Where the Lotus Flowers Grow (12 page)

Finally, Hannah’s curiosity would hold no more. “What are you doing?” she asked the girl.

I shushed her, but the question was already spoken. I didn’t trust anyone here, not even our fellow prisoners.

It didn’t matter, though. Hannah had never learned Hindi, since my father insisted we speak English. So she asked the question in her soft, slow manner. I doubted the scarf-beading girl would understand.

Except she did.

She looked in our direction, sizing us up. Distrust ran both ways.

“A
subha
,” the girl said.

Hannah looked at me. I gave her a reassuring smile, grateful that my sister had avoided becoming a miserable creature like me. As Papa always said, Hannah was special. God gave her to us so we could remember what it was to be innocent and joyful.

Oh, Papa, I failed. I didn’t protect her. But even as I thought it, I could still see the gleam in her eye, the curve of her mouth, the way she embraced me. Some things cannot be stolen, not even by monsters.

“What is a suber?”

“
Subha
,” I said. “Muslim prayer beads. Like our rosary.”

“We have that, too,” a girl with long hair interjected. “The Hindus call it a
mala
.”

“Are you Muslim? I’ve never met a Muslim before. What is your name? I’m Hannah. This is my sister, Mary.” Hannah’s welcoming smile was infectious, even in this dismal place.

The girl returned it. “I’m Amira.” She knitted her brows together, clicking her tongue. “I’ve messed it up once again. I can’t get them small enough.”

Hannah stood. I almost pulled her back to me, but she needed to stand. We’d been here for five days. Hannah was not the type of flower you locked away behind a glass dome. She was the kind who thrived in large gardens with people around her.

I steadied her, a physical reminder not to run. I followed close behind.

“Let me help,” I said. Amira handed me the fabric. I ripped it into a thinner strand and formed tighter beads, showing her each step.

“I thought if I made something that reminded me of home, then it wouldn’t be so lonely.”

“Can I help, too?” the Hindu girl asked. She wore a faded pink dress that had seen better days.

We didn’t answer, but Amira waved her over. The girl introduced herself as Divya from Walkeshwar.

Hannah’s fingers were too stubby for the intricate work. Her beads were the largest, but the three of us said they were the best ones. The work was tedious, but it kept our minds occupied. We talked about our lives outside, what we would do when rescue finally came. For Divya, it was wearing a fine pink sari every day of her life and giving thanks to Ganesha for removing the horrible obstacle. For Amira, it was finishing school and taking care of her ill mother. For Hannah, it was listening to Papa read a story. I never told them what I wanted. My thoughts ran much deeper…much darker than theirs.

We’d each donated shreds of fabric for the cause, ripping them from the few garments we owned. In the end, we had not a noose, but a long thin rope of a necklace adorned with multicolored beads. Although it wasn’t blessed by a priest or guru or imam, it was holy to us. We ran our fingers over it constantly, staining the cloth with our grubby hands.

I didn’t know how or why we had found each other and had become friends in this place where friendship shouldn’t exist. What I did know was that heaven had no religious divides.

How could it, when hell did not?

I almost fell off the chair when I woke, the old dream haunting me. My legs cramped, the cloth rosary in my hand. I had been circling it, praying for him. Although I put on a good show for him, the niggling worry would not cease. The doctors said he would be fine once the antibiotics took hold, but I had my doubts. Hannah had died from an infection despite all the medications.

None of my prayers had worked then.

I closed my eyes again, touching each of the small beads. I hadn’t run my fingers across this necklace since Hannah died, but it gave me some strength nonetheless. It wasn’t blessed by any holy person, yet it was the holiest thing I owned.

Liam stirred. I wiped the sweat from his brow and adjusted the covers. He was in pain, but he never complained.

God, he was a good man. He’d put his life in jeopardy to save a child.
Please don’t take him. Keep him safe.
The world needed good men.

As the low light of sunrise filtered through the window, I repeated my prayer, my mantra, holding back the tears. The shrill sound of the phone broke my concentration. I snatched it up, expecting Prabhat with his hourly check-in.

“Hello?”

“I’m Liam’s brother.”

