Where the Lotus Flowers Grow

by MK Schiller

  “Sarah, shhh. Don’t bother her,” her mother said. She was a young, pretty woman who had the same smile as her daughter.

  “I don’t mind. I can’t sleep, anyway. She’s adorable. How old is she?”

  “Thank you. She’s two.” She wrapped her arms around the little girl. “She’s a bit overexcited about her first big trip.” She combed her fingers through the baby’s curls.

  “I don’t blame her. My name is Mary.”

  “Shyla,” she said. “This is Sarah, as you know.” She jabbed her thumb into the air, indicating the seat behind her. “That guy, sound asleep back there, is my husband Nick and our other daughter, Nalini.”

  I glanced at the seat where a man was sprawled with an identical little girl slumbering on his lap. She sucked her thumb. I imagined he probably had blue eyes like his daughters.

  “Twins?”

  “Yes.”

  “One has a Hindu name and one Christian?”

  “We named them after the two women who raised me.”

  We spoke in quiet hushed tones about her interesting life, while I made funny faces at Sarah, who laughed with glee.

  “I saw what happened,” Shyla said. “It was very sweet of you to give up your seat.”

  I stared down at Liam’s hand across my waist. “I just wanted to be next to him.”

  “My husband is like that, too. He’s pretty upset we couldn’t get four seats together.”

  “Do you live in New York?”

  “Nick is from there originally. We met there, but we live just outside of Mumbai. We’re going to New York to visit friends, and I’m giving a few lectures.”

  I wondered what had made him shift across whole oceans and continents.

  The answer was clear when the man woke and his expression changed to one of bliss when he looked at his wife.

  I imagined it was the same way I looked at Liam.

  Chapter 32

  Mary

  “This is Anderson,” Liam said, introducing me to the driver. “Anderson, meet Mary Costa.”

  “Nice to meet you, miss.” We shook hands. “Welcome to the new world.”

  Indeed it was a new world. The sky was a shade of gray I’d never seen. No matter how hard I searched, I could not find a trace of the sun. “Thank you.”

  “How are you doing, mate?” Liam asked, helping the older man put the luggage in the boot.

  “Can’t complain, Mr. Montgomery. How was your trip?”

  Liam looked in my direction, a wide smile on his face. “Excellent.”

  A gust of wind sliced through me. Tiny snowflakes swirled in the air, landing in odd places. I wrapped my arms around myself.

  “Did you bring it?” Liam asked Anderson.

  “Oh, yes, sir.” Anderson pulled out a long black coat.

  Liam held it out for me. It was definitely the protection I needed. Liam didn’t wear a coat.

  “Snow,” I said in awe. I held out my palm to catch a flake.

  “It’s starting early this year.” He buttoned my coat. “First impressions?”

  “It’s lovely.”

  “The truth, Mary.”

  “It’s cold. Is it always this cold?”

  He laughed. “No.”

  “Good.”

  “Just for the next four or five months.”

  “You could have kept that to yourself.”

  He kissed my cheek and gestured me into the huge limo waiting for us. I rubbed my hands together. He took gloves out of the pocket of my coat and slid them over my hands.

  “I can’t believe I’m in New York.”

  “Actually, lass, this is Newark.”

  “That’s what I said, New York.”

  “Newaark.” He spoke it slowly, expanding each syllable for me. “We’re in New Jersey right now.”

  I concentrated, repeating the word slowly as he had, but it didn’t sound the same coming from my mouth. The roads were smooth, too smooth. I kept waiting for bumps or pits or cracks, but none came. The roads in Bombay were insane, but the traffic kept everyone moving at a snail’s pace. I thought that somehow made it safer than this ridiculous speed we traveled over slick surfaces. When we reached the tunnel, all I saw were bright red lights and cars. No one even honked.

  “Is this a traffic jam?”

  “It is,” Liam said.

  Anderson regaled us with a story about the storm of 1983, when the ice had built up so much, they closed the tunnel and people abandoned their cars right on the road.

