31. Chapter 31
Chapter 31
Mira
I f there had been a window in the bathroom, even a small one, I'd have crawled out of it. I was that desperate to talk to Beau, which was why I needed to run .
I should've never agreed to come for this drinks business. But my colleagues had been trying to get me out for weeks now and finally— finally, finally —I relented, and only because Zahra and Nova showed up at my apartment…well, Nova's apartment, which I was staying in now. It was very nice and fully furnished. Most nights, I stayed up half the night watching garbage television. I was all up to date on Desperate Housewives of Atlanta —ask me freaking anything!
Not only did I have to see Beau, I had to see him with Fallon, and not only did I have to see her throw herself at my Beau—but I also had to see him reject her. If only he'd hugged her back, I'd have gone right back to my mantra: it doesn't matter .
But he'd pushed her away and told her to stay the fuck away from him or some such thing.
There was a soft knock on the door. "Darlin', no one takes that long to pee."
Argh!
Did he really think he could just follow me around and I'd… what? What did he even want from me? I had no idea. And that's exactly why I needed to talk to him. That sounded like a plausible excuse, right? It didn't make me sound—or feel—like a simpering idiot recovering from a nervous breakdown, only to chase after the very thing that caused it in the first place. Or did it?
Let's be honest, your nervous breakdown wasn't just because of him, all that was brewing for years .
At least that's what my therapist had told me. Beau's defection had been the last straw but there had been plenty of straws, starting all the way from when I was eight. I felt a sob rise through me. It was getting harder and harder to pretend that the ugly thing during my childhood had not happened. Asha had been really good at negating those terrible years. She just rejected my parents and our history. She didn't fight with them—she just didn't see them.
I'd spent some time trying to make Mommy acknowledge what Daddy had done to me and Asha—but had finally given up when I realized that it made my father angrier and my mother meaner.
According to Dr. Ryan, my mother was doing what she thought she had to do to keep her husband with her—and if that meant sacrificing her daughters, so be it. I couldn't understand that; I'd die for Pari.
I closed my eyes as the pain surfaced. My beautiful baby girl. I was missing her more and more. I wanted to hear her voice and feel her arms around me. It had been nearly six weeks since I started working at Savannah Lace, and feelings that I thought were submerged way-way deep-deep down inside me were rising up. It was that damn therapy, I thought.
There was now a persistent knock on the door. "Mira, darlin', don't make me break this door down, yeah?"
I took a deep breath. I had gotten to know Beau well when I lived with him, but I'd gotten to know him even better through Aurora, Stella, Luna, and Nova. Even Katya had come and seen me, apologized profusely. She'd asked if Donna could talk to me, and I'd told her I wasn't ready. For me, Donna had helped bring my parents back into my life—had made that ugliness almost touch Pari, and I wasn't ready to forgive her for that—no matter her reasons.
It was amazing how everyone was pushing so hard for me to rejoin society. In the past, when I struggled with bouts of depression, nobody seemed to care. But ever since Asha got pregnant, I hadn't even had time to feel depressed.
But this time, everyone was on my case. No matter how much I complained about it, my therapist was right: a part of me liked the attention, maybe because I'd had so little of it all my life.
I opened the bathroom door to find Beau standing guard.
"I thought you found a way out," he murmured.
"There isn't even a window in there," I complained.
He put a hand at the small of my back and I wanted to turn around, smack him, and scream, " Don't touch me, because when you do, I feel things I don't want to feel !" But if I revealed that to him—he'd use it as a tactic to…to what?
He walked me out of the bar and into the Savannah evening.
"It's Pari's bathtime," I scolded him. "You need to be at home."
"Roxy is taking care of her and I was going home, but then I saw I had a chance with you, so I took it."
"You can't ignore Pari."
"I'd never do that, darlin'." He caught my arm and steered me away, walking me back toward Jones Street. "I told Nova that you were with me."
I shrugged my arm away from him. "What do you want?"
I was angry, more with myself than him. I hated that I'd lost my calm and cool, the one I'd worn so well but was now thawing under the onslaught of kindness I was receiving at work.
"You," he said pithily.
"Go fuck yourself, Beau."
