The Full Moon Bride

by Shobhan Bantwal

  Marriages of convenience happened in India all the time, where a well-to-do wife supported a husband oftentimes. As long as he was a good man, the marriage worked, and in many cases, worked well.

  If I married Roger, I’d have a heck of a lot more than those women in India. He was good-looking, bright, generous, and I was attracted to him like a moth to flame. So why did I feel this slight reluctance? I wanted him—and yet some invisible force pulled me back.

  Sometimes, the same analytical mind that made me a good attorney also proved to be my worst enemy. I frequently analyzed things to death. Maybe seeing him succeed as a playwright would make me see him differently. I’d have to give it some thought. And time.

  Roger interrupted my musings when he said, “Tired?”

  “I’ve had a long day.” I realized we’d arrived at the station.

  We found an empty bench to sit on while we waited for our train. At this time of the night, the trains were few and far between. The station was quiet, too. “I know what you mean. I’m looking forward to a hot shower and some sleep.” He looked at me. “So, what plans do you have for the weekend?”

  I shrugged. “I’m playing it by ear. Maybe I’ll get together with some friends for drinks tomorrow. How about you? Are you working?”

  He stifled a yawn. “I work seven days a week. Many of my cast members have other jobs, so they can spare more time for rehearsing on weekends.” Then he did something that stole my breath. Reaching out, he pulled my head onto his shoulder. “The train’s not due for another twenty minutes, so rest your head and relax, Soorya.”

  I let myself slump against him and closed my eyes. Roger’s parka was still a bit damp and smelled of his signature aftershave mixed in with a hint of coffee absorbed from the café. His shoulder and arm were warm and firm.

  The feeling was both sweetly satisfying and pleasant. It was right there, with other simple joys like the aroma of brownies baking, a bowl of Mom’s rasam, a thick comforter on a cold night, and the sun rising above the red-gold trees in our backyard on a fall morning.

  I smiled to myself. After accusing Roger earlier, it was I who was now turning sentimental. But it had been that kind of evening. Roger had been a delightful companion.

  To top it all, he’d displayed a hint of jealousy for Satish. That was the emotional equivalent of a dollop of whipped cream quivering atop a chocolate sundae.

  Did I really want this for the rest of my life? And at the moment, was Roger experiencing the same feeling I was?

  Chapter 19

  After that hike-in-the-woods meeting, Lou and I met a few more times. Since his office was too cramped, most of the time he traveled to Manhattan. My client was adamant about increasing the number of homes, and the bureaucrats were fighting it. It kept both Lou and me sparring gently, but it also kept us both in business.

  By then we had become friends, having learned to set aside our business differences and enjoy talking about a variety of things. We were both football fans, we liked Italian food, and we appreciated the same kind of music. Although when it came to movies and books, we differed, but then it was fun to compare notes.

  However, I could sense something else developing between us. I couldn’t say what. More and more, Lou’s eyes had been taking on a different look.

  I’d caught him staring at me a number of times, his expression hungry, filled with speculation. I’d never had a man look at me like that before. Satish’s expression hadn’t been this blatantly lascivious.

  During my third trip to Pemberton, he took me canoeing on Oswego Lake. I stayed with a girlfriend in Cherry Hill on a Tuesday night so I could meet Lou at dawn on Wednesday—a day the forecast called for sunny skies and reasonably decent temperatures.

  Getting out of bed when it was still pitch dark and freezing cold outside was mild torture for me, but I didn’t want to disappoint Lou. He had his heart set on showing me the magnificence of Oswego Lake on a fall morning.

  We started at daybreak to catch the sunrise shimmering over the lake. As Lou had promised, it was breathtaking, with the mist rising from the bogs, reminiscent of scenes from Phantom of the Opera.

  The canoeing was quite an adventure, with my nonexistent rowing skills and fear of what lay in the murky depths of the lake. But I had to admit the trip across the swampy water was an education in itself. I’d never seen anything like this wild and primitive beauty—much less experienced it.

  It was almost spiritual—enough to restore one’s faith in God.

