Unwanted Girl

by M. K. Schiller

  He reached the street just as Shyla called to him. “Nick, where are you going?” He turned to her, and she must have read his expression because she took a step back. She looked guilty.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “You knew who I was when you came to my door. That I was an author.”

  The expression on her face confirmed it. “Nick…”

  “Why did you do it? Was it about money? Prestige?” She kept shaking her head, increasing his frustration. “Why? Fucking tell me why?”

  “I told you I wasn’t interested in that.”

  “Then you used me to further your own agenda, right? The plight of the Choice Less? Why me?”

  She shook her head again. “You don’t understand.”

  “Make me understand.”

  “There is more truth than fiction between us, I promise you. I…I wasn’t trying to hurt you.”

  “Don’t. Don’t keep up the charade.” He took a deep breath. “Just answer one question, and for God’s sake, don’t lie to me. Did you invite yourself into my house and my life because you were interested in me or because you wanted to write a book?”

  She closed her eyes, her lower lip trembling. “Both.”

  He let go of her and turned.

  “Wait! Don’t go like this. You love me. Don’t end us this way.”

  He turned back. “Love you? I don’t even fucking know you.”

  She bowed her head, her shoulders lowered. She took his hand and squeezed it. “Maybe it’s better if you hate me, but the story we wrote is good. Will you still give the book to Carrie?”

  In that question, he accepted the rouse she’d played and his stupidity for believing they were something more. “You’re wasting your talent. You should stay in New York and become an actress. I swear I’ve never seen a better performance.”

  He walked away from her, justified in his anger. Happy to hold onto its security. Happy to hate her because, God knows, he loved her, too.

  Chapter 34

  Nick spent the next four days battling his own demons. Recovery was a precarious place, but he was determined not to go back to the person he was. She’d broken his heart, but he wasn’t a weak man. He talked to his sponsor. He doubled up on meetings. He ran as if he was training for a marathon. Finally, he just escaped to Brooklyn.

  He studied her last text message for the hundredth time. I’m leaving at ten pm. I need to see you. I have to explain.

  He hit the delete button and brought up her pictures, ready to delete them as well. He got through the first two but paused at the third one, number 3 of 62. Her hair was flying in wisps around her on the ship bound for Ellis Island. She looked strong, almost resilient, yet there was something fragile about her expression. How had she managed to trick him?

  “Who is she, Uncle Nick?” Maya asked, peering behind his shoulder.

  “No one,” he said, his finger hovering above the delete button. The precocious child grabbed the phone from him. “She looks like Princess Jasmine.”

  “You think so?”

  She nodded, holding the phone up as if Nick hadn’t memorized every pixel of the photo. “Is she why you’re sad?”

  “How can I be sad when you’re around, kid?” he asked, mussing the little girl’s hair.

  “I have to take Shakespeare for a walk. Will you come?”

  “Sure.”

  The girl jumped up with great excitement, her smile revealing the slightest dimple on her right cheek. They walked the small puppy to the park.

  “We should work on Shakespeare’s story, Uncle Nick. Will you help me?”

  He laughed because it seemed like the irony of his life was coming full circle. Another girl was asking for his assistance in writing a book.

  “You’re a good writer, Maya, and a great illustrator. You don’t need my help.”

  Maya pouted as they stopped to let the dog do his business.

  “Illustrator?” she asked, the word coming out like “ill traitor.”

  “Drawer. You’re a great drawer.”

  “My moms say that, too.”

  “They’re smart women. Hey, you have to keep writing the stories because I can’t wait for the next installation of Shakespeare’s adventures.”

  “Can you do the yucky part?” she asked him, pointing to the remnants the dog left.

  “No wonder you asked me along,” Nick said, taking the plastic bag from her.

  It was a full day, but Nick had spent most of it checking his watch, counting down the minutes. It’ll be easier not to think of her when she’s far away.

  “I finally got Maya to bed,” Carrie said.

  “Yeah, it’s more difficult when someone gives her candy an hour before bedtime,” Tara said, a mock look of indignation aimed at Nick.

  “Hey, I’m the cool uncle. I have a reputation to protect.”

  Carrie opened a bottle of wine and poured three glasses. “I should be going,” Nick said.

  “It’s early. Besides, I think you should talk about it,” Tara said, passing him the glass of wine.

  “There is nothing to talk about. It didn’t work out. She wasn’t the girl I thought she was. I know that you are both concerned I will rely on my old methods to get me through this, but I assure you, I won’t.”

  “We know that,” Carrie said. She placed her hand over his. “But you are hurting something deep. We’re here for you.”

  “What happened, Nick?” Tara, the blunter half of the couple asked him. “It was very clear to me the night of the benefit she cared for you.”

  He almost choked on the wine. “She used me.”

  “For what?” Carrie asked.

  “To write the book.”

  “That doesn’t sound right,” Tara said.

  “I have trouble with it, too, but she lied to me. The deception speaks for itself. Even if her feelings changed, our relationship was based on deceit and dishonesty. How can I trust all of the other things that happened between us? Really, it doesn’t matter anyway because even if I could forgive her, she’s leaving.” He checked his watch. “In about sixty-two minutes.”

