Trail of Broken Wings

by Badani, Sejal

  Her face hard, Marin watches wordlessly as Deborah takes out a small camera and begins taking pictures of the discolorations. “For the file,” Deborah explains, noting the size and shape of each one. There are seven in all. Fresh ones mixed with those almost healed. A mural of pain. Finished, she instructs Gia to put her shirt back on. “Can I see your legs, please?” Gia lowers her head as she pulls up her skirt. Black and purple line her upper thighs. From kicks, Marin knows, her gut churning. When you are lying on the ground and they can’t pummel their fist into your stomach, they resort to kicking, as if breaking an animal. Two more pictures, a few more notes, before Deborah is finished.

  “What now?” Marin demands, unable to face her daughter.

  “I create a file. Do some investigation.” Facing Gia, she asks, “Is there anything you want to tell me? Now is the time.”

  “No.” Gia’s face crumbles. “Please, can’t you just let it go? I’m OK.” To Marin she pleads, “Mom, please.”

  “It’s not your mom’s decision. No one is allowed to beat you. It’s against the law.” Deborah stands, her job finished, for now. “I’ll be in touch.”

  “What happens?” Gia asks, her voice small. “To the person that did this?”

  “That depends,” Deborah replies. “The final decision is up to the courts.”

  Marin makes sure Gia spends the rest of the weekend in the house. No hanging out with friends or leaving the house to see Adam. She confiscates Gia’s phone under the pretense that she wants to upgrade it. She’ll have it back in a few days, she assures her daughter. The only landline in the house is in Marin’s office, used mainly for the fax. Left without a means to contact Adam, Gia sulks in the house.

  “There were fresh bruises?” Raj demands, pacing back and forth in Marin’s office. Marin has updated him on the visit, leaving out her part in the situation. “What now?”

  “We wait. Gia still won’t give names, so I assume there will be an investigation.”

  “My god.” Raj drops into the sofa, his head in his hands. “How did this happen?”

  “Does it matter?” Marin asks, dismissing the nagging feeling in the pit of her stomach. “It’s happened and it needs to be fixed.”

  Something in her voice causes Raj to look up. “What are you saying, Marin?”

  Marin schools her features. “Only that we have to support Gia and help her through this.”

  “I was thinking maybe we should pull her out of the school. Surround her with a new group of friends.”

  “No.” Marin’s response is visceral, straight from her gut. She will not allow Gia’s future to be compromised. “We deal with this and move on. The best thing for her is consistency. To be surrounded by what’s familiar. Putting her in a new school would hurt more than help.”

  Raj watches his wife carefully before responding. “I’ll agree with your decision for now. But the matter is not closed.”

  Soon enough it will be, Marin thinks. Soon enough.

  Marin cancels all her appointments for the day. Her secretary, getting used to the unexpected vacation days, says nothing. Marin’s first call after speaking to her secretary is to the private investigator. “I need you to do one more job,” she instructs. After giving him the details, she slips into a suit and meets Deborah at her office.

  “Thank you for stopping by Saturday.” Marin gives the woman a grateful smile, one of the few she’s ever shown. “Gia had no idea we had spoken.”

  “It’s my job to fully investigate the situation. I must say, you’re playing a risky game.” The social worker leans back in her folding chair, eyeing Marin. Marin knew she had fulfilled her obligations as a social worker. She had opened a full-scale investigation, run down each possibility. Karen had informed Marin that the social worker had stopped by the school, interviewed her and the PE teacher. “But I commend your dedication.”

  “She’s my daughter,” Marin says, as if that is enough explanation. “I kept her home all weekend. No contact with anyone besides me and her father.”

  “Not with Adam?”

  “None. I made sure she had no access to the boy. She’s back at school today.”

  “You’re sure she’ll go home with him after?”

  “Guaranteed.” Marin could tell from Gia’s anxiousness all weekend that she was desperate to tell Adam what had transpired over the weekend. The visit from the social worker had scared her. “My investigator is ready to take pictures.”