  When we emerged into the city, night had fallen. It didn’t matter, because every building was lit up. There was so much to see, I wasn’t sure where to look first. Then the honking started, and I was grateful because it reminded me of home.

  “Welcome to New York,” Liam said, his fingers folding over mine.

  When we reached his building, I craned my neck to take in its massive height. Then he introduced me to Clawson, the doorman.

  “Welcome back, Mr. Montgomery.”

  “Thank you.”

  Liam pushed the top button on the lift. As the doors closed, I caught my reflection in the shiny brass doors. I winced at the mess of tangles in my hair.

  Liam unlocked the door of his flat. I went to step in, but he reached for my arm.

  “Wait, let’s do it proper.” He swooped me off my feet.

  I laughed, wrapping my arms around him.

  “Isn’t this supposed to happen after marriage?”

  He kissed me. “We’re not very traditional people, are we?”

  “Definitely not.”

  He carried me inside. “Would you care for a tour?”

  “I’d love one, but perhaps you should put me down first?”

  He let me down. Slowly, I turned around, taking it all in. Liam lived all by himself in a palace on top of the world. He took my hand and led me from room to room. Then from floor to floor. Each floor had an entire wall of windows that reached the ceiling, giving a panoramic view of the city below. The dark wood floors gave way to muted gray walls. I stared at the two paintings in his living room, knowing Liam didn’t paint them. I doubted he even picked them. They weren’t really his style. Or at least I didn’t think they were.

  He opened the double doors to the master bedroom. Against the ornate king-size bed, the wall was covered with intricate paper. I traced the design. Everything was symmetrical and balanced with smooth lines and dramatic angles.

  “Liam, it’s amazing.”

  “Thanks,” he said, taking off his shirt, “but I can’t take credit. The place was staged, and I purchased it with all the furnishings.”

  “Would you have chosen the design?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “Probably not. I just wanted a nice place to sleep.”

  I was relieved, because this flat didn’t feel like Liam. He liked brighter colors and Moroccan architecture. A niggling worry worked its way forward…maybe I didn’t know Liam as well as I thought.

  “Hungry?” he asked.

  I nodded and yawned at the same time. My inability to sleep during the flight had caught up to me.

  “I’ll order us a pizza. Then we’ll take nice bath and off to bed.”

  I stared out the window, a surge of fear rising through me. He put his arms around me, dissipating some of the fear the same way the snowflakes dissolved when they hit my skin. I leaned against his chest.

  “Mary, I want you to be comfortable here. You tell me what you need. If you want to change anything, you let me know. This is your home, too.”

  His phone rang before I could respond.

  “I’ll be right back.”

  I sat on the edge of the bed to remove my shoes. Pressing my hands into the thick mattress, I noticed a small circular stain on the wallpaper. Disguised well by the intricate design, it was barely discernible. I focused on it, realizing I had found the one thing that wasn’t perfect in Liam’s home.

  Well…maybe there were two
things now.

  Chapter 33

  Mary

  I slept for a few minutes before Liam woke me up.

  What a meanie he was.

  “Morning, love.”

  I rubbed my eyes. Surely, he was joking. “It’s morning? We just fell asleep.”

  He chuckled. “Yeah, about twelve hours ago.”

  “Why didn’t you wake me?”

  “You needed sleep. It’s common to be overtired after you cross over time zones and oceans. You rest. I only woke you to tell you I have to go into the office.”

  I sat up. “Already?”

  “I have a lot of catching up to do. Miss Jenkins can see to you, though. She can fix you whatever you’d like.”

  “Miss Jenkins?”

  “My housekeeper. She comes every day.”

  “Oh.” He had on a dark grey suit with green striped tie that I wanted to strip him of. “Let me get up. I’ll have coffee with you.”

  He stroked my hair. “You rest. I’ll be back around six.”

  He stared at me with such intensity, I shivered. “Why are you looking at me like that?” I smoothed back my hair, hoping it didn’t resemble a hastily built bird’s nest.

  “I love seeing you in my bed, Miss Costa. My bed.” He kissed my forehead. “Our bed.”

