Table of Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
TIME TO SAY GOODBYE
A MICHIGAN SWEET ROMANCE
By: Parker J. Cole
Contents
COPYRIGHT INFORMATION
DEDICATION
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
GLOSSARY
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
WORKS BY PARKER J COLE
COPYRIGHT INFORMATION
Copyright © 2017 Parker J. Cole
Cover Art by Cover Design by James, GoOnWrite.com
All rights reserved.
First Edition: October 2017
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each reader. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the authors.
DEDICATION
To Raylee Hofacer. Without her help, this book would not have been written.
To Elizabeth Chalker. Without her, I would not know what true strength is.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Writing about a culture that’s different from your own can be challenging. Thankfully, I had more than just an online site or Wikipedia to fall back on. I had friends.
Rabiya K. – she’s the first Indian woman I ever met when I was eighteen years old. I hope one day I can meet her again and give her a copy of this book.
Kiran K. – she’s a woman I highly respect. She had insights into Western culture vs Eastern culture that I believe are reflected in this book.
Phillip S. – he was the first Indian I met who was a Christian. He helped me to understand certain aspects of Indian culture as it related to faith and the various belief systems which abound.
Naveen S. – My hubby’s friend. I met him when hubby and I first started dating. He’s a wonderful man who I admire for his business acumen and friendship and is also a character in this book.
Pooja S. – Naveen’s wife. Truly one of the most beautiful women I know. My husband had the honor of participating in her wedding. The memories of that day are immortalized in this book.
Ajit M. – a wonderful photographer whose rather calm demeanor but iron will is captured in the character of his namesake.
Anita Azeem – a very smart woman with two books under her belt, she provided one of the characters for this story. I couldn’t have done it without her.
Nathan K. – he’s been a huge supporter of mine for a long time. As an apologist, he let me pick his brain time and time again.
Swati K. – Nathan’s wife. She spent an unlawful amount of time helping me understand the various names used in this book and some of their meanings. I even changed them because of her advice.
Asha – she gave me insight into the generational differences from her generation to her children’s generation and how it differs.
A special acknowledgement goes to Shruti A., Naveen’s cousin. I ‘met’ her several years ago when Naveen got married. She reached out to me on social media and we’ve been friends ever since. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve sent her major chunks of this book and asked her to look at it. To see if the Hindi word were accurate. If a scene worked, etc. I’m not sure why didn’t run away screaming. And of course, I made her a character in this book.
More acknowledgements go to:
Brandon L.: His help with the physical therapy sessions of this book was all due to his experience.
Elizabeth Chalker – she was the first person to educate me about Lyme disease. I’d read her book, Raw Faith: Hanging on the Scratch Marks My Fingernails Left Behind. It was open heart surgery for the soul. Over time, her strength in the midst of debilitating illness is the stuff of inspiration. Much of the thoughts in this book are from her and her original research into Lyme. I can’t tell you how often I sent portions of this manuscript to her to verify I accurately portray this disease on just the basic level. If you want to know more about Elizabeth and her journey about Lyme disease, please visit her website at www.helpelizabeth.net.
With the help and experiences of so many people, chances are I’m bound to make a mistake. Every single one of them are mine alone.
CHAPTER ONE
The strike of the gavel against the wood block began the nightmare. Every time Gargi entered the prison, the memory of that falling mallet resurfaced with the flare-up of a chronic disease. Three years had passed since then. Four more to go.
Thursday afternoon sunlight warmed her as she walked the short path to the prison entrance. Once indoors, the coolness enveloped her and sent goosebumps along her arms. The officer greeted her as she placed her belongings in the green basket. She passed through the beige-and-brown metal detector and then stood still while a female officer used a flat black wand to swipe over her person.
Gargi subjected herself to the search and gazed over the dingy white cement walls with the iron gray stripe in the center. Paint chips littered the crevices on the floor. A mix of antiseptic cleanser and dankness filled the air. Her nose wrinkled at the combination.
She’d experienced it all before and yet, each time she came she underwent the same procedure all over again.
It won’t always be like this. One day, this will all be over.
The Michigan Court of Appeals received their appeal months ago. Each passing month forced her brother to stay in this forsaken place longer. She only hoped the appeal would work its magic and allow their attorney to argue their case against the state.
Eventually, they’ll prove her brother’s innocence. She knew it.
Body search completed, Gargi followed the officer down the linoleum hallway to the doors separating the free from the convicted. The ID badge given to her by the guard protected her from suspicion of being anything other than a law-abiding citizen. It lay against her chest like a slab of stone.
She had to keep fighting for her brother’s freedom with every breath in her body.
