Kat thinks about that for a minute. “Like cooking jollof rice and groundnut stew for taxi drivers? Or taking in a stranger from California?”
“Yes, like that.”
“But … didn’t you get angry when you lost them? At the murderers, I mean? Aren’t you still angry?”
Grandma Vee releases Kat’s hand. “Angry? Oh, yes, I was furious. But anger isn’t wrong, child. It’s where it takes you that matters. It can lead you back to fight an old enemy, again and again. Or it can move you forward to love a new neighbor. I’m not saying I always choose the second, but I try.”
Kat thinks of the Canary in that film PG showed them. Maybe that’s why she feels so drawn to that girl in yellow. Could Golden-Ruling—“Love your neighbor as yourself”—also mean “fight for your neighbor as you’d fight for yourself”?
Maybe that, too, can bring peace.
ROBIN
INT./EXT. LOGAN AIRPORT—DAY—TRAVELING
Robin’s parents are driving him to Logan. The Corvette only seats two, so they’re in Mom’s car.
They don’t talk much, but as they go through the second tunnel, Mom pulls out a tissue and starts dabbing at her eyes.
Robin stifles a groan. He doesn’t want an emotional goodbye. Going back to Kolkata feels intense enough. “Mom! Please. I’ll be fine.”
“I know, but I’ll miss you, Robin,” she says. “It feels like yesterday that we brought you home.”
“Best thing we ever did, right, Marjorie?”
Great, Robin thinks. Now his father’s voice is shaky.
Robin’s mother takes a big breath. “If you find her, Robin, give her our love. We owe her so much.”
Robin reaches forward to put his hands on each of their shoulders, and immediately Dad’s right and Mom’s left hands grab his. “I’m coming back, you know,” he says as Dad takes the exit to the airport. “It’s only ten weeks.”
More tears from Mom. “But you won’t be the same.”
* * *
Everybody’s clustered near the ticket counter, looking sleepy because it’s so early. Martin and Ash hand Kat, PG, Robin, and Gracie each a travel goodie bag stuffed with granola bars, chocolate, and mints. All of Gracie’s sisters are there, and the two littlest ones are clutching her legs and bawling. Ms. Vee distracts them by taking Robin’s arm for balance and giving them her walker to push around.
PG calls them together to pray. After a loud, shared “AMEN,” Robin plants a big kiss on his mother’s cheek, and then one on his father’s.
Dad hands him a wad of cash. “Just in case. Text when you land, okay?”
“We won’t have access to our phones, remember?”
“At least text us once before you hand it over,” Mom says.
Ms. Vee is draping a long, red scarf around Kat’s neck. It’s the first time Robin has seen Kat in any color other than black, and for a second he thinks she might yank it off. But she doesn’t.
“Teddy gave it to me,” he overhears Ms. Vee telling Kat. Who’s Teddy? Robin wonders.
Kat pulls her adopted grandmother close. “I love it.”
“See you people in the fall,” Ash says, trying to sound tough, but Robin can see that she’s getting teary, too. Great. This is turning into one enormous sob session.
He figures Gracie’s about to try and comfort Ash when, to his shock, Kat beats her to it. “Stay true to you on those college visits,” she says, pulling Ash into a hug.
“Thanks, Kat,” Ash says. She hugs Robin and Gracie.
“Have fun in New York, Martin,” Gracie says. “We’re going to miss you so much.”
Robin can’t believe Martin won’t be around in the fall. The two of them have seen each other almost every day for fifteen years. He hasn’t heard a word from Brian, and it still stings. Maybe all goodbyes are harder when you can’t remember the first, most devastating one.
Martin hugs Gracie and PG, and then Robin. “I’ll still be here when you get back. Go be a superhero, Boy Wonder. And you, too, Kat Girl.” He throws his arms open in Kat’s direction with a big smile. There’s a too-long pause as he waits.
Kat does return his smile. “Have fun in New York, Martin,” she says, but she isn’t moving forward.
“Hug?” Martin invites her, not giving up.
“You bet! I’ll be missing you in the choir, beautiful boy.” And with that, Ms. Vee hurtles forward. Long dress, embroidered carpet slippers and all, she launches herself into Martin’s open arms.
