The Unexpected Son (21 page)

But the tip-tilted nose that hinted at arrogance—that was hers. She suppressed the urge to chuckle. Of all her features, he'd inherited
that
one? But he was a handsome boy nonetheless. At least in that, Vishal was right.

Since Rohit was covered with a sheet below the waist, it was hard to judge precisely how tall he was. He had on a green hospital gown with short sleeves, so his shoulders and arms were visible. They were wide. His hands were large. She was glad he wasn't small boned like her.

The name Rohit meant the color red. It suited him. It was an auspicious color.

They went through another round of introductions.

Rohit didn't bother greeting either Vishal or her when they both said hello and smiled. There was no reciprocating friendliness in the eyes that measured her first, then Vishal—very briefly. He'd obviously been told to expect them. He didn't seem particularly irritated or displeased—just disinterested. She and Vishal could very well have been the bedpan or the slippers tucked under his bed.

On the other hand, his gaze warmed noticeably when it descended on his parents.

Mrs. Barve moved to his side and put a hand on his shoulder. “How are you feeling,
beta?
” she asked. Maybe it was her way of easing the tension in the room.

“About the same,” he replied, smiling faintly at his mother.

“They are trying a new antibiotic?”

“Uh-huh,” he replied. The lopsided smile, too, was slightly reminiscent of Som, giving Vinita her first mild pinprick of envy for Meenal Barve. The emotion surprised her. She didn't know this young man; she didn't even know of his existence until recently.

“Then perhaps that will help, Rohit.” His father beamed, clearly trying to boost Rohit's spirits.

“We'll see.” Rohit didn't sound optimistic. His voice was nothing like Som Kori's. In fact, it was a lot like Vinita's late father's and a bit like Vishal's. Strange how certain characteristics trickled down through the generations. There was so much Shelke in him.

And thank God for that voice. If he'd inherited Som's voice, half of Palgaum would have guessed Rohit's parentage.

“Did the doctor say anything about the transplant?” Mrs. Barve smoothed his cover sheet.

“No,” Rohit said sharply, like he didn't want to pursue it further.

“But he knows Mrs. Patil is here for that purpose only,” pressed Barve.

“I didn't want to discuss it with him,” Rohit said.

“Why?” his mother demanded.

Rohit glanced at Vinita and Vishal, once again his eyes registering very little emotion. “Because I'm on the list of bone marrow recipients. It could be a long wait. Why discuss it now?”

Barve looked at Vinita for an instant before returning his attention to Rohit. “But this is your…birth mother.”

“I heard.”

“She has come here from the United States to find out if she is a suitable donor, and—”

“Heard that, too,” Rohit interrupted.

“She is willing to give you her bone marrow immediately. No waiting, you see.”

“I'd prefer to wait.”

“But there may be no need to wait,” Vishal interjected, taking the words out of Vinita's mouth.

Rohit turned toward her for a second. “You wasted your time coming here, Mrs. Patil.”

“Please don't say that,” Vinita murmured.

“Why don't you just go back to the United States?”

Vinita paused for a beat. “I…can't.”

“Why not?” A muscle flexed in his jaw.

“I'd like to at least try to help.”

“Really?” He lifted one dark eyebrow that was so much like Som's it made Vinita swallow hard.

Thankfully Vishal jumped in to defend her. “Look, Rohit, my sister and I understand how you feel, but you have to look at it rationally.”

Rohit waved them away with one hand. “No, thank you.”

“No other donor will be as good a match as your biological mother,” Vishal persisted.

“Not interested,” retorted Rohit.

“But, Rohit—” protested his father, clearly beginning to get annoyed.

“I don't want to hear more, Papa.”

“You
will
hear!” Mr. Barve's voice sounded like a whip cracking.

Vinita stared at the older man. The fearless political leader was emerging from behind the seemingly harmless image. Rohit must have recognized the change, too, because his hard expression eased a bit. Was he used to such sternness from his father?

“Mr. Shelke is right,” continued Barve, his tone softening. “You need a donor, Rohit. You need one immediately—not next year, not two years from now.”

Rohit was silent for a moment or two while the four people standing around him stared at him in anticipation. When he spoke, it was in a quiet, reasonable fashion. “I have a perfectly good mother. I don't need another. I don't want her bone marrow…or anything else.”

Vinita opened her mouth to speak, but the words seemed to stick in her throat. She turned around and headed for the door, choking on a sob.

V
inita stumbled out of the room and down the corridor, blinded by tears. She nearly collided with a nurse coming from the opposite direction, wheeling a trolley. But she managed to dodge both the nurse and the trolley in the nick of time.

