Trail of Broken Wings (48 page)

I slowly pick up the results, the bracelets my mother gave me slipping down my arm. I scan the page one last time before making
my way toward the fireplace. Without David’s permission, I release the sheet into the fire, watching the edge of the paper catch the flame before being engulfed. In seconds there is nothing but ashes. Turning toward David, I expect to see disappointment, sure a man whose life has been lived under the ray of perfection cannot understand the complexities of our heartbreak. But he only nods, accepting my decision without judgment, with an understanding I have not earned.

“You didn’t try to stop me,” I say, amazed.

“You thought I would?” he asks, shaking his head in bewilderment. “That’s not how love works.”

I am silenced by his declaration, by his trust. But never having allowed myself the luxury of the emotion, I am unaware how to respond. I look away, searching, though I know deep within me the answer is standing right in front of me.

“When my ex-wife asked me for a divorce,” he begins, watching me, “she said it was because her illusion of me had been shattered. I wasn’t perfect like she thought, the ending wasn’t what she imagined.” Stuffing his hands into his pockets, he stares at the fire that is slowly dying. “So I made myself a promise. Next time I fall in love, I will make sure to get all the bad stuff out of the way first. From both sides, that way there’s no surprises.”

“There are always surprises,” I say, thinking of my sisters’ lives, the struggles they are facing. “Nothing is ever guaranteed.”

“Maybe,” he agrees. “But the core of the person, what makes them who they are, that never changes.”

“Then how can you love me?” I ask, the question slipping out before I can censor it. I want to take it back as soon as the words are out, ashamed for revealing too much.

“How could I not?” he asks, turning toward me. “You believe you’re damaged.” He nods, accepting what is. “And because of that you’ve decided you’re not allowed happiness, or love. I have to respect your decision.” He pauses, his yearning palpable. Leaning down, he
kisses me softly on the cheek. “But just for the record? You’re the most amazing woman I know. It’s not in spite of your childhood, it’s because of it.” Holding my gaze, he says quietly, “Not everyone can survive what you did and come out the other side with your strength. I love you for who you are, the good and the bad.”

Releasing me, he starts to walk away, the first time he is the one leaving. I watch him, convinced it is the right thing. But for the first time it does not feel acceptable. I don’t want him to go. I want to stop the hurt, to heal the wounds that have been ripped open for as long as I can remember.

One day I will ask my mom about why she did it. How could she have taken such a risk to free me only to chance being imprisoned herself? But I don’t know when that time will come—when I will be able to accept what she has offered me. Even after a wound heals, the skin has to rebuild, and even then the scar will always remain.

But until I can hold on to her love as my right, I will offer her what I can—my gratitude and my hope that one day, we will clasp our hands together and the only thing between us will be the knowledge that today is not defined by yesterday and tomorrow is truly another day.

Energy doesn’t stand still; it moves, shifts with time. I think maybe we are meant to do the same, to see the world not as we fear it is but as we hope for it to be—kinder, gentler, each lesson not meant to destroy but to enable. To learn that we are not stagnant, but rather move with those around us, each one of us melting into the other, becoming one though our bodies separate us. Our hurts and our joys are meant to be shared, the burden easier when another holds your hand.

“David,” I call out. Making my way toward him, I reach out, wanting to touch, to hold. “If we were going to . . .” I pause, unsure of the words to describe what we are about to embark on. “To be together, what would be your faults that I should know about?”

His smile fills the room, offers hope when I was sure there was none. “I snore. Really loud. Like a truck rumbling through the room,”
he says, holding up his hand to count them down. “Horrible at directions. Can’t tell left from right or north from south. Which is why I was kicked out of the surgical program, by the way,” he admits. “They were scared I would do more damage to the patient than help. Worst part—I won’t ask for help.” He holds up another finger, “Third? I’ll burn down a kitchen if I dare to step in one. It’s a real problem. The fire department has my address on “Frequently Visited” in their GPS.” He starts on the fourth when I grab his hand.

“OK,” I say, laughing.

He wraps his hand around mine as we stand there, our fingers clasped together as if in prayer.

“OK.”

And somehow, for the first time, I know it will be.

EPILOGUE

RANEE

They arrive in India when it is still daylight. Ranee looks around at her native country, understanding what she never could before—that home is not a place or a lifestyle, but the state of your heart and all the people who take their place in it. Brent said that their arrival in America made him what he was, but it was just an excuse. The evil was always lurking, latent, and he allowed it to become his default. He used whatever rationalization he needed to absolve himself—but like a true tyrant, it mattered little to him whom he hurt or how. But now he can never hurt them again. She knows they are not completely free and may never be, but they stand together, each one of them trying to fill the emptiness in the others, offering one another support, knowing they will never stand alone again.

Taking the three-wheeled rickshaw to the Ganges, Ranee balances the urn with Brent’s ashes in her lap. Gia and Marin sit in the back, while Ranee sits next to Sonya and Trisha on the front bench seat, each daughter wearing her bracelets. They are silent as the motorized vehicle zips them through the villages and toward the town. Ranee watches the
scenery go by, remembering all the years past. So many dreams lost, years already lived. But life isn’t over—nor is it just beginning. It is a continuation, all the memories coming together to create a life.

On arrival, they make their way slowly toward the flowing water. Hundreds of devotees bathe themselves in the river, steadfast in their belief that it is holy water spewed from the head of Lord Shiva. The women stand shoulder to shoulder on the shore, Gia and Ranee in the middle. Ranee silently offers her granddaughter the urn, watching as she opens the top. They kneel down as Gia slowly tips it, allowing all the ashes to fly free, float into the water, and disappear from sight. When there is nothing left, she drops the urn at their feet and they clasp hands. Each of them watches silently as nothing remains but the clear water sworn to wash away the sins of all who touch it.

Ranee turns toward each one of her daughters and her granddaughter. They stare back at her, quiet, as a bell from the nearby temple tolls loudly and clearly, signaling to anyone listening that they are being watched over, protected. With a silent nod, she leads them away from the water and back toward the rickshaw to take them home, where they belong, together.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Kiran, Sienna, and Akash, a thousand times I would walk the steps of my past knowing they led to you. You are the light I dreamt of, the joy I prayed for. Every day I am awed by you and forever grateful for you. I love you. Hema, my best friend, when I reached for the stars, you held me up. Thank you for your strength, honesty, grace, and love. Keith, your love is my foundation and your support my strength. Thank you for believing in me and for always being there. Hina, thank you for being there when I’ve needed you. Your strength is an inspiration and your sense of purpose an example. Mom, thank you for being strong enough for all of us and for showing us the real meaning of love. Prashant, we were friends but fate made us family. Thanks for being a great brother. Meghan and Serena, you are the miracles who have made our family complete. I love you as if you were mine. G. M., Jasumama, Rekhamami, and L. B., thank you for your unconditional love and support. I miss you. Sarahlou, you are the voice of assurance in the darkest of times. Thanks for your guidance and friendship, but I will still never vacation with you (LOL). Ms. Johnson and Donna, you opened your hearts and lives to me. Thank you for being the example that set the standard.

Benee, you encouraged me, pushed me, and believed in me. You are the greatest mentor any writer could wish for. Your friendship, generosity, and kindness are gifts I can never repay. Victoria, thank you for believing in my work. Your support and enthusiasm for this book meant so much to me. Danielle, I’m so excited to be working with you and your team. The adventure is just beginning, and I very much look forward to it.

To all the victims of abuse, believe in yourselves, keep dreaming, and always reach for the stars.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Photo © 2014 Hema B. Ravani

Sejal Badani is a former attorney. She currently lives on the West Coast with her family and their two dogs.