“I’m not leaving for Brown till September,” says Martin, enfolding Ms. Vee into a bear hug. “But I’ll take extra love from you anytime. See, Robin—told you I was her favorite.”
The four travelers finally manage to peel away. Gracie turns at the security entrance to blow kisses to her parents and sisters. Ms. Vee flashes a two-fingered peace sign, and Kat returns it. Robin’s parents lean into each other as they wave at him. He waves back. He loves them. Nothing’s going to change that.
“Canary, here I come,” mutters Kat as she loads her bag onto the security conveyer belt.
Robin has no idea what she’s talking about, and he doesn’t ask. Instead, he takes a deep breath and walks through the X-ray machine. Forward me back to you, he thinks.
PART TWO
KOLKATA
RAVI
EXT. KOLKATA AIRPORT—DAY—TRAVELING
Robin can’t remember the last time he was outside Netaji Subhas Chandra Bose International Airport, but as they exit the terminal, déjà vu grabs hold and won’t let go.
It isn’t that he knows where to go or what to do as the four of them pass through immigration, change money, and gather on the sidewalk. It’s something about the smell and feel of the hot, humid air, and the language being spoken around them. In Dubai Airport, where they changed planes, he hadn’t understood the Arabic, and he can’t understand a word of Bangla now, but the cadence and melody of the language being spoken here are weirdly familiar to his ears. Is he making this up? Or did the three-year-old version of Robin store sensory details deep inside his brain, banking on a return visit?
“How are you doing?” Gracie asks, studying his face.
“Okay.” But that’s an understatement. He feels like he’s in a NASCAR race; his head’s spinning with adrenaline as he tries to register everything he’s seeing, feeling, hearing. He can’t stand still. Sweat trickles down his spine but he barely notices as he paces back and forth along the sidewalk.
Meanwhile, Kat, PG, and Gracie wait in the shade with the luggage. PG pulls out a handkerchief and wipes his forehead and Gracie is fanning herself with her passport as she watches Robin do his laps. Kat looks the same as she did when she first arrived in Boston—cool, tough, reserved.
“We lost a whole day,” Gracie says. “It’s Monday, right?”
“Right,” says PG. “Monday afternoon rush hour. Terrible time to land.”
Cars, mostly Japanese-made, and yellow cabs are stopping to pick up passengers. PG peers into each one, looking for his friend Arjun.
“Indians drive on the other side of the road,” Gracie notes.
“And the driver’s on the other side, too,” PG adds. “Just like in England, thanks to colonialism.”
A small, sporty white Maruti pulls to a stop. They don’t sell that model in the States, but Robin’s guess is that it has a six-speed manual transmission and a diesel engine.
“Arjun!” shouts PG. He bounds to the curb to greet his friend.
A man in jeans and a Red Sox T-shirt jumps out of the Maruti. “Gregory!”
They embrace.
“Sorry I’m a bit late,” Arjun says. “Terrible traffic. But it’s wonderful to see you again, my friend!”
His t’s sound different to Robin—the tip of his tongue taps against the roof of his mouth with each one—but his English is perfect.
“I was so delighted to get your invitation, Arjun.”
“The delight is mine, now that I see you again after so many years. But where’s your team?�
�
“Here they are,” PG says. “Let me introduce you. This is Gracie.”
She gives Arjun a traditional greeting, just as they practiced in small group—palms together in front of her face, a bit of a head dip. “Namaste,” she says.
Arjun beams and returns the gesture. “Welcome, welcome. We say ‘Naw-mosh-kar’ here in Bengal, but namaste is fine, too.”
“This is Kat,” says PG.
No namaste there. Not even a smile. The return of Nefertiti, Robin thinks.
“Welcome, Kat,” says Arjun. “Cat, like the animal?”
“No,” she answers. “With a K, not a C.”
Thankfully, Arjun doesn’t seem to mind the terse answer. He looks back and forth between Gracie and Kat. “I didn’t expect you to bring such Indian-looking young women with you, Gregory. That will be a big help as these girls come and go, especially at Asha House. They might not attract as much attention as other foreign visitors we’ve had in the past. But who is this?”
