The Unexpected Son (23 page)

“Hmm.”

She sighed. But if he thought his monosyllabic answers and body language were going to send her running, he was mistaken.

“Look, I know you hate me,” she said in a matter-of-fact tone. “But will you at least let me explain something?”

He shrugged again.

“So you're not interested, but I'm going to explain anyway. I would have told you the other day, but you as good as tossed me out of here.”

He remained silent, so she continued. “Rohit, I didn't know I had a son until a few weeks ago. I had no idea you existed.”

The last thing she expected was laughter, but he exploded into it, a harsh, barking sound that startled her. “Good story.”

“It's the truth,” she insisted. “Didn't your parents tell you anything about your birth? How you came to be adopted by them?”

She got no answer. It seemed like they hadn't told him much. So she'd tell him the facts—from the beginning. She'd set him straight. “You were delivered by caesarean under general anesthesia. When I woke up several hours after the surgery, they told me my child was born dead.”

“They?” That's when he turned around to look at Vinita. “Who are
they?
” His expression still held traces of the earlier mockery. But he wasn't laughing. Plus, he was talking. They were having an actual conversation, which was more than she'd hoped for.

“My family and the doctor…and the nurse,” she answered. “I understand she's your great-aunt?”
Anonymous.

“You believed them?” His eyebrows were raised high.

She glanced upward at the ceiling, recalling the scene from long ago—the familiar sense of loss, the emptiness that had slowly sunk in when she was told her baby was born dead. The memory still brought a certain amount of hollowness.

“I know it sounds incredible, but I was suffering from pneumonia,” she explained. “I had a raging fever. You were a breech baby and I was too sick to breathe normally, let alone give birth, so the doctor suggested a C-section. But I refused to have it until the very end, thinking it would harm the baby. I was convinced that the baby would flip over on its own and be born the normal way.”

That seemed to gain his attention. He shifted in his chair so he faced her. “And it didn't?”

“No.” She swiped her knuckles across her eyes to dispel the tears that insisted on escaping. She didn't want to cry before her son—show him how weak and vulnerable she was where he was concerned. “They told me the baby died—deprived of oxygen because I waited too long to let them perform the surgery.”

He appeared genuinely intrigued now. His tawny eyes were narrowed on her. Som used to look at her like that at times—in quiet speculation. “Didn't you ask for proof?”

“Believe me, the first thing I asked was to see my child. You can ask your great-aunt about this. She was there.”

“Hmm.”

That annoying grunt was all he gave. Vinita wondered if he'd ever been told that his aunt had been instrumental in his adoption. Exactly how much did he know?

“I was told my baby had died hours earlier, and they had to dispose of the body, do what they had to do—as quickly as possible.” She paused for a beat. “For me the burden of guilt was overwhelming. My stubbornness had killed my baby.” That was the part she'd never forgiven her family for, more than anything else. She'd carried the burning guilt all these years, when there hadn't been any need for it.

His eyes were wide with dismay. He obviously didn't know this part. “What about a funeral for him?”

“A funeral?” It was her turn to give a wry laugh. “I accepted that he was probably cremated very quietly in the dead of night. The whole thing was a big secret, you see. My pregnancy, the childbirth…everything. The minute I confessed to my family that I was having a baby, I was quietly packed off to Bombay and kept behind closed doors in my brother's flat.”

“You didn't protest?”

“I was a helpless teenager. I had no place to go and no money, so I had to let my parents and brother take care of me. Besides, I was having the baby against their wishes. They wanted me to have an abortion to save them and myself the shame and humiliation of an illegitimate pregnancy. I disobeyed them on that count, so the least I could do was cooperate with them in other matters.”

Rohit leaned forward, his arms braced on his thighs. “I'm surprised they allowed you the luxury of disobedience.”

Her mouth tilted at the corners despite the tears that continued to fill her eyes. “If killing me were a viable option, I think my father would have resorted to it. Under the circumstances, they had to do what was best for the family's reputation. An unwed mother was viewed as a disaster three decades ago.”

