?”

I smiled brightly, trying to lighten the mood.

Nilima cut the cake while Mr. Kadam added giant scoops of ice cream. I thanked them and took a bite of my cake.

“It’s peach! I’ve never had peach cake before. Who made it? The Golden Fruit?”

Mr. Kadam was busy making the next perfect scoop. “Actually, Nilima and I made it,” he said.

“The ice cream,” I grinned, “it’s peaches and cream too?”

Mr. Kadam laughed. “Yes. It’s actually from that dairy you love. Tillamook, I believe it is.”

I took another bite of cake. “I knew I recognized the taste. It is my favorite brand of ice cream. Thank you for thinking of me.”

Mr. Kadam sat down to enjoy his piece and said, “Oh, well, it wasn’t me at all. This is something that was all planned a long—” his words trailed off as he realized his error. He coughed uncomfortably and stammered, “Well, suffice it to say, it wasn’t my idea.”

“
Oh
.”

He went on awkwardly, trying to distract me from figuring out that my old Ren had planned a peaches and cream birthday party for me months in advance. Mr. Kadam started telling me about how the peach was a symbol of long life in China and that it was good luck.

I tuned him out. The cake suddenly stuck in my throat. I sipped some water to clear it.

Ren pushed the peach ice cream around on his plate. “Do we have any of that chocolate peanut butter ice cream left? I’m not a big fan of the peaches and cream.”

I raised my head and looked at him with shock and disappointment. I heard Mr. Kadam tell him it was in the freezer. Ren pushed aside his peach dessert and headed out of the room. I sat immobile. My fork was raised halfway to my mouth when I’d paused.

I waited. Soon, I felt the overwhelming wave of hurt rush through me. In the midst of what should have been heaven, surrounded by the people I loved, celebrating the day of my birth, I was experiencing my own private hell. My eyes welled with tears. I excused myself, stood, and turned away quickly. Kishan got up also, confused.

Trying vainly to infuse my voice with enthusiasm, I asked Mr. Kadam if we could take that drive tomorrow.

“Of course,” he said quietly.

As I went upstairs, I heard Kishan threatening Ren. Suspiciously, he asked, “What did you
do
?”

I heard Ren’s soft reply, “I don’t
know
.”

T
he next day, I woke determined to try to make the best of things. It wasn’t Ren’s fault. He didn’t know what he did or why it hurt so much. He didn’t remember about the socks, or how I smelled, or about choosing peaches and cream ice cream instead of peanut butter chocolate.
It’s just stupid ice cream! Who cares?

No one remembered those things. No one knew now. Except me. I went for a ride in the fancy new convertible with Mr. Kadam and tried to be happy as he went over its features. I went through the motions, but I was numb inside. I despaired. I felt like I was interacting with a stunt-double Ren. He looked like my Ren and could even talk like him, but there was a spark missing. Something was off.

I’d planned to work out with Kishan when we got home, so I changed and headed through the laundry room and down the stairs to the dojo, stopping when I heard voices arguing. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but I heard my name mentioned and couldn’t leave.

“You’re hurting her,” Kishan said.

“You think I don’t know that? I don’t want to hurt her, but I won’t be coerced into feeling something that I don’t.”

“Can’t you at least try?”

“I have been.”

“I’ve seen you give more attention to ice cream than you do to her.”

Ren let out an exasperated sigh. “Look, there’s something . . . off-putting about her.”

“What do you mean?”

“I can’t really describe it. It’s just that when I’m near her . . . I can’t wait to get away. It’s a relief when she’s not around.”

“How can you
say
that? You
loved
her! You were more passionate about her than you’ve ever been about anything in your entire life!”

Ren spoke softly. “I can’t imagine feeling that for her. She’s nice and cute, but she’s a bit young. Too bad it wasn’t Nilima I was in love with.”

Kishan responded with outrage, “
Nilima
! She’s like a sister to us! You’ve never expressed any feelings for her before!”

“She’s easier to be around,” Ren replied quietly. “She doesn’t look at me with big brown eyes full of hurt.”

Both brothers were silent for a minute. I’d bitten my lip deeply and tasted blood, but the pain didn’t affect me.

Kishan spoke intently, “
Kelsey
is all that a man could ask for. She’s perfect for you. She loves poetry and sits endlessly content while listening to you sing and play your guitar. She waited months for you to come after her, and she has risked her life repeatedly to save your mangy white hide. She’s sweet and loving and warm and beautiful and would make you immeasurably happy.”

There was a pause. Then I heard Ren say incredulously, “You
love
her.”

Kishan didn’t answer right away, but then said softly, almost so I couldn’t hear it, “No man in his right mind wouldn’t, which proves you
aren’t
in your right mind.”

Ren said thoughtfully, “Maybe I was grateful to her and allowed her to believe I loved her once, but I don’t feel that way about her now.”

“Believe me.
Gratitude
was not the emotion you felt for her. You pined for her for months. You paced in your room until you wore a hole in the carpet. You wrote thousands of love poems describing her beauty and of how miserable you were when she was gone. If you don’t believe me, go up to your room and read them for yourself.”

“I
have
read them.”

“Then what’s your problem? I have never seen you happier in your miserable excuse for an existence than when you were with her. You loved her, and it was real.”

“I don’t know! Maybe it was being tortured over and over again that did this. Maybe Lokesh planted something in my brain that ruined her forever in my mind. When I hear her name or her voice, I cringe. I expect pain. I don’t want that. It’s not fair to either of us. She doesn’t deserve to be lied to. Even if I could learn to love her, the torture is still there in the back of my mind. Every time I look at her, I see Lokesh questioning, always questioning. Hurting me because of a girl I didn’t know. I can’t do it, Kishan.”

