Lethal Secrets

by Anju Gattani

  “I’ve decided—and you can’t change my mind about this—but I’m not going ahead with the chemotherapy.”

  Sheetal’s heart skipped a beat. Was Mama cancer free?

  “I’m tired of all the medicines, doctors, hospitals, and—” She coughed.

  Sheetal gripped her shoulder to steady her. “It’s my fault, isn’t it? I forgot to take you to the doctor’s last time. I’m so sorry, Mama.”

  “Silly girl. How could you when you were in Mansali? Your father and I went and I just can’t do this anymore.” She took deep, controlled breaths as Sheetal reached for a jug of water on the bedside table and poured Mama a glass. “I’m exhausted and I just want to go.”

  Sheetal tensed. Did her absence cause Mama to feel neglected? She should have called from Mansali or after she returned, but she had been so wrapped up in Rakesh’s health issues, keeping Yash away from trouble, and her own work that she hadn’t made time to call. “It’s my fault. I should have remembered to check on you.”

  “I made up my mind weeks ago, but your father kept arguing, and tried to reason, but I don’t have the strength to go on.”

  Mama was falling into depression. “Let’s talk about this later. We can ask Vikram and Anjali to go somewhere with their children for a while.” Their presence exhausted Mama. She wasn’t thinking right. “That way, you won’t have to deal with all their—”

  “It’s got nothing to do with the Choudharys. This is my decision.”

  “Then you and Papa take a holiday.” Her mind raced. “Go somewhere for a while and get away from everything. Mansali’s the best place for some fresh mountain air and relaxation. You’ll feel better.”

  “You’re not listening, Sheetal. I don’t want to go to Mansali. I want to go in peace and not live with this incurable pain anymore.”

  “But Ma—” Her throat choked and the walls blurred.

  “I don’t have the strength to fight a losing battle.” Mama pressed a palm against Sheetal’s chest. “I’m always in your heart.”

  Sheetal squeezed her eyes tight in an effort to hold back the tears, but they rolled down her cheeks. “You don’t have to do anything, Mama. The medicines and treatment will cure you.” The chemo wasn’t as effective as they’d hoped and Mama’s tummy had bloated to twice its size, but she had to give Mama hope.

  “Chemo will prolong my life by several weeks or months and then what? I continue to live in fear of death?” She looked down and ran her hand over the bulge of her tummy. “This pain continues day after day and the cancer is growing out of control. I want you to promise when I am no more, Yash will light my pyre.”

  The custom of cremating the dead originated with the belief that fire liberated a person’s soul from the corpse, and the soul attained moksha only when the deceased person’s son or male family member lit the pyre.

  “Promise me you’ll take care of your father when I’m gone.”

  Her heart fisted her throat and she nodded.

  “And that you will put your heart back in your marriage.”

  ***

  Sheetal rested her elbows on the studio’s windowsill, cupped her cheeks, and watched Yash and Rakesh play cricket on the front lawn.

  Rakesh had taunted the servants with empty threats to halve their pay, have them clean the house from top to bottom, and polish every shrub leaf if they didn’t ensure he won, but the staff no longer feared Rakesh and openly cheered for Yash. Then Rakesh attempted to distract Yash with snarls, growls, and other animal sounds. Once, Rakesh pointed to an invisible bird taking flight from a tree. Another time, he yelled “Ice cream!” and pointed to a cone-shaped cloud. After that, Yash screamed, “Da-a-a-d!” threw his bat on the ground and stomped off. Rakesh ran after him to coax him back into playing.

  The gardener ran over to a cooler placed in the shade of a tree, flipped open the lid, took out a Tetra Pak of apple juice, and gave it to Yash. Then he walked over to a huge earthenware pot near the security guard’s post and doled out cups of water to the staff.

  Sheetal forced herself away from the window and headed toward her half-completed canvas. The happy family distractions were causing her to fall behind on her work.

  She had resumed painting when Rakesh arrived at the studio’s doorway, his hair ruffled and sweat rolling down the side of his face.

  “Hey. Why don’t you join us?”