The officer led her to the visitors’ room and over to the wall of segregated partitions; thick panes of glass and a burgundy phone on either side for conversation. Circular, metal stools protruded from under the base of the narrow counter space. The room buzzed with noise as loved ones visited each other, but the depressed air hung above them like a rain cloud.
On the other side of the hazy glass, she saw the guard enter with Dev. The khaki uniform swallowed his lean, muscle-trimmed physique. A memory surfaced of her brother clad in an asphalt gray Nehru suit accentuated by a blood-red handkerchief in the left breast poc
ket.
How debonair he’d looked back then! The color had heightened the dark almond of his skin and played up his luxuriant curly black hair. With a wide grin, he’d shown her the magazine article labeling Devansh Kapoor as one of the top ten sexiest businessmen in Michigan. The article had paid special attention to his eyes. They had made the ladies of high society in Detroit and surrounding suburbs swoon.
They had spent a much-needed evening on the town, away from everything. Cameras and reporters tailed them. Pride over being on her brother’s arm and caught up in his high-profile life left her flushed and excited.
How happy they’d been then.
Gargi turned off the faucet of memories and pasted on a wide smile. One day, they’d do it again.
The instant Gargi sat on the cool metal seat across from her brother, she knew something was wrong.
She lifted the phone off the receiver and placed it to her ear. She tracked Dev’s lethargic movements as he did the same on the other side of the glass pane.
“Dev, what’s wrong?”
A labored breath came through the earpiece. “I’m not any better,” he wheezed. “I’m getting sicker.”
Gargi placed her hand on the narrow window between them. Three years had passed since the last time she’d touched her brother. She longed to give him the comfort of a hug. “I thought the doctor treated you for the flu.”
Dev’s chest heaved under the khaki uniform. “I don’t think this is the flu. I can’t remember the flu feeling like this.”
His skin had a wan, waxy appearance. White lines of stress surrounded his lips. A sprinkle of sweat lined his forehead. The thick lashes, which had once made him a financial heart-throb, lined his dull, listless, chestnut-brown eyes.
What was wrong with him? “Tell me how you’re feeling.”
“I’ve got a headache. I’m hot, tired, and I feel sore all over.” He dropped his head to the table, his unruly black curls matted down by moisture. The guard placed a large hand on Dev’s shoulder and jerked him upright again.
“Can’t you see he’s sick?” Gargi stood and stabbed a finger in the direction of the attendant guard. “He needs to see the doctor immediately.”
The guard said nothing.
She tore her gaze from the disinterested silent man, and sat again. “Dev, listen to me. I’m going to hang up so you can go back and see the doctor. You need to go to a hospital.”
A derisive smile lifted the corners of his strained mouth. “Okay, chhotee bahan. I’ll do that.”
Dev’s skin took on an ashen hue. Was he getting worse by the minute? “I mean it, Dev. Go right now and see the doctor.”
“I will,” he responded. “Maybe they’ll give me another Tylenol.”
“Don’t joke!” Gargi clutched the handset tighter. “I love you.”
Was her brother not receiving proper treatment because he was labeled as a criminal? She bit the inside of her cheek and winced at the resultant sting. Her heart hammered inside her chest and she breathed through her nostrils in an effort to calm down. These people and their lies had done this to him.
She hung up the phone in a slow, deliberate manner and waited for Dev to do the same. He stretched to hang up, when his arm suddenly dropped like a brick. The phone clattered to the surface of the table.
“Dev? Dev!” Gargi leapt up and hit the glass with a balled fist. “What’s wrong?”
Dev’s mouth moved but she couldn’t hear anything. She snatched the phone off the hook. Her voice trembled. “P-pick up the phone. Tell me what’s w-wrong.”
Dev blinked owlishly. Gargi placed her palm on the window again. “Dev, speak to me. What’s going on? Talk to me.”
The guard bent down and said something to her brother. His eyes closed as if in pain, and with his other hand he reached for the phone and lugged it to his ear.
“I can’t feel my right arm. I can’t move it.”
The strength drained out of her hand as it slid down the window, leaving five streaks of residue from the sudden sweat coating her fingers. The flu didn’t cause paralysis. Something else was going on.
Gargi gripped the phone with both hands. “You listen to me, bhaaii. Tell that idiot guard next to you to get the doctor now.”
“They’re not going to so don’t waste your time.” He inhaled a deep breath and opened his eyes. Glassy like polished marbles.
Had his voice weakened?
She swallowed to moisten her parched mouth. Her gut roiled and knotted, eaten from the inside by the gnawing thought her brother’s life was in danger.
