Vegas to Varanasi (Fortytude Series Book 1)

by Hickman, Shelly

  I consider taking them down, but I’ve already gotten a few likes and comments on some of the pictures. I could delete them and repost. Then the notification pops up. David likes the album.

  Ughhhh! Anna, you’re such a jerk!

  I wait a couple more minutes before logging off, hoping he won’t leave a comment. A few others come in, but none from David.

  ***

  I don’t remember what time I fell asleep last night, but I’m quite happy to discover that Kiran chose to sleep with me, instead of in his room. I’m surprised, given that I’m disgustingly sick, but happy nonetheless. I smile when he begins to stir.

  He stretches, then puts his hand to my forehead.

  “Am I hot?” I ask. “I don’t remember feeling feverish.”

  “No, you’re cool.” He moves his hand to my cheek. “You were a little warm last night, though, and you kept tossing and turning, like you were uncomfortable.”

  Now that I think about it, I do remember nausea interrupting my sleep.

  “Are you feeling any better?”

  I look up, taking a moment to decide. “I think so. The cramping and nausea are gone.”

  “Good,” he says as he climbs out of bed, wearing nothing but boxers. “You should still take it easy today. I’ll go get you another antibiotic.”

  I stare at his broad shoulders and nice butt as he leaves for the kitchen.

  I still cannot believe this is my life. I have clearly stepped into some parallel, Harlequin universe. The guy is just too perfect. I mean, I realize most everyone is in the beginning, but Kiran takes perfection to a whole new level. I think I’d actually feel a little better if he popped off about something every once in a while.

  We spend most of the afternoon with Dadi and Nisha, and Dadi seems stronger and a bit more alert today. She asks me all kinds of questions about my impressions of the tour on the Ganges.

  Since this morning, there’s been something different about Kiran, and I can’t quite put my finger on it. It’s almost like he’s agitated. I tell myself it’s probably in my mind, because after all, how do I even know what an agitated Kiran looks like?

  When William returns from work, Nisha makes Tandoori chicken for dinner. I know it’s safe to eat something prepared by her, but I’m afraid some of the spices might upset my recovering stomach, so I decide to eat a bit of rice.

  “I really want to try the chicken. It looks delicious, but I think I better play it safe,” I say as we are all seated at their dining table.

  “I’ll send some of it back with you,” Nisha offers. “Maybe you’ll feel well enough to try it tomorrow.”

  Kiran and William drink several beers over the course of the evening, and Kiran becomes increasingly informal, at least for him. He takes several opportunities to rub my back, my thigh. He’s even pretty touchy feely later with Nisha, coming up behind her and wrapping his arms around her shoulders as she rinses dishes at the sink.

  I smile and raise my eyebrows at her as I help clear the table.

  “Kiran, honey, I believe you’ve had a few too many beers,” Nisha says.

  He laughs and gives her a squeeze. “I’m just happy to see my family.”

  Not that he isn’t allowed to get a little sloshed from time to time like the rest of us, but there’s a hint of unrest in his mannerisms. It seems that whenever I make eye contact with him, he quickly looks away. And that’s not him.

  At the end of the evening, we all exchange hugs good night, and Kiran and I thank Nisha for dinner.

  We don’t say much when we get into the elevator. He leans up against the wall and gives me a quiet smile.

  “That was fun with your family. I had a nice time.”

  “Yes, it was fun.” He nods.

  We enter the apartment and I put the leftover chicken in the refrigerator while Kiran lingers by the front door. “Anna, I need to talk to you about something.”

  A knot forms in my stomach. “I know. I could tell something’s been bothering you all day.”

  He motions toward the living room, asking me to sit, and I’m getting a serious panic attack, wondering what this is about. We sit side by side on the sofa, and he leans back and swipes his hands over his face, clearly apprehensive about whatever he’s about to say.

  “What’s wrong?” Are we breaking up already?

  He still won’t look at me as he shakes his head. “I fucked up.”

  I do a double-take. “Okay, you’re really starting to freak me out. I know you’ve had a few drinks, but you don’t drop the F-bomb. I do.”