“This is Robin,” says PG.
Arjun’s face explodes into a huge smile. “Ah, our Bengali boy! You’re home at last!”
Striding forward, he throws his arms around Robin. For a moment, it feels to Robin like the entire country of India is welcoming him back.
“But what kind of Bengali name is Robin?” Arjun asks, releasing Robin and looking closely at his face. “May we call you Ravi while you’re here?”
Ravi! His original name, at least in the orphanage. Of all the names this man could offer him! Ravi Thornton. He likes the one-of-a-kind sound of that. A lot. “That’s okay with me.”
“Really?” PG asks. “A new name? Won’t that get confusing? He’s ‘Robin’ in all the paperwork I sent you.”
“Not at all. We Bengalis love nicknames. We each have at least twenty.”
“And the three of them should address you as ‘Arjun Uncle,’” says PG. “Right?”
“That’s easy for me,” Gracie whispers to Ravi. “I have to call all adults ‘tío’ and ‘tía,’ even if I can’t stand them.”
“Arjun Uncle at your service,” Arjun says. “Throw your bags in the boot and pile in. Mira Auntie and the boys are waiting.”
Inside, the Maruti is … cozy. PG settles in the front seat, and the three others wedge themselves into the back.
Gracie has to perch one bottom cheek on Ravi’s knee and the other on Kat’s. “It’s good to be short sometimes,” she says. But even so, she has to duck her head so it doesn’t bang against the roof of the car.
Ravi hardly notices how compressed they are. As long as he can be near a window and keep taking it in. He’s never seen so much uninterrupted brown skin at the same time, for so long. It’s like the desi table at school gone viral. But at Metrowest High, most of the American-born Indian dudes were bigger and taller than him; here, he might actually be “normal”-sized. Five-foot-seven, one-hundred-thirty-pound Ravi look-alikes are everywhere, walking, shopping, pulling rickshaws, riding motorcycles. He can’t wait to walk the streets himself and blend in.
Arjun drives like he’s playing a video game, veering around cars, cabs, and black-and-yellow three-wheeled motorized vehicles. Ravi can see PG clutching the door handle. He’s heard the term white-knuckling, but now PG’s hand gives him the pictorial.
“The Bible college is only about an hour from your flat, right?” PG asks, and Ravi can tell he’s trying his best to sound calm. “When do I start teaching?”
The Maruti stops at a red light. “Tomorrow, if you can, after a quick tour of the office. Greek in the mornings; Hebrew in the afternoons. The faculty quarters are comfortable, but you’re welcome to return to our flat on the weekends. That’s where the three in the back will be staying.”
“What?” PG asks. “There’s no need for that, Arjun. Their parents signed consent forms for your vetted host families. Our church raised the money for room and board. It wasn’t a very large amount, I have to say. Hope it covers the expense.”
“You’re not visitors. You’re family. Don’t worry, we are on the ‘vetted for visitors’ list, too. But we won’t accept your money. I stayed in your Hamilton flat rent-free for an entire year, remember?”
PG shakes his head. “You didn’t bring along three teenagers with big appetites. We came to serve and learn, not make more work for you. Or for Mira.”
The light turns green. Arjun presses his horn, making the few pedestrians in a crosswalk scatter like leaves in front of a power blower. “Mira is delighted to host them. And our twins are so excited they didn’t sleep a wink last night. The only problem is that our flat has just one bathroom. I know that’s not normal for most Americans, but do you three think you can survive it?”
One bathroom. Seven people. Eight on the weekends. Ravi pictures his private en suite at home, with jetted bathtub, heated tiles, and option for steam in the shower. So privileged. So American. “We’ll be fine,” he says.
“I’m used to sharing,” Gracie says. “We have two bathrooms in our house—one for our parents, one for the five of us. Six, pretty soon.”
Kat doesn’t say anything. Her profile’s turned away, and Ravi can’t see her expression. Is Nefertiti going to dominate again, squelching Kat-the-Dimple for the entire summer? He hopes not.
Arjun slams on the brakes and Gracie’s shoulder bangs into Ravi’s head. “Sorry,” she says.
