“How?” Without further explanation, Sonya understands.
“I don’t know.” Ranee takes the pair of scissors she had sat down with and begins to cut. With precise strokes, from every picture, she begins to remove all traces of Brent. “Marin thinks I told her.”
“You didn’t.”
Ranee looks up, nipping her finger with the scissors as a result. “Is that a question?”
Sonya glances at the mutilated pictures, taking her time. “You have no reason to tell her.”
“Yes.” Ranee starts to gather up all the images of Brent. “Gia had permission to be beaten.” Ranee drops the pictures into the trash, a lifetime of memories torn to shreds. “I gave it to her.”
Sonya glances toward the door, making clear her yearning to be elsewhere. “Maybe she just needed an excuse.” She kneels down and begins rifling through the pictures, the faces staring back at her a collage of heartbreak. “I used to hate the birthday parties.”
Ranee is genuinely shocked. “Why?”
“I had to pretend to be happy.”
Suddenly Ranee needs to know the answer to a question she has always wanted to ask but never dared to. “Do you wish we had aborted you?”
Sonya doesn’t look up, doesn’t show any shock at the question. “Yes,” she says simply, “I do.”
“I’m sorry.” Ranee drops her head down, lost in her own home, the revelations of the day too much to handle. “I’m so sorry.”
TRISHA
When I was in second grade, there was a girl, Melinda, who used to torment me daily. Whether it was about my hand-me-down clothes, my braided hair, or the cheap bag Mama said I had to use as a backpack, she was relentless in her teasing. I wasn’t the only one she picked on, however. Nobody unfortunate enough to come to her notice was left unscathed. Melinda was one of the popular girls. With that status, she enjoyed the support of a loyal and large entourage. Her friends were quick to attack whomever Melinda chose that day. If you were the victim, you had no choice but to listen to their taunts. The others didn’t come to your aid out of fear they would be next.
I was so grateful when, in the middle of the year, a teacher overheard Melinda making fun of the roti and sakh I had brought for lunch. The teacher warned Melinda never to say such things again or she would be sent to the principal’s office. The reprieve was my blessing, and I continued happily through second grade, safe in the protection of the teacher’s warning. But it was not to last. Melinda’s mother fell ill and died a few months later. Suddenly, Melinda could do no wrong. A victim of circumstance, she now had a halo over her head.
We were warned to be extra kind to her, to show her empathy, to be good friends. Letters went home telling our parents about the situation. Playdates with Melinda were encouraged, dinners dropped off at their home welcomed. I expected Melinda to become a new person, to be humbled by her loss. But if cheetahs don’t change their spots, then cruelty within humans has no chance. Melinda returned to her evil ways and for two years made my life hell. Only when her father moved them out of town did I get my freedom. But I learned an important lesson I have never forgotten—with weakness comes great power.
As soon as I heard about Gia, I considered texting Eric. He always had a soft spot for her and would want to know she had been hurt. In the end, I refused to use the excuse to reach out, no matter how much I yearned to. At a loss about how to help Gia, I went shopping. Hours I spent perusing aisles of knickknacks, trying to find just the right things that would brighten Gia’s day. A few stuffed animals, tons of chocolate, some newly released CDs of her favorite artists that I recalled her talking about, and a diary, among other things.