Chapter Twenty-Four Rama
“Sir.”
A hand on my shoulder jolts me to consciousness, and I open my eyes to find the flight attendant hovering over me. She smiles gently. “You were having a bad dream.”
Straightening in my seat, I thank her when she hands me a bottle of water. The lights are low in the first-class compartment, and the other passengers are sleeping quietly.
The dreams have become more and more frequent, and they’re so real, I often wake up in a sweat, trembling from head to toe. I hoped it would all go away—the nightmares, the panic, the moments of disorientation—but they persist.
I remain awake the rest of the flight, afraid I’ll dream again and disturb my fellow passengers. I spend the time reading, and my eyes are sore and gritty when I finally pull my luggage from the carousel in baggage claim.
Suddenly remembering that Pravat had driven me to the airport, I dig out my phone to call a cab.
As I wait outside, I’m suddenly hit with the stark reality that I’m headed home unannounced and will have to give an explanation to my father.
He won’t be home this time of day, but my sister likely will, and I can’t face her questioning.
Nothing about what I’m experiencing makes sense to anyone but me.
I wind up having the cab driver drop me off at a park where I sit on the grass staring out at the paddle boaters on the lake.
My mind keeps throwing memories at me that I’ve suppressed for years, and I battle them as best I can.
I don’t know how long I’ve been there when a grandmotherly voice breaks into my tortured thoughts.
“Are you all right, dear?” I turn to find an elderly woman holding onto a walker.
Belatedly, I greet her with a wai. “Yes, Grandmother. I’m all right.”
“I’ve been sitting on the bench over there watching my grandson play and noticed you’ve been sitting here a long time. And you’re crying.”
I run my fingertips under my eyes, surprised to find them wet. Pulling a bottle of water from the huge purse on the seat of her walker, she extends it to me, and when I reach out and take it from her, I’m alarmed to find my hand is shaking.
“Drink,” she tells me. “Perhaps you’ve gotten too much sun.”
Nodding, I open the bottle and chug half its contents without meaning to. I hadn’t realized I was so thirsty. A gentle breeze lifts my hair from my face, and slowly things become clearer.
“You seem a little out-of-it. Is there anything I can do to help you?” the woman asks.
I shake my head. “No, I just have a lot on my mind. Thank you, though.”
“Are you here alone? Maybe I can call someone for you. You’re getting a sunburn.” She points to my arms before being distracted by a small boy who runs up to her. I glance down at my reddening skin.
I look up at the little boy, who’s watching me with dark eyes, and smile before letting my gaze wander to the sparkling sunlight on the water.
The woman asks me something, but I’m having trouble concentrating on her words.
The boy touches my arm and waves something in front of my face. Thinking it’s the cookie, I shake my head, but he doggedly continues until I realize he’s got my cell phone.
“Open it and tell us who to call for you,” the boy’s grandmother tells me.
Not my father. Not my sister. Unlocking the phone with my fingerprint, I say the name of the only person who the thought of seeing doesn’t send waves of panic through me.
As I continue to gaze out at the water, I feel as though I’m sinking below the surface, voices and distant laughter fading into a goobledy-gook of muted sound.
I don’t know how much time passes before a familiar scent—woodsy yet sweet—slowly brings my head around to look at the person sitting next to me.
High cheekbones, arching dark brows, coal black eyes, small silver earrings. Each of these details I recognize individually.
“Rama.”
The voice breaks through my fugue, and I take a deep breath. Reaching out I touch his arm. “You’re here.”
“Are you all right?” Pravat touches my face, and I realize it’s wet with tears again.
Swallowing, I smile and whisper, “I am now.”