He nodded, probably understanding for the first time what her predicament must have cost her. “It's still a disaster in our culture.” He glanced at her. “Did they manage to keep the secret?”

She hesitated. “I think so. The doctor was a friend of Vishal's and his clinic was in a quiet suburb of Bombay. And then the baby was supposedly born dead. It was hushed up very quickly.”

He steepled his long, lean fingers and studied Vinita, his expression bland. “And you got on with your life, while your bastard son became someone else's responsibility.”

The boy didn't mince words. The term bastard was precise, if nothing else. “If I had the merest suspicion that my son was alive, he would have been
my
responsibility. I wanted him…Wanted you.”

“You were going to raise your child alone?” There was aloofness in his tone, like he was speaking about a stranger.

“The child was
you,
Rohit. I would have worked at a nursery school or even as a domestic servant to support you. But I would have raised you on my own.” She gave him a moment to think about what she'd told him. “I'd never have given you up.”

He stared at her. “But I
was
given up.”

“Yes—by my family, not by me.” When was he going to get it through his supposedly smart brain that she had been as much in the dark about his adoption as he was? “Not by me,” she repeated. “But I'm glad you were raised by good, honest people like the Barves.” She raised a brow at him. “They are good parents?”

“The best.” The same look that had relieved the harshness of his expression the last time settled over his face. He seemed to be genuinely fond of the Barves. “I consider myself lucky when I see some of the misery.”

“You mean other adopted children?”

“I mean the children in orphanages. They're practically starved…and they suffer from every kind of disease, malnutrition, neglect.”

“My family would never give away a child to some orphanage.” She wasn't sure of that fact, but she was duty bound to defend her own.

“You said they were strict—”

“But not heartless,” she cut in. “Vishal apparently did some research on your parents when your aunt recommended them. He thought they would give you a good home.”

“And they did.”

“I'm glad.”

“And you just pretended like nothing happened.”

She shook her head. “I never forgot my experience or my child. Yes, I went back to college, got myself a job. What other choice did I have?” She paused for a beat. “I even got married, which was a miracle, considering how I'd been ruined as a young woman. But I never stopped thinking about my son.”

“Your husband didn't mind your past?” Some of Rohit's earlier aloofness had vanished.

She wondered how much she should reveal, then decided to err on the side of honesty. “He didn't know about my past.”

“You deceived him?” His expression bordered on contempt.

“For a reason. You see, I kept telling the truth to every potential groom who was introduced to me…and every one of them turned me down.”

“Can you blame them?”

“No,” she admitted. “Men can do whatever they please in our society and still get on with their lives, but a woman makes a single mistake and she pays for it forever.”

Rohit nodded his agreement and Vinita glanced at him in surprise. What, no defending his own sex?

“Eventually, when a man living in the U.S. came to our house to meet me as a potential bride, Vishal ordered me to keep my mouth shut,” she continued. “For some reason I couldn't tell this man the truth. I wanted to, but I couldn't. Something held me back. Anyway, Vishal's command worked.”

“Does this goddamned Vishal dictate everything to you?” retorted Rohit, his nostrils flaring.

“Don't swear!” she reprimanded. “Vishal's my older brother. He's your uncle, and you wouldn't be where you are today if it weren't for him.” She realized at once that she'd instinctively sprung to her brother's defense. Vishal wasn't exactly in her good graces, either, but he'd likely done whatever he'd done out of a sense of duty. And she wouldn't allow anyone to malign her brother.

“Hmph,” was all she got from Rohit. He definitely needed a few lessons in propriety.

Nonetheless, she decided to overlook his churlishness and proceed with her story. Her watch told her she was probably running out of time. His parents could arrive at any moment and whisk him away.

“Girish, my husband, was divorced, but he was a decent man,” she said. “When he proposed to me, I accepted.”

“I see.” Rohit was staring at the floor now.