  “Pictures of him in the act will prove he’s the one beating her. Bruises are only circumstantial evidence.” The social worker watches Marin carefully.

  “Then let’s expect pictures of him in the act.”

  Marin thought through each step and came up with the plan in detail. Experience with her father afforded Marin inside knowledge of how Adam’s mind would work. Fear of the social worker’s visit would drive him to desperation. With no other outlet, he would default to his preferred one—hitting Gia. He would convince her that it was her fault. She should have lied better, hidden her bruises more carefully, done anything that would absolve him and put the blame on her. Not only would she expect the beating, she’d convince herself she deserved it.

  “He just turned eighteen.” Deborah holds Marin’s gaze. “He’ll be charged as an adult.”

  “I’m very aware of that.” Marin is anxious for the next step. “Let’s move this forward.”

  It is the longest twenty-four hours Marin can remember. That night, she forces herself to work while waiting for the sound of Gia’s arrival home. Raj, still in the dark, is busy at work. Marin finds herself rereading documents only to forget every word she just read. Giving up, she turns off the computer and sits in her chair, waiting.

  The jingle of keys is the first thing that fills the silence. Then the front door opens and shuts. Marin jumps up, ready to bolt out of the room, when she hears the soft crying. Small gasps in an attempt to hide. Marin leans her forehead against the closed door of her office, steeling herself. Only when she is ready does she walk out, prepared to face her daughter.

  “Gia.” Marin’s voice betrays none of the emotion she feels. “Are you all right, Beti?”

  “Yeah.” Gia quickly wipes at her face, wincing when she lifts her arm. “I’m just tired.” She moves toward the stairs, ready to make her escape. “I’m going to go to bed.”

  “You were out late,” Marin says, stopping her. Glancing at her watch, she murmurs, “Almost ten. You were studying?”

  “Yes.” Gia doesn’t hesitate. “For a quiz. With friends.”

  “Which friends?” Marin asks, sharper than she meant to.

  Gia lowers her eyes, taking the stairs quickly. “A study group.”

  “Gia.” Marin’s voice leaves no room for argument. Gia slowly turns, facing her mother. “I . . .” The words catch in her throat. From here she can see her daughter’s pain, feel her fear. But she is helpless to heal it, to offer the words of comfort that will ease the tangled snare she’s trapped in. Instead she says the only thing that comes to mind. “Are you ready for the quiz?”

  “Yeah. Of course I’m ready.” Not leaving room for anything else, Gia rushes up the stairs and into her room.

  Marin waits in the car for Deborah and the police car. She awoke at the crack of dawn, made her own chai, sipping on the creamy milk until she felt her gut settle. An hour later, she heard Gia’s alarm clock go off and then the sound of her showering. Leaving the kitchen for the security of her office, she stayed there until Gia finished her breakfast and left for the day. Then she drove to the school and, from a spot hidden in the distance, watched all the students enter.

  “Are you ready?” Deborah taps on the closed window of Marin’s car.

  “Yes.” Marin joins her on the street, both watching as the patrol car parks alongside them. “I have the pictures.”

  Late last night, the investigator e-mailed Marin the pictures of Gia and Adam at Adam’s house. The last few Marin could barely glance at. The curtain had been o
pen so the PI was able to get shots of Adam striking Gia, her face streaked with tears. Marin had immediately e-mailed them to Deborah, who agreed it was time to move. Neither woman wanted Gia going home with him even one more night.

  Marin hands the prints to one of the officers. He reviews them before nodding once to Deborah. “Let’s go.”

  Marin follows them silently into the school, where she points out the office. Karen has already been notified by the district attorney about the officers’ visit. “They’ll be breaking for lunch soon,” Karen says upon their arrival. “I’ll bring them to the office.”

  Though it’s only minutes later, it feels like forever when Karen finally returns with Adam and Gia. Both look confused until they see the police.