  “I don’t know how to play and I have to finish this.”

  “It’ll be more fun with you. Besides, we only have a few more days with Yash.”

  “I know. I’ve been thinking.”

  “About what?” His expression blanked.

  “What you said the other day about keeping Yash here with us. I know it’s going to be hard, but if you’re serious about going sober, changing, and becoming more responsible, we can think this through.”

  “Oh, Sheetal!” He rushed across the studio and grabbed her hand. “We?”

  Her heart thumped. Yash would help bring them together. Besides, what if Rakesh was right about things that went on in dormitories? “Let’s start looking for a school here and give it a try.”

  He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her full on the lips. Then he tensed and pulled away. “You mean it, right? You’re not going to back out?”

  “We won’t know until we try. And as for that loan, I was thinking if we sell some of my jewelry—”

  “No,” he was firm. “I won’t hear of it.”

  “Just listen to me. I was willing to listen to you. It’s stuff I haven’t worn in years that’s gone out of fashion and is just sitting in the bank locker. I’m sure the pieces will sell for a good price, which will be enough to get the banks off your head for a while.”

  “I’ll find another way. I promise. But the fact that you’re willing to take the first step for me—for us—calls for a celebration.” He hugged her again. “And we won’t tell Yash now. Later. Once we’re completely sure.”

  ***

  Positioned before a wicket, Sheetal wrapped the pallu around her hips and tucked the loose end at her waist before picking up the bat. Following Yash’s shouted instructions, she held the bat parallel to her body and rested the flat tip on the ground.

  “Ready, Mum?” Yash twirled the ball on a fingertip.

  “You can do this.” Rakesh called. “Keep your eyes on the ball.”

  Sheetal squinted as the sun bore down on her. Perhaps Rakesh really meant to keep his promise this time. The tour of his office last week, his coming home early from work every day, dinner and a movie thrice this week, a bouquet of flowers three days ago, and yesterday he bought her a book on the world’s fifty most famous oil painters. Life was too short to hold onto grudges. Maybe this turnaround would put her heart back into her marriage.

  “Ready!” she yelled.

  Yash scrambled into position, and her attention flew to a gardener-turned-fielder at the far back who wore tattered shorts, a faded blue shirt, and open-toed sandals. Is this how Arvind used to play, in scruffy clothes on maidans? She imagined a sand-crusted lot with a ripped wire fence running the perimeter.

  The ball torpedoed in her direction. She swung the bat, raising her hands higher and higher until they felt weightless and free. A whoosh followed by the clatter of wood on wood was followed by surrounding laughter.

  Sheetal looked down at her feet and then over her shoulder.

  The wickets and bat lay in a clutter on the ground.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Coffee Kisses

  Rakesh and Yash, exhausted after two hours of cricket, returned to the house. Rakesh, distracted by his recent breakup with Kartik, halted beside the Bradford Browns and didn’t notice that Yash stopped at the same time until Yash tugged Rakesh’s sweater.

  “You don’t look happy, Dad.”

  Rakesh looked down. “What makes you say so?”

  “You’re not smiling.”

  Rakesh swallowed. He hadn’t had a drink in six days. His throat felt parched.

 
; “Dad?”

  He forced a smile and tightened his grip on the six stumps he carried. “Better?” Good fathers smiled at their children and didn’t dump their children into boarding schools. Such a relief to know Yash would be living with them, not holed up with boys who could make him their bitch and scar him for life. He couldn’t let Yash grow into the sissy weakling Sheetal planned to make him. He would teach Yash to be rough and tough and to survive in the real world. He would teach Yash to be stronger than he’d ever been.

  Yash tapped his hand. “You’re angry you lost again, aren’t you?”

  “Of course not. I’m proud of you. Every father wants his child to be better than him.”

  “Like your father was of you?”

  Funny, how Yash assumed all good things automatically trickled down through generations. He’d spent his childhood trying to please Papa, but Pushpa had seeded doubt in Papa’s mind until Papa lost confidence in him before Rakesh had a chance to prove himself.

