“We appreciate it,” Marin says, holding her cards close. “As you can assume, it was a shock.” Always a professional, she keeps her words clipped and sure.
“Of course. You spoke to Gia?”
“Yes.” Marin weighs her options, each one weightier than the last. There is no right answer here, she is sure. Instead, she chooses the easiest, the one to get her where she wants to go. “She refuses to tell us anything.”
“I see.” Karen fails to mask her disappointment. “I was hoping for more.” She goes behind her desk and opens a drawer. Pulling out a Rolodex, she flips through it until she finds the card she is searching for. Handing it to Marin, she says, “An excellent child psychologist. One trained to deal with abuse. I would highly recommend you call her.”
Marin takes the card and tucks it into her purse. She has no plans to call a psychologist or psychiatrist to help her with her daughter. She will handle this herself. “Thank you,” she says. “I appreciate the reference.” She glances at the time. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I better get this book to Gia before lunch is over and classes resume.”
“Marin,” Karen says, coming to stand beside her. “I mentioned to you last time I was required by law to contact child services.”
With all that happened that day, Marin has forgotten.
“As an administrator it is my first priority to protect the children in the school,” Karen continues. “I would never try to overstep my place—”
“Then don’t,” Marin says, not allowing her to finish.
“A social worker contacted me. They wanted more information.” Karen doesn’t acknowledge Marin’s directive. “I told them what I knew. What I believed.”
“Which is?”
“That I don’t think her parents are at fault. But someone hurt Gia.” Karen lowers her voice. “They mentioned they would be contacting you very soon. They need to know who did this.”
“Then we agree,” Marin says, softening her tone so the interaction doesn’t become combative. “When I find out who did this, and I plan to, I will make sure and let you know. Until then, I appreciate you providing my daughter with the best education my money can pay for.”
A diverse student body fills the hallways. Pouring out of their classrooms, the ninth through twelfth graders search until they find their friends. They head en masse toward the lunchroom or outside to eat. With the weather permitting it year round, most students chose to eat outside on the tables under the trees. Gia’s last class before lunch is literature. It is with her favorite teacher, a man who has published a number of short stories in journals. As Marin nears the classroom, she spots Gia standing right outside of it, her hand enclosed in a young man’s. Taller than Gia by a number of inches, his blond hair is a contrast to Gia’s brown. A handsome face filled with confidence. He’s laughing at something Gia said. He moves down, brushing his lips over hers.
“Gia!” Marin’s yell reverberates through the hallway, stopping everyone. Students stare, first at Marin and then at Gia. The small student population guarantees everyone knows one another. An unexpected drama in the middle of another normal day catches their attention, and the normally boisterous students fall quiet. Aware of the potential scene, Marin plasters a smile on and lowers her voice. “Sweetheart, you forgot your textbook at home.”
“I did?” Gia drops the boy’s hand immediately. Stepping away, she begs him with her eyes to leave. “Which one?”
“Science.” Marin leans down to offer Gia a quick hug. Gia winces when Marin’s hand brushes her arm. “Gia, aren’t you going to introduce me to this young man?”
Disappointed there isn’t a show, students scatter. Gia glances around, making sure they no longer have an audience. “Uh, this is Adam.” She steps even farther away from him, as if the last few minutes never existed. Starting to walk away, she waits for Marin to follow her.
“Nice to meet you, Adam,” Marin says, ignoring Gia’s cue. Holding out her hand, she waits for him to shake it. Already knowing the answer, she asks, “Are you in the same grade as Gia?”
“No.” He glances at Gia, a silent message passing between the two of them. “I’m a senior.”
“And you’re new?” Marin prods, demanding answers.
“Yes. My family just moved here this year.” Sticking his hands into his pockets, he leans back against the lockers. “From Florida.”
“Well, welcome.” Marin smiles, a false one meant to disarm. “I’m thrilled Gia and you have met. Obviously, you’ve become closer than she let on.” Marin gives Gia an indulgent smile, assuring them she’s in on their secret but approves wholeheartedly. Gia, who has returned to Marin’s side, returns a weak one. “Tell me about yourself, Adam, since Gia has failed to.”