  “Me too, Liam.”

  * * * *

  Liam’s shower required a degree in engineering to operate. It had a million settings and just about as many heads. Cold water shot into my side. Then Mozart played, mocking me as I screeched. I pressed a few more digits. One changed the temperature to scalding hot water and another to music. I never managed to get it to the right setting, but I settled on a lukewarm spray accompanied by the same opera Liam was playing the first night we spent together. I let my mind drift back to that night. The taste of Sidr honey and Liam’s mouth. By the time I emerged, my fingers were wrinkled from the water.

  Last night, one of Liam’s staff had laundered and hung all my clothes in the massive closet, which was larger than the suite in Bombay. I put on a cream-colored cotton blouse and a pair of jeans. The material felt thin and vulnerable. Looking through Liam’s side, I found several thick wool sweaters. I wrapped up in one of them, inhaling the clean fresh scent.

  Miss Jenkins was an older lady with a permanently sour expression, as if she’d just swallowed a whole lemon.

  “Hello, I’m Mary.”

  “What will you be having for breakfast, Mary?”

  “Chai and toast, please.”

  “We only have coffee. Mr. Montgomery drinks coffee.” I had known that already. The one British man who didn’t drink tea. “I’ll add it to the list,” she continued.” I only go shopping on Thursdays, so you’ll have to wait. That is, if your still here by then.”

  Ignoring her jab, I smiled brighter. “Thank you. What does Mr. Montgomery usually have for breakfast?”

  “Cold cereal. He’s not much of a breakfast person. I’ll get you a bowl.”

  I didn’t want cold cereal, especially not when it was freezing outside. “It’s okay, Miss Jenkins. I can fix myself something.”

  She shrugged and went back to dusting the chandeliers.

  I opened the cabinets, but Liam didn’t have many choices.

  Miss Jenkins voice traveled to me. “He usually eats out or tells me what he wants. I wasn’t sure when he’d be back. His trip kept getting delayed.”

  “Yes, he fell ill.”

  “What a shame. I had a bad feeling when he left. I told him to get all his shots.”

  I settled on a box of oatmeal. “He did have all his shots. That’s not why he got sick.”

  “Yes, I know. He told me all about it this morning. You can’t trust anyone these days, especially not in a foreign country. No one.”

  I searched for pans. She didn’t offer their whereabouts, and I didn’t really want to ask. “Just so we’re on the same page, miss, he prefers me to cook for his overnight guests.”

  She emphasized the word “guest.” She wanted me to know there were others, and I was in the same league with them. “No worries, Miss Jenkins. I am perfectly capable of fixing my own breakfast.”

  I located a pan and turned on the stove. I threw in a few cups of water. The steam rose faster than I expected. I threw in a packet of oatmeal and found a stirring spoon. I searched the cabinet again for something to flavor it up. I smiled, thinking about the jar of Sidr honey. Of course, we’d used all that up. I couldn’t find anything….no raisins or coconut shavings. Not even any spices. Which was odd since Liam enjoyed spicy food. Or maybe he didn’t.

  “Mr. Montgomery doesn’t care for people rummaging through his house.” Her tone was rife with judgment.

  I could feel her eyes on me, scrutinizing me. The sensation swallowed me up. I ignored her because there was something mean about her. She wanted my response. She wanted to prick at my doubts until they flooded me. I refused to give into her. My thoughts ran so rampant I didn’t notice the smoke thickening around me.

  “What are you doing?” she said, running into the kitchen.

  The oatmeal had turned into a burnt brown mess.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize how quickly it heated up.”

  She switched off the stove and pointed to the pan. “What is this mess?” She wasn’t looking at the pot. She was looking at me.

  I stared at what remained of the stirring spoon. I set it on the stove where it melted. “I’m s-s-sorry,” I stammered.

  The look of revulsion she shot my way made me cower. She threw the ruined spoon into the sink where it clanged loudly. “I’ll make you the oatmeal. After I clean this up, that is.”

