Lethal Secrets

by Anju Gattani

  “Whoa!” Arvind said. “I think I’m in the middle of a mother-son debate.”

  “I’m going to the comics.” Yash ran to the kiosk.

  “Yash!” Sheetal called after him.

  “Just one look, Mum.”

  “Come back, Yash.”

  “Aww!” he whined. “Once.”

  “Let him be,” Arvind suggested.

  “I know when to let him be,” Sheetal firmed her voice. “I’m his mother.”

  Arvind raised both hands. “My mistake. Happens when you spend months with other people’s children and forget you’re just a custodian.”

  Sheetal wiped her hands clean with a wet tissue then used it to brush a few crumbs off the table.

  “Beautiful ring, by the way. Expensive?” He gestured to the princess-cut diamond.

  Dhanraj blood rushed to Sheetal’s head and she straightened her posture. “Ten carats.”

  “I’m not surprised. A beautiful woman like you deserves beautiful things.”

  Sheetal sucked in her lip, regretting her tone. Did it really matter if the ring was ten, twelve, or fifteen carats? Arvind had simply shown appreciation, and in typical Dhanraj manner, she’d patronized him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t— I shouldn’t have said that. How’s your family?”

  “My parents died a few years after I left Raigun. They took a bus up from Lower Mansali to meet me here, but their bus swerved to avoid collision with an oncoming lorry, overturned, and went off a cliff.”

  Sheetal sucked in a breath. “I’m so sorry. How did you cope?”

  “The same way everyone else does, I guess.”

  Sheetal swallowed the lump in her throat. “Mama told me you visited my family after I married.”

  “To let her know she need not sorry. That I was out of your life forever and leaving Raigun.” He shook his head. “What was I thinking when I came for you that day? How on Earth did I think I could barge in and whisk you away? I was such a fool.”

  “You’re not.”

  “You didn’t come with me.”

  “You know I—”

  “Of course, you couldn’t. I understand now, but not then.”

  “I asked Kavita to give you a letter before I married but found out she didn’t.”

  “A letter for what? Another goodbye?” his tone mocked.

  “To wait for me. I needed time to prove my marriage to Rakesh wasn’t working. I planned to divorce Rakesh and then I’d be free to marry you. But you’d already left.”

  “What else did you expect? I risked my life climbing your balcony but you were hell bent on managing Mr. Millionaire.”

  Why couldn’t he leave Rakesh alone? “So, what about your PhD?” she asked.

  “What about it?”

  “I’m assuming you must have taken a transfer and completed your degree.”

  “Delhi University.”

  “And your family? How many children do you have?” A knot fisted her throat.

  “Sixteen.”

  Sheetal reached for the mangalsutra around her neck and rolled the sacred gold and black beads that validated her marital status.

  “Boys. All sixteen, by the way.”

  He hadn’t lost his sense of humor.

  “Oh, come on, Sheetal. It’s a joke, for God’s sake. Every single boy in my care is like my own. Lighten up.”

  “What about your wife?”

  “What about her?”

  “Where does she live? Here?”

  He raised his eyebrows and grinned.

  Her forehead throbbed. “So, where is she?”

  “Who?”

  “Your wife.”

  “Why?”

  “Why, what?”

  “Why do you want to know about my wife? What difference does it make where she lives, how she lives, and what she does?”

  “What difference does the size or cost of this ring make? You asked, I answered, and now it’s your turn.”

  “In ten years, did you think of me?”

  “I’m married, Arvind. I have a child and family.” Why was he using that rigid tone of voice?

  “I was nothing but a joke in your life.”

  “I didn’t have a choice.”

  “You didn’t have the guts.”

  Anger seethed. “I was going to end my marriage to be with you. I just told you.”

  “Did you?” He crossed his arms.

  “How could I when you left and vanished? What was I supposed to do?”

  “Did you have the guts to end your marriage first and then come find me?”

  “How? Where?”

  “Did you ask around for me? I told a bunch of our friends where I was heading—Kavita and Gaurav included.”

  “She said she didn’t know where you were.”

