Trail of Broken Wings (38 page)

“Thanks, Mom,” Gia says, not meeting Marin’s eyes. “Really appreciate it.”

Marin bites back a retort, her instinct screaming to tell Gia to get in line, to shape up. That her drama needs to come to an end now. Marin imagines telling Gia that if she dared to behave like Gia when she was a child, she would have been thrown against the wall in seconds without a chance to explain.

“You’re lucky that we—”

Before Marin can say the words she’s thinking, Raj interrupts. “Gia, I found this in your drawer the other day.” He looks defeated, like a father searching. “You can understand how worried we are.”

Gia reads the top line before letting the piece of paper slip from her fingers. “You went into my room? Searched through my things?” She drops her head. “How could you?”

“I am your father,” Raj says gently. “How could I not?” He comes around to her side, taking the seat next to her. “I have been so worried about you. What can we do, Beti?” Taking her hand once again in his, he says, “Tell us. Anything, just say the word.”

“I don’t know,” Gia whispers, the tears falling.

“Then why the tears? Hmm?” Raj slowly wipes them away, as if Gia were still a child. “Tell me.”

“I miss him,” Gia admits. “All the time.”

Adam. The thought of him brings bile to the surface. Marin swallows it but it rises again, leaving bitterness in its wake. “Have you no sense?” Marin demands, staring at Gia, seeing a stranger instead of her daughter. “You miss the boy that hurt you?”

“He loved me.”

“No, he did not!” Marin berates her, slamming her fist against the table, startling both Raj and Gia. “Do you have any idea what love is?” Marin stands, ignoring the warning bells going off in her head. “Love is good. It’s . . .” Marin struggles to define the emotion. “It’s working to give you the best life, a superior education. Everything I didn’t have, you do. That’s what love is.”

“No, it’s not,” Raj says quietly. He shakes his head in clear disappointment, turning away from Marin and back toward Gia. “We’ve done something wrong and it needs to be fixed. Somewhere along the way, we lost you and we need to find you. We need to get our girl back.” He pauses, shuts his eyes, and takes a deep breath. “Do you want to leave school for a while? Take a break, use some time to heal?”

“I can do that?” Gia automatically glances at Marin, as she is the one who will withhold permission.

“No,” Marin says, but Raj overrides her, his voice louder than hers.

“Yes, you can,” Raj says. “If that’s what you want.”

“I’m sorry, I thought we already discussed this,” Marin interjects, feeling the anger boiling over. Since their last conversation, she and Raj have avoided the topic of a separation. However, Raj did move his things into the guest room and now sleeps there. Other than co-parenting, there is little left for them to speak about. “She will not be leaving school.”

Raj stands, facing Marin. “If that’s what she needs right now, yes, she will.”

“I won’t allow you to destroy her life,” Marin says. “If you want a battle, you’ve got one.”

“Meaning what?” Raj asks slowly.

“Gia and I will move out. I’ll fight for full custody and the right to make all decisions about her life,” Marin warns. As soon as the threat comes out of her mouth, she knows it’s what makes the most sense. She and Raj are at an impasse, and his ideas will only lead to long-term harm for Gia. Marin can’t allow it, even if it means taking Gia away from her father.

“I would want to live with Dad,” Gia says quietly. She rises from her seat, coming to stand right next to her father. “My wishes would count, right?” When Raj nods, she continues, “Then that’s what I want. I don’t care if it’s here or somewhere else. I want to stay with you, Dad. Please.”

Marin staggers back, the shock destabilizing her. “Gia, what are you saying?” she pleads, feeling a type of fear she hasn’t felt since leaving her father’s home. “I’m your mother. You belong with me.”

“I think I would be better with Dad,” Gia whispers, not meeting Marin’s eyes. “OK?”

Her question is directed to Marin, but it’s Raj who answers. “Sure, sweetheart.”

Marin arrives in Brent’s hospital room late at night. She left the house after Gia’s declaration, driving first to her office at the company’s headquarters. She closed her office door and sat staring at the walls for hours. She reviewed all her options and even placed a call to a number of divorce lawyers, setting up times to meet next week. But some quick Internet research proved her fears correct: at the age of fifteen, Gia’s choice would take precedence. Once she told a judge she preferred to live with her father, there would be no reason not to let her do so.

Marin wondered how everything had gone so wrong. She had it all, everything laid out in exact detail, and now, without any choice in the matter, it was all crumbling around her. She had never loved Raj, she could see that now, but she had accepted their roles, their place, in each other’s lives. Understood that under the dictates of their Indian culture, the marriage was forever even if only on paper.

Now, nothing seemed certain. The concrete foundation she had built her life on was cracked, leaving her life susceptible to collapse. For Gia, Marin had strived for perfection but was deceived by the illusion. There was no excellence to be attained. No superiority to hold over those less accomplished. In offering Gia the world, Marin stole her daughter’s sense of self.

After leaving her office, finding that the walls that once offered her a reprieve felt like a coffin, she arrived at the one place she never would have thought to go. She sat in the hospital parking lot for over an hour, begging herself not to go in. It was too late for answers; too much had happened to try and scrutinize. Besides, she was not one to lie down on a sofa for a stranger to analyze. In doing so, she’d be admitting there was something wrong, and she refused to make such a concession. No
one knew better than she how to chart her life. No matter what happened with Gia and Raj. No matter what the future held.