But Ravi hardly notices the collision inside the car. He’s gone back to watching the movement, noise, color, and chaos outside. Most of the bigger vehicles are inching along now, and the Maruti’s stuck behind them. How fun would it be to own a motorcycle here? he thinks, watching a Honda Twister scoot easily between two trucks.
“Too many ride-hailing apps from your country are employing our auto-rickshaws these days,” Arjun says, scowling as he tails one of the motorized three-wheelers.
“I hear everything’s about apps here,” says PG.
“For better or worse,” says Arjun. “Traffickers are using smartphones to arrange transactions in hotels and guesthouses. They even use social media to smuggle girls and children from outlying villages into Kolkata. But we use smartphones, too—to coordinate rescues and inform the police.”
“When do we meet the Asha House girls, Arjun Uncle?” Gracie asks, and Kat tips her head away from the window as if she wants to hear the answer.
“Tomorrow afternoon. Bangla lessons four mornings a week for all three of you—Monday through Thursday—but you’ll have Fridays and Saturdays for free time. In the afternoons, the girls will serve at Asha House. Ravi can’t join you, of course, because no men are allowed in that particular facility. It’s where our most traumatized girls are housed.”
“What do you have planned for me then?” Ravi’s been so focused on his search, he hasn’t thought much about what he might do here as his “act of service.” “Isn’t there a shelter for boys, too?”
Arjun figure-eights his head. Does that mean no or yes? Ravi wonders. He’s going to have to learn the language and the nonverbals. “That’s where Mira Auntie works,” Arjun says. “But we don’t let men in that house, either.”
Guess it meant yes and no. Ravi notices Kat taking a long look at their driver for the first time since she got in the car. But then she turns back to the view outside.
“We could use some help in the office, Ravi,” Arjun continues. “Data entry, mostly. We’re inputting details from court records to profile the traffickers. We also track police investigations and any sentences handed down. In fact, thanks to our data, our local anti-trafficking unit recently won some national funding.”
Ravi feels a bit of his excitement shift, even though he’d signed a contract to do any task required. Data entry? He came all the way back to Kolkata to do data entry? Guess it doesn’t matter. Once my search starts picking up, I won’t have much time for office work. “When can I visit the orphanage?” he asks.
Arjun looks at him in the rearview mirror. “I called and made an appointment for Thursday morning. Y
ou’ll have to skip your Bangla lesson that day, but I know how important this is.”
“Thanks. It is.” Three days, Ravi thinks. It’s longer than he wants to wait. “I couldn’t go sooner?”
“Mrs. Banerjee, the director, is just returning from her holiday. She’s the person you’ll need to see to get any information, and Thursday morning is her first open appointment.”
Ravi’s quiet. Thursday morning. He’ll be opening his file on Thursday morning.
Again, Arjun glances at him. “I am also thinking that I might introduce you to Sergeant Shen, one of the finest officers in our police department.”
“You’re not going to let Robin try any risky undercover rescue work, are you?” PG asks. “I’m really not comfortable with that idea.”
“No, he won’t be able to do a rescue,” Arjun says. “Takes at least a year of specialized training. And it’s certainly not work we want foreigners to do.”
Foreigners? You just said I was a Bengali.
“See, Robin?” PG says, as if Robin was the one who asked to do a rescue.
“Can you try calling me Ravi, PG? It’s pronounced Rah-vee. Actually it’s my real name. The one I had in the orphanage.”
Gracie twists her head at an awkward angle so she can see Ravi’s face. “It is? You never told us that.”
“My parents started calling me Robin to make it easier for Americans.”
“See? Ravi isn’t really a foreigner, Arjun Uncle,” Gracie says.
Always standing up for me, Ravi thinks. And reading my mind, too.
“True, but he is an American,” Arjun answers. “That’s why this idea came to my mind. But let me clear it with Shen first. I shall let you know tomorrow, Ravi.”
KAT
Kat texts her mom one word—Landed.
She doesn’t want to call yet, like the other two did in the airport. Hearing Mom’s voice might make her start crying in front of everybody.
Forward Me Back to You Page 11