  “Forget it, Sheetal.” Arvind lowered his arms. “Some things are not meant to be. Besides, I’m over it.”

  Guilt clawed at her heart. “Well, I guess that makes two of us, then.”

  “Why are you so serious and uptight? Where’s your sense of humor?”

  “I don’t see anything funny in what we’ve discussed, and I don’t see either of us laughing.”

  “You used to. Seems like you don’t anymore.”

  She looked past him to several waiters serving customers as the storm raged. She used to be so much more and do so much more.

  “Do you know I was supposed to pick up my parents from Lower Mansali but they said not to bother, they’d manage on their own, it was just a three-hour uphill ride? They died, but I’m still here. How do you think that makes me feel?”

  What if he had died? The breath caught in her throat. How would she have ever known?

  A beeping disturbed the silence between them. Arvind flicked open his mobile. “Hello? Arvind speaking. Yes, I know. I’m stuck at Jatinder Bhai’s because of the storm.”

  The wind howled, and Sheetal reached out to warm her hands near the heater.

  He switched off the phone and placed it on the table. “I was naïve and foolish to choose you above everything. But that’s how much I loved you. I gave up everything, and you left me for everything.”

  The blood rushed to her head. What had he given up? He’d had nothing to lose. How could she have left him when Mama and Papa never intended for her to go with him in the first place? He had turned up on the balcony on her wedding day expecting her to elope.

  “So, how is that husband of yours?”

  That husband? “His name is Rakesh.”

  “All these high-flying marriages make headlines, you know. Sometimes, ordinary people like us happen to read them. Rakesh has been in the papers quite a bit. Just wondering, that’s all.”

  The company, no doubt. “We’re happily married.”

  “Acchha hai.” He nodded. “Even though I didn’t ask. Still, good to know you’re both still together.”

  “Why wouldn’t we be?”

  “You read about so many break-ups and divorces nowadays.”

  “We’re very happy.”

  “Good. At least one of us is.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “One tomato shorba. Very, very hot. And one hot coffee,” Jatinder bellowed as he hurried over with a tray of food. “I bringing myself.” He placed the bowl of soup and cup of coffee on the table and wiped his hands on the green towel. “Chotta Baba, dosa. I know. I remember and come back again. Bringing, Madame.”

  “Arrey, yaar. Jattu Bhai!” Arvind’s eyes sparkled with mischief as he addressed Jatinder with the camaraderie reserved for close friends. “Be cool. What’s with all the formality? Join us and have some....”

  “Many customers waiting. I must go attend first.” Jatinder Bhai left.

  Arvind poured milk into the coffee. “Sugar?” he asked.

  In ten years, Rakesh had never asked her how much sugar she wanted.

  “Two, please.”

  “That’s a lot.” He added two teaspoons of sugar and swirled the liquid. “Not good for you.” He tapped the spoon ligh
tly against the cup’s rim and laid it to rest on the saucer. “Be careful. It’s hot.” He wrapped one hand around the cup and passed it.

  “Still giving free advice?”

  “It’s for your own good. Besides, bad habits are hard to break.”

  Sheetal absently wrapped her fingers around the cup to soak up its warmth, her attention on the blizzard outside. If the storm continued to rage into the night, would they be stuck here together? She ran a thumb along the porcelain’s rim.

  “Sheetal?” Arvind said. “Sheetal, my hand.”

  She looked down and pulled back from Arvind’s fingers, which were still wrapped around the cup. “I’m sorry. I didn’t—”

  “It’s okay. I guess bad habits are hard to break.” He pinched the cup’s handle, centered the cup on his free hand, and offered her the drink. “Just the way you like it. Hot and sweet.”

  Sheetal held out her flattened palm, but he didn’t relinquish the cup. Clearly, he wanted her to make the first move. She placed one hand beneath his, pinched the cup by the handle, then lowered and centered the cup on the saucer.

  He pressed her hand, trapping her fingers between the warmth of his hand and the heat of the coffee.

  The liquid sloshed gently, past and present lapping the porcelain’s edge. One cup. One moment to keep.

  “Your soup is cooling.”

  He said nothing.