  That doesn’t get a laugh, or even a smile. Nothing. He props his elbow on the arm of the sofa and leans his head on his hand.

  I rub his leg. “C’mon. Just tell me.”

  Finally, he looks at me, his eyes troubled. “Last night, while you were sleeping, your phone alerted a new message.”

  I squish my eyebrows together. “Okay...” I’m trying to figure out where he’s going with this, and suddenly I get this awful fear that something is wrong with one of the kids, and he never told me. “Are Carly and Hayden okay?”

  Confusion blankets his face before he responds. “Oh, no! I mean, yes. I didn’t mean to scare you like that.”

  I breathe a sigh of relief.

  He’s even more distraught and buries his face in his hands. “The message was from David. I read your message from David.”

  Now I’m the one that’s confused. Confused by his distress. Confused about this message. “I never saw a new message.”

  “That’s right. Because I already read it!”

  I’ll admit, I’m surprised he read my text, but I’m trying to sort out why he’s so upset. “Do I still have it? What did it say?” I walk to the kitchen bar to get my phone and then come back.

  I’ve already navigated to the message by the time I sit down.

  When this thing ends with Mr. GQ, and it will, I’ll be waiting.

  With my phone still in my hand, I look up at him. “This is what’s got you so worked up? Kiran, you said yourself, he doesn’t know what he wants. Even if he did, I don’t love him anymore, at least, not in the way you’re thinking.”

  He stands up and begins to pace. “You shouldn’t even be explaining any of this to me. I tell you I’m a grown man, and then turn around and act like an adolescent by invading your privacy, reading your messages.” He stops moving about, crosses his arms, and exhales. “Even though you told me he’s been texting you, when I saw it was from him, I just...”

  “Just what?”

  His eyes meet mine. “I was trying to prepare myself.”

  My God. I just feel sick. What can I even do or say that will penetrate the years of hurt and disappointment this guy has endured? Nothing. So what do I do? Nothing. Except gaze back at him and hope that my feelings show on my face.

  “So...” His pacing resumes. “I understand you’ll want to call it quits. I’ve betrayed your trust.”

  “What?” I push myself up from the sofa. “You thought this was going to be a deal breaker? So, it wasn’t what he said, but the fact that you read it, that’s upsetting you?”

  He briefly looks at me before lowering his eyes. “It was a combination of both.”

  “Holy crap! My kids look at my texts all the time without permission,” I say and raise my arms. “I mean, am I surprised that you felt the need to do that? Yeah. But I don’t give a shit.”

  I place my palm on my chest and continue in a softer tone. “I don’t have anything to hide. I’m not keeping anything from you. It just makes me really sad that you thought because you read one of my texts in a moment of doubt, that I’d be done.”

  He stands in place, his arms still folded over his chest. “The last thing you need or want is some possessive man who invades your privacy.”

  “You’re right.” I slowly walk toward him. “I don’t want that. But that’s not who you are. You’re not possessive. You’ve just been kicked around a few times, and you’re trying to brace yourself for the
next ten car pileup.”

  His eyes moist, he blinks, looking past me. He still hasn’t moved, his crossed arms keeping him closed off.

  “I’m actually a little relieved.” I hook my fingers in his jeans pockets. “I was starting to worry you were perfect, and I don’t need you to be perfect. I’m sure as hell not.”

  He breathes in deep through his nose and swallows hard. Finally, he meets my gaze.

  “C’mon,” I say. “Are we okay?”

  He continues to stare at me, worry in his eyes. How can someone who so easily sees worth in me, someone he’s known for such a short time, not see any in himself? I guess this is where that repair work comes in.

  “God, Anna,” he sighs. “I just don’t want you to think you’ve replaced one screwed up guy for another. I am jaded. You know this ‘together’ persona of mine, it’s all an act, right?”

  “Um... yeah,” I answer in a humorous tone. “I didn’t just fall off the turnip truck.”