But she ignored her own words. Under the light of the moon and the glare of the fluorescent ER lights, Marin found her way to the hospital’s front door and inside the sterile walls. Taking the empty elevator to her father’s floor, she made her way to his room. It seemed like only yesterday she had walked down a separate but similar hall, leading Gia to the Trauma Unit. Yet, it was not yesterday. If it were, maybe she could undo the steps that followed. Change the course of her life and chart a new direction. Find a way to keep Gia as her own instead of losing her to circumstance.

“You won,” Marin says to her father as he lies very still under the white sheet. “I thought I could beat you, show you that I wasn’t yours to rule, but I was wrong.” She takes the seat next to her father’s bed, refusing to touch him. “All those years, you controlled me with an iron hand, but I convinced myself that in time I would prove I was stronger, smarter than you.”

After the first time he hit her, soon enough it became a regular occurrence. Marin never expected the violence initially, always believing she could do something wiser, earn a better grade to avoid the beating. But no grade was ever good enough, no behavior acceptable. It wasn’t until two years after their arrival in the States that Marin learned a very important lesson on how to deal with her father.

They had just arrived at an Indian function celebrating Navrati followed by Diwali—the festival of lights. Over nine days, the members of the Indian community, dressed in their finest attire, would gather to dance with sticks. Most of the women wore saris, while the girls wore
chaniya cholis
—ankle-length skirts and short blouses that left their stomachs and arms bare. A sheer shawl thrown over their shoulders
and tucked into the back of the skirts was the only other covering. Each outfit had fake jewels threaded through, making the girls sparkle as they danced. Around statues of the Goddess Lakshmi—the patron of wealth—they would twirl. Diyas lit the room, and incense permeated with a rose essence burned. It was nine days of beauty, filled with hope and a sense of community.

As a child, Marin still yearned for the celebrations in India, where the country shut down for the festivities. The streets would fill with those reveling in the occasion. Caste, color, and gender became irrelevant in the face of the joy. Marin would spend the nine days with her friends, and they rotated at whose house they stayed the night. Brent would tuck fifty rupees—a fortune—into Marin’s palm and tell her to go have a wonderful time.

Vendors lined the streets, their carts filled with sweets and toys. For Marin, the money was enough to keep her pockets filled for all nine days. Her friends envied the amount, their own fathers giving them only ten to twenty rupees. Marin was always quick to share, unable to enjoy her windfall if her friends suffered. The nine days of celebration were something Marin looked forward to all year, the happiness filling every part of her.

She assumed the celebrations in America would be the same, if not better. The first night, when she realized they were limited to the inside of a rented hall and that the festivities lasted only from evening to midnight, Marin lulled herself to sleep with memories of years past. It was only in the second year that Marin fully understood the difference—and what her life was now compared to what it had been.

After getting dressed and eating dinner, they all herded into their station wagon and Brent drove them the short distance to the church hall the Indian
samaj
had rented out for the occasion. After they parked in the lot, Marin jumped out, ready to run in and lose herself in the sea of hundreds of people in attendance.

“Marin,” Brent said, stilling her.

“Yes, Daddy?” Marin asked, wondering, hoping, for just a moment, that he was about to slip some dollars in her hand to buy succulent Indian sweets that some of the ladies sold to raise funds.

“I have a reputation to maintain. Remember that,” her father said as he lifted Sonya from her car seat.

“Yes, Daddy,” Marin said, her hands clasped in front of her, anxious to be on her way.

Marin spent the night playing with friends she had made within the Indian crowd, many of them having nothing more in common than the color of their skin. But like all children, they found whatever similarities they could as an excuse to play together. The night went quickly, Marin finding happiness in the game of hide-and-seek they played, while the adults and teenagers danced in the main hall. When her friends tired, they found an office in the back hall. Sneaking in cans of soda and bowls of
ghatiya
, they snacked while they played.

Two of the boys began to wrestle, knocking over three cans of soda. As the caramel color seeped into the beige carpet, they ran out of the office, refusing responsibility. Others followed, leaving Marin and one other girl. Ready to flee themselves, they were caught at the door by an adult who saw the stain.

“I expected more from you,” the man said, calling out for Brent and the other girl’s father.

“Please, Uncle,” Marin began, using the moniker as a sign of respect. Sweat started to line her blouse and upper lip. Fear made her voice tremble. “We were not at fault. The boys were playing and . . .”

Before she could finish, Brent arrived. He saw the stain and stepped forward to reprimand her, but then the other girl’s father arrived and assessed the situation. “Marin could never do such a thing,” he said. “Marin,” he continued, coming to lay his hand on her shoulder, the only acceptable touch from a man to a girl. “My daughter was telling us just the other day what an outstanding student you are. Have I heard correctly that you are skipping two grade levels?”

“Yes,” Brent answered for her. “The principal contacted me recently to recommend it.”

“Brent, you just arrived in America. We have been here since before our children’s births, and yet we are not able to accomplish the success you have in such a short time.” The uncle offered Marin another smile. “You are an example to the rest of the children in our community. How fortunate for us that you are here now. Our children now have someone to look up to and learn from.” He shook Brent’s hand, using his other to motion toward the stain. “This is not a child who would make such a mistake. Tell me, what is your secret?”