  “Arvind, let go.”

  “I did, ten years ago.”

  “The cup. The coffee, I mean.”

  He slid his fingers away ever so gently and Sheetal curled the fingers of her free hand around his.

  “Sheetal, let go.”

  “I didn’t mean to.”

  He pulled away. Drops of coffee spilled over the cup’s edge and dribbled down Sheetal’s fingers.

  “Hot, hot dosa coming!” Jatinder returned with a tray of food.

  “Looks good,” Arvind said.

  The paper-thin, white and golden rice crepe, rolled into a tube, oozed a spicy yellow potato filling. The top fold hung over the crepe like a tongue and pointed at two bowls, one filled with a spicy brown lentil soup, and the other with light green coconut chutney.

  “Hot off tava!” Jatinder referred to a large iron griddle. “And Arvind, yaar....”

  Sheetal gestured for Yash to return.

  Yash shook his head and held up a comic.

  “Your dosa is here,” Sheetal lip-synched. “It will get cold.”

  “Not now,” he lip-synched back. “I’m in the middle of something.”

  “You two knowing each other?” Jatinder asked.

  “From college,” Arvind replied.

  “Good. Very good.”

  “We’re just old acquaintances,” Arvind said.

  “You telling me ‘acquaintancing,’” Jatinder teased in Hindi, “but I am seeing more in your eyes.”

  Heat steaming from the dosa rose up Sheetal’s neck and spread along her shoulders. She turned away in embarrassment.

  “Don’t mind him,” Arvind said. “Jatinder’s like an older brother, always watching out for me but saying more than he should.”

  “An old friend, Madame, who is knowing more, but not understanding why Arvind Bhai still not marrying. Why waiting when some woman he loving many years ago is long-time married?”

  “Jattu Bhai,” Arvind’s tone tensed. “I’ll have a coffee, as well.”

  “First you say soup, then coffee.” Jatinder shook his head. “Drinking two-two at same time not good for digestion. It not taking troubles away. Chotta Baba busy, so I am changing this dosa and getting another hot, crispy one.” He left with the dish.

  “So, who are you waiting for?” Sheetal asked.

  “No one.” Arvind looked away.

  “Jatinder said you never married.”

  “So?”

  “You’re alone.” She was married and still alone.

  “It means nothing.”

  “But you’re not sharing your life with anyone.”

  “You share a life when you have someone to live for. To live with.”

  “Then find that someone.”

  “I did. She left me.”

  “I’m here,” Sheetal whispered.

  “You’re not the Sheetal I knew. What does all this mean anyway? You, here, in front of me one minute and gone the next.”

  “You can marry and start a new life.”

  “I’m not like you. There’s a difference.”

  “What’s happened, happened. We should forget it and move on.” By not marrying and settling down, Arvind only worsened his pain. She sipped the coffee and almost burned her tongue.

  Arvind stirred the shorba and raised the spoon to his lips.

  This chance meeting reminded her of afternoons spent seated across from him at the on-campus Barista. He’d describe hilarious cricket games played with friends on a vacant lot bordered by a wire fence and a crumbling brick wall. When the ball sailed off field, Arvind forced his way through gaps cut in the fence by vandals, then victoriously returned to the field with the ball and new tears in his shirt. His “game trophies,” he called the bloody scratches from the fence.

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “For what?”

  Sheetal lowered the cup to the saucer and hunched over the steam.

  Arvind did the same and their foreheads almost met.

  “Turning you down that day. I didn’t mean to hurt you.” She ran a thumb over the cup’s rim.

  “What happened, happened. We should forget it and, like you said, move on with our lives. ”

  The warmth of his breath washed over each exhale. “I want you to know I haven’t forgotten our time together. I’ve never forgiven myself since.”

  “Neither have I,” he murmured.

  “For turning you away, the way I did.”

  “For loving you the way I did.”

  “It’s different,” she said.

  “What is?”

  Sheetal dipped the spoon in her coffee and swirled the milky brown liquid. “What I did to you was wrong and I live with the guilt every day.”

  “Every day?” He stirred his soup.

  “Every day.”