  “What was the book about?” Carrie asked.

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “She told me it was about a girl growing up in rural India,” Tara offered.

  Nick sighed, deciding to give them some insights. “It has some dark themes…about the trials of a young girl. Her lack of choices, even when it came down to keeping her baby.”

  “I wanted to read it before but that makes me even more intrigued,” Tara said.

  Nick tried not to react with annoyance. “Why?”

  “Because of Maya. She was adopted from India,” Tara said barely above a whisper.

  “What?” he asked. “I had no idea.”

  “Keep your voice down. She doesn’t know either,” Carrie explained. “We’ve discussed it. We’ll tell her, but right now, she’s dealing with so much we want to wait until she is older.”

  Nick nodded, his fingers clasping tightly around the wine flute, his disgust with Maya’s father surfacing. He’d met Tara through Carrie, but he’d heard the stories. He couldn’t understand how any man could reject his child.

  “Why did you adopt, Tara?” he asked, not only because he was naturally curious but also he wanted to desperately change the topic of conversation. How did he end up being best friends with two girls? They were no good at helping him through this misery with their insistence on talking out feelings and crap.

  “My husband and I couldn’t have children. The adoption was my idea. I wanted a girl from India. He never really approved of it, and I think that’s part of the reason he found it so easy to be absent from her life.”

  “Don’t make any excuses for him, Tara. He’s pathetic, and really he’s the one who lost out because you have an amazing daughter. But it’s better this way because she has two kickass moms.”

  The two women smiled at each other. “It’s funny how life works out,” Tara said.

  “
What do you mean?”

  She took a deep breath. “I don’t think we would have gotten Maya if it was Carrie and I that showed up that day in the hospital.”

  “A hospital?”

  “She was a preemie and had some health issues. I remember thinking it would be an easy process, but there was this nun there, and she asked us a million questions. You could tell she loved Maya and—”

  Nick’s wine glass broke in his hand. That feeling of unease grew to depths he didn’t think were possible.

  “What was her name?”

  “Are you all right?” Carrie asked, standing to pick up the mess.

  He swallowed. “Fine,” he said, keeping his eyes locked on Tara’s. “What was the nun’s name, Tara?”

  Tara looked confused. “What’s going on, Nick?”

  “Please try to remember. It’s important.”

  “She introduced herself as Sister Mountain. She was a French-Canadian nun living in India. I can’t remember her first name, but I always thought that was interesting.”

  Nick swallowed, the blood draining from his face. Shyla’s words echoed in his head. My name means daughter of the mountain.

  “Sister Sarah Mountain, right?”

  Tara’s body stiffened. “How did you know?” Then she clapped her hand over her mouth.

  Oh dear God, how did he miss it? All the signs became obvious at once. Maya had a heart-shaped birthmark on her right arm. Maya had dimples.

  He stood up, glass falling from his lap. “I have to go.”

  “Where are you going?” Carrie asked. “What’s going on?”

  “I have to find Shyla.”

  Tara gasped, realization washing over her. “Nick, it can’t be… I mean, that’s impossible.”

  “Is it impossible or just improbable?” Nick asked, wishing Tara could answer him.

  “I don’t understand,” Carrie said. “What am I missing?”

  “I’ll explain later,” Tara said. She took Nick’s hand. “I think you need answers, Nick. We all do. Go.”

  He looked around at the shards of glass. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s an omen,” Tara said. “It means good luck. Go.”

  Nick hopped into a cab. As it made its way through traffic, he took out his phone and gaped at her photo once more. It was like seeing it for the first time. There had always been this depth to her, and in this picture, he saw it more clearly than ever. She was…stoic. His mind’s image of the young girl he’d written about and the real image of the girl he’d fallen in love with merged into one.

  Her words came back to him with haunting clarity. There is more truth than fiction between us. He leaned forward, cursing at the traffic. “Whatever it says on that meter, I’ll pay you triple if you can get me there in twenty minutes or less.”

  Chapter 35

  She’d gone to Nick’s apartment once more and waited for him far longer than she should have. The confusion and guilt hammered away at her. She hadn’t eaten or slept in four days. But it was too late now. She cursed the long lines and getting to the airport late. At least her flight was delayed. She waited to check in, trying to make herself so small she’d disappear.

  The counter lady had a perky smile that soured her mood further.

  “Oh dear, you’re running very late to check in for an international flight.”

  “I know.”

  “You’ll have to hurry to the gate. It’ll be a sprint, young lady.”

  “Okay.”

  “Better start stretching now,” she said, jabbing at her keyboard with skilled dexterity. Shyla lifted her huge suitcase on the machine. Surprised by its weight, she rubbed her shoulders. That suitcase represented her four years here, but it mostly contained mementos from the past five months. All of Nick’s books were in there. Everything he’d written. She’d packed the French press, the few T-shirts of his she had, the outfit he’d bought her, and a few records they’d found on one of their scavenger expeditions. As heavy as it was¸ it was insignificant to the massive heartache in her chest.