  “No,” Gia says first, not noticing Marin. “He didn’t do anything.” The officers ignore her while reading Miranda rights to Adam. They pull his wrists behind him and cuff him. Adam stares ahead, his jaw tense. “Please let him go,” Gia begs, staring first at Karen and then Deborah for help.

  “Enough.” Marin steps forward, catching Gia off guard. “Stop now.” Gia, clearly shocked, falls silent. She watches with tears as Adam is led out of the office and the school.

  “We need you to come with us,” Deborah says gently, breaking the silence that had descended. “Your mom can drive.”

  “Go where?” Gia looks at Deborah and Marin, her face pained and scared.

  “To the hospital. We need to make a record of the additional bruises on your body.”

  SONYA

  When I was a teenager, Mom and Dad took us to Disney World in Florida. From there, we drove through Alabama, Mississippi, and Louisiana to Texas, before boarding a flight back to California. Dad loved driving and said the open roads of the South were like no others. Along the way we met many people, in restaurants, at the hotels. Everywhere we traveled, people were wearing crosses around their necks. We could see large churches from miles away. “Jesus Will Save You” was spray-painted on stop signs. At a gas station, a woman was passing out Bibles. Bored, I took one. She told me as long as I accepted Jesus Christ as my savior, I would be saved from the inferno, and, better yet, I could help save my loved ones. “What if I don’t accept him?” I asked, curious.

  Mom did diya every morning, and we stood around her while she prayed for us to be safe and protected. We visited the temple on certain holy days and for celebratory events, but otherwise religion played a very small role in our lives. Maybe Mom had a hard time believing in a God who would allow us to live the life we had.

  “Then y’all going to spend the rest of eternity in hell,” the woman answered with a rare surety.

  On the road again, I wondered aloud if there really was a hell.

  “No,” Dad answered with complete confidence. “There’s no such thing.”

  With hours on the road to reflect, I thought about his quick answer and could only come to one conclusion: he dared not believe in a hell, otherwise he had to know he was destined for it. But if I didn’t do as they said, if I didn’t accept this savior as mine, maybe I was headed for the same place. I knew the answer before it came to me—if my burning in hell meant my father would spend the rest of his soul’s life swallowed by fire, then I was sure it was worth it.

  It is David who pages me to tell me the news. Every day at work I slip on a little pager in case of an emergency. It’s standard issue for all employees. I wanted to laugh when they gave it to me but held back. As if there would be a photography emergency. I was surprised when I started to get calls from nurses a few weeks in. Pediatric patients asked for me, wanted to take pictures, took delight in their creations. Though I was scheduled to leave work at four, I often found myself staying past dinner to meet all the requests of the day.

  When I receive David’s page, I assume he has a patient he wants me to work with. He seems to know the needs of the children outweigh those of his adult patients, so he rarely contacts me. Every time he does, I feel a jolt when his name shows up on the little screen. I always ignore the sensation, stamping out any feelings to keep our relationship completely professional. I use the nurses’ desk phone to call him.

  “You caught me,” I tease, as soon as he picks up. “I was going to sneak out early today.”

  We have started to meet up with one another two to three times a week in the early evening. With few people left on the floors past dinner time, we grab a bite to eat together. Usually in the cafeteria, or if it is already closed, we munch on whatever we can find in the vending machines. We keep our conversations light, away from anything too serious. He never pushes me or asks for more than I am willing to say. It guarantees the impromptu meetings can continue. I won’t be forced to run as long as he gives me nothing to run from.

  “I’ll believe that when I see it.” David’s voice holds an edge I haven’t heard before. “Are you busy?”

  “What’s going on?” I start to have trouble breathing. It’s been two days since I last visited my father. When I had a break between patients, I would beg myself not to go see him; there was no point. No words were strong enough. Even if I just sneaked briefly into his room, it calmed my nerves to see him still lying there—almost dead. “Is it Dad?” If he has awoken, then I will leave tonight. I won’t see him. I will stop by Trisha’s—say good-bye. She will understand. She will have to. I have my escape plan mapped out. My mind whirling, I barely hear David’s next words.

