Tap Dance (23 page)

I filled up the tank at the closest Mini-Mart and grabbed a handful of junk food with a huge cup of soda.  I pointed the nose of my Charger towards the Interstate and just rode in silence for a long time.

A long, long time.

I filled up again just across the Arizona state line and glanced at the clock on the dash. 

Good.

Today was finally tomorrow.

I grabbed a huge mug of coffee this time, knowing I had a long way back to Grantham.

It was just after three a.m., when I hit the edge of town.

I didn't want to go to my Aunt's house.

All my friends would be sleeping and there wasn't really anything I was ready to talk about yet.

I ended up at my apartment.

I went in and turned the light on over the stove.

The removal company had come in and done their thing.  My living room was empty, except for the end and coffee table and the curio cabinet holding the Hummel collection.

My bedroom was completely empty.

I had just gotten comfortable sitting on the countertop, eating ice cream straight from the carton when the buzzer sounded.

Oh, hello. No.

I wasn't ready to see him yet.

I didn't want to see him yet.

The buzzer rang three more times before I made my way over to the intercom.

"Go away," I said.

"Marianne?"  That wasn't Ram's voice.

"C'mon, let me in. It's cold."

"Steve?"

"Yeah, babe.  Let me in."

I buzzed him in, curious.

"What are you doing here?"  What is it about middle of the night conversations, with low lighting, that makes you feel the need to whisper?

"Tried calling you, babe, but couldn’t get through on your cell."

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah.  You?"

I was not going to discuss me.  I wasn't even willing to discuss me with me
,
yet.

I nodded.

Steve's eyes roamed over my bare place.

"Mari, are you moving?"

"You could say that, " I said with a wry smile. 

He didn't need to hear my particulars.  He'd kind of forfeited the right to do that years ago.

"So, tell me, Cowboy.  What're you doing skulking around in the dark?"

"Just wanted to see you, Sideshow."

I smiled.

"You're so full of shit, your eyes are brown."

"I wanted to see you again.  After we spoke the other day…" Steve ran his hand through his light brown hair. 

Or what remained of his light brown hair. 

I ran my eye over him and saw that the years hadn't been good to him.

When we were married, Steve had been a walking poster boy for the 'preppy' look.  Khakis and polo shirts.  Three piece suits with suspenders that echoed the color of his ties.

Tonight, though, he was wearing jeans, beat up tennis shoes and a hoodie.  A hoodie, for goodness sakes.   With the hood up when he first came in.  And, it flashed through my memory, he had come into the building with sunglasses on at four o'clock in the morning.

"What's going on, Steve?"

"Ah, things have gotten a little out of hand." Steve's head was down, watching his hands as they played with the strings of his hoodie.

"You want to explain what that means?"

"Not really." Steve sighed.

"What about the CDs, Steve?  Why did you send them to me and have me put them in the safe deposit box?"

"I can't tell you, Mari.  But they help me stay safe." He shot his eyes to me as he spoke

"Safe?  Safe from what?"  I could feel my eyebrows coming together.  I hate cryptic talk.

He just looked at me.

"Okay.  So, why did you come here?" I tried a different tactic to get to the truth.

"I told you.  I wanted to see you again."

I looked at him and could feel my head tilt while I thought.  Something wasn't quite right, didn't quite ring true.

"I think I made a big mistake, Mari.  Leaving Grantham.  Leaving you."

This was huge. 

Steve Quinlan never made mistakes.  And if he
did
make them, he never, ever owned up to them.

"Do you ever think about us, Mari?"

"Who?  Me and you?"

I watched him nod.

"Not really.  It was a long time ago."

"Not so long," he said leaning up against the countertop and crossing his feet at the ankles.  "Was I so easy to forget?"

I didn't want to open that can of worms.  Steve had hurt me pretty badly when I realized that he basically had chosen his job, his career over our marriage. 

I leaned on my elbows by the sink.

"I didn't have a choice but to move on, Steve," I said, trying to be kind.

"You ever think about us trying again?"

Where the hell was he going with this?

"Not really, no."

"I do.  I miss you, Mare.  I think the biggest mistake I ever made was in letting you go."

I was quiet, drawing little invisible circles on the countertop.

"Steve, you didn't 'let me go'.  You left.  There's a big difference between the two, wouldn't you say?"

He was quiet this time.

"I need to go," he said.

"I'll walk you out."  I grabbed my keys and opened the apt door before turning off the light over the stove.

We walked out of the apartment together.  We got to the sidewalk and I pointed my thumb over my shoulder. 

"I'm parked over there."

"I'm going this way," Steve said,  copying my movement but aiming his thumb the direct opposite way with a smile.

I smiled back and next thing I knew I was in his arms.  I pulled back a little and saw the look on his face.

 It was bleak and sad at the same time.

"Hey.  Are you okay?" I asked again.  The man hugging me was not the same man I'd been married to back in the day.

"Yeah.  Will be, anyway." Steve said with a soft chuckle. "You take care, Mari, okay?"

