The Mirrors of Fate (8 page)

Hands. No. Something hard...like the hard ball of a shoulder....Alan’s shoulder.

Alan must have accidentally brushed her.

But suddenly there was a sharp pang of pain from the spot as if to counter what her explanation settled on. A brush didn’t leave a bruise or this much pain. The bruise felt like a blow she had received as a kid when a bully had pushed her on the playground with his elbow and she fell to the ground.

Such a hit like that...was contrived.

But contrived? That meant the fall wasn’t an accident. That would have to mean Alan pushed her, just like the kid in the playground had pushed her and pretended as if he had done nothing. That was obviously impossible and could be easily discounted. But for some reason, as if God had designed it, there was no second pang of pain to challenge the thought this time. To realize Alan could have deliberately hurt her absolutely frightened her.

There had to be another explanation but she couldn’t think of one. If the accidental brush had been small, which it should have been, her mind would have naturally told her to brace herself when she dropped, wouldn’t it? Did her lack of reflex mean then that the hit was so forceful and abrupt it caught her completely off-guard?

Alan pushing her on purpose didn’t make sense, so then, why...? Had he really pushed—No, no. It was an accident. The punch in the ribs had to have been an effort to grab hold of her as she was falling. That had to be what happened. What conceivable reason would he have for pushing her?

Maria laughed to herself. “Calm down, stupid. Think carefully. If he wanted to push you he could’ve easily pulled your ankle and let you fall forward and bust that stupid chin and head of yours open on the ladder and the floor. Splat! That would’ve been a sight, wouldn’t it?”

But the humor offered no comfort. She couldn’t dismiss the feeling crawling through her that Alan was at fault, but she couldn’t accept it either.

Maria abruptly got up and went to the bathroom to wash her face, rubbing away the shock still registered there.

“
There’s no way,” she told herself and hit the sink in a sudden outburst of rage. “Get a grip! It serves you right for playing Nancy Drew in your head.” Her fall was an accident. That’s all it was.

—
I’m talking about
real
pain, Maria...

The words invaded her mind suddenly, so suddenly that now her mouth hung open and a chill of terror darted through her body as the icy sink water ran over her hands.

Oh my God. Where did that wave of memory come from? Had she really heard those mumbled words? From Alan’s mouth? Her knees became jelly and involuntarily collapsed beneath her, smashing themselves hard into the bathroom tiles.

“
Arrrgh!” She groaned and rubbed her bruised knees. “Stop being stupid before you kill yourself, Maria. Use your head. It’s not possible.” She had an easy way to solve this. When she went back to school all she had to do was ask Alan about it. Ask him how the fall happened, ask him if
he
was okay, and ask him what he meant by...those words. The solution was that simple, because why should words like those have come at a time when she fell?

She stopped thinking about the puzzle and tried to go back to sleep. Yet even with the simple resolution of asking Alan later, she kept hearing those words over and over again in her head as she tried to sleep.

I’m talking about
real
pain, Maria.

•

Whatever the time she finally awoke on the Friday afternoon of the next week was not within her knowledge. Though she had not expected to, she was forced to miss out on a whole week of school because her head had been acting up. That she had been physically ill and starving for all that time did not help. Despite her accident, her parents still would not lift the food ban they had issued because of her discourtesy toward the suitors.

Waking up that day, she was well past the state of hunger. Even though she had been recuperating for the last week, the only thing she got every day to sustain herself was a pack of stale crackers and dry cereal. Taking painkillers for a solid week without a proper meal to go along with them had done unspeakable distress to her stomach. By that Friday, she was fed up with her pregnant belly of gas.

Today she was able to be up and about with a head not hammering from pain and a body not drowsy from medication, but her only option for eating anything substantial was to sneak food away from the kitchen. This would be her hundredth attempt, and she prayed it would go well.

Maria snuck into the spacious yellow kitchen with long, baggy pajama pants on and a night sweater zipped up all the way. She was expecting the kitchen to be empty, but she was more than caught off guard to see two figures inside.

“
Good morning,” her mother said, sarcasm coating her greeting. She stood by the kitchen sink in a sickly yellow blouse and skirt, her attire for her secretarial job.

Without so much as a glance to either of them, especially her father who was sitting behind the kitchen table with arms folded, Maria only murmured a groggy “good morning” intended for them both.

“
The princess finally graces the world with her presence,” her father said. “And it isn’t
morning
by the way. Are you blind or just stupid?”

She ignored the scathing comment and took a quick glance at the large round clock on the wall. She couldn’t believe it was already quarter-to-one in the afternoon. But why were they still there when their lunch hour was near to ending?

“
What’s your problem?” her father asked.

“
Nothing,” she answered dryly as she stared at his rigid posture—a king sitting ostentatiously on his throne.

Then again, that was normal for him, so it should not have surprised her to see it. Rupak Jaghai always sat with his back rigidly erect and his right leg dangling over the other. But there was something different about him today. He was wearing a plain blue tie. Ever since the embarrassing incident when her potential husbands came over, he had been wearing a blue tie with an angry black stripe running along it diagonally. A “Keep Your Distance
”
tie.

She wondered what had put him in a good mood.

“
Give me more coffee, dear,” he said to her mother. She obediently did as asked. He took it to his lips and tasted it. “No dear, you know how I like it.” Her mother had to give him a new cup, but still he was not satisfied. “Dear, please do it right this time. Can you do even that?”

“
Yes honey,” she softly said and threw the old cup out. The third cup was finally able to make him exhale pleasantly, gruffly, and her mother smiled happily.