  “It’s not your father. It’s your niece.”

  I run when David finishes talking. He doesn’t have details. Only that Gia is in the Trauma Unit and has asked for me. The sound of my heels hitting the sterile floors thunders in my ear. I wait impatiently for the elevator to arrive. When it refuses to, I run into the stairwell and down the flights to her floor. My badge is enough to get me past the security desk protecting the identity of the patients inside. Uniformed officers are in and out, a sea of blue among the walls of white.

  “My niece, Gia, was just admitted . . .” I demand at the nurses’ station. When my name is called, I turn around to see Marin as I have never imagined her. Her arms are crossed over her rail-thin body, her body tense. Instead of her normal suits, she has on jeans and a jacket. Circles underneath her eyes show hours of sleep lost. I rush toward her. “What happened?”

  “Gia asked for you,” Marin says, ignoring my question.

  My face betrays my shock. Gia and I barely know each other now. When she was born, I was enthralled with her. Her unabashed happiness, delight at every turn. I didn’t know a human was capable of such joy. When I left, I gave up any hope of us having a relationship.

  “She said she knew you worked here. Wanted your support.” She glances back, toward the closed curtain. “I didn’t know how to get ahold of you so I contacted Dr. Ford.”

  “I’m glad you did.” I want to reach for her hand, the one with the nails digging into her forearm, but I don’t. “What happened?”

  Before she can answer, a doctor I don’t recognize pulls the curtain back to reveal Gia standing in a hospital gown, her face washed with tears. Another woman, not a hospital employee from what I can gather, stands nearby. The doctor motions us in. I glance at Marin for approval, but she is focused on her daughter.

  “There are some new bruises,” the doctor says. “I’ve read the notes from Deborah and agree with her assessment of the older bruises. Gia’s ribs are also fractured. She’s lucky they weren’t broken.”

  “Any internal damage?” Marin’s voice is steady, a contrast to her demeanor.

  “I can run further tests, but from my initial exam I don’t believe so.”

  I stand, listening in shock. When I meet my niece’s eyes, I see what is as familiar to me as living—fear.

  “Once we get the all clear, you can take her home. I’ll make sure the police get my report immediately.”

  Marin nods, any words of thanks seeming out of place. The doctor walks past her, leaving just the four of us.

  “I’m Deborah.” The woman I don�
��t recognize reaches out to shake my hand. “The family resemblance is striking.”

  “Sonya. Gia’s aunt.” It is odd to say. I haven’t been anything to anybody for so long, the words sound foreign on my tongue. I move toward Gia, unsure where else to go. “Are you all right?”

  “No, she’s not,” Marin answers instead. “Her boyfriend has been beating her up.”

  In shock, I drop my gaze, unable to look at her. I stare at the floor, willing the nausea to subside. The story is not over as we had hoped. It didn’t end with our generation. Innocent, untouched by Dad’s violence, and yet here Gia stands, bruised and broken as if she had been raised under the same roof as us. Before I can speak, before I can fathom what words to utter, the curtain is pushed aside to reveal a hurried and distraught Raj.

  “Tell me now,” he says, going straight toward his daughter.

  I walk out, unable to bear witness to their heartbreak. First their voices are loud and then a whisper. Raj’s voice holds the tears that Marin’s speech never will. I want to walk away, to be as far away as possible, but my feet refuse to move. Gia asked for me. I cannot run, not today.

  I’ve never been to the Trauma Unit. There was never a need for me here since patients don’t come to stay. The wing houses doctors and nurses who care for victims of rape, assault, anything that can be dealt with medically within hours, though the scars might last a lifetime. After their traumatic event, victims often yearn to stay within the confines of safety the hospital corridors offer. Here, no one can hurt them again.

  “How is she?” David asks gently, coming to stand right in front of me.

  His concern cuts through my thoughts. I didn’t see him arrive. “Beaten, bruised, ribs fractured,” I whisper, staring at nothing in the distance.