The Sari Shop Widow (33 page)

Now that she’d vented her emotions, a strange numbness was settling in. It felt like a fog descending—gray, damp, heavy. She’d probably stay awake all night and suffer for it the next day. Hopefully there’d be plenty of customers and she wouldn’t have a single second to nurse her heartache.

While she nibbled on her sandwiches she heard footsteps. It was probably Nilesh, looking for a snack as always, she concluded, and continued to eat. Hearing her name, she turned her head.

Jeevan-kaka stood in the doorway in rumpled white pajamas.

A sigh escaped her. That’s all she needed to round off her evening: her bossy uncle prying into her personal life.

“Jeevan-kaka, why are you up this late?” she asked him.

He shuffled toward her and pulled out a chair. “I was so tired earlier that I went to bed without eating. Now my stomach is hurting.” He stopped and leaned forward to study her face. “What happened to your eyes?”

“Soap got in while I was washing my face.”

“So why don’t you use Indian herbal soap instead of some commercial brand with chemicals?”

“What a clever idea,” she quipped. But he looked so old and tired he touched a chord of sympathy in her. “I’ll fix you something to eat.”

“Can you make some
masala
milk?”

“Sure.” She set the milk in a pan on the stove and started adding the spices. While the milk warmed up, she turned to her uncle. “Are you feeling all right?”

“Just exhaustion and indigestion. All this excitement is too much for an old man like me.”

“The past few weeks have been hectic,” she agreed, observing him carefully. It wasn’t just the wrinkles and the weight loss. He looked beat, as if he’d been fighting a long, losing battle. The way he clutched his stomach sometimes, or clenched his teeth, he looked like he might be in pain. “Are you sure you’re not hurting or something?”

He shrugged and looked away.

“Jeevan-kaka, is something wrong with you?” she demanded.

He gave her a wary look. “Why are you asking?”

“You don’t look well. Since the day you arrived I’ve been wondering about you. Rishi seems extremely protective of you…like he’s worried about you or something.”

“Rishi is fond of me, Anju.”

“That doesn’t explain why he changes the subject when I ask about you.” She gave him a pointed look. “It’s okay if you don’t want to tell me, but you should at least tell Dad. He’s your brother. He cares about you.”

“I care about your dad, too,
beta
. You know I raised him and all my brothers and sisters after our parents died.”

She stirred the milk as it came to a slow, frothy boil, watched the spirals of steam rise and perfume the air. “Yeah, I’ve heard about how you single-handedly nurtured your siblings.”
And terrorized them in the process
.

As if he’d read her thoughts, he sighed. “I know I was strict with them.” He stared at his hands for a beat. “I regret that sometimes.”

“You do?” She’d never heard that tone in his voice: remorseful, despondent. It was hard to imagine the word
regret
existed in his vocabulary.

“When our parents died, we were all young, Anju. I was the oldest and I had to take care of all of them. They were children and naughty sometimes. I had to use strict discipline to make sure that they went to school and studied and made a good life for themselves.” He rubbed his eyes, looking more spent than ever.

Anjali had never had a heart-to-heart talk with her uncle. She hadn’t considered the fact that he was scarcely more than a child himself when he’d been saddled with four younger siblings and a large business to run. What a burden for a boy who was merely twenty years old. At the time, her two aunts were teenagers, her father was eight, and Naren-kaka was a toddler. The only way Jeevan-kaka could probably fulfill his responsibilities was by becoming a control freak.

“I’m beginning to see your point,” she admitted. “You wanted to make sure they all stayed on the straight and narrow.”

“Exactly.”

“If you love your siblings so much, then you know they love you right back. It’s all the more reason why you should talk to Dad if there’s something wrong with you. Don’t you think he has a right to know?”

“I will tell him before I leave for India.”

“When is that?”

He shrugged again. “Next week…maybe.”

She strained the milk into a cup and put it in front of him. In the light coming from the multibulb overhead fixture, his skin looked parched and mottled.

“Jeevan-kaka,” she said softly, “why don’t you tell me what’s wrong?”

“There is not much to tell,
beta
,” he said on a sigh that sounded a lot like defeat. “I have cancer.”