Adam raises his eyebrows, confused. “I play basketball.” A bell rings overhead, reminding the students lunch period has begun. Pointing to the clock, he says, “The bell is my cue. I should get going.”
“Of course.” Turning toward Gia, Marin offers a half-disapproving look. “I’m sorry Gia hasn’t introduced us earlier. But no worries, we can make up for it.” Leaning down, Marin whispers into her ear, “See you later, sweetheart.” Not waiting for any further discussion, Marin leaves them, walking briskly out of the school and back to her car.
“I have a study session tonight,” Gia calls out, sharing a glance with Adam.
“Right. Study hard,” Marin says, giving nothing away.
Almost Gia’s dismissal time. Marin has waited impatiently. Work failed to keep her occupied. Without telling Raj of her plans, she gets into her car and drives to the school and parks at a distance. From her vantage, she’ll be able to see Gia without being detected. When the final bell rings, students pour out the front door. The younger classmen head toward rides while the upperclassmen go toward the parking lot where their cars are parked. Marin spots Gia immediately. Her backpack is thrown carelessly over her shoulder. She is surrounded by her friends, some of whom Marin doesn’t recognize. Relieved, Marin watches them walk toward a waiting car. Seconds later, Adam exits the school. Marin assumes he calls Gia’s name, because she turns. Marin sees the struggle on Gia’s face before she says something inaudible to her friends. Soon enough she turns toward Adam, slipping her hand into his. Waving good-bye to her friends, Gia gets into Adam’s car and they drive off.
Driving a safe distance behind them, Marin watches as they pull in front of a house in Redwood City, a few miles north of their home. It’s large, with a well-kept yard and luxury vehicles parked in the road. The neighboring homes are similar in style and square footage. Adam pulls into the driveway and both exit the car. From Gia’s behavior, Marin can tell she’s been here before. Gia waits while Adam unlocks the front door with a key. Following him in, Gia shuts the door, not catching sight of Marin sitting in her car a few doors down.
Marin watches, waiting. One hour turns to two, until soon enough the sun sets and dusk falls. Marin doesn’t leave her place, her eyes focused on the front door. Nearing ten p.m., Gia’s curfew, Adam exits the house first, followed by Gia. They get into his car and start to drive. Marin quickly starts her own car, increasing her speed to reach home before they do. Once there, she pulls into the garage, shutting it quickly behind her. She sprints into the house just as she hears the jingle of keys in the front door. Smoothing her hair back, she goes into her office to wait. When the front door slams shut, Marin steps out of her office to see Gia locking up.
“How was studying?” Marin asks, watching Raj come down the stairs at the sound of the door.
“Good,” Gia says, avoiding her eyes. “I should get to bed.”
“Do you want anything to eat?” Raj asks, his eyes curious.
“We grabbed a bite.” Gia starts to move past Marin toward the stairs.
“Who dropped you off?” Marin asks casually, already turning back toward her office. She makes no mention of Adam or the revelation at school.
“One of the moms.”
Not even a breath to cons
ider the lie or a pause to wonder if telling the truth is better. When Gia was a child, Marin always knew how to tell she was lying—Gia would tap her left foot. First it would be sporadically, but as Gia continued the lie, it would get faster. Unable to control it, she would cover her left foot with the right, hoping to quiet the movement.
Over the years Gia had mastered the urge and almost rid herself of it completely. Marin hadn’t seen the action for quite a while. She assumed it was because Gia had stopped finding reasons to lie. Now she understood Gia had simply learned to be a better liar.
“Good.” Marin stops, turning toward both Raj and Gia at the same time. “I almost forgot,” she says, stopping Gia’s escape. “When I dropped off your book today, the principal pulled me aside. Mentioned that legally she has to contact child services when a child has been abused.”
“What?” Raj swallows, his mouth forming into a thin line.
“I wasn’t abused,” Gia whispers, her eyes wide. “Did you tell her that?”