Maria grimaced at the sickeningly common behavior between them, what she called the “Dumb Woman, Fetch!” game. But if her mother liked doing his bidding, who was she to argue? In the woman’s eyes he must have absolutely been a catch. Truthfully, he must have been to many women. His confidence and intelligence had to be attractive to some. For a man of forty-nine, he was quite handsome. His Indian skin was like earth mixed with silver, or mud mixed with tough steel, really. Though she quite preferred the latter description, it did not change the fact that he had a healthy complexion with limited wrinkles at the sides of his eyes or anywhere else on his face. His nose was perfectly straight and narrow, but would have been more distinctly apparent if not for the coarse and sometimes untamable condition of the beard he insisted on having.

Whether he was driving with his windows up and people felt compelled to look in, or whether he was merely smiling and laughing with a store clerk as he purchased another expensive item, he emitted an aura of self-assurance and security. And truthfully, he had a right to gloat whenever he did. From the time he was in Jamaica until now, he had managed to climb all the way up the ladder of success. He prided himself on the fact that it took him, an Indian man, just two years to become the chief executive officer at the White Crest City Bank and the leader of “a hoard of white people, no less!” That last achievement impressed him the most.

“
You look extremely unkempt and muddled today, Maria,” her father said in his professional English. He often chose words that complimented his personal achievement of his Indian accent being ground into non-existence.

“
I’m sorry that I do.” A grind of her stomach suddenly reminded her of her mission. “Shouldn’t you guys be at work by now?”

“
Where’s the bandage for your head?” her mother jumped in.

Maria noticed the diversion but said nothing. “I didn’t need it anymore. I’m okay now.”
No thanks to either of you.

“
Are you sure? You know, I really still can’t believe this happened. I expected so much better from Halimond. It’s not some second-rate public school. They were so careless.”

“
And soon enough I’ll remind them just
how
careless they’ve been,” her father began to gloat. “If they think that belligerent phone call was anything, they’ll wet their pants with the lawsuit I’ll throw at them for their incompetence. It’s just because I already have two suits in the works that I don’t have time to focus on them yet. Who allows a girl to go home and
sleep
after severely hitting her head? They were trying to kill her, is what.”

“
I’m okay now, guys,” Maria tried to end it. She lingered for a moment by the counter. She knew what she needed—not rest, not to keep the bandage on any longer, but food. The injury wasn’t that bad now. It was her stomach keeping her in a sick limbo.

“
So why are you in the kitchen?” Without needing to say a word, her father gave an acidic look, visibly reminding her of her punishment. No food more than what she was allowed. “Thought you’d come down to get something to eat?” he asked with a hard stare. “You know you’re not allowed to raid my fridge to your heart’s content. Not after what happened.”

Maria bit down on her tongue to prevent a string of curse words coming on. “Yes, I remember,” she said with detached calm. She slowly turned around and headed for the kitchen door.

“
Maria, wait a minute!” her mother interjected. “No more of this nonsense. You can have something to eat. Please, sit down. We’re not some immoral barbarians. This has gone on long enough.”

Maria’s eyes darted over to her father. This was odd, very odd. Her mother’s declaration was in direct defiance of his orders, and if she knew him, he wouldn’t stand for it.

But amazingly and miraculously, he did not react. He simply sat there looking up at her with frowned bushy eyebrows and not saying a word.

“
What’s the catch?” Maria asked with a fake grin. “Please, do me the favor of telling me what it is.”

“
There is no catch,” her father’s deep voice told her. But a fraction of a second of clearing his throat before he spoke again revealed he was lying. “It’s simple. You need to eat. You can’t be walking around here looking like the undead.”

As if knowing she needed cover, tendrils of Maria’s hair fell down the corners of her head from the loose ponytail, hiding her face slightly. She distantly stared down upon a small chip in one of the perfect beige-colored square tiles of the kitchen floor. “Since...since when do you care? You just said you’d have me starve. Since when do you care if I eat or not?”

“
Sweetie, listen—”

“
Mom, Dad, please! Would you just tell me already? There’s something up, so just tell me.”

A thick silence entered. Maria stood with clenched fists, mentally preparing herself to hear the worst.

Her father delivered the condemning news. “Don’t make any plans for the thirtieth of this month. One of the suitors is coming to see you on that Saturday.”

She covered the anguish in her voice with a venomous tone. “What the hell for?”

“
Surprisingly,” he began delightedly, ignoring her rude tone with rare occasion, “Louie—yes, you should remember the one you slapped—well, he has agreed to come again. Thank God someone has. He is eager to see you. Mr. and Mrs. Singh will be here this time to finally meet you. I think this one may actually be the one to seal the deal.”

Seal the deal? Was she an animal now? Didn’t they get it yet? She did not want any of them! She did not want any of this! Her eyes watered from a fiery hatred.

“
I don’t want to see him again. I don’t like any of them.”

“
You don’t have a choice,” her mother curtly informed her.

But you don’t even know what he did!
the agonizing thought came.
And to tell them
how Louie Singh had behaved with her made little sense. They’d think she was crying wolf because of how badly she’d treated the other two guys as well.

“
You’re quite fortunate Louie even wants to see you again,” her mother reminded her.

She could not stop her hands from viciously raking through her hair and down her face. “Seeing him again isn’t fortunate, it’s a goddamn curse! Can’t you just accept that I don’t like them? This is not going to make me happy! Why won’t you—”

“
This is the final word, Maria,” her father told her sternly, his face adopting his common scowl that showed he wouldn’t tolerate a second more of unruliness. “And don’t you dare call my traditions stupid before I get out of this seat and teach your mouth some manners. This is my culture and it is yours as well since you’re my daughter. Arranged marriage has been going on for centuries. It’s nothing new. If you ask me, more kids nowadays need their parents to set them up with someone. Keep their little whorish ways down to a bare minimum and secure a future that doesn’t involve stripping or parading down a boulevard in a skirt that looks like a piece of cloth.”