Karen glances at the clock on the wall. She fails to mask her surprise that Marin has memorized the schedule. “Um, yes, you’re right. The students will be heading to the cafeteria.” She takes a step closer to Marin, crossing the invisible boundary between them. “Do you want me to check her out of school for you?”
“No.” Marin answers from instinct. She is not ready to face her daughter yet. There would be nothing for her to say. Schooled since birth, she will keep their family secrets within the home. “I’ll wait for her at the house after school.”
“Of course. You understand I have to file a report with child services. It is my legal obligation.”
Karen’s words leave her cold.
“And if the abuse happened here then you can understand I will be filing a lawsuit against the school.” Marin grabs her purse and moves toward the door. “If not, then I would appreciate your support in keeping my daughter safe.”
Marin drops her keys into her purse. She has no recollection of the drive home. Her phone has been buzzing ever since she left the school. A slew of messages from her secretary, frantic to know her whereabouts. She shuts it off before dropping it on the end table. Glancing around, she searches for something, yet nothing offers her a clue on how to move forward.
The clock on the mantel indicates it is past one. Her stomach growls; she considers making herself a sandwich or grabbing a piece of fruit, but she would choke on her first bite. Retreating to the sanctuary of her office, she closes the door behind her. Her computer, always on, beckons. She powers it off without saving the document she had spent the night working through. With nothing left to do, she collapses into the sofa. Clutching a pillow to her chest, she curls her legs against herself. Laying her head down atop her knees, she yearns to weep, but the conditioning is too deep. Instead, memories circle around her, tearing her to shreds without the benefit of tears to ease the pain.
The room is dark. The sun is still shining on the other side of the world. On India. Marin sits up in bed, pulling the sheet tight around herself.
“It is time to prepare.” Ranee maneuvers through the bedroom the three girls insist on sharing in the weeks leading up to the wedding. Ranee offers Marin a smile as she shakes Trisha and Sonya from their slumber. She silently waves Marin out of the bed. “Come, Beti. All the clothes need ironing. The family will be here soon.”
“What about the food?” Marin asks.
“After you girls went to bed last night, I prepared the meal.”
“You have not slept?”
“I will sleep after the wedding.” Ranee smiles.
“How are we supposed to iron this?” Trisha asks. Two neatly folded stacks—one of Indian dresses for the girls and the other of Brent’s clothes. Atop it lies his favorite suit. A thin gray jacket with matching pants. He bought it for thirteen dollars at a garage sale where it was tagged as new. He had haggled and paid two dollars less than the asking price. Proud of his bargain, he wore it to every occasion since.
“Quickly.” Marin unfolds the first dress. “After we finish, we can help Mummy.”
“I’m not going to.” Trisha makes a face. “I hate cooking.”
“It doesn’t matter if you hate it or not. You have to learn.”
“I don’t have to do anything I don’t want to,” Trisha insists.
“It doesn’t work that way,” Marin argues, suddenly angry with Trisha. “You need to grow up.”
“Says who? Besides, it’s my life.” Trisha exudes a confidence Marin envies. “I make my own decisions.”
“You think I chose this?” Marin drops her head, afraid to admit the truth to herself. “I don’t even know him, and now I have to spend the rest of my life with him.”
Trisha stares at her sister, Marin’s admission silencing her. They busy themselves. Five years in age separates them, but a generation of confusion divides them. Trisha unfolds each piece, methodically shaking it out. She lays it on the board for Marin to iron. The completed pieces she hangs in the plastic garment holder.