The Unexpected Son (32 page)

She sat back in the chair and took several deep breaths to let the raging emotions subside. Took him long enough to respond. No word for weeks, and then all of a sudden this?

Surprised,
he'd said. He had to be kidding, she fumed.
Try stunned, my dear, judgmental, pigheaded husband
. There was no remorse in his note, no words like
worried,
or
concerned,
or
love,
or even the usual affectionate closing.

She wanted to lash out at him, scream at him for putting her through such anguish for weeks. But where would anger and revenge leave her? They'd both just end up at an impasse again. Did she want that?

What had brought on this sudden change in attitude? she wondered. Arya was probably nagging him to pieces, but he could be equally mulish in many ways. He'd been thinking, he said. He was a careful, contemplative kind of man. But thinking for this many damn weeks?

Calm down,
she ordered herself.
At least he's communicating now.
She wasn't sure she wanted to respond to his message right now—when she was angry on the one hand, but grudgingly relieved on the other.

One wrong word from her and he'd probably clam up all over again. Best to leave it alone, for now, she supposed. She'd respond when she was calmer, more rational. What she needed was a good night's sleep—time to do her own
thinking.

Maybe tomorrow she'd see his message in a different light. Perhaps come to accept it as his way of calling a truce. If she was willing to look at it from a certain perspective, she might even feel gratitude.

She'd chew on it some more first.

I
t smelled of antiseptic cleansers, the way hospitals were supposed to smell. And yet, to Vinita, slouched in a chair in the oncology wing's waiting room, toying with the clasp on her handbag, it was a grim reminder that her son was to undergo a life-changing procedure the next day.

Since she'd arrived in Palgaum, it seemed like she'd been in this hospital practically every other day. She had come to know every square foot of it by now, and all the odors and sounds associated with it. Even some hospital staff were beginning to recognize her. Some of them greeted her with a smile.

Besides, it wasn't every day that they came across a juicy story like hers and Rohit's. The gossip mill was alive and well in Palgaum, despite its having grown from a small town to a midsize city in the quarter century she'd been gone. Most everyone in town probably knew her saga by now—the estranged mother from America who had suddenly discovered she had a son, and had flown halfway across the world to save him.

Looking at it from that perspective, it sounded like a movie plot. The whole thing had been bizarre right from the start—all the way back to the time Rohit was conceived.

More than a week had gone by since she'd been informed about the mystery donor. She still had no clue about the person's identity. She'd been making a mental list of possibilities. After considering, then discarding, the individuals on that very short list, she had settled on Som.

It had to be Som. Maybe her plea to him had made an impact after all. Or was it the Indian male ego, the one that fed itself on the fact that he'd fathered a male child? Had that spurred him to come forward and save his only son? No matter what his reasons, for once in his reprehensible life he had decided to do the right thing. Just for that she was willing to overlook every rotten thing he'd done.

If Som helped save Rohit's life, she was willing to forgive him anything.

She was interrupted in her reverie by Meenal. “Shashi and I are going home now,” she announced. “If you want to spend some time with Rohit, please go ahead.”

Startled, Vinita looked at Meenal. The woman looked more exhausted than ever. Wet bands of perspiration darkened her blouse around the armpits. She'd been at the hospital nearly all day. Her hair was flattened on one side, like she'd been resting her head against the back of a chair.

“You don't mind?” Vinita asked.

“Rohit is alone now. He might appreciate some company before he goes to sleep.”

Mr. Barve nodded his agreement. His injuries appeared to be healing. The black eye had all but vanished and the scar on his cheek was a thin brown line. But his arm was still in a cast.

“Thank you.” It was so generous of the Barves that Vinita didn't know what else she could say. She'd arrived at the hospital an hour ago and parked herself in the waiting room, hoping to find out how Rohit was doing on the eve of his transplant. The poor boy was likely going through hell with what they called conditioning—intensive chemotherapy and radiation to kill any remaining cancer cells and prepare his body to receive the new marrow and help it grow.

Her last visit with him was five days ago. He'd been looking somber that day, more or less resigned to the poking and prodding, the IV pole a permanent fixture beside his bed. But she'd also sensed a spark of buoyancy in him. Like everyone else around him, his feelings had seemed mixed—optimism tempered by a sensible dose of caution.