“I couldn’t tell her anything, since you won’t tell us what happened,” Marin replies easily, refusing to soften at the sight of her daughter’s distress. “A social worker will be contacting us soon to get more information. Visit the home to understand the situation.”
“What does that mean?” Gia asks, fear in her voice.
“It means if they think your father or I are the reason you have bruises, then they can take you away and put you into a foster home.”
Part of Marin welcomes the look of horror on Gia’s face. Now maybe Gia can understand the hell they have been living through. One thing Gia has always taken for granted, Marin is sure, is the comfort of her life. The thought of anything else is destabilizing.
“But that’s not true.” Gia tenses, withdrawing into herself. She drops her head, hiding from them. Seeming to come to a decision, she wraps her arms around herself. “My friends and I play this game. It’s stupid.” Gia glances at Marin, who is listening intently. “I knew you guys would be mad so I didn’t mention it.”
“What?” Raj looks to Marin first before settling his gaze on Gia. His voice getting louder with anger, he demands, “What the hell kind of game?”
“We hit each other to see how much pain you can endure. The one who cries uncle last wins.”
“Which friends?” Marin demands, watching Gia carefully. She considers Amber then dismisses the thought. An innocence still lingers on her. Something that Gia no longer has.
“Why does it matter?” Gia demands.
“Who came up with the game?” Raj interjects, giving Marin a warning glance. One that implores she tread lightly.
“It’s something kids do. To keep things interesting.” Gia turns toward Marin, begging her. “Can you tell them that? The social worker?”
“Are you telling us the truth?” Marin demands. She had read stories of teenagers hurting themselves—cutting, choking, and now beating one another up. Furious at Gia for participating, her tone is biting. “Or is this another lie?”
“I’m telling the truth,” Gia says. “I promise.”
Night has fallen. The window in Marin’s office reveals the stars in the sky. She lies on the sofa, not having moved since Gia offered her admission hours ago. They have left the cleanup for the housekeeper, and Gia has gone upstairs to finish her homework. Marin said nothing to Raj about Adam. Gia gave her a grateful glance as she said her good-nights.
Marin replays the day’s events and Gia’s admission in her head. Marin knew all of Gia’s old friends. They come from upstanding families. As does Gia, Marin thinks. Going through the list, she tries to imagine which one would play the game. One name after the next she mentally crosses out.
A fleeting image, a whisper in the woods, brings to mind Adam’s hand encased in Gia’s. He had refused to leave Gia’s side at the school, held on tightly to her hand. His look reminded Marin of one she had seen her entire childhood. It was from someone who believed they owned you and could do with you as they wished. The lie Gia so easily spoke about whom she was with. Gia going to his home. Both of them all alone for hours. Their relationship an elaborate secret. Images start to crowd in her head—all of them leading toward the inevitable truth. Gia isn’t lying to save herself, Marin realizes with a start. She’s lying to save Adam.
Nausea rises up, gagging her. She rushes to the adjoining bathroom just in time. Holding on to the toilet, she retches until her stomach is empty. Sweat lines her brow, and her body shakes from the convulsions. She falls back against the wall, grabbing the edge of the toilet to support her. He has beaten Gia, Marin is sure of it. There is no question in her mind that he has raised his hands to her daughter more than once. Why and how don’t matter anymore. All that’s important is that Marin is going to destroy him. Take him apart for having harmed her little girl. Only then can she assure Gia’s safety in a way she had never been able to guarantee her own.
TRISHA
On the night before Marin’s wedding, the lightbulb flickers as the electricity sizzles; the crickets chatter among themselves. The three sisters stand together, one shoulder against the other. Ranee, a fragile barrier, stands between Brent and the girls.
The night air is cool after the damp summer rain. Brent struggles with the key, cursing in Gujarati when it fails to give. “Did you spray the WD-40 like I told you?” he demands.
“Yes,” Ranee lies. In the midst of finalizing wedding details, she has forgotten.
“It didn’t work.” He yanks the key, slamming his fist against the door.