  The endless expanse of pine trees, the smell of the reed-filled swamps, and the near silence were in direct contrast to the sounds and sights of Manhattan. We went only a short distance down the lake and returned, since we were both working that day. The outing was part of educating me about the Pinelands, as Lou chose to phrase it. And we’d accomplished it well before the start of our workday.

  After we returned to the shore, Lou loaded the rented canoe on top of his Explorer and anchored it down. Then we had a picnic breakfast of bagels and fresh fruit. It was freezing cold beside the lake and I was bundled up in a down parka, wool scarf, and insulated gloves.

  The lakefront was deserted at this time of year. Early morning birds were out in large flocks, foraging for food. We threw them bagel bits and then talked for a while. Looking at my watch, I realized it was time to head back. Thank God! My teeth were beginning to chatter.

  I stood up and rubbed my hands together. “Let’s head back, Lou. It’s too cold here and we’ve got work to do, remember?”

  Lou smiled and rose to his feet. “There’s a way to warm up without going back.”

  “What way is that?” I asked in a hoarse murmur as he closed the gap between us. I could sense the electricity in the air. It was something live and palpable—pleasant yet frightening.

  This was a conflict of interest, I told myself. We were working on opposite sides. We should have been arguing with each other, not getting closer. Besides, Lou was out of my league, slightly older than me, a man from a different world.

  It was all wrong. And yet, out there in the woods, in a concealed spot amongst the majestic pines, overlooking Oswego Lake and the graceful aquatic birds, he put his beefy hands on my shoulders and kissed me, gently, softly, first on my forehead, then on my cheeks, and finally on my mouth.

  I froze. This was my first kiss! A thirty-year-old woman who’d never experienced a real kiss was an aberration in America, but that’s what I was. I stood there, scared stiff and speechless, my legs feeling like they’d give out any second.

  Lou didn’t do any more than press his lips to mine, but I started to tremble. Something stirred inside me, but I didn’t know how to respond. Despite all the pretend kissing I’d done in my fantasies, I was a moron when it came to the real thing.

  Was I supposed to open my mouth? That would mean his tongue would be touching mine. Oh boy! But then, that’s how a kiss was supposed to be—a melding of tongues and teeth and lips and saliva—if the romance novels and movies were to be believed.

  Gently pushing away from Lou, I thrust my unsteady hands in my pockets. I had no idea how to handle a situation like this. “I—I can’t do this, Lou.”

  “I’m sorry, Soorya,” he said. “I didn’t realize you’d never been kissed before.”

  Oh hell, was my inexperience that obvious? I kept my eyes on the ground and hoped the heat suffusing my face didn’t show. “I told you I’ve never dated anyone.”

  “I should’ve remembered. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s not your fault. You’re probably laughing at me, a grown woman and a professional who doesn’t know how to handle a little physical contact.”

  “I think it’s rather refreshing.”

  “What?” Surely he was kidding.

  “I don’t know any American woman who’s even a virgin at your age, let alone remain untouched.”

  I stole a glance at him. He wasn’t laughing. “So you don’t think it’s pathetic or laughable?”

  “Not at all.
” He was frowning now. “You’re not mad at me for coming on to you like that, are you?” He sounded uncertain, not at all like the bold, confident male who’d pressed his mouth to mine only moments ago.

  “No, I’m not mad.”

  He sighed with obvious relief. “I thought I was setting myself up for a sexual harassment suit.” This time his eyes glinted with humor. “It’s a dangerous thing to do when it involves a powerful attorney from the city.”

  At the look on his face I burst into laughter. “You needn’t worry on that score, Lou. I haven’t had enough experience to distinguish between a plain old pass and sexual harassment. I’m a neophyte—literally an innocent babe in the woods.”

  He grabbed me by the arm and turned me around. “In that case, I’d like to teach you the difference.” He was smiling.

  “Oh yeah?” I grinned at him, although my insides were still a bit shaky. I wasn’t good at flirting and didn’t know how to play the game. Coyness had never come to me naturally.