He chuckled. "Since you're not in bed with me, darlin', that's the story of my life right now."
He'd always had a good sense of humor. He was sweet and kind and fun. He was strong and obnoxious and gentle.
"How's Pari?" I asked softly.
"She's good but she misses you."
I didn't know what to say. When he walked me home from work, I pretended I couldn't hear him, but it was getting harder. He was there every day, just talking about things he was doing, Pari was doing, how much they missed me, how much they missed my food. I listened to everything—hungry for all the morsels he threw my way about his life with Pari—but I sealed my mouth shut.
"I…I don't know how I feel," I blurted out. It was the truth. I missed Pari but I also felt it was better to stay away so she could forget me.
"I wish I had that problem," he muttered. "I know exactly how I feel."
I stopped on the sidewalk and waited for him to tell me.
He turned to face me. "I feel like an asshole because I am one. See, I don't have a problem with that, but I didn't want you to see that side of me, experience it. I know that I lost the woman I love because of that asshole."
I kept my face emotionless, but it wasn't easy. Had he just said he loved me? I knew Beau and he was careful about what he revealed about himself. He'd never say those words if he didn't believe them.
Mira, just because he believes them doesn't mean they're true. Guilt, as you know, is powerful and could be screwing with his head.
"You're just feeling guilty," I retorted, crossing my arms, trying to keep myself safe from Beau.
"I am," he admitted, "but that doesn't change the fact that I love you. I think I've loved you since you showed up at my doorstep—and the intensity only increased as I got to know you."
"If you knew me, you'd never have believed my parents," I threw back at him.
He cupped my cheek, and my world shifted. Is this how it was to be close to someone you loved more than yourself? That when they touched you—you wanted more and more and more?
I stepped away from him and ignored the hurt that shone in his eyes at my rejection of his touch.
"I made a mistake. I was…susceptible because…." Some people walked by us, and he paused. "Can I buy you a drink somewhere quiet?"
I almost suggested he come to the apartment, but then realized that I didn't want to be alone with him, not yet. I wasn't ready.
Dr. Ryan had warned me that once I began to thaw—thanks to my twice-weekly sessions with her, a fulfilling work routine, supportive colleagues, the security of a home, and knowing Pari was in safe hands—my mind would finally have the space to process my experiences and help me understand myself better.
Before Ambien, I'd have called bullshit if a therapist said the stuff Dr. Ryan did to me. But After Ambien, I was starting to believe that your brain could be fucked up in fifty ways without you knowing about it, and you could heal from the most terrible kind of wounds if you worked at it.
We walked into a small bar close to where I lived. It was an absinthe bar with seating for fifteen to eighteen people max. It was cozy and cute—and now I could afford to be here because I was getting paid. Nova had refused to take rent from me, which was helping me immensely. Since I passed the probationary period at Savannah Lace, I was now a full-time employee with health benefits.
I'd been worried about how much I owed the hospitals after my Ambien debacle—but I was told that Medicare took care of it. I decided to believe that, but I was quite certain that Beau had paid for my care. I didn't know how to feel about that, either. I couldn't afford it, and I couldn't afford to not have medical care—so, the best and only thing to do was to pretend I didn't know. Was I at the pinnacle of mental health or what? Not!
I ordered a lemonade. I was staying away from alcohol in the interest of self. I was wound up too tight to give up any control.
Beau ordered a bourbon.
"You've lost weight," he said to me.
I shrugged. "Okay."
"You are still so fuckin' beautiful."
"No, don't close your eyes, Mira, I want you to see who's doing this to you," Beau said as he drove into me. "You're so fuckin' beautiful that my heart stops every time I look at you."
The memory jostled my insides. "Beau, what do you want from me?"
"I want us to be a family again."
I shook my head, staring at the colorful bottles lined up on the bar, the mirrored wall behind them fractured by shelves, distorting our reflections. "It was a fantasy. See how quickly the family fell apart!"
"Mira, I thought I was protecting Pari."
"By bringing her closer to my parents?" I sneered. I couldn't help it. "You didn't trust me at all. I went on my knees to beg you to keep her away from them. What? You found out how close Daddy was to his girls? Is that why you're here, feeling guiltier than ever?"
