Trail of Broken Wings (14 page)

The second time was silently in her room when she was sixteen. It had been a particularly bad beating, and Marin could not take any more. One more incident and she was sure she would die. In fact, she had begun to prefer the idea of death over continuing to live under his roof. Given a choice between her demise and her father’s, though, she chose his. Falling to her knees in front of the pictures she kept in her room of Lord Shiva and Ganesha standing next to the Goddess Parvati, she begged for her father to be taken that night. For him to fall asleep and never wake up. She was so sure her prayers had been answered that she stayed awake all night waiting for the morning, when Ranee would announce the good news. Marin imagined the life they would live without him. The freedom she could barely remember from her time in India.

When morning came, Marin waited, clutching her blanket as her heart rate accelerated with excitement. When she heard her parents’ bedroom door open, she started shaking with happiness. As her doorknob started turning, she jumped out of bed, ready for the news. Her mother popped her head in, the wariness that had become a permanent mask still there. She asked quietly for Marin to get up and get ready for the day. She said to please hurry; they did not want to make their father angry.

The third and final time Marin turned to God was after she went into labor. Having read all the books and consulted with a number of ob-gyns, she was confident she was prepared for any circumstance that could arise—a breech, uterine rupture, macrosomia. What she was not prepared for was her inability to nurse her crying newborn. Marin tried everything. With the help of the nurses, she was able to get Gia to latch on to her breast and suckle, but no milk came. When it finally
did start to flow, it was only a trickle. Not nearly enough to feed her newborn baby.

The first night after Gia’s birth, Marin kept her baby with her even when the nurses insisted she would be better off in the nursery. Staying awake, she watched for the first sign of Gia being hungry. Immediately opening her gown, she offered both breasts. Neither filled with milk. Angry, Gia turned to instinct and began to chew the nipple. Marin silenced her cries of pain and watched helplessly as her daughter stayed hungry. After a full day of no milk, the pediatrician gently recommended they supplement with formula. Feeling like a failure, Marin begged anyone who was listening for her body to produce sustenance for her daughter. Her final prayer went unheeded, and within weeks Gia was on formula full time. Back at work, things went as Marin commanded.

Twenty-four hours have passed since Marin’s meeting with the principal. She has taken the day off from work, called in sick for the first time in her history with the company. She does not tell Raj the real reason, nor has she spoken with Gia about the situation. She is afraid to say anything. In truth, she has no idea how to take the next step. Nothing in her life had prepared her for this moment. The one where you ask your child who beat her. She considered confiding in Raj, telling him what she had learned, but the decision seemed to make itself. Raj left for an unexpected meeting in Los Angeles that morning. His return date wasn’t set. Which left Marin and Gia alone, together, with no suitable time to broach the subject.

The clock on the mantel strikes nine p.m. Over the years, Marin became deaf to the sound, but now she seems to hear every second passing. As if time is counting down and she has little left of it. What used to matter to her now seems irrelevant. Her stately mansion with
a pristine yard and columns that wrap around the deck. The deadlines, the stock prices, her investment portfolio. The definition of her success feels absent, having lost its urgency.

The house is dark. Gia is at another study session for a science exam. Marin knows she will get an A on the test. She cannot pinpoint when her expectation of good grades became Gia’s. When Gia accepted that her grades validated her. An A versus a B—one step on the spectrum and yet miles apart in meaning. Exceptional versus satisfactory. Standards set by society that first Marin and now Gia bows to. Marin could not fathom her daughter bringing home anything less than perfection—her name on every honor roll means Gia has flown over the bar and landed on her feet.

The front door opens and closes, signaling Gia’s arrival home. Marin hears the drop of the backpack in the foyer, the jingling of keys as they are pulled out of the lock. The crack beneath her door reveals that light is flooding the house. Following a habit from childhood, Gia hits every switch as she makes her way through the house. Marin waits for her name to be called, but she is not summoned. She is not the first one her child seeks out. Gia has no desire to share her day, to reminisce about happenings at school. For a second Marin wonders what Gia would say if she did ask.
The day was wonderful, but somewhere along the way I was beaten, and I don’t know why.

Gia is in the kitchen, rummaging for food. Marin can hear the sound of her munching on an apple as she takes the steps up to her room. Taking a deep breath, Marin clasps her hands together in prayer for the fourth time in her life. She doesn’t fall to her knees or lower herself to the ground to show the gods she is beneath them. They say with humility comes supremacy, but Marin has no interest. Today, she will stand side by side with whoever demands a place next to her. She will not ask, but instead command the right steps toward the path she needs to be on. She has learned the hard way that a request can be
denied. For all the unanswered prayers of her past, today she will rely on herself, not leaving anything to chance.

“Gia,” Marin opens her office door and calls out. Her office is dark. The sun set hours ago and the moon rose, but Marin had not moved from her place on the sofa. Now that she has she can feel the stiffness set in. She wonders if it is what rigor mortis feels like. A body with a mind of its own. Having lost any reason to live, it becomes immobile. Like her father. “I need to see you.”

“Yeah?” Gia, still in her school clothes, makes her way down the stairs. “What’s going on?”

“Come in, please. We need to talk.” Marin switches on the table lamp. With the room full of light, she watches as Gia takes a seat on the sofa Marin just vacated. “How was school?”

“Great. But I have a test, so I should probably study.”

“I thought that’s what you were doing?” Marin asks.

“Are you OK? You look different.” Marin realizes that Gia has registered how her hair is tangled and that she is wearing the same jeans and T-shirt she had on last night.

“I’m fine,” Marin lies. She is not fine. She is scared and unsure, but mostly angry. Furious at whoever did this to her daughter. She must tread carefully. If she alienates Gia, she chances losing more than she bargained for. “How was school?”

