| |
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.