  “Yeah,” he replied and let go of my arm. “But some other time, when you’re a bit more comfortable being with me. Right now I feel like a lecher, trying to take advantage of a chaste and naïve young woman.”

  Chaste, innocent, naïve—they were all adjectives that had never been used to describe me. “Can I ask you something personal, Lou?”

  “Sure.” Lou was chewing on a mint and staring at something in the distance.

  I wasn’t sure if he appreciated my prying into his private life, but I was curious. It was my nature. “The first time we met and went to the Italian restaurant, you were so open about your marriage and the loss of your wife—basically your whole life. But when I looked at Lynne’s photograph on your desk that time in your office, you clammed up. Did I do something wrong?”

  Lou continued to stare at nothing for another moment, making me wonder if he’d tell me to go mind my own business. He had every right to do so.

  But then he turned to me and lifted a hand to cup my face. “You did nothing wrong, Soorya. When you arrived that day in your jeans and college sweatshirt, you looked incredibly young and attractive, and I felt something I hadn’t felt in a long time—not since Lynne passed away.”

  I frowned at him, puzzled.

  “All of a sudden, the block of ice in me was thawing,” he said. “It was nice to feel something positive after a year of pain followed by numbness. But I also felt guilty—like I was betraying Lynne in some way.”

  “I had no way of knowing that.”

  Lou removed his hand from my face and looked away. “Then when you started to stare at Lynne’s picture, I felt worse, because I was tempted by the woman who was gazing at my dead wife’s picture.”

  It all made sense now. Why hadn’t I thought that perhaps Lou Draper was interested in me back then? I found the answer to that. I had never come across anyone who’d been attracted to me. I had no idea how to read the signs if they smacked me in the face, and no clue about how to behave around a man who was making a pass at me.

  Perhaps I’d expected there’d be some sort of pheromones I’d sense, or signals that would make a man’s attention as obvious as bells ringing or red flags flying. I was the poor little rich girl who didn’t know the difference between a friend and an admirer. How pathetic was that?

  So, why wasn’t I feeling elated at Lou’s explanation? I’d finally heard the words that most every woman in America had likely heard many times. Instead I felt somewhat deflated. The very first man who’d clearly expressed interest in me was a widower who still carried a torch for his dead wife, a man who knew very little about my private life.

  Satish hadn’t asked me out despite what Roger called his drooling. Roger himself was dancing around the issues of romance and marriage, and calling me his friend. So that left only Lou.

  I smiled at Lou. “I don’t know what to say. This is a first, so you’ll have to forgive me.”

  We turned around to return to his vehicle. “Don’t worry, kid. You’re young and sweet and pretty. You’ll figure it out soon enough.”

  “Thanks,” I said with some relief. Sweet and pretty? I knew my looks had improved over the last year, but I hoped Lou wasn’t suffering from vision problems or something. But then, I remembered Roger calling me pretty lady when we’d visited the temple. Two men saying the same thing?

  I guess I was looking pretty good these days.

  As we drove back, I thought about what Lou had just said. It was comforting to know that he was still a friend, that he wasn’t offended by my lack of response.

  After we returned to his office, we worked on the final details of the case. My client could build eighteen homes and would get most everything else they wanted.

  Thanks to Lou’s persistence and persuasive powers, my first major case was working out rather well. Coupled with my luck in the Seattle case, my career was definitely inching upward. During our latest Monday morning staff meeting, Mac and Al had made some glowing comments about me.

  At noon, Lou and I ate lunch at the same deli we’d been to during my first trip. Back in Lou’s office, as I started to pack my briefcase, my cell phone rang.

  Pulling the phone out of my jacket pocket, I saw Mom’s cell number flashing. She never called me unless it was an emergency. I hit the talk button. “Mom?”

  Mom’s voice sounded strained—so unlike her usual one. “Soorya, we have a problem.”

  “What is it?”

  “It’s Pamma. I had to call an ambulance.”

  “What happened to Pamma?” I asked, feeling my stomach muscles tightening.