By calling the Barves every day, Vinita had managed to get a daily status report on Rohit. Each day, she had detected the anxiety mounting in Meenal's voice. Each day, Vinita had tried her best to boost the older woman's spirits. Each day, her own disquiet had climbed one more notch. But amidst the tension and unease, she and Meenal had become friends.

The impending transplant and the knowledge that their son just might have a chance to live had served as the glue to bring the two women even closer together than before. No other friend or family member would have understood what they shared.

Today Vinita couldn't stay away from the hospital. She had felt compelled to be in the same building as Rohit, as near as she could get to him. But her plan had been to chat with the Barves in the waiting room, wish them luck, and then leave. Vishal had promised to pick her up whenever she was ready to go home. She hadn't actually expected to see Rohit. That was a privilege reserved for his parents.

She was merely hoping for crumbs—one last chance to get firsthand information before the procedure. Although the transplant itself was supposedly as simple as a blood transfusion, the fear of losing him afterwards was real. The need to see him as much as she could was turning into an obsession.

After wishing the Barves good night, she sprang to her feet and quickly made her way to the area where she had to scrub her hands and arms with a special germicidal soap.

A nurse thrust a clean towel into her hands. “No touching the patient,” she reminded Vinita.

“Thanks.” Vinita knew the routine from her last visit. She dried her hands and rubbed the alcohol-based liquid purifier on her hands and arms. All the while the nurse watched her like a prison warden, making sure she obeyed the hospital's stringent rules about safeguarding patients.

She padded over to the closed foyer that led to Rohit's room. The door was shut to keep the germs out and maintain the specially created positive-pressure environment, so she knocked and waited a second before entering.

This room was larger than the last one he'd been in. It had no windows, for obvious reasons. It was sterile, air-conditioned with special filters, and painted a stark white. The next day, after the procedure—assuming it went as planned—he'd be moved to an even more sanitary room than this one, monitored closely by assigned staff only. He'd be kept in a veritable bubble for a few days.

“Hello, Rohit,” she said. He was lying on his back, staring at the ceiling, seemingly deep in thought. A shuddery breath flew out of her the instant she noticed how drawn his face looked. He'd lost weight in the space of five days.

It took him a second to shift his focus to her. “Hello.” He looked grim. The spark from the previous visit was missing.

“How are you feeling?” She closed the door behind her. She stood a little distance from his bed, afraid she might contaminate him if she got any closer. Her eyes raked him, though, wondering how he could have deteriorated so rapidly. His expressive golden eyes had receded deeper into their sockets.

She quelled the urge to move closer and touch him, to smooth a hand over his beard-roughened face, to experience the feel of his skin, like she sometimes did with Arya. Until this moment she'd had no idea how quickly the maternal instinct could kick in, even toward a child who'd been a complete stranger until recently.

“Other than an ulcerated mouth, hair loss, diarrhea, vomiting, and a blasted headache, I'm okay,” was his sardonic reply to her question. His voice was weak.

“I'm sorry. It was a silly question to ask. You must be miserable.”

“All part of being a leukemia patient,” he said with a snort. “I've become an expert at it.”

“I hope you don't mind my visiting you this late. Your parents were kind enough to let me spend some time alone with you,” she explained.

“I don't mind.”

Three simple words, yet they tugged at the deepest recesses of her heart. Her son had come a long way since she and Vishal had visited him the very first time. “I promise I won't stay too long.”

He glanced at the IV pole. “I have all the time in the world. I'm not going anywhere, as you can see.”

“But you need your rest.”

He gave a wry smile. “I'll be resting for a long time after tomorrow.”

“Have they explained the procedure to you in detail?”

“In excruciating detail,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Briefly, the infusion of marrow will be done through my central venous line.” He pointed to his chest.

She couldn't see the tube because he was wearing a hospital gown and a sheet covered him up to his neck. But she nodded. “I read about it on the Internet last night.”

“After that they'll keep me in a sterile room and watch me closely to see if engraftment begins and starts to produce new blood cells.”

She nodded again. Signs of engraftment, if any, were apparently seen about two to four weeks after the procedure.

“Are you stuck here all that time, or can you go home in a week or two?” She had hoped he'd be out of danger within a few days and she could fly back home, knowing he was on the mend.