  “Shyla!”

  She darted her head, searching for the owner of that deep voice. “Nick?”

  He was out of breath, his hair sticking up in every direction. “Thank God, I found you. I need to talk to you.”

  “Almost done,” the clerk said, her smile turning suspicious as she glanced at Nick just beyond the roped barricade of the line.

  “I’m checking in,” Shyla said to him, pointing to the clerk as if it wasn’t obvious. The other passengers in the long winding queue looked back and forth between them.

  His hand clasped the plastic straps that separated them. “Don’t check in.”

  “I have to,” she said.

  “She has to,” the clerk responded. “She’ll miss her flight.”

  “Miss it,” Nick said.

  “Excuse me, but some of us have planes to catch,” a sour-faced women said to Nick. “You’re holding up the line, young man.”

  Nick didn’t look away from Shyla when he answered the interrupting woman. “Lady, I’ll hold up the world right now.”

  “My visa is expiring. I’ll be deported or arrested,” Shyla said. “It’s too late.”

  “If you make me follow you around the world, I will, but it’s not too late. I did the math. You have another six weeks on that visa. There’s another flight in nine hours. I’m just asking for the next nine hours. You owe me that.”

  Everyone was looking at them now. She turned to the attendant who was punching the keyboard energetically. “He’s right,” the attendant confirmed.

  She turned to him. “Nick, I have to go home. I’ll write you.”

  “I don’t want a damn letter. I need to talk to you.” He swallowed and closed his eyes. “Asha.”

  Her back stiffened. She leaned against the counter for support before her knees gave out completely.

  “Your passport says Shyla?” the attendant said, arching her manicured brow.

  “It’s a nickname,” she responded nervously. She took her passport before the woman could stamp it. “I’m not going to be on this flight.”

  She rolled her suitcase through the throng of passengers. Some sighed or muttered under their breaths. One woman elbowed her husband and said something about romance not being dead.

  Nick followed her, grabbing her suitcase and lifting it over the roped barricade as if it contained feathers.

  He met her at the end of the line…or rather the beginning of it.

  “I don’t think you should draw so much attention to me right before I board an international flight,” she whispered.

  He took her arm and led her toward the exit. “I had no choice.”

  He placed her bag inside a waiting cab and ushered her inside before she could even respond.

  “You know?” she asked.

  “You’re Maya’s real mother?”

  She nodded. The affirmation provided both relief and tension.

  “How much of it is true?”

  She clasped her hands together so they wouldn’t shake. “All of it.”

  Chapter 36

  She sat at the table where they had started so long ago with her simple request to share his space and his company. His movements were those of a cautious man, both restrained and distant. Somehow, the few feet seemed as wide as the Pacific, or perhaps The Indian Ocean was a better analogy.

  “Asha Mistry?” he asked in a low voice.

  “It’s Shyla now. Asha did die at the riverbank that day.”

  Nick was quiet for a long time, his posture completely rigid. His hand gripped the neck of a wine bottle so hard his knuckles turned white. A gamut of emotions flickered over his face. Hurt, surprise, betrayal and then the anger came as he sucked in a deep breath between clenched teeth. Except this anger wasn’t directed at her.

  “He did all of those things to you?” He stood and walked the length of the room in frantic circles to the point of making her dizzy. “He hit you, he hurt you, oh my God, he raped you…man
y times.” Each word seemed to represent a new revelation for Nick.

  “I never said no.”

  “Did you have a choice?”

  She shook her head.

  “He almost killed you.”

  He hadn’t looked well at the airport, but now he had transformed into a deeper state of unwell as the minutes ticked by. His sparkling blue eyes were flat. The tilt of his mouth formed a tight line. His skin was overly pale and the dark circles under his eyes more pronounced.

  “I survived. I had a great deal of help, but I’m here. I’m not afraid of him anymore, Nick.”

  “This is difficult for me. I’m trying to reconcile the character you created…the one I wrote about was really you.” His voice strained into a soft whisper. “I…I can’t believe all those fucked up things really happened to you. I don’t want to believe it.”

  “Yes, that’s my fault. I’ve been telling the truth and lying to you, too. You said you didn’t know me the other day, but the truth is you know everything about me. All of the ugly things I’ve never been able to share with anyone else.” She smiled at him, trying to comfort him because he looked as if he was in pain. And she realized he was. “I’ve been talking about myself this whole time…in third person, no less. Your biggest pet peeve.” He didn’t laugh.

  “There is nothing ugly about you, but you’re wrong. I don’t know everything.”

  “I tried to explain it to you that day, but I was so ashamed of what I’d done and the complications I’d created. I didn’t want you to hate me. And I didn’t want to fall in love with you either. But both of those things happened, didn’t they?”

  “I need to know everything.”

  “I don’t even know where to start.”

  “Start at the last chapter. The real last chapter, and then tell me what happened after that.”

  She lifted her head, her eyes bloodshot and her lips quivering. “And then?”

  “Then we’ll figure out what happens next…together.”

  She nodded slowly, her shoulder lifting slightly. “Okay.”