  “Every hour?”

  “Every hour.”

  “Every minute?”

  “Every minute.”

  “Every—”

  “Second,” she stole the word out of his mouth.

  “Then it was worth it because, at least, you thought of me and didn’t forget.”

  This conversation only stirred up the past and filled her cup with more regrets. “I don’t think I ever stopped loving you.”

  “Then, tell me, for my peace of mind. If things had been different, would you have chosen me instead?”

  She leaned against the chair’s backrest and looked at the wall of snow outside the window. “Does it matter? It’s over. We can’t change—”

  “Anything. I know. But for my peace of mind, so that I can believe you really did love me.”

  “I gave Kavita that letter.” She clinked her spoon against the cup’s rim and laid it on the table. “Isn’t that proof? I can’t help or change that she didn’t give you the letter and didn’t tell me of your whereabouts. I wish I had an answer, but this is all I can offer for now.”

  “So do I.” He laid his spoon to rest. “I still wish you’d run away with me that day.”

  Her attention flicked from his soup to her coffee and back. Two different liquids in two different vessels and ten years later they were stirring up the past at one table.

  “Friend?” He held out a hand in an offer of truce.

  She reached for his hand. “Friend.” She slid her fingers along his warm brown skin. He tightened his grip and her breath stilled.

  He coughed.

  She withdrew her hand, fished her wallet from her handbag, and pressed it atop the table. “I’m paying.”

  “No arguments. I’ve been paying all my life.” He winked. “Now, no more of the past. How abo
ut a new beginning and a new introduction? Hi. I’m Arvind Chopra.”

  “Sheetal Dhanraj.”

  “Arrey! Garam garam dosa!” Jatinder Bhai strode toward them carrying another tray. “Crisp. Crunchy! Hot. Very hot.” He delivered the dish along with Arvind’ coffee, excused himself, and left.

  Sheetal glanced at the steaming dosa and then back at Arvind. Desire rose with the steam, whirling up her soul in a vortex of hunger.

  Yes. This one was hot.

  Oh, so extremely hot.

  ***

  The taxi pulled up outside the Holiday Inn and Sheetal fished in her handbag for her wallet. Her fingers scraped the interior of the pocket and she bit her lower lip. She unzipped another section and another, in vain.

  The valet opened the passenger door, but Sheetal didn’t step out. “I seem to have misplaced my wallet.” She looked at the driver in the rearview mirror.

  The driver raised his eyebrows and shook his head. “Waah, Madame! You are forgetting your wallet somewhere, but I still have to feed my family tonight.”

  “Oh no. I’ll make sure you get paid. Please wait here.” She exited the Fiat, walked up the granite steps, through the sliding, double-glass doors and headed for the reception counter.

  A young man in a suit and tie looked up from his monitor. “Good evening, Mrs. Dhanraj. How can I help you?”

  “I left my wallet somewhere and I need to pay the taxi driver five-hundred-and-fifty rupees. He’s waiting outside.”

  “Not a problem, Ma’am. We can pay him for you. In cash?”

  “Yes, please. And charge the amount on my card.”

  “Will do. Please enjoy the rest of your evening.”

  Sheetal entered her room, flipped open the lid of her suitcase, and ran her fingers along the inner pockets and checked between extra salwar suits and jumpers she hadn’t unpacked. She ran her hand between the narrow slits of the sofa cushions, searched under the duvet, and lifted the floral bed skirt. Nothing. She pulled open drawers in the bureau and sifted through an array of lipsticks, cases of compact powder, blush, and lip pencils, then slammed the drawers shut. How could she be so absentminded? She’d planned to pack her suitcase early in the evening for tomorrow’s journey home, have dinner on time, then spend the evening watching a little TV to settle her edgy nerves so, from tomorrow on, she could forget Arvind and return to life as a Dhanraj.

  She mentally retraced her steps that afternoon and evening. She’d paid for the meal at Jatinder’s restaurant, dropped Yash off at Stonewall after the storm passed, then took the same taxi back to the Holiday Inn. Which meant she had left her wallet at Jatinder’s restaurant.