“Then . . . you don’t deserve her.”

There was a long pause.

“No, I guess I don’t.”

I bit my hand to hold back a sob and gasped. They heard me.

“Kells?” Kishan said.

I ran up the steps.

“Kells! Wait!”

I heard Kishan following me and ran up the stairs as fast as I could. I knew if I didn’t hurry, one of them would catch me. Slamming the laundry room door behind me, I ran up the other flight of stairs, into my bathroom, and locked the door. I crawled into the dry tub and pulled my knees to my chest. An assortment of knocks fell upon the door— some gentle, some insistent and harsh, some barely audible. Everyone seemed to take a turn. Even Ren. Eventually, they left me alone.

I clutched my heart. The connection between us was gone. The beautiful bouquet of tiger lilies that I’d nourished and cared for since Ren’s absence dried up. My heart was devastated by merciless drought. One by one, the soft, fragrant petals turned brown and fell off the stem.

No amount of coaxing, trimming, watering, or cutting was going to save them. It was winter. The stems shriveled. The blooms were spent. Old, broken petals were crushed into dust and were blown away by a stiff, hot wind. All that remained were a few brown stumps—a sad memoriam to a once precious and priceless arrangement.

Late that night, I emerged from my room, put on sneakers, and grabbed the keys to my new car. Unnoticed, I quietly left the house and slipped into the smooth leather seat. Speeding down the road with the top down, I drove until I found myself at a viewing point atop a hill overlooking the wide forested valley below. Reclining the seat, I lay back, looked up at the stars, and thought about constellations.

My dad had once told me about the North Star. He had said that mariners could always rely on it. It never deviated. It was always there, always dependable.
What was its other name? Ah, Polaris.
I searched for the Big Dipper but I couldn’t see it. I remembered Dad said it was only visible in the northern hemisphere. He said there was no other constellation like it in the southern hemisphere. It was a unique celestial phenomenon.

Ren had said once that he was as constant as the North Star. He had been my Polaris. Now, I had no center. No guide. I felt despair sneaking through me again. Then a tiny voice inside me, with a similar sarcastic wit to my mother’s, reminded me,
Just because you can’t see the star doesn’t mean it’s not there. It might be hidden from view for a while, but you can rest assured that it still shines brightly somewhere.

Maybe someday that spark will be found again. Maybe I’d waste my life seeking it. I was adrift on an ocean of loneliness. A mariner without a star to follow. Could I be happy without him? I didn’t even want to consider it.

I’d experienced loss. My parents were gone. Ren was . . . gone. But
I
was still here. I still had things to accomplish. I had a job to do. I’d done this before, and I could do it again. Push through the pain and move on with life. If I could find love with someone along the way, then so be it. If I couldn’t, then I would do my best to be happy by myself. I’d suffered when Ren was gone before, and I’d suffer now, but I’d survive.

I reasoned,
There’s no denying that I loved him and still do, but there are lots of things to be happy about
.
The Ocean Teacher said that the purpose of life is to be happy. The Divine Weaver told me not to become disheartened when the pattern doesn’t suit. She said I should wait and watch and be patient and devoted.

The threads of my life are all tangled and jumbled up. I don’t know if I’ll ever get them straightened out. The fabric of my existence is pretty ugly right now. All I can do is hold onto my faith, believing that someday I’ll see the light of that bright star again.

I once told Ren that our story wasn’t over.

And it’s not.

Not yet.

As always, I’d like to thank my early reading group. My family—Kathy, Bill, Wendy, Jerry, Heidi, Linda, Shara, Tonnie, Megan, Jared, and Suki. And my friends—Rachelle, Cindy, Josh, Nancy, Heidi Jo, Alyssa, and Linda.

A warm expression of gratitude for my editor/adviser/counselor from India, Sudha Seshadri, who has also become my friend and who I think loves my tigers as much as I do.

I am eternally thankful for my husband, who has faithfully read each chapter out loud as I write them. Without his punctuation edits, no one else would understand the material. He’s always eager to read the next chapter and even admits to liking the kissing scenes. He’s my biggest fan and my biggest critic, which is usually how the best marriages go.

A special thanks to my brother Jared and his wife, Suki, who patiently described, and even demonstrated, all the martial arts moves so I would have better fight scenes.

I would also like to express appreciation for Tsultrim Dorjee, assistant at The Office of His Holiness the Dalai Lama for allowing me to use quotes from the Dalai Lamas.

Thanks to my first team of editors at Booksurge, Rhadamanthus and Gail Cato, for their hard work and a hearty thank you to all the people at Booksurge without whose services, my tigers might never have seen the printed page.

Please send many kind thoughts to my agent, Alex, for his efforts in my behalf. His expertise was sorely needed and is deeply appreciated.

A huge thank you and the warmest of wishes to Team Tiger at Sterling, especially Judi Powers, and a round of applause for my fabulous editors and friends Cindy Loh and Mary Hern who made the book the best it could be.

Lastly, thanks to all my fans who read and reread tirelessly, obsessing to the point that your moms have to hide the books from you. You know who you are. You are all crazy and wonderful! Thanks for all your lovely e-mails and letters of support and encouragement.

COLLEEN
HOUCK’s debut novel,
Tiger’s Curse
, is a
New York Times
and
Publishers Weekly
bestseller.
Tiger’s Quest
is the second volume in her popular
Tiger’s Curse
series. Colleen lives in Salem, Oregon, with her husband and a white stuffed tiger.

To find out more, visit

www.tigerscursebook.com
.