“That depends on how my body reacts to the transplant—rejection, infection…who knows,” he murmured with a shrug. He seemed resigned to his fate. “Like I said, I'll be resting a long time.”

“But the important thing is to keep thinking healthy,” she said, working up a sunny smile for him, despite the shiver that ran through her at his ominous words,
resting a long time.
“You'll be on your feet and back at work before you know it.”

He snorted again. “Yeah, sure.”

She wondered if the doctor had said something to him to make his spirits sink so low. Or was it the effect of the powerful treatment he'd been undergoing these past few days?

“Who do you think is my donor?” he asked, jolting her despite knowing he'd probably be speculating about his potential savior, just as she and the rest of the family were.

“No idea, but I've considered some possibilities.” Noticing his blanket hanging off one side of the foot of the bed, she shifted and adjusted it, making sure not to touch his foot. It gave her something to do while she pondered his question.

“Who did you come up with?” he asked when she said nothing.

“You may not want to hear this.”

“Try me.”

“I think it is Som Kori.”

He frowned, the descending eyebrows looking so much like Som's that she nearly smiled. “He doesn't even know who I am.”

“He does…now.”

“How?” The glazed look in his eyes instantly turned to a hard sparkle.

For a brief moment she wondered if she should have pretended to have no idea who the donor was and left it at that. The last time she'd mentioned the Kori name, Rohit and his parents had nearly had a seizure. But Rohit had a right to know. Besides, if it
was
Som, by tomorrow he would probably be discovered through the hospital grapevine. What difference would a few hours make?

“I told him,” she confessed.

“Why?”

“Because he's your father and perhaps the most perfect match in the world for you. That's all that matters.”

Rohit shut his eyes tight, like he was trying hard to keep his emotions under control. She prayed her bombshell hadn't done something awful to his blood pressure or heartbeat or some other vital function. She had no idea how it would affect a person with a weak immune system.

“I'm sorry,” she murmured. “I realize you detest the man and he's your father's arch enemy and all that, but I just couldn't stand by and let you slip away.” She paused for breath. “Som
had
to be told.” She wondered what she could say to offer comfort, while Rohit struggled to come to terms with what she'd just told him. “I couldn't let you die, Rohit.”

It was a long minute before he opened his eyes. He was clearly still grappling with the shocking truth. “That's okay,” he said at last. “I don't hate the man as much as my father does.”

She stared at him, puzzled. “But the other day, when I mentioned—”

“I don't have any reason to,” he said, cutting her off. “I have no interest in politics. I honestly don't care which state Palgaum belongs to.”

“I thought you believed in your father's cause.”

“What he wants is impractical. He's fighting a silly battle where there are no winners, only losers.”

Vinita continued to stare at him. “I'm glad you're not involved in any of the violence.” It was a relief to know Rohit didn't harbor the biases of his real father or his adoptive one. In that respect he'd taken after her. She actively disliked politics, most especially the corrosive, destructive kind that bred distrust and hatred.

“His daughters have been my students,” he said. “They're nice girls.” He gave a raspy chuckle. “Of course, I didn't know they were my half sisters.”

She beamed at him. “I'm so relieved you're not angry about Som.”

He scrubbed his face with one hand. “Anger is such a wasted emotion when you don't know whether you'll be alive next week or not.”

“Puts it all in perspective, doesn't it?”

“You know about that?” He gave her a strange look.

“Oh yes. I nearly died while giving birth to you. That's when I realized anger was a silly emotion. I know you don't believe this, but at that moment, all that mattered was my unborn child. I made Vishal promise that he would look out for you if I died. All I wanted was the best for
you.
”

Unfortunately, after she'd survived childbirth she'd gone back to her old stubborn ways—anger, belligerence, and all those other negative emotions. But she didn't tell him that.

“I believe you now,” he said, closing his eyes again, looking weaker than he had minutes before. Every passing second seemed to drain his energy. “My parents
are
the best…if you overlook my father's fanaticism.”

“I know. I've come to know them rather well these past few weeks, especially your mother.” It was odd how Vinita's initial resentment toward Meenal had evaporated so quickly. Matter of fact, she felt immense gratitude for Meenal's devotion to Rohit. More and more, Vinita had begun to recognize the wisdom in her family's decision to give Rohit up for adoption. Of course, she was loath to admit it to them. She couldn't take their smug
we told you so
looks.