Anjali drew in a ragged breath. “Not
much
to tell?” He’d made the announcement about as calmly as going on a short vacation.

“I have advanced colon cancer. My doctor says I have maybe one more year…maybe less.”

“How long have you known?”

“About two years.”

Anjali pulled out the chair next to his and sat down. “And you never told us?” No wonder her uncle looked like hell.

“What is the use of telling? Everyone will become sad unnecessarily.”

“But that’s part of being a family. Don’t you understand?”

“Of course I understand,” he said crossly. “Why do you think I sacrificed my own education and gave it to my brothers and sisters? How do you think they all got college educations when I got little more than high school? Why did I work day and night to make sure my brothers got into good businesses and my sisters got good husbands?”

“Okay…okay, I’m sorry,” she said, patting his arm. “I didn’t mean to preach. But when Dad finds out you’ve been hiding this from him for two years, he’s going to explode.”

He took a cautious sip of his milk and made a face. “Too much cardamom.”

“Oh, stop complaining.” She angled a frown at him. “It can’t be all that bad.”

“You used to be scared of me at one time.” He eyed her suspiciously. “You have changed.”

“It’s called growing up,” she said. “And don’t try to change the subject. How can you be casual about something as serious as cancer and imminent death?”

“Everyone must die of something. How long can anybody expect to live?”

He had a point, but it didn’t diminish her concern. “Tell me everything about it. And you have to promise you’ll tell Mom and Dad first thing tomorrow.”

Taking another sip of his milk, he nodded. “Why are you so angry?”

“I’m not angry; I’m distressed. Now I know why you’ve given up spicy food and your multiple cups of tea and everything else you used to enjoy.”

Jeevan exhaled very slowly. “Spicy food does not agree with me anymore. For many years I was suffering digestion problems. I think the cancer was probably growing at that time.”

“Probably.” Guilt was starting to nip at her. While she was sitting here, feeling sorry for herself because some guy was toying with her heart, her uncle was grappling with a death warrant. “Are you on medication now?” she asked him gently.

“Not much at this time. Just something to keep the pain under control. I went through surgery, chemotherapy, radiation, and all kinds of treatment in India. Rishi even forced me to see a specialist in London.”

“Do you have to wear one of those…bags?”

“You mean a colostomy bag?” He shook his head.

He seemed reluctant to discuss it, so she let it go. It was a delicate subject.

“I tried everything, including ayurvedic and homeopathic medicines,” he continued. “But it kept spreading to other parts.”

He must have noticed her look of despair, because he raised a hand and patted her arm with unexpected tenderness. She’d never known her uncle to be soft in his touch. Her throat constricted.

“Why are you looking so sad? I am an old man,” he reminded her. “My life has been very good. I have no complaints if I die now.”

“And Rishi is your added blessing?” When Jeevan looked at her quizzically, she nodded. “He told me everything: the fire, his father’s passing, and your continued generosity toward him.”

“He is a good boy.” Jeevan smiled. “A special blessing.”

Too bad he turned out to be her special headache, she reflected, but decided not to bad-mouth Rishi to his staunchest champion. Instead she said, “Dad and Naren-kaka and your sisters are going to be devastated when they hear about your illness.”

He sipped some more milk. “I am planning on telling your father and Naren before I go back to India. After I reach home I will telephone my sisters in England.”

“Don’t wait till the last minute. Do it right away.” She took a deep breath to keep her crumbling emotions under control. “This might be the last time we’ll be seeing you?”

“God will decide that. This is why I wanted to come and help Mohan and Usha and you. When your father telephoned me, I thought I might as well help him and do something useful before I die. Also, this was a good chance to spend some time with my brothers and their families.”

She touched his hand. “Thank you for coming to our rescue. We couldn’t have done it without you. You’ve been more than generous.” And to think she hadn’t wanted him to come, hadn’t wanted him in any way involved in their lives. By this time next year he could be dead.

“Why are you thanking me? Most of the help came from Rishi. He is the one who plans everything and offers advice.” He narrowed his eyes at her, clearly forgetting his own problems for the moment. “Rishi told me he was taking you for a celebration dinner. Where did you go?”

She gnawed on her lip. “We didn’t.”