  Rakesh had returned to India with the promised MBA degree from Harvard, then spent the next three years standing up for himself and dodging Pushpa’s maneuvers.

  He would never let anyone do that to Yash.

  “Dad? Say something.”

  “What, Beta?”

  “Was your father proud of you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you beat him in every game?”

  “Almost.”

  “Did he get upset, or was he happy when he lost to you?”

  How could he forget Papa’s expression right before he died? “Very upset, especially the last game when I won the final round.”

  Yash patted Rakesh’s lower back. “Just so you know, I think you were an outstanding opponent.”

  “Why, thank you. That’s a very grown-up thing to say.”

  They ascended the stairs, took a left at the west wing hallway, and headed toward Yash’s bedroom. “Who taught you such good manners?”

  “No one, really.” Yash shrugged. “I just hear Chopra Sir say it’s good manners to let your opponent know you enjoyed the challenge. It shows sportsmanship.”

  Rakesh shortened his strides to match Yash’s. “Who’s this Chopra Sir? I’ve never heard of him before.”

  “My House Master. The new substitute. He teaches science, too. Don’t you know him?”

  “No.”

  “Mum does. He had lunch and coffee with us.”

  The stumps started to slip. Rakesh tightened his grip on them. “Lunch and coffee?”

  “In the restaurant, Dad.”

  He sucked in a breath.

  “Mum, me, and Chopra Sir. You’re not listening, Dad.”

  “So, how does Mom know him?”

  “She said they were friends from school. Old friends. Good friends.”

  Chopra. The name circled his head. Before they married, hadn’t Sheetal been close friends with a guy by the last name Chopra? “Did she say anything else about this Chopra Sir?” He opened the door to Yash’s room and dumped the stumps in a box.

  “No, but they talked a lot.”

  Cricket was a fucking curse!

  “You don’t look happy, Dad. You’re not smiling.”

  Rakesh forced a smile. “I’m not angry.”

  He wasn’t angry. He was furious.

  ***

  When Sheetal tucked Yash into bed that night, he caught her wrists and pulled her down until she sat on the mattress’s edge. “I don’t want to go back, Mum. I want to stay here with you and Dad.”

  She cupped his face and ran her thumbs over his hairline.

  Tell him.

  Her heart skipped a beat.

  What could possibly go wrong in letting Yash know?

  “Your Dad and I have been thinking.”

  He tightened his grip.

  “Perhaps you can stay with us and not go back this time. I’ll start looking into schools for you here.”

  He sat up, swung his arms around her neck and hugged her tight. “Really, Mum? Really? I can stay here?”

  She held him tightly to her chest. “It’s a secret. Nobody knows. I’m not even supposed to tell you.”

  “I won’t tell anyone.” He pulled away. “Promise.”

  “Not Aunty Naina, Megha, or even Dadi. No one.”

  “But won’t they find out?”

  “When we tell them later, yes. You can’t tell your Dad you know, either.”

  “Why?”

  “Because he wants to tell you and surprise you later, once we’re sure. Until then, it’s our secret.”

  “You promise, Mum? Right? You won’t let me go? You’ll let me stay?”

  “I promise, Yash. You are my light, and you will always shine bright. I will never let you go.”

  ***

  The next evening, Naina grabbed the almost-full bottle of Elavils from the Russet Legacy coffee table, flicked off the cap, and emptied several into her left palm. However, she tipped the bottle too far and a stream of shiny, orange-coated discs landed on the magazines, an open candy dish, and clattered over the table and floor. Naina picked a few off the table, popped four in her mouth, dropped the remainder into the bottle, shoved the bottle into her pocket, and sauntered up to her room.

  ***

  Rakesh sat in bed with a stack of papers on his lap and twirled a pen. Sheetal, exhausted, slipped between the sheets and snuggled her head against the pillow. It was so nice to share her bed with her husband, like a normal couple. Mama was right. Since Sheetal had dared to focus her heart on her marriage, she’d found a contentment she’d not experienced before.