  His lips finally curve into a smile as he cups my face in his hands. “You make me laugh.” He pauses, and tenderly brushes his mouth against mine. Then he looks at me as if he wants to say more.

  “What?”

  “David will hurt you again,” he says soberly. “I won’t.”

  Ah, he’s such an optimist. Kiran, of all people, should know that hurt is inevitable when you love. Luke hurt me like no other, when I know he would have given anything to prevent it.

  But now’s not the time for that discussion.

  Twenty-Seven

  It’s our last night in Varanasi, and we finally make it to the Aarti, or fire ceremony, on the Ganges. After having dinner and a few glasses of wine at a nearby hotel, Kiran and I sit on one of the planks set up to view the performance, where platforms have been erected for its participants. There’s a festive energy as spectators of all ages take their seats around us. Looking beyond to the Ganges, many are seated in boats to watch from the water.

  Bright lights shine above, attracting all manner of insects that flutter in front of us from time to time. I must look like a crazy person as I swipe at them. Kiran laughs at me when one of them hits my eye, and I make a sound reminiscent of the Three Stooges.

  “I wish I had some repellent!” I take the scarf out of my bag and wrap it around my head, letting it hang low over my brow.

  The temperature is still in the nineties, making the air heavy, but an occasional breeze comes off the water, carrying with it the smell of incense. Apparently, this is not a ceremony in which we are required to remain silent, because everyone continues their chatter as the five young men dressed in bright orange blow into conch shells for the commencement.

  Each of them chimes a hand-held bell as they gracefully offer incense to Ganga Ma. Their hand movements are very much like that of a belly dancer as exotic eastern music, with drums beating rhythmically, accompanies the exhibition. A little girl of about five years old with short bobbed hair dances in front of us, spinning joyfully.

  Kiran looks at her, then smiles and takes my hand, and suddenly I want to capture every detail of this evening in my memory. From the corner of my eye, I watch him as he takes in the events before us. I miss Carly and Hayden so much it hurts, but I don’t want to leave this place. I feel like I could stay here with him forever, squat toilets and all; the magic I’ve experienced will never be matched in this lifetime. Just send me my kids, and I’ll be good.

  My gaze wanders to Kiran’s thick, wavy hair that reaches the base of his neck. His dark skin, his exquisite, sensitive eyes. I recall how he let me use his lap as a pillow in the airport. The hilarious video he shared with me to relieve my anxiety about the bathrooms. The way he took care of me while I was sick. I love this man. I love him.

  What? That was clearly the wine talking.

  I dart my eyes back to the performance, where the young men are slowly waving candelabras that resemble miniature Christmas trees. The enchanting, mysterious music, the devotion in the offering, the glow of lights reflecting on the water, all stir something in me, and I mourn my return to the States.

  “Everything okay?” Kiran asks, adjusting my scarf. “Are the bugs leaving you alone?”

  “Mmm hmm.”

  His eyes linger on mine, and there is such genuine warmth in everything about him, I almost want to cry.

  Get a grip, Anna. You’ve had one too many.

  ***

  Later that night, we share a bottle of wine in front of the TV. “I wish we could stay another week,” I say. “I hate that we lost a day and a half to Delhi Belly.”

  “Me, too. But it could have been worse.” His eyes are red, and like me, I believe he’s pretty toasted. He takes the glass of wine from my hand and sets it on the coffee table. Without warning, he’s on top of me, kissing me passionately. Our hands are all over each other.

  He stops to look at me and brushes his thumb over my lips. “I’m drunk,” he says with a smile.

  “I know. So am I.”

  His expression sobers. “I’m afraid I’m going to say something I’ll regret.”

  “A life without regrets isn’t worth living,” I tease.

  He nods, still serious. “Actually, regret isn’t the right word. So you’ll forgive my diarrhea of the mouth?”

  I can’t help but laugh. “You really are drunk, aren’t you?”

  “I said that, didn’t I?”

  “You’re pretty entertaining when you’re lit.” I run my fingers through his hair. “Go ahead. Unleash.”

  “I’m completely in love with you, but I’m sure you already know that.” He presses his forehead to mine and groans. “Please don’t run now that I’ve said it.”