  “All of a sudden she couldn’t breathe well.”

  My own breath quickened. “Where are you now?”

  “I’m in the hospital emergency room.” Mom paused. “I hope she’s not going to die.”

  “Have you called Dad yet?”

  “He’s in surgery, so I left a message. He could be in it for hours. You know how it is with his work.”

  “I know.” Poor Mom was alone and frightened. “How about Leela or Meera? You want me to call one of them?” Leela and Meera were her best friends and lived close enough to get to the hospital within minutes.

  “Leela is in India. Meera is working. I can’t disturb her at her office.”

  Mom was right. “Listen, I’m on my way. I’ll get there as soon as possible.” I groped for the right words to get her to calm down, but couldn’t. “Which hospital?”

  “North Jersey Medical Center.”

  I knew where it was. “I’ll be there in about two hours. Have you called Aunt Pallavi yet?” When Mom said yes, I added, “Hang in there, Mom. I’ll see you soon.” I slipped the phone back in my pocket.

  Lou, who’d been listening to the conversation, put a hand on my arm. “Your grandmother?”

  I nodded, trembling with fear. Pamma had never suffered more than a cold or the flu since she’d come to live with us. She’d always displayed a tolerant attitude, excellent posture, and good health. And now she could be dying.

  In spite of my efforts to keep my emotions under control, the sobs rose in my chest, squeezing it to the point of causing physical pain. “Oh, Lou, she could die.”

  It seemed only natural for Lou to put his arms around me. “Shh, I’m sure she’ll be all right, Soorya.”

  “But she’s never been this sick. When her cold wasn’t going away, and her sniffling and coughing were getting worse in the last few days, I should have realized something was wrong.”

  “It’s not your fault, honey. You’re not a doctor.”

  “But my dad’s a first-class doctor. Why didn’t he notice something?” I was crying all over Lou’s shirt and making wet stains. But he didn’t seem to mind, and continued to hold me. I probably looked all swollen-eyed and unsightly. I wished I could cry like the women on the soap operas—look helplessly pretty and achingly feminine, all at the same time.

  “These things happen sometimes . . . and your father’s a busy man,” said Lou in a clumsy effort to com
fort me. All of a sudden, he said, “Give me your car keys.”

  “Why?”

  “I’ll drive you to the hospital.”

  Blowing my nose into a tissue, I shook my head at him. “You can’t drive me all the way to Hackensack. How will you get back?”

  “I can take a train.”

  His words dragged me back to my senses. “Lou, I can’t impose on you. You’ll have to change trains a couple of times to get back.”

  “I know that,” Lou agreed.

  “Even if you return by train, how will you get here from the train station to pick up your car?” I argued, zipping up my parka. “Don’t worry about me. I’m capable of driving.”

  Lou shrugged into his jacket. “I have friends who can pick me up at the station.” He grabbed my arm and nudged me out into the hallway. “Don’t argue, Soorya. You’re in no shape to drive. What if you got into an accident? Your parents already have one emergency to deal with.”

  Without further thought I handed over my car keys to Lou and followed him out.

  Lou made a phone call to his office in Trenton and had a whispered conversation, probably with his boss, then had a word with someone about getting a ride from the train station to his office sometime that evening. We started out after that.

  Several minutes later, as we merged onto the New Jersey Turnpike, I realized Lou was right. I was not fit to drive on the crowded highway. Guilt clawed at me as I thought about how I was flirting in the woods with Lou while my grandmother was gasping for breath.

  I still couldn’t wrap my head around the fact that Pamma was in a hospital emergency room. Could my hardy grandmother really be sick? Sick enough to die?

  The traffic was annoyingly heavy, and it was more than two hours before I could call Mom for a status update and tell her we were getting close to the hospital. Unfortunately her voice mail came on. She had probably shut her phone off to comply with hospital policy.

  I left her a message, hoping she’d be checking her voice mail regularly. With me navigating, Lou got us to the hospital. He dropped me off at the emergency entrance and drove off toward the visitors’ parking area.