“The rain always expands the wood. Here, let me try.” She hopes to calm him.
“You think you are stronger than me?” He laughs—the only one. “Stupid.”
The girls continue in silence, watching. He alternates between trying the key and hitting the door. A raindrop falls. Soon, a light shower begins. They use the veils of their saris to cover their heads.
“Got it.” The click of the lock and he throws the door open. He steps quickly in ahead of them all. They are slow to remove their heeled pumps in the entryway, each still on a high from the hours of dancing and socializing with their friends in the Indian community.
“Girls, change your clothes, fold them, and bring them to me. I will put them back in the suitcase.” Ranee prods them along. The saris are fashioned from silk she received as a wedding gift. Brent had commissioned a tailor weeks later. A lovely surprise from when his heart was still kind.
“I want to wear mine to bed, Mama,” Trisha declares. Fascinated by the vibrant colors, she revels in the way it makes her feel.
“No, Beti,” Ranee cajoles. “These are special. Meant only for wedding celebrations. When it is your time, you will be allowed to choose.”
“Well, I want this one.” Trisha twirls and dances through the foyer. Their home is immaculate on the inside. An engineer with two master’s degrees, Brent is thorough and organized. His home life must follow suit. “I look beautiful in it,” Trisha announces, confident. She’s enthralled by the grace and splendor she perceives in herself. She just turned fifteen, is on the brink of becoming a woman. Her lean thighs have yet to mimic the curves of her breasts, which are bound tight by the form-fitting deep-red blouse. The silk stops below the edge of her bra, leaving bare her flat stomach to below the belly button. The free-flowing skirt ties above the bones of her hips, elegant to the rim of her ankles. The translucent sari wraps around her, meticulously tucked in, then like a beaded shawl thrown carelessly over her shoulder. “Everyone was staring at me.”
“No one was,” Brent snaps. They stop, all of them. Not by thought but reflex. Animals trained to tremble at their owner. “Is this proper? There is a need to be looked at?”
These are not questions. Trisha’s face shows her deliberation. A decision whether to answer or remain silent. She fears either choice, not for herself but for the others. Ranee inspects him from a distance. An immediate survey to gauge the situation.
“Yes, Trisha, you are correct.”
&
nbsp; “What?” Brent snaps his gaze toward Ranee.
“An auntie at the garba was telling me how beautiful Trisha looked. Her mastery of the steps to the stick dance. She of course takes after your youngest brother, dear.”
The girls wait. They have no other option.
“Marin, Sonya—you are both on my side of the family. But Trisha, you are your father’s daughter.” She takes each step one at a time. With a full belly laugh, she creates a diversion. A smile graces her face. From deep within her, she finds a reason. An illusion for them all.
“My brother named you,” Brent reminisces. Lost in her game, unaware of the play. “He was the first to hold you.”
The girls know the story. It is a tale repeated over the years. Lost in the memories of another time, the only time Brent was happy. “You were in New Delhi, Papa,” Trisha says.
“I was. The monsoon had flooded the streets. The trains could not move.”
“You telegrammed that you had hired a rickshaw. Driving all night you would arrive by morning.” Ranee passes Trisha to move closer to him. “In the middle of labor, and I am calling friends of friends. To keep you from danger.”
“I needed to see my second-born enter this world. Be the first to give her the drink of sugar water.” He reaches Trisha, but she is not afraid. He caresses her hair and pulls her into an embrace.
“Your brother thought of the name you would like best,” Trisha prompts him, sustaining the flow of the story.
“Yes, I listened to your mummy and stayed put. Waiting anxiously for the news.”
“We could not lose you to the floods. What would we do without you?” Ranee asks. “You arrived in Rajkot two weeks later. Your suitcases filled with gifts for Marin and our new child. Trisha, all you cared for was milk from my breast, and your father had spent thousands of rupees on toys for the two of you.”
The memories tease them, reminding them of a different time. Yet, they had left everything behind. Now all that remained was a bastardized mockery of the past.
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