  “Run? Are you mad?” I give him a deep, lingering kiss before I go on. “During the ceremony tonight, that just popped right into my head. I love you. Jesus, how I love you!” Funny how alcohol can result in the most cornball conversations ever, but that’s okay. I hold his face and look into his eyes. “But we have to remember where we are. We’re in a ridiculously romantic place, closed off from our regular lives. Maybe you’ll feel differently when we get home.”

  I can’t just leave it alone and go with it. Anna, you’re such a buzz kill!

  He shakes his head vehemently. “I’ve loved you since I was seventeen. Is that crazy?” He buries his face in my neck, his lips moving along my skin. “I don’t care if it’s crazy.”

  Oh, it’s crazy alright. But do I care? Um... hell no!

  “If you don’t feel the same once we get back, it’s okay,” he says. “You’re here with me now.”

  I will feel the same once we get back, it’s just that I have a feeling my troubled ex won’t make things so easy.

  Twenty-Eight

  Two days of travel later, I’m back in my very own kitchen, eating Chinese takeout with Hayden and Carly. I am in a little bit of a funk because my time in Varanasi is behind me, but seeing the kids definitely makes up for it.

  “So what was it like?” Carly asks as she scoops Kung Pao chicken onto her plate. “Was it amazing?”

  “Ah,” I sigh. “I’ve got so many pictures to show you guys. The ones I put on Facebook are only about a third of what I have.”

  I tell them all about the things we did and saw, about me getting sick, meeting Kiran’s family.

  “Are you gonna eat that egg roll?” Hayden asks Carly. She shakes her head, and he plucks it from the styrofoam carton. “So are you guys officially an item now?”

  I grin and ready myself for a bite of chow mein. “I think we are.” I intend to talk to Carly alone to find out exactly what’s been going on with David, but it can wait until later. I’m not sure she’ll want to open up if it’s the three of us.

  “Tell her about the dude you met,” Hayden says to Carly.

  “You met someone?”

  She shrugs as if it’s not a big deal, but can’t conceal the flush in her cheeks. “We just went out once.”

  Carly doesn’t date much, because as I’ve said, she’s ext
remely picky, so I’m definitely intrigued.

  “He’s a musician.” Hayden arches his eyebrows.

  Oh. A musician. Carly must have seen the change in my expression.

  “He’s not a musician like you’re thinking, Mom. He’s not in a band. He’s in the symphony. Plays the violin.”

  Hayden groans and shakes his head. “Better than the flute, I guess.”

  She gives him a dirty look. “You’d think, studying a creative field yourself, you’d be a little more approving.”

  “Yeah, maybe if he played the guitar or the drums. The piano, even.” He pops a wonton into his mouth, and then proceeds with his mouth full. “Sorry, but the violin’s a little fruity.”

  Ignoring his remark, she looks at me. “Anyway, he’s nice. His name is Jason and we went to the movies the other night.”

  “That’s great! Will there be a second date?”

  “He invited me to a symphony performance he’s in this weekend.”

  I admit, I’m still not thrilled. I’m a practical parent who thinks young people should study something likely to pay the bills, and pursue their artistic talents on their own time. Not that you can’t choose something that still provides some satisfaction, but it’s hard enough to make it these days with a sensible choice.

  I’m excited for Carly that she met someone she likes. We’ll see how long it lasts.

  Later on, after dinner, I ask Carly to come back to my bedroom with me so we can catch up some more. I climb onto my bed and pat the spot next to me. She plops down and props her head on her hand. “Let me guess. David?”

  “Of course. After what Hayden said, you had to expect I would wanna know how things went the rest of the time I was away.”

  “He’s... not contacted me anymore.” She faces me, but her gaze wanders.

  I sit up and cross my legs. “There’s something you’re not saying. Spill it.”

  She grimaces and takes a deep breath. “Okay. There was one kind of weird incident after we talked to you that time, but I didn’t mention it to Hayden. I didn’t want him to go blabbing it to you and ruin your trip.”