Rohit's words weren't all that unexpected. Nor were they vicious. She'd known her son would be unfriendly. How could he not, when he believed she'd rid herself of him like garbage right after he was born?

She thought she'd come prepared for his hostility. But it was his quiet logic that hurt:
I don't need another.
Its sheer simplicity made it sound heartless. Maybe hatred would have been less cutting than the passionless statement.

“Vini.”

It was Vishal calling her, but she ignored him and continued striding forward.

“Vini, wait.” He caught up with her in the next instant and guided her into what looked like a waiting room, with chairs lined up against three of the walls. “Sit down,” he ordered, pushing her into one of the chairs.

He waited until her sniffling subsided. “What did you expect? Warm and friendly?”

“Unfriendly I can handle,” she said, blowing her nose.

He stared at her with raised brows.

“All right, maybe I can't. But he was being deliberately cruel. You heard him.”

Vishal started to say something, but they were interrupted by the Barves' entrance.

“I am sorry about Rohit's behavior,” said Mrs. Barve, looking contrite. “He is not himself.”

“He is usually a very polite and well-behaved boy,” added Mr. Barve. He motioned to his wife to sit down and then plopped into the chair next to Vishal.

Vinita sniffed.
He's not a boy. He's a college professor.
But she couldn't say it aloud.

“He's sick…under a lot of tension, Barve-saheb,” Vishal offered. “It's understandable.”

Vinita knew her brother was right. The boy was ill and couldn't be expected to behave rationally.

“Yes, yes,” agreed Mrs. Barve, clearly relieved and willing to grasp at any excuse. “All those medicines have side effects, also.”

How true. Vinita gave herself a mental kick. What was wrong with her? Like Vishal had pointed out, she couldn't have expected anything but resentment on Rohit's part. Under the circumstances, the young man had shown remarkable restraint. He'd never raised his voice or shown anger or open hostility. He'd calmly told her to stay out of his life.

Maybe she had taken umbrage unnecessarily. But she was under a load of stress as well.

“I'm sorry, Mrs. Barve,” she said. “It was silly of me to get upset.”

Mrs. Barve nodded, her face looking more haggard than before.

Vinita realized all this had to be even more nerve-racking for Mrs. Barve. The woman had been suffering through this for quite some time.

“My wife and I will talk to him,” offered Mr. Barve. “Make him understand.”

“He is a very stubborn boy,” added Mrs. Barve. “But he is not unreasonable.”

Vishal looked across at them. “Do you think it would help if I talked to him?”

Both the Barves shook their heads.

“It is best that we do this on our own,” said Mr. Barve. “He is a bit shocked right now, but I think he will listen to us when he feels better.”

Vinita stared at the wall across the room, and the brass plaque engraved with the names of several generous donors to the hospital. A couple of the names were familiar—old names she'd known all her life—wealthy philanthropists. But her interest in them was fleeting. All her thoughts were centered on her son.

Had her trip to Palgaum been for nothing? Had she jeopardized her relationship with Girish and her marriage for nothing? Like a madwoman she'd rushed to get on the earliest plane so she could help her dying son. Her one thought had been to rectify her past mistakes. Now it seemed he was so hostile that he wanted nothing from her, even if he knew he'd die.

She remained silent for a long while before turning to the others. “I'm the one who should talk to him.”

Mrs. Barve's eyes widened. “But—”

“I need to talk to him privately,” Vinita said, cutting her off. “There are some things he has a right to know. Perhaps I can make him understand the circumstances under which he was…born and adopted.”

She noticed Vishal's face hardening. She was offering to drag the sordid details of her past out into the open. It was his worst nightmare. Anything that cast a shadow on the Shelke family's reputation and integrity was a catastrophe for him. It was even more damaging for her aging mother. But there was no other way.

Vinita sent her brother a mute look of apology. But his expression remained frosty.

The Barves exchanged anxious looks. A long, awkward moment followed. The only sounds were from the two other people in the waiting room, speaking in whispers.

“Okay,” said Mr. Barve finally, his stance clearly telling Vinita that this was surrender on his part. “Maybe you can try to convince him.”

“Please don't upset him too much,” pleaded Meenal. “He is very sick and he gets emotional easily.”

Vinita sighed. “I can only promise to try.”

“But you have to be very careful, you see.”

“I don't know him or his personality. What I'll tell him would not be easy for anyone to understand, let alone Rohit.” She saw Meenal Barve's mouth open to protest, and her husband grabbed her arm to stop her. “Thank you,” she murmured to both of them. “I'll do the best I can.”

Vishal got to his feet, his dark eyes looking like cool, polished marbles. “Vini, what the hell do you think you're doing?”

“What I need to do.”