“I'm glad I did. He's been a good husband and good father.”

Rohit raised his gaze back to her. “Tell me something. How did you find out about me—that I was alive—and that I had leukemia?”

She wasn't sure if she should mention the anonymous letter. It could be from his great-aunt, and if that was true, then the entire family could turn against the old woman. She had to be quite old by now. “Somehow I managed to discover your existence,” she said.

“How?” he demanded. “Who told you? Your brother?”

“No.”

“Then who?”

“I got a…letter from some unknown person.” She ignored the chill crawling over her skin and making her shudder again.

“Is that the truth?” he demanded.

“Why would I lie to you? My family certainly wasn't going to tell me. Some stranger wrote me a letter and told me my son was alive, but he had leukemia and I could perhaps help by donating my bone marrow.” When he looked like he wanted her to continue, she added, “I didn't believe it at first. It was a shock, but then I called Vishal, and he finally admitted the truth.” She paused. “But he didn't know you were seriously ill until I asked about it.”

Rohit stared at his hands, as if the answer lay in them somewhere. “I wonder who it could be—your anonymous communicator.”

Vinita decided to keep her suspicions to herself. “I can't think of anyone. It's a big mystery.” She gave him a second to get his mind back on track. “But you know what? I'm glad someone decided to spill the truth at last. I would've gone through my entire life not knowing I had a son.”

Suddenly he changed the subject. “You have children?”

Vinita smiled. “One daughter. She's twenty-three years old.”

“Does she look like you?”

“Not much. She's prettier than I am. And she's a sweet, bright girl.”

For the first time since she'd met him, a hint of interest flitted across his hard face. “I have a half sister?”

“Yes. And she knows about you.”

“She probably hates me, I bet.” He seemed to enjoy the idea that a stranger hated him. This young man had an odd temperament for sure.

“Not at all. Arya's an affectionate girl. She wants to meet you someday, if possible.”

“She doesn't mind? I mean…about me?”

“You don't know my daughter. She's a generous soul.” Vinita's smile returned. “She has a short fuse, and she can be extremely stubborn, but she's got a big heart all the same.”

He grew quiet for a long time and went back to staring at his hands. Vinita wondered if her time was up. Maybe she was dismissed. She had to be grateful for the time she'd been lucky enough to have with him. She cleared her throat to nudge him out of his introspection.

He finally looked up. There was an odd expression on his face. “Who's my father?”

Her stomach clenched. She knew the question was bound to come up sooner or later. But she didn't want to face it. She shook her head. “That's not important. He's someone I banished from my mind years ago.”

“Why didn't you marry him?”

“Don't you think I tried? I would've liked to give my son his rightful place in society. The boy…man who was your father, offered to pay for an abortion. He thought it was all a joke—a simple mistake that could be easily rectified.”

“How did you get involved with a man like that?” Rohit asked, his lips curling in contempt.

“It's a long story. Like I said, I was a gullible teenager with a sound brain but very plain looks. The first boy who claimed to find me attractive was…whom I got involved with.”

“What exactly happened?”

“Like a bad movie, my life went straight into the gutter the minute I met him.”

“You must have met him in college?”

She didn't answer that. Rohit's line of questioning was getting dangerously close to some things best left alone. “So, how are you feeling today?” she asked instead. “Are you still on antibiotics?”

“I'm fine. That's why I'm finally going home.” He gave her a pointed look. “Please don't change the subject. I want to know who my father is.”

“It doesn't matter, Rohit. He…he wasn't a very nice man. You're lucky not to have known him.”

“I'll decide that for myself.”

“Mr. Barve appears to be a good father. Don't go looking for trouble.”

Rohit's jaw tensed, telling her his temper was stirring. He raised a finger at her. “Listen, Mrs. Patil, you're the one who came in here offering to help me. You're the one who insisted on telling me the details of how and why I was born. You're the one who is sitting here now, trying to dissuade me from learning the truth about my real father. You can't have it both ways. You need to tell it all.”