"You, too, Steve." I said reaching up to kiss him softly before releasing and stepping back.

I watched him walk away before I turned and made my way to my car.

Chapter Twenty Six

Ram was angry. 

Ram was so angry that he felt the heat of his anger deep inside.

But he was still.

Still as if he was carved out of ice.

Peripherally, he was aware of the well-wishes and that Marianne had left the room. 

But his eyes never left his father. 

His, son of a bitch, Baba.

When he felt like he had a lock on both his body and his emotions, when he felt like he could move without physically throwing his father out the front door, he growled, "My room,
now
, Baba!" and left the table.

His long legs took him to the back of the house,
his
fucking house, to
his
fucking bedroom. 

The room that now had his parent's suitcases in them. 

Oh,
hell
, no!

He stood in the middle of the room, his back to the door, his hands on his hips as he waited for his father, his Baba, to join him.  The English words for father, of the man that helped create him, didn't convey the fullness of the Hindu idea of what a father actually was in the Indian, Sub-Asian Culture.

He heard the door close and he turned around.

But his father wasn't by himself. 

Oh, no. 

He had dragged his uncle and both of Ram's brothers in with him. 

Which Ram was certain was a play to control him. 

Fuck
, that!

 When his father started speaking, it was in Hindi.  A language that was much more emotional, much wordier, than English.

"As my son, you will respect both me and my wishes…"

"I want all of you out of
my house
immediately," Ram interrupted quietly in English, his voice very firm.

"Ramjet, you must respect your father who has given you and your family…" his uncle, Chacha Balaji, stated his two cents, again in Hindi.

"Can it, Uncle," Ram said firmly cutting off his uncle's diatribe.  His uncle could speak for days, wearing his opponent down from the sheer volume of words.

Ram's eyes roamed over the other male relatives standing there in his bedroom. 

It hurt to know they had schemed behind his back, without his knowledge but he would never reveal his pain to any of them. 

He loved them, they were his family. 

He was raised in America, with a
white
mother. 

At times, that would only benefit them, they played the Hindu card.

Like now.

"I will say this
only
once more," Ram said, his eyes moving over his father, uncle and his brothers.

"Get
out.  Immediately
.  Please know you have not only worn out your welcome on this visit but
all
of the locks will be changed as soon as you leave.  Do not
EVER
, fucking, ever come here again without my
knowledge
, my
consent
or my
direct invitation
."  His voice was the roughest of rough as his eyes raked each man in turn.

"You, Baba, will explain to the Mistry family that I have absolutely
NO
intention of marrying their daughter. 
None
," he said, his voice like steel. 

He switched to Hindi, so that everyone would know and understand going forward.

"I'm sorry to ask you to do this.  And I know that you were only looking out for me.  But, this is America, Baba.  The land that you came to, found a wife that you have treasured for more than thirty years, and have loved and respected as a country.  I have become my own man, Baba, much like you were at my age. But I absolutely and unequivocally reject the Mistry daughter as a wife."

Ram hung his head. 

This was not a conversation any child wants to have with their parent, no matter what their age, culture or country of origin. 

But, in his case, it was needed.

He half-turned, hands still on hip.

"Please
go
.  All of you.  Know that I love you, but also know that I will guard myself
against
you going forward," Ram said, his throat hurting as his emotions threatened to overcome him.

They left. 

His brothers led his father out, who had aged another twenty years as Ram had spoke. 

Cha Cha Balaji kept throwing damning glances Ram's way as they all left the room.

Ram couldn't give a fuck.

His heart was destroyed. 

By his father's nefarious actions, who thought he was doing the right thing, but killing Ram with his thoughtless and even more careless words, Ram's heart was shredded.

What kind of people were these that could barter their children with such ruthlessness?

 Ram pulled his cellphone from his pocket to reach MG.

No answer.

He knew he would be lucky to speak to her alone, just the two of them, again in this lifetime. 

Especially when he tried to put himself in her place.

Oh,
God
.

Ram recognized that, if their roles were reversed, he wouldn't answer his phone either.

*.*.*.*.*

 He'd tried everything he knew to reach her but it was almost as if she never read her text messages or listened to her voicemails. It was as if she didn't even have her cell phone any longer.

 Ram didn't know what to do. 

He saw her in and about town over the next few days, but there was always something that precluded them from getting together.

 He
wanted
her.

 He
needed
to be with her.

 His heart was hers, so every night they weren't together was an ache, a chasm between them that he didn't want.

 That he couldn't cross.

That Ram didn't know how to…how he was gonna fucking repair it.  In his mind, it was almost irreparable, what she
must have
heard, spoken by his father.

*.*.*.*.*

Aaron, my long-suffering boss, pulled me into his office.

Wanted to have a word with me, he said.

That my work, during this time of year--our busiest time of year--was not good.

That I need to make a decision if I wanted to work for D & J or continue on being excused because I was the niece of the old boss--who was no longer the boss, but had known Aaron.  But Aaron now directly reported to Jake and Dale.