The Unexpected Son (16 page)

I
t was an overcast morning. The promise of a soft, soaking spring rain hung like an invisible blanket over the neighborhood. The birds were more subdued in their chirping. Even the tenacious Doris wasn't to be seen in her yard. The only things that looked delighted at the prospect of rain were Doris's newly planted seedlings. They seemed to turn their faces to the sky in anticipation.

Girish stared at Vinita across the round, glass-top breakfast table. “So you didn't trust me enough to tell me the truth?” Although it sounded like a question, it was more of an accusation. Behind the thick glasses there was bleak disappointment in his eyes. He had that wounded look one rarely saw in a man's face. His slice of toast remained untouched on his plate.

Vinita clasped her hands together in her lap and glanced away. It wasn't easy to face him when he looked like his world was crumbling around him. “I'm sorry.”

He had returned from his business trip the previous evening: Friday. She'd welcomed him home, fed him a good dinner, and let him have a night's rest before spilling the truth this morning. She'd lain awake all night, debating if she should tell him at all—or if she did, how much of it she should admit.

In the end she'd decided to tell all. There was no way to confess piecemeal to something as corrosive as this. It had to be all or nothing. And it was the hardest thing she'd done in all their years together.

And now she had broken his heart—the stout, candid heart he'd offered her that day on Chowpatty Beach.

“Sorry because you hid the truth, or because it has surfaced after thirty years?” he asked. Bitterness was so uncharacteristic of him. Could one little episode from the past change a man's personality to this extent? This quickly?

She turned his question over in her mind. “Both,” she admitted. “But mostly because I'm causing you so much distress.”

“Why didn't you tell me this when we first met?” He raked his left hand through the limited hair left on his head. The receding hairline had crept farther back over the years. It made him look older than his age. Arya often teased him about his looks—a cross between Woody Allen and Ben Franklin, albeit a brown-skinned one.

“I wanted to. I truly did,” she assured him. “But Vishal and Mummy convinced me that it was best that I didn't.”

“Why?”

She switched her gaze to the scene outside the window, watching the clouds thicken as she gathered her thoughts. Once again she opted to tell the whole truth. But putting it in words was the tougher part. “I had already been rejected by three men because I'd told them the truth,” she said, swallowing to moisten her throat. “On the other hand, you seemed like a promising match and…they didn't want me to blow my chances.”

“So I was the perfect imperfect man because of my divorced status and my ugly hand with its missing fingers.”

He was being deliberately cruel in his remarks, but she suppressed the need to strike back. He was justified in his cynicism. “Besides, I didn't really know you then,” she said instead in her own defense.

Despite having gone out together four times, theirs was still an arranged marriage. In these types of relationships, one didn't get to know the spouse intimately for a long time. And by then it was too late to disclose closely guarded secrets, too late to betray the level of trust earned over a span of so many years, too late to break apart the bond so carefully crafted and nurtured.

Five or ten years after they'd been married, how could she have suddenly blurted out the truth?
Honey, I have a dirty secret to tell you.
He'd already been hurt by one woman before. She didn't want that to happen to him a second time. It was a matter of protecting both him and herself from pain when she'd kept the truth buried.

But now she was hurting him worse than Nadine ever had. Nadine had never lied to him as far as Vinita knew.

He got to his feet and dumped the uneaten toast into the trash can. Then he picked up his empty teacup and plate and placed them in the sink. “But I told you everything about myself. Wasn't it fair that you did the same?”

“I should have. I realize that now, but each time we met, I didn't know how to bring up the subject. You thought I was a decent girl. You'd have lost respect for me if I had told you about my past. I thought Vishal and my mother's advice made sense.” She bit her lip to stop it from quivering. “I felt guilty about it. I still do. It hasn't been easy.”

“I bet,” he retorted.

“Don't you think I've tortured myself all these years over the secret I've kept from you…and Arya?”

“And the scar on your abdomen?”

“That's…”

“Is that really from the cancer surgery?”

“I had to have a caesarean because of…complications.”

His expression changed. “The cancer? Is that a lie, too?”

She met his dismayed gaze, but couldn't hold it for more than an instant.

“So it was.” He peeled off his glasses and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms, looking worn-out despite a long, restful night. “When I worried that your cancer might come back some day and you might become seriously ill again, you never even had it.” He paused, as if searching for a logical explanation. “I even prayed for your health. I didn't want to lose you to cancer.”

“Really?” He'd never told her that.

“Every evening, when I said my prayers.” He expelled a hollow breath. “You didn't even have the disease.”

No, she never had it. And he'd worried over her, prayed for her well-being. How ironic.

He shook his head at her, like he still couldn't accept it. “Did your obstetrician know this when you were expecting Arya?”

“I told him.”

“But not me.”

“He would have known after my first examination anyway.” Seeing his expression, she added, “I made him promise he wouldn't tell you.”

“Ah, a coconspirator,” Girish said in a mocking whisper.

She winced. Sarcasm was not something she'd ever observed in him. “Girish, please. How many times do I have to apologize for having had an affair when I was a hopelessly naïve teenager? I'm sorry. It was a huge mistake, the worst I've ever made. I'm sorry, okay? I'm so damn sorry!”

“This wasn't a simple love affair that broke up,” he reminded her in a tart tone. “That happens to lots of young women and men. But
you
had a
son.
”

“A son I thought was dead at birth.”

“And he's been alive all these years. Come on, Vini, didn't you think it was a little too convenient that he was gone by the time you woke up? How could a smart woman like you take your family's word when they said he died?”

“That's just it, I wasn't a woman.” She picked up her own empty cup and rose to her feet. “I was a young girl, raised in a sheltered environment.”

