A fleeting image, a whisper in the woods, brings to mind Adam’s hand encased in Gia’s. He had refused to leave Gia’s side at the school, held on tightly to her hand. His look reminded Marin of one she had seen her entire childhood. It was from someone who believed they owned you and could do with you as they wished. The lie Gia so easily spoke about whom she was with. Gia going to his home. Both of them all alone for hours. Their relationship an elaborate secret. Images start to crowd in her head—all of them leading toward the inevitable truth. Gia isn’t lying to save herself, Marin realizes with a start. She’s lying to save Adam.
Nausea rises up, gagging her. She rushes to the adjoining bathroom just in time. Holding on to the toilet, she retches until her stomach is empty. Sweat lines her brow, and her body shakes from the convulsions. She falls back against the wall, grabbing the edge of the toilet to support her. He has beaten Gia, Marin is sure of it. There is no question in her mind that he has raised his hands to her daughter more than once. Why and how don’t matter anymore. All that’s important is that Marin is going to destroy him. Take him apart for having harmed her little girl. Only then can she assure Gia’s safety in a way she had never been able to guarantee her own.
TRISHA
On the night before Marin’s wedding, the lightbulb flickers as the electricity sizzles; the crickets chatter among themselves. The three sisters stand together, one shoulder against the other. Ranee, a fragile barrier, stands between Brent and the girls.
The night air is cool after the damp summer rain. Brent struggles with the key, cursing in Gujarati when it fails to give. “Did you spray the WD-40 like I told you?” he demands.
“Yes,” Ranee lies. In the midst of finalizing wedding details, she has forgotten.
“It didn’t work.” He yanks the key, slamming his fist against the door.
“The rain always expands the wood. Here, let me try.” She hopes to calm him.
“You think you are stronger than me?” He laughs—the only one. “Stupid.”
The girls continue in silence, watching. He alternates between trying the key and hitting the door. A raindrop falls. Soon, a light shower begins. They use the veils of their saris to cover their heads.
“Got it.” The click of the lock and he throws the door open. He steps quickly in ahead of them all. They are slow to remove their heeled pumps in the entryway, each still on a high from the hours of dancing and socializing with their friends in the Indian community.
“Girls, change your clothes, fold them, and bring them to me. I will put them back in the suitcase.” Ranee prods them along. The saris are fashioned from silk she received as a wedding gift. Brent had commissioned a tailor weeks later. A lovely surprise from when his heart was still kind.
“I want to wear mine to bed, Mama,” Trisha declares. Fascinated by the vibrant colors, she revels in the way it makes her feel.
“No, Beti,” Ranee cajoles. “These are special. Meant only for wedding celebrations. When it is your time, you will be allowed to choose.”
“Well, I want this one.” Trisha twirls and dances through the foyer. Their home is immaculate on the inside. An engineer with two master’s degrees, Brent is thorough and organized. His home life must follow suit. “I look beautiful in it,” Trisha announces, confident. She’s enthralled by the grace and splendor she perceives in herself. She just turned fifteen, is on the brink of becoming a woman. Her lean thighs have yet to mimic the curves of her breasts, which are bound tight by the form-fitting deep-red blouse. The silk stops below the edge of her bra, leaving bare her flat stomach to below the belly button. The free-flowing skirt ties above the bones of her hips, elegant to the rim of her ankles. The translucent sari wraps around her, meticulously tucked in, then like a beaded shawl thrown carelessly over her shoulder. “Everyone was staring at me.”
“No one was,” Brent snaps. They stop, all of them. Not by thought but reflex. Animals trained to tremble at their owner. “Is this proper? There is a need to be looked at?”
These are not questions. Trisha’s face shows her deliberation. A decision whether to answer or remain silent. She fears either choice, not for herself but for the others. Ranee inspects him from a distance. An immediate survey to gauge the situation.
“Yes, Trisha, you are correct.”