“Y-yes, they will. Just give the phone to—”
Dev let out a slight moan and then slumped back. The phone slipped out of his hand and dangled from the metal cord like a condemned man. Gargi screamed as Dev’s eyes rolled into the back of his head. The guard tried to capture his body as he fell backward.
“Dev! What’s going on?” Gargi slammed the glass with the palm of her hand. Her funny bone vibrated achingly along the length of her arm, but she ignored the tingling discomfort as she shouted at the guard. “Get the doctor!”
Two more guards rushed over and hefted Dev’s body up. She could hear their voices as they called his name. Her heart nearly exploded in her chest as she gaped at the unresponsive form of her brother. “Dev!”
Shouldn’t Mama be out of surgery by now?
Leon glanced at the clock. The small hand crawled at a snail’s pace. Two minutes had passed since the last time he checked.
He leapt up from the padded chair and walked over to the window. A brilliant blue sky with puffy white clouds formed the backdrop of a summer day. Manicured trees lined the sidewalk leading to the front entrance of the hospital. Monday’s nice weather crooked its finger to lure him outside. He almost assented to its tease but reluctantly turned away from the sight.
He had no reason to worry about Alma’s surgery. Dr. Munaco had the most skillful hands in the entire state. He just wanted to remain close by in case…
In case what? The belligerent thought paused the downward spiral of doubt. Hip replacement surgeries happened all the time. If a patient kept to the doctor’s instructions, they went on to lead full active lives.
Leon sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. Though he’d assisted patients on the recovery side of the surgery, he hadn’t experienced the pre-operative side where waiting and praying was an occupation in and of itself.
Dear God, let her be okay.
He cracked his knuckles and made the decision to do something more constructive. Like eat a snack. Meandering over to the vending machine around the corner from the waiting room, he ogled the contents and then pouted like a little boy.
“Ah, man. No more barbeque Cheetos.”
The reflection of a uniformed nurse passing by caught his eye. He whirled around. “Excuse me, is there another vending machine?”
She gave directions to a dispenser near the emergency room. The automatic doors swung open as he approached. People dashed in and out. A peep inside showed an assortment of individuals in hospital uniforms, patient gowns, or street clothes. He turned his gaze away from the sight and collided into the petite figure of an Indian woman.
The woman apologized in a distracted, half-hearted way. “Sorry.”
Before he could reciprocate his own apology, the woman rounded him. Her long, wavy black hair swished in a wide arc. She click-clacked through the ever-narrowing space seconds before the metal doors shut.
Leon shrugged and started again for the vending machines. After two steps, he stopped midstride.
“She looks familiar,” he said to no one in particular.
His forehead wrinkled. Did he know her from somewhere? Maybe from work?
No, not from there. And he didn’t know too many Indian people outside of a professional capacity.
Who does she remind me of?
The answer slipped his memory like a floundering fish. Leon mentally shrugged and continued forward, salivating at the thought of biting down i
nto the spicy flavor of a crunchy barbeque Cheeto. Spying the snack, he started to insert the coins when an image of the woman flashed in his mind.
In a blindingly, brilliant moment of crystal clarity and recognition, he knew exactly who the Indian woman was.
Kapoor’s sister!
He recalled the news report on television. It replayed in his head like an old-fashioned news reel from classic movies. She sat behind that dirty, rotten piece of…trash in the court-room. Before and during the trial, the government had frozen all of Kapoor’s assets. Various reports detailed Kapoor’s sister funded her brother’s legal representation.
What is she doing here?
Bitten by the beast of curiosity, Leon pivoted on his feet and headed back to the emergency doors. They opened, and he slipped through. Carefully, he surveyed the area for a head of long, wavy black hair. When he reached the end of the cordoned-off quarters, he rounded the corner.
Halfway down the hall, the click of Kapoor’s sister’s shoes against the tile floor gave away her position. He pursued the sound to a curtained-off section dinned with sounds of frantic voices, beeping machines, and squeaky trolleys.
He almost peeked inside but a doctor appeared from around the corner at the far end of the hall. The doctor strode in his direction at a brisk pace, head bent over a tablet in her hand. Leon gulped, his throat dry. What should he do? If he got caught snooping, he’d get thrown out.
A second later, the doctor entered the partitioned area where Kapoor’s sister had gone.
Leon gulped again and crept closer. What was going on?
A narrow slit in the yellow and orange checked curtains gave access to the inner goings on. A man lay in the hospital bed, bare chested and weak. When Leon’s gaze landed on the man’s face, tension seized his body with a powerful grasp.
Devansh Kapoor, you low-down, worthless scum of the earth!
Time to Say Goodbye (Michigan Sweet Romance) Page 1