  The aroma of coffee and chocolate hung in the air. Arvind? No. Memory was playing tricks on her. She had to get Arvind out of her mind.

  “Rakesh?” Sheetal ruffled the covers, but Rakesh didn’t reply. “Rakesh?”

  “What?” He didn’t move.

  “Please turn off the lights.”

  “I’m working.”

  “Can that wait till tomorrow?”

  “Why?”

  “I want to sleep.” The scent of Arvind grew almost as if Arvind were here in the room. She sniffed the sheet and pillowcase. “Do you smell something?”

  Rakesh reached to his side table and Sheetal waited for him to put away the papers and switch off the lamp. Instead, he lifted a brown mug and the aroma grew stronger. He raised the mug to his lips, blew on the rising steam, and sipped.

  Who drank mocha at this hour of the night?

  Was this some kind of healthy substitute for scotch?

  Wrinkles creased his forehead.

  “What are you drinking?”

  He gave a crooked smile and raised the mug in a toast. “Hot brown coffee. Want some?”

  ***

  That night, Yash walked alone near the Bradford Brown sofas in the dimly lit Dhanraj hall, sipping apple juice from a Tetra Pak. He stopped near the Russet Legacy table, scooped a handful of Gems from the candy dish and tossed one into the air. He rapidly cocked his head back, opened his mouth, and weaved his head right. The first Gem hit his cheek and bounced onto the floor. The second hit the corner of his mouth and rolled under the sofa. The third landed on his tongue. He sipped the juice, swallowed the candy, picked up a handful of orange ones scattered across the table, and repeated the feat until they were all gone.

  ***

  An hour later, Pushpa found Yash unconscious on the floor. Her scream woke the household.

  Chapter Twenty

  Broken Glass

  Rakesh and Sheetal spent the night at the hospital as machines that monitored Yash’s heart rate and breathing buzzed and whirred. If a machine clicked, Rakesh examined the device to make sure it worked. If the ECG machine beeped too loudly, he pushed a red panic button beside the hospital bed and called for a nurse. He searched the corridor every five minutes and demanded that any passing doctor attend to his son, and that any nurse keep a continued surveillance on Yash’s monitors.

  At five a.m., Rakesh returned from his fifteenth trip to the nurse’s sta
tion, closed the door, and crossed to Yash’s bed. “I just spoke with the doctor. Yash is going to be fine. They’ll discharge him after he wakes up.”

  A wave of relief washed over Sheetal. The doctors had administered twenty-eight grams of activated liquid charcoal and spent two hours clearing Yash’s system of the Elavil overdose.

  A nurse entered the room to draw a sample of Yash’s blood.

  As Rakesh stepped away from the edge of Yash’s bed, the vertical rail pushed aside the lower right flap of his blazer, revealing a hip flask.

  The nurse left.

  “After everything that’s happened, you’re drinking alcohol again? You promised to stop.”

  “I needed to calm my nerves.”

  “Dr. Kishore said—”

  “I know what Dr. Kishore said.”

  A lock of hair fell across her vision and she swept it aside. “How can you go back on your promises? So easy for you. God knows what would have happened—”

  “Nothing,” Rakesh cut her short. “Nothing will happen to Yash. You have my word. I will never allow anything to happen to my son.”

  “Our son.” She almost choked on the words. “Do you realize we almost lost him because of Nainaji? Because— What was I thinking? How did I let you talk me into believing we could keep Yash with us? I told you, the house is not safe. He has to go back. What happened was not in your control and will never be in your control. There’s nothing you or I can do to control anyone in this family.”

  “What happened was an accident.”

  “If Nainaji didn’t live with us, this accident wouldn’t have happened.”

  “Look, I did everything.” He shoved his fingers through his hair. “I blew up all that money to give her a future and get her away from us. I put myself down by three hundred and fifty million and still nothing worked. It’s not my fault she’s still here.”

  “What if the next accident is fatal?”

  “There won’t be a next time.”

  “You just go right back to your alcohol and pretend everything is under control.”

  He sank into a chair, stretched his thumb and fingers across his forehead and massaged his temples.