“One simple remark from him earlier got you upset…”

Vinita started moving toward the doorway. “That was an instant reaction. It won't happen again.”

“Like hell it won't!” He fell in step with her. “If you're going to upset that boy and tell him every dirty secret, then I'm going with you.”

“No.” She stopped in her tracks and glared at her brother. “Haven't you done enough damage by keeping my son away from me?”

His brow descended in an enraged scowl. “How does common sense and taking care of one's family translate into damage?”

“Damn it, Vishal!” She heaved a sigh. “I didn't mean it that way, and you know it.”

“What else does it mean?”

She ordered her taut shoulders to loosen a little. “Look, I need to talk to Rohit by myself. It's not something a man would understand.” A tension headache had begun to set in. “Just leave me alone with my son for a while.” She glanced up at him and held his gaze for a beat. “Please?”

He shut his eyes briefly, a habit of his when he was trying to rein in his temper—a habit Vinita knew well. When he opened his eyes, the ice had thawed around the edges. “Suit yourself.” But he held up an index finger. “Don't say I didn't warn you.”

He looked just like their late father. Vinita shivered a little.

Nonetheless she nodded her agreement and turned around to go back down the same corridor she'd walked twice in the past half hour. This time she proceeded slowly, using the time to think, to plan what she was going to say to her son—assuming he allowed her in his room. He could very well order her out and she'd have no choice but to leave. And then what?

The door to his room was open. She straightened her back and tucked her hair behind her ears before approaching it. She was going to deal with her mulish son one way or the other. She could be just as headstrong as he.

She heard voices coming from the room and hesitated for a moment. She and Vishal and the Barves had barely been out of there a few minutes and Rohit already had other visitors? It was a female voice that conversed in hushed tones with Rohit's baritone. Did he have a girlfriend? She mulled it over. Entirely possible. And why not? He was an attractive young man—hopefully with a healthy and happy future.

Her speculation ended when a plump, middle-aged nurse came out of his room. She eyed Vinita with interest for a second and went on her way. So much for the girlfriend theory.

Hands clenched into fists, Vinita stood on the threshold of Rohit's room. He was still propped up with pillows, reading the same magazine he'd been reading earlier. He seemed relaxed, very different from the uptight young man she'd met a little while ago.

He must have sensed her presence, because he lowered the magazine and looked up. Immediately his expression turned to stone. “You're still here?”

“I want to talk to you.” She battled the urge to turn and run.

“I don't want to talk to you.” His mouth compressed into a tight line.

She took a firm step forward. “What you
want
isn't important,” she informed him, despite the nervous perspiration gathering under her arms. “What you
need
is.”

He slapped the magazine down onto his lap. “Who are you to decide what I need?”

“I'm your mother, whether you like it or not.”

“Is that right?” One thick eyebrow rose in contempt.

“Neither you nor I can change that.”

“Doesn't mean you have a right to come barging into my life.”

She drew a calming breath, reminded herself not to lose her temper. “Perhaps not. But you owe it to yourself to grab whatever help you can get.”

“I have all the help I need. You can go back to your comfortable life in the U.S.”

Despite the lecture she'd given herself, anger shot through her like a speeding arrow. But she quickly sheathed it. “I came here for a reason, and I don't plan to go back until I'm finished. Or at least given it my best.”

“You have given it your best.” He folded his arms across his chest. “Now go back.”

“No.” Vinita crossed her own arms to emulate his stance, then locked her gaze with his. Two could play this game. “You want to live, don't you?”

“Of course I want to live. But I'll do it on my—”

“Then stop being a brat. You're a college professor. Start behaving like one.”

“What if I don't?” he tossed back.

“I'll return,” she replied. “I'll keep coming back till you get it through your thick head that I'm not your enemy.”

“What else would one call a mother who dumps her bastard and takes off to make a cozy life for herself?”

The boy certainly knew how to go for the jugular, but she refused to back down. “An ignorant bitch…perhaps…but not an enemy.”

Vinita bit into her lower lip to stop the trembling. She hardly ever used vulgar language. But it gave her satisfaction to see the look in her son's eyes go from mutiny to astonishment. “Shocked you, huh?”

His arms unfolded and fell to his sides on the bed. “I don't feel very well. Please go.”

She noticed the droopy look to his eyelids and mouth. Although the rage continued to spark in his eyes, he did look feverish and exhausted. Guilt enveloped her instantly. Regardless, she wasn't ready to give up on him yet. At least she'd managed to engage him in a conversation of sorts. That was something.

“I'll go for now. But I'll be back later,” she said. “You can be sure of that.”

He slid lower into the bed and lay flat on his back. “Is that a threat?”

“No, it's a promise.”