He looked surprised at the venom I'd just spewed. Who could blame him? I was a little shaken myself—I hadn't realized I had this much anger stored up inside me.
Well, Mira, if you're gonna keep everything buried, then some surprises are going to be unearthed when you let go .
"I saw the CPS reports and thought they were—"
"You didn't trust me," I repeated. "You'd seen me with Pari, how on earth could you believe I'd hurt her?"
Some people at the bar looked at us. My voice had risen. So much for not feeling a thing. I was feeling too many things right now. My therapist had warned me that there would be a catalyst that would supercharge me, and apparently my catalyst was Beau. Big F'ing surprise!
"I'm sorry."
"You can take your sorry and shove it where the sun don't shine."
"How can I make this right?" he pleaded.
"Oh, you want me to help you with that?" I threw at him, my words dripping with sarcasm. "You mean like you heard me out when I pleaded with you and told you I'd never hurt Pari? You put my things in a trash bag, Beau. And then you called me because Pari wouldn't sleep without listening to my voice. You made me feel like trash. So, why do you think you're going to make all this right? Huh?"
He remained calm, sad, his eyes not wavering from mine. "I was so wrong, Mira. So, fuckin' wrong."
"You know who was more wrong? Me! Because I trusted you. For the first time in my life, I trusted someone to be there for me, and the first time my parents came along and pulled the whole ‘ we're decent citizens ' act, you chucked me out. You think you're the first person to have believed them when they mouthed some bullshit about me?" My voice was flat and low. He flinched but remained silent. "There was a case worker. She told me that I shouldn't tell lies about my father. My mother beat me with my father's tennis racket because I'd called CPS. I was ten."
I looked around the bar, suddenly realizing that I was talking about my childhood, the one I had refused to talk to even Dr. Ryan about. I'd given her enough hints, but I wasn't prepared to rip my heart open so why was I doing that here in public with Beau?
"We should leave." I got up. "I have to go."
Beau took my hand in his. "No, darlin'. Sit." He turned to the bartender. "Martin, close down for the night. I'll pay everyone's tab and whatever you miss."
I gaped at Beau. "That's a bit much."
The bartender, Martin shrugged. "Sure. I'll clear the place."
"You can't do that?" Could he? "I'm going home and—"He picked me up without much effort, and set me down on the barstool I had gotten up from. He sat next to me just as he had before.
"Forget everyone else. Talk to me."
I was suddenly afraid. I was talking to Beau, which meant that I still trusted him. How stupid was that?
"I was scared," he spoke, "of how close we'd become. I'm not used to being in a relationship, you know that. Your parents…fuck, they should win Oscars. They roped me in. I…should've been better, done better, been on your side no matter what, and I wasn't. I hate myself for it. But I can't change the past. I can only live in today and promise to do better tomorrow."
I sat frozen as I heard people ask the bartender, Martin, what was going on, but that was in the background. In the foreground, my heart hammered, wanting to jump out of my body.
"I talked to Kush Patel," he breathed.
Kush was the first CPS case worker who'd tried to understand our situation.
"And I talked to Suchitra Pillai."
I closed my eyes. Asha was friends with Suchitra so there was a good chance she'd given her the whole Ramayana -style epic of our childhood, which she'd probably shared with Beau.
"What did she tell you about me?" I looked down at the mahogany bar counter.
I heard the bartender come up to us and saw Beau slide a black American Express card on the counter. Fancy!
Beau signed the ticket Martin placed in front of him. "Lock up, yeah?" Martin told him. "Keys are in the top drawer here."
I didn't bother to see where that was.
"Sure," Beau said. "I'll drop the keys off in the mailbox."
Martin didn't say anything to me as he slithered away.
"Why did you do that? Empty a bar for us?"
"Because you were opening up, and I didn't want to change the venue."
"Must be nice to have a whole lot of money," I said part disgusted and part impressed with Beau flaunting his financial muscle.
"Fat lot of good it did me with you, ‘cause you don't give a shit how much I have or don't have."
"My parents have a lot of money," I said in explanation.
We sat there for nearly five minutes, quiet.