I almost dropped the receiver. Liam had a brother? And why did he sound American?

“Hello? Hello?” he yelled into the phone. No doubt he thought the call dropped.

“I’m sorry. I’m here.”

“I’ve been trying his cell for the past few hours.”

I looked over at the backpack. Liam’s cell was probably in there, and I was sure it needed a long charging.

“I just got my messages and found out what happened. They tell me you’re taking care of him. Mary Costa, right?”

“Yes.”

“You’re a nurse?”

“A maid, but there is a nurse here, too. Also, a doctor. They both check on him regularly and are staying in rooms close by.”

If the man was shocked, he didn’t express it. All I could hear was concern and worry in his voice.

“Can you tell me what happened? I think Prabhat might be exaggerating.”

I told him everything that happened, and what the doctors had said.

He took a deep breath when I finished. “Wow…I guess he wasn’t exaggerating. That’s Liam, always the hero. Thank you for the update.”

“I’ll tell him you called.”

“Thank you…and Mary?”

“Yes.”

“Please take care of him.”

He disconnected before I could answer.

Liam

Ever wonder what it felt like to have your insides retreat and rebel at the same time? Try drinking tainted water and being stabbed with a blunt, rusty knife in the same day. You’ll wonder no more. I swallowed the sun, ate it whole, and it scorched my flesh from the inside out. When the sun went down, winter flowed through me as if my veins had turned into icy, arctic roads.

I got sicker and weaker before I got better. I hated for her to see me this way, at my very worse, but she never faltered. I was only conscious for brief moments, but I always felt her presence. She read to me. She spoon-fed me soup. She sponged me off with a damp towel. She gave me my medicine. She massaged my arms and legs. Although I could barely keep my eyes open, another part of my anatomy had no trouble staying awake for that session. Figured.

In the low light, I could hear her reading Dickens.

“You’re at the end of the book. Did you read the whole thing?” My voice sounded distant, weak, and pathetic, as if it belonged to someone else.

“Yes.”

“Read from the other one.”

“Which one?”

“The one you gave me.”

She turned on a side light. I shut my eyes from the harsh glare. She looked around the room.

“It’s on the sideboard,” I said, lifting my arm to point, a small gesture which took a grand effort.

Mary seemed surprised I would have it. I wanted to say how much it meant to me. How much she meant to me. But right now, I could barely control my own bowels, so I kept quiet.

I forced myself to stay up, though. I felt like shite, but I could keep my eyes open, and the sheen of sweat on my body started to evaporate. I focused on her lyrical voice.

Groaning, I rolled toward her. Every muscle screamed. I shook my head as she rushed to help. “I can do it.”

She nodded, her face turning back toward the book. She read for a while.

I waited until I had the strength to voice the thoughts in my aching head. “I’ll talk to Prabhat. I’ll make this right.”

“No need.”

“Of course there is.”

She twirled a lock of hair. “I’ve been thinking of what you said. I gave my notice. I told Prabhat I would leave as soon as you were healthy.”

“Why?”

“It’s time.” Such a simple statement, but clearly, there were more complex thoughts behind it.

“Where will you go?” Would she take my help? But I already knew the answer to that question. Mary was stubborn and independent. As much as I admired those qualities, I also cursed them.

“I’m not sure yet.”

“Do you have funds?”

“I’ve saved some money, and my father left me some. You don’t have to worry for me.” She flipped the page in the book. “Now, where was I?”

She continued reading.

I wanted to fall asleep again, but I forced myself to stay awake, to prolong this time together.

The tarnished silver bracelet she usually wore sat on the nightstand. The skin on the underside of her wrist caught the light as she flipped a page. It was as if the knife sliced my gut once more.

Oh, God, Mary…why?

I clasped her wrist.

I figured she’d snatch her hand away, but she didn’t. I rubbed my thumb across the jagged scar, my eyes never leaving hers. Her pulse quickened, but she never moved her hand. I swallowed my questions. I wasn’t sure if she would answer, or if I even had the strength to hear her explanation.

So we just sat in silence.

Liam

The next time I awoke, I was more alert. Although my muscles were stiff, it didn’t hurt as much to stretch. She smiled at me.