Gia lets out a small laugh, filled with incredulity. Stealing a glance at the watch on her wrist, she mutters, “Great, Mom, as always. But seriously, I have to study.” She stands to leave and makes it to the door before Marin stops her.

“Sit down. I’m not done talking to you.” It is harsher than she wanted, but having never been on this ride before, she is unsure where to hold on to assure their safety. “I will tell you when we are done.”

“Wow.” Gia rolls her eyes and retakes her seat. “OK. Is Dad home?”

Her savior, Marin realizes. The one who will protect Gia from Marin. “He left for a meeting this morning, remember?”

“Right.” Gia does not look happy. “I totally forgot.” She starts to tap her foot before something occurs to her. “Is this about
Dada
?” She uses the traditional name for grandfather. Brent insisted it was Gia’s first word.

Gia melts into the sofa, concern covering her. Seeing her, Marin suddenly remembers the little girl she was. She would cry when she scraped her knee and demanded ice for every injury, no matter how small the bruise. Marin lowers her voice, yearning to reach out but unable to do so. “Are you all right?”

“Yes, of course I am.” Gia’s visible anger dissipates at Marin’s softening. “Mom, please talk to me.” Gia’s lower lip starts to tremble. The unknown frightens her more. “Has Dada taken a turn for the worse?”

“You love him.” Marin knows her daughter loves her grandfather. Gia has never experienced his violence, never even witnessed it. Since her birth, Brent would spend hours playing with her. After her delivery, he stood staring into the hospital nursery window at his only grandchild. When Gia came home, he would tickle her feet, calling everyone to watch how she laughed in response. He never came over without a toy in hand. Marin would watch them, wondering how different life would be if that was the man she had known growing up.

“He’s my grandfather.” Gia fiddles with the pleats on her skirt. She has no idea about the history between Marin and Brent. “I don’t want to lose him.”

Brent was the only grandfather Gia knew. Raj’s parents still lived in India. When he came to the States to study at university, his family stayed behind, hoping their son would return home. When he married instead, they visited yearly. For a while, they considered moving and living with the family, but their advanced age made that impossible.

“Is he all right?” Gia repeats.

“The same,” Marin answers. Done with the delays, she says, “Your principal called me into her office yesterday.”

“What about?” Gia seems furious. “My grades are fine.”

“I know they are.” Marin chooses her words carefully. Her greatest strength, forging her way to the end zone and winning the game, now has no value. “This is about you.” Marin checks to see that the door is shut. If the housekeeper is nearby, Marin doesn’t want her overhearing. “Take off your shirt.”

“What?” The shock on her face tells Marin it is the last thing Gia expected. Her mistrust is palpable. “No way!”

“Now!” Marin snaps, furious to see the chariness in her daughter’s eyes. A distrust Marin never earned accompanies it. In the silence that follows, Marin tallies each of their breaths. The showdown continues, leading them toward an end neither of them can predict. But Marin is tired of waiting, of wondering.

“Are you searching me?” Gia takes a step toward the closed door, her only escape. “What, you think I have drugs on me or something?”

Marin wishes it were drugs, rather than her daughter beaten. It was possible the principal was wrong. Surely the PE instructor exaggerated what she saw. Most likely she misidentified the student. Because a child of Marin’s could never be hurt that way. Marin has done everything to guarantee the abuse is behind her, not in front. It is the reason she has kept it a secret. Hiding it deep in the closet, without exposure, keeps everyone safe. Gia is meant to reach for the stars, not fall beneath them.

“Please don’t argue with me,” Marin says.

“I’m not arguing,” Gia replies. “I’m just not taking off my clothes,” she says with resolve. She reveals a confidence born of having been rewarded with all the best in life. No matter that it was Marin and Raj who provided her with the material comforts she has become used to. The sculpture has been created, and now the sculptor has to face her creation. “You can’t tell me what to do.”

“Yes, I can.” Any hope of compassion dissipates. They stand facing each other. Mother against daughter. A reflection of each other, yet a world of doubt separating them. Resentment and annoyance creep in. “Now, Gia.”

“No.” Gia reaches for the doorknob, ready to flee. “You won’t tell me what’s going on, and now you want me to strip? Forget it.”

She wrenches the door open, but Marin slams it shut. A battle of wills and anger begins. Marin starts to unbutton Gia’s blouse herself. Gia, too shocked at first to stop her, allows one button to get undone before she pushes her mother’s hands away.

“Don’t touch me,” Gia yells.

The skin bared so far is untouched. Relief mingles with fury at Gia for fighting her. Marin grabs her by the shoulder to hold her still while attempting to unbutton more. Desperate for this to be over so she can return to work, so she can make up for the hours of production lost. Just as she undoes another button, Gia pushes her, hard. Staggering back, Marin barely keeps from falling.

Marin will relive the next moment hundreds of times in her head. Rethink each step and imagine it differently. Wonder which options would have been wiser, smarter. Wish that it had occurred to her to stop and think before destroying the only thing that really mattered to her—Gia’s love. But hindsight is a vicious thing. It mocks you with what should have been done. Teases with how things could still be. When left with ashes, you wonder how you could have prevented the fire. But introspection is not Marin’s friend. Instead, blind fury propels her. With one hand holding Gia in place, she pulls back her other, slapping her daughter with all she has.

The silence that follows drowns out Marin’s regret. Her arms fall to her sides, too weak to hold up. Before she can utter an apology, Gia begins to unbutton her blouse. One at a time, while holding fast to Marin’s gaze. She clearly accepts that she can’t fight Marin any longer, yet her eyes fill with defiance. A need to take back control. Slowly, she spreads apart the lapels of the starched white shirt, the last barrier of innocence against the horror.