  I mumbled about not being hungry and going out. Suddenly, the large expanse between the walls was closing in on me. A desperation to flee pitted into my stomach.

  Grabbing my purse and the coat Liam had gotten me, I headed out. I passed Clawson on the way.

  “Going out, Miss? I’ll call Anderson for you.” He had a deep, gruff voice that seemed at odds with his small frame.

  “Thank you. I’d rather walk, Mr… I’m sorry, I don’t know your surname.”

  He was a short man with tufts of silver hair peeking out beneath his cap. He smiled warmly. “Clawson is my last name. First name’s Bill.” He put his legs together and saluted me. “Bill Clawson at your service.”

  “Mr. Clawson, call me Mary, please.”

  “Only if you call me Bill.”

  “Bill, can you help me with something?”

  “Help a gorgeous woman? That’s my sole purpose in life, ma’am.”

  I might have been uncomfortable if his flirting wasn’t so good-natured. “Is there a place I can get a cup of chai? It’s Indian tea.”

  He chuckled with heartiness. “It’s very popular here, too.” He opened the door for me and walked into the street. I could physically see my own breath. It roared out of me as if I was a dragon. “Straight down this lane and on the left.”

  “Thank you, Bill.”

  “You sure you’ll be all right?”

  “I will be great.” Entire clouds came out of my mouth. I wanted to swallow them back.

  The crowds jostled past me. I picked up my pace, but I wasn’t keeping up. Someone bumped me and then gave me a dirty look as if I was to blame for the incident. I forged straight ahead, pretending none of these things penetrated me. I tried to be as strong as the concrete and brick surrounding me.

  I wasn’t sure if I saw the sign or smelled the hot caffeine first, but I found the shop with no trouble. I crossed the street, following the cues of the crowd as they rushed forth when the signal changed. It was such a small feat, but I looked at it as an accomplishment of sorts. The café was crowded. If a few more people came in, the line would spill out to the street. I was so busy staring at all the brilliant displays with the foiled packages we weaved around, I missed the growing gap between me and the front of the line.

  “Heelllooo
,” an impatient man grumbled.

  I hurried forward. “Chai, please.”

  “Size?” The clerk asked without looking up.

  “The largest one.”

  He told me the price. I raised an eyebrow, wondering if I’d heard him correctly. I could eat, and eat well, for an entire week on the price he quoted.

  He repeated it louder, making it clear I’d heard correctly. I fumbled through my purse, cursing myself. I only had rupees. Why had I not exchanged my money? The clerk drummed his fingers against the counter. I heard the disapproving sighs rise from the line behind me. My fingers wrapped around the thin piece of plastic. I pulled it out with a false sense of triumph.

  “Will you take this? Credit?”

  He didn’t answer, except to give me a frustrated stare. He pointed to a machine instead. When I looked back at him in confusion, he pointed again. “Swipe it.”

  “Swipe?”

  He snatched the card from me and ran it through the tiny gap in the machine. Something chimed.

  “Declined,” he announced, almost gleefully. A chorus of synchronized groans followed.

  “Are you sure?” It was attached to my bank in India. I had over three-hundred thousand rupees, which equated to a few thousand dollars. Liam wanted to take care of me, but I was happy I had some money. My bank was international. I hadn’t thought there would be any problem. I’d used the card once in India, and it worked. A sinking fear gripped me. What if my money had been stolen? I hadn’t changed my address. What if they shut off my account when my mail was returned unopened? I was in a country with no money. What little shreds of independence I had slipped away.

  “Look lady, if you don’t have another way to pay, I need you to move along.”

  “You don’t have to be so rude,” a man said, stepping forward. “Put this on my bill. I’ll also take a café renversé and a beignet.”

  I tilted my head at the man who had stepped forward. He was tall with dark hair and tanned skin. He wore a plaid scarf and smelled expensive.

  “Thank you, but I can’t accept.”

  “Too late,” he said, gliding his card along the gap.

  He gestured me forward to the area where machines sputtered and cups clinked. “I believe this is yours.” He put a circular piece of cardboard around my tall decorative paper cup.