“The fever broke this morning,” she whispered. She looked so damn happy and relieved, I grinned.

Then a whiff of something sour hit me. “What the bloody hell stinks?”

She laughed, adjusting the blanket. “It’s you, sir.”

“Oh man, I reek.”

“I had Manny give you a few sponge baths, but they aren’t as effective.”

A few?
“How long?”

“Since when?”

“Since I’ve been…incapacitated.”

“Four days.”

My head spun. I thought maybe a day or two. Time had passed without me. The only constant was the feeling that Mary was near. “I need to call my office.”

“Prabhat did that. Also, your brother rang. You should call him. He sounded worried.”

“He’s only worried about the meetings I missed.”

“I don’t think so, Liam.” She opened her mouth to argue some more, but the last thing I needed was to talk about Stephen.

I interrupted her, “I’ll call him later, Mary, but right now, I have to call my secretary and get caught up.”

“Don’t spend your time worrying about what cannot be undone. It’ll set back your recovery.”

Those were wise words. I caught a whiff of myself again, the silk garments aggravating me as I shifted. I wore royal blue pajamas now. When had that happened? How had I slept through it all? “I need a shower.”

“I’ll get Manny,” she said.

I shook my head in protest. “I can do it on my own.”

She looked unsure, but stood aside while I sat up on the bed. My legs had turned into rubber. I wasn’t sure if they could sustain my weight. She sidled up next to me. “Put your arm around me.”

She was remarkably strong for someone so petite.

“I think you should take a bath,” she said as we entered the bathroom.

As if I hadn’t been emasculated enough, now she wanted me to take a bath like a child. To prove I was capable, I walked the rest of the way on my own. “I’m fine.”

“I’ll get you a change of clothes.”

I glanced at the mirror. Several days of stubble covered my jaw line. My hair had always been longer than suitable for a businessman, but it hung fine and limp over my forehead. The tan I had sported was gone. In fact, I was three shades paler than I’d ever been. The ridiculous silk-pajama shirt plastered against my chest. I ripped it trying to peal it off.

I saw her in the mirror. She was staring at me, relief on her face.

She left the room, closing the door behind her. I shed the rest of the clothing and walked into the shower. Leaning my palms against the tile, I stood under the hot spray of water for a long time. Long enough for the feeling to return to each limb. I soaped my entire body, scrubbing away the last of the stench and illness.

I wasn’t alone, though.

Pulling back the curtain, I found her standing near the sink.

“Why are you in here?”

“I brought you a change of clothes, and…”

“And what?”

Steam clouded the entire room, making her appear like an apparition. “In case you fall. You’re so stubborn.”

There was something about how she looked at me or, rather, turned away. It wasn’t due to shyness or embarrassment. Her chest heaved as she bit her lower lip.

She was turned on.

And so was I.

I swallowed, doing my best not to focus on my damn erection. I hoped to God she couldn’t tell through the curtain that separated us. How could she be turned on right now? I looked awful.

“Go into the other room and wait for me.”

“Don’t fall. I won’t be able to lift you.”

I chuckled, bending my head toward the spray. “Promise.”

I’d taken hot showers for granted all my life. This one I thoroughly enjoyed. When I stepped out, I headed straight for my toothbrush and did all the motions in triplicate. I wiped down the foggy mirror. I almost felt like me…except for the beard. I found my razor.

“I don’t think you should shave right now.” I caught a glimpse of her standing behind me before the mirror fogged up again.

Yeah, probably best if I refrained from placing sharp objects against my jugular.

I scratched at the beard. “I hate this.”

“Do you trust me?”

“Implicitly.”

She moved a chair into the bathroom. “Sit.”

I did.

“Tilt your head, please.” I closed my eyes and leaned back. “I’m not sure how to use this,” she said, holding up the razor. “Shall I go get a normal razor?”

I laughed. “This
is
normal, Mary. It’s the way men have been shaving for centuries.” I placed her thumb on the side of the blade and showed her how to grip it. I brushed the fingers of her other hand on my cheek. “Shave in the direction of the growth.” I sucked in a ragged breath as her fingers caressed my face.