“But even a girl would want to see her child, dead or alive. She'd demand some answers.”

Feeling weak in the legs, she sank back into the kitchen chair. “I know it sounds absurd, but you have to believe me. I was suffering from severe pneumonia when I went into labor. I had a burning fever. I couldn't even breathe well, and the baby was breech. I had no strength to help deliver him, so they were forced to perform a C-section. I woke up from the anesthesia for perhaps a minute or two before I blacked out again.”

“You didn't ask about your child, then?”

“Of course I did! That was my first and only question. I wanted to keep him in spite of my family's wish to get rid of him. But I was too sick and helpless at the time. They clearly took advantage of my condition and took matters into their own hands. It was nearly three days before I was capable of having any rational thoughts.” She paused because her voice was cracking with emotion. Reliving that scene always brought back the ache.

“They told me he died in the womb,” she continued, despite the constriction in her throat, “that he was strangled by his umbilical cord because I waited too long to let them perform the surgery. They had to cremate him while I was nearly comatose.” She recalled those hazy days. “I almost died from the trauma myself.”

Now that she found herself explaining it to him, it did sound bizarre. How could a mother not know her child was alive and well? Where were her maternal instincts? The same instincts that used to wake her up at night when Arya was a baby and was sick or hurting. Even now, although Arya was an adult with a career and a place of her own, Vini could sense when her child was in trouble. How could she not sense her son's existence in her bones?

“
You
may have been a kid, but I can't believe your family lied. And then they encouraged you to lie, too,” he said, turning back to the sink to rinse off his dishes and place them in the dishwasher.

“I'm having difficulty with that myself,” she confessed. “They've been lying to me for thirty years.”

“So have you,” he said in a resigned tone.

“How many times do I have to apologize, Girish?” God, this was getting worse by the second. She'd never, ever seen him behave like he was spoiling for a fight.

He seemed to let her words sink in. “What did Vishal say when you talked to him?”

“Not much. He says he did what he thought was best for me back then.”

“What about your mother? Did she have anything to say about this?”

Girish had always held her mother in high regard. Vinita could see that was gone. He'd never feel the same way about any of them.

“I didn't have a chance to speak to her.” Vinita rose from her chair again. “I'm sure she'll give me the same explanation. She always went along with Papa and Vishal's decisions.”

“You know what?” He stared at something on the counter for a moment. “I'm glad my parents are deceased. They would have been devastated by this.”

“You mean they weren't devastated by your divorce?” she asked, tossing him a challenging lift of one eyebrow. She was just as capable of sarcasm as he.

“Of course they were. But the difference is they knew about it right from the start…from the time Nadine and I started having problems.” He rubbed his face with his hand, like he was trying to get rid of something foul from his skin. “I don't know how I'm going to tell Rohini and Kishore.”

“Then don't. I'll tell them myself.” Rohini was nice enough, but she was extremely loyal to her brother. Vinita dreaded talking to her about this. Apparently Girish's divorce had given Rohini a really bad case of depression. At least in those days Rohini was young and capable of handling bad news. Now she was in her sixties and had become more rigid in her ways.

“So you've decided you want to go to Palgaum and meet this…young man?” There was a quiver in his voice she'd rarely heard before. He hadn't uttered her son's name yet. She had a hard time getting used to it herself, despite practicing it all these days.

“Rohit is dying of leukemia.”

“How do you know it's true? All you have is a cryptic, anonymous letter.”

“I spoke to Vishal. He introduced himself to Rohit's adoptive parents as his maternal uncle and—”

“Was it a pleasant little shock for them as well?” Girish almost seemed to be enjoying his role of tormentor.

She ignored his barb. “Vishal discussed the issue with them. They confirmed the information contained in the letter. My son has acute myelogenous leukemia. He's on maintenance treatment right now—but he doesn't have long to live.”

“I suppose I should feel sorry for him,” Girish allowed grudgingly. “But why do you have to go to Palgaum? He supposedly has adoptive parents. It's their job to take care of him.”

She noticed him shift away from her as she approached the sink. Already he was putting distance between them.

“I don't know how to explain this,” she said with a sigh. “I wasn't there for him when he was born. I need to be there now…even though he has parents.” And thank God for those parents. At least her son hadn't been thrust into some cold orphanage where children were often treated like vermin.

“What exactly do you expect to do for him?”

“I've thought about nothing but this, for the last several days,” she said as she rinsed her cup. “Maybe…I can offer my bone marrow or something. At least financial help if nothing else. His treatment must be expensive.”

“Do you know what kind of treatment he's getting at the moment?”

“Vishal was very vague. I don't think he knows any details.”

“The boy may have already had a bone marrow transplant.”

“I doubt it. It's a very costly procedure, as far as I know.”

“What about the boy's…real father?” Girish hesitated, as if he was having difficulty uttering the words. “Isn't he some fellow from your town?”

“He still lives there, I suppose. But he doesn't know he has a son.”

“You lied to him, too?” The expression in Girish's eyes went from pained disappointment to open contempt.

Vinita knew she was fast losing her grip on the only man she'd really loved. She'd never seen him look like this, sound like this, not even during their worst marital spats. “I told him when I found out I was having a baby, but he didn't want to have anything to do with me. I begged him to marry me and then divorce me if he liked, but all he did was offer me money to have an abortion. He didn't care.”

“So why
didn't
you have an abortion?”

She glared at him. “How can you say that in such a casual tone, Girish?” He had always wanted a child and Nadine wouldn't give him one. Besides, he doted on Arya. “I may have been a kid myself, but I didn't want to get rid of a baby that easily. I'm no saint, mind you. I was seriously tempted to have an abortion many times, but in the end I couldn't do it.”