"I didn't tell you about my father because I didn't think you'd believe me. And you wouldn't have—not after you met them. You'd just do what everyone else did: blame me for making up stories. Asha warned me not to bother—just get through it, you know?"
Beau's eyes went moist. "No, baby, I don't know. I don't know how someone asks a child to go through that ."
"Asha was a child, too."
"She was five years older than you."
"She took me in when I ran away," I defended my sister. "She was…well, you know how she was."
"Not really, Mira. I had sex with Asha a few times over a two-week period. The fact that Pari came out of it is the only reason for me to revisit what I had with her," Beau said bluntly.
I sighed. "I noticed you."
"Hard not to when I was having sex with your sister on the kitchen counter," Beau retorted blandly.
I smiled, and it felt odd. I was using muscles that I hadn't in a long time. This was a real smile, the one that went all the way to my eyes. "I noticed your ass and thought that's a nice ass . And then when I saw you naked, I saw how right I was."
Beau took my hand in his, and I let him. We were alone in this dimly lit bar with strains of jazz music softly playing around us. There was intimacy here and I, oddly, felt safe. I wondered what Dr. Ryan would think of this.
"I'm going to destroy your father."
"Really?" I quirked an eyebrow. He sounded like a Bollywood-movie hero, saying he'd hurt the people who hurt me. Very dramatic .
"Yes." He lifted his head to meet my eyes. "This is Nova's story to tell, but I'll share some of it with you. When she was young, a man assaulted her. I found out about him right after I learned Nova was my sister. There was no way in hell I was going to let that bastard get away with what he did to her. I had him killed."
I gasped. "What?" Of all the things I'd expected him to say, this was not on the Bingo card, not even remotely.
"His name was Raymond Carre. He was in Reidsville Prison for raping a fifteen-year-old girl, serving twenty-five to life without a chance of parole."
"Are you kidding me?"
Beau shook his head. "No one hurts my family. You are my family."
"I can't believe this."
Beau shrugged. "This is also who I am. I take care of my own. Your father and your mother signed their fuckin' death warrants when they fucked with you through me."
He wasn't saying this angrily, he was just stating facts.
"Are you out of your mind?" I choked the words out. Shock didn't come close to describing how I was feeling.
"No."
"You can't kill them."
"Why?"
"You just can't," I blurted out. I was in the Twilight Zone . That was it. My Beau had people killed? What the fuck?
"Okay." He squeezed my hand. "Can I make sure your father ends up in jail and your mother has no money?"
"You can do that?" Beau was an IT geek, wasn't he? A handsome one, sure, but he wasn't a…well, criminal, was he?
"Yeah, I can do that. I'm already on it. It takes longer to jack them up than to have them killed, and…" He paused, considering his words. "You know, I think I like the idea of Anil Sen rotting in prison, where everyone will know exactly who he is, more than just having him dead. At least that way, he'll pay for his crimes. Prisons are brutal for men who hurt children. You're right—having him locked up for life is the better call."
"I didn't suggest that." I yanked my hand away from him like he'd burned me. "You can really do that?"
"Yes, Mira, I can really do that. What? You don't want me to?"
I thought about it for a very short moment. "No, I want you to. I just can't believe you can do something like that."
Beau fidgeted with his phone, and then handed it to me.
It was a news article from a local newspaper from some place called Sentinel. The headline read: Richard Carre found dead, shanked by inmate.
The story went on to talk about how Carre was a Sentinel resident who had been arrested numerous times for domestic violence, and had recently been convicted of raping a minor.
I gave him his phone back. "You did this? You're not lying?"
"Why would I lie?"
I slumped in the bar stool. "Why are you telling me this? I could get you into trouble."
"Because I trust you," he said simply, and a few pieces of my broken heart slammed into one another.
He trusted me. What did that mean?
It means that he trusts you. Of course, he does. He knows you won't go to the police.
But even as I made light of it, I knew that Beau was giving me something he didn't give anyone. I doubted he'd ever bluntly confessed to anyone about what he'd done.
"Have you done things like this before?" I asked.
Beau smiled. "Yes."
I licked my lips and nodded. "My father deserves to be in prison."
"Consider it done."