“Why?”

She wasn’t about to discuss the earlier fiasco with her old uncle. It was too private, too painful—and complicated. She was having difficulty sorting out her feelings herself. So many deep needs, so many doubts, and so many responsibilities to so many people.

The last thing an ailing old man needed was to know his niece had been struck by a case of jealousy and heartbreak, and that the cause of her pain was his protégé, a man he obviously loved and admired very much. Besides, compared with Jeevan-kaka’s problems, hers were trivial.

He remained silent with his brows raised, clearly waiting for an answer, so she replied, “No particular reason.”

“But you just came back from somewhere. Rishi drove you home, didn’t he?”

So he’d heard the sound of Rishi’s car and then her coming home. Maybe it was time Jeevan-kaka learned the truth. It was bound to come out sooner or later. “We went out…talked a bit…but we didn’t have a chance to eat dinner.”

“Why not?”

“Rishi’s…uh…girlfriend called him unexpectedly.”

Jeevan-kaka’s bushy brows descended in a scowl. “Rishi didn’t tell me that Samantha was still in contact with him.”

“I don’t think he was expecting her call.” Rishi’s surprise at hearing his girlfriend’s voice was definitely genuine. Anjali had sensed the instant tension in him the moment he’d picked up the phone.

“Did you hear their conversation?” The scowl was fiercer now—Jeevan-kaka’s trademark look.

“I was there, but I obviously couldn’t hear her end of the conversation. Samantha was
supposedly
asking for his help with money.” The pungent sarcasm was hard to keep out of her voice. “And he readily offered it to her.”

“It doesn’t mean anything.”

“Wake up, Jeevan-kaka. If he didn’t have some feelings for her, why would he let her take advantage of him like that? She still has a hold on him…for whatever reason.” She wondered if it was love or just sex, like her own relationship with Kip had been. No matter what, it was still bothersome.

“Samantha is not suitable for Rishi,” Jeevan informed her with supreme confidence.

It was so typical Jeevan-kaka that she couldn’t help chuckling. “Does Rishi agree with that opinion?” She finished the last bite of her sandwich then washed down the aspirin with juice.

He snorted at her remark. “Rishi knows she is unsuitable. He told me that.”

She noticed his milk was almost gone. “Do you want anything to eat?”

He shook his head. “He also told me he was breaking up with her.”

“He tells you about his personal life?” Why would Rishi tell a conservative old man all about his love life?

“Oh yes. He is like my son.” Jeevan smiled at her unexpectedly. “He also told me he was going to ask you to marry him.”

“Told you that, too, huh?”

“Yes, Anju, he told me everything,” said Jeevan. “You like him, don’t you? If you marry him, you will be happy. You two are perfect for one another.”

Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Was it you who suggested he ask me to marry him?” She wouldn’t put it past the old man to coerce Rishi into taking pity on his poor, lonely, widowed niece—offer her marriage and put her out of her misery.

“No,
beta
. Rishi is an extremely independent boy. He told me he was interested in you and that he was going to talk to you about marriage.” He raised his hands in a gesture that looked curiously like surrender. “All I want is to see everyone happy.”

“Well, he did.”

“He asked you to marry him?”

“Uh-huh.”

Jeevan-kaka’s eyes took on a hopeful gleam. “You said yes?”

“I didn’t say anything.” She recalled that scene in bed earlier, when Rishi had made his unusual proposal. Her throat and chest began to tighten again as she remembered every word, every expression that had passed between Rishi and her. Darn it! She couldn’t cry in Jeevan-kaka’s presence. It was bad enough that he thought all women were weaklings and needed a man to take care of them. She didn’t want to prove him right.

“Why?” he demanded.

The tears started to well up despite her best efforts to suppress them. “Before we could discuss it in detail, Samantha called.”

Jeevan-kaka reached across and took her hand. His felt rough and hard and cold. “He does not love that woman,
beta
. He wants to marry only you.”

“But from what I gathered she won’t give him up.” Grabbing a paper napkin with her free hand, Anjali dabbed her eyes. She wasn’t usually such a crybaby, but her tear ducts seemed to be working overtime tonight. In fact, she’d been weeping a lot lately.