Time to Say Goodbye (Michigan Sweet Romance) Page 7

  “Look,” he sighed, and his chest caved in. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to insult. Despite what you think, in a way, it’s a weird sort of…compliment.” His hand waved about as if that could explain it.

  Gargi arched a single eyebrow, but it was Kapoor who asked, “How is that a compliment?”

  How could he explain something he barely understood himself?

  Squatted next to her brother by his wheelchair, Gargi reminded Leon of Bugsy more in that instant than at any other time in the past week. Petite, brown, and with wide, bright eyes. Face lifted toward her brother, her long hair draped over her shoulders like a coat of fur.

  The moment she strolled into the room, the hairs along his arms stood up in attention. Everything about her drew his notice. The graceful gait of her narrow, curvy hips. Her unique fragrance. That smooth chocolate malt skin with its luminous sheen.

  His awareness of her baffled him. It wasn’t as if she was one of his favorite people. That would be like naming her brother his best friend. He’d rather be in hell with a broken back than call Kapoor a ‘friend.’

  Perhaps it was the loyalty that made her and Bugsy occupy the same place in his head. Once, early on in Bugsy’s first week of getting acclimated to their family, the dog snarled and bit him with tiny, razor-sharp teeth reserved for animals in the uncultivated wilds of the jungle. It had hurt like the dickens and he’d been hard-pressed to stay his foot from kicking the dog into the afterlife.

  Hadn’t Gargi gotten defensive the same way a week ago?

  Whenever Bugsy munched on a dog biscuit, he did so with small, tidy pecks. When Gargi sucked on her hurt finger, it brought Bugsy’s mannerisms to mind.

  How was he going to get out of this mess? In different circumstances, he could have laughed off his faux pas with a self-deprecating joke and ended it. Not this time.

  Yet, for all the semblance in idiosyncrasies, Gargi looked nothing like Bugsy. She looked like a goddess of wrath. Except for the glint in her eyes, nothing about her now even remotely brought Bugsy to mind.

  Goddess? Where had a word like that come from?

  Leon coughed, and invisible flames scorched his cheeks. “Bugsy was a small dog, but he had a lot of heart. Kinda like your sister.”

  The siblings exchanged a look between them. “Do tell,” Dev invited.

  He rubbed his neck. “Bugsy didn’t like anyone but my mom. Territorial with a big ‘T.’ He guarded her better than a Rottweiler, although he could only yap a person to death.” He nodded toward Gargi. “When I first came here, your sister jumped me.”

  Dev’s eyes widened. “What?”

  Gargi’s arms flailed in the air. “Oh, please! Like I hurt you. It was like crashing into a brick wall!”

  A note of laughter entered his voice. “I didn’t say it hurt.” Then the humor vanished. “If our situations were reversed, and I tried to hurt you as soon as you opened the door, you wouldn’t like it, would you? Nor would you dismiss it so readily.”

  Gargi looked away.

  “All I’m saying is Bugsy did the same thing to me. He bit me. He was a tenacious thing…kind of like you.”

  “Why did you jump Leon?”

  Gargi stiffened at Dev’s question. Leon stuffed his hands into his pockets and waited to see what she would say. He hadn’t revealed anything in an attempt to stay as objective as possible in regard to Kapoor’s treatment. Or maybe there was more to his hesitancy about divulging their connection. He shifted his feet at the uneasy thought.

  She let out a forced laugh. “Does it matter? He came back unscathed, and that’s that. It still doesn’t give him leave to be disrespectful.”

  Their gazes crashed into each other. Tension arced like a streak of lightning. It clamped down on his lungs. What was it from? The longer she stared his breathing labored further. What was the matter with him? After all, this was the sister of the man who ripped off his mother. How could he forget something as important as that?

  A sudden memory of another pair of brown eyes came to his mind. A tall woman with skin as dark as coal stood before him. Her image had faded over the years, but he still recalled the long, thick dreadlocks with the decorative beads rattling as she moved. Her bright, entrancing smile held him enslaved.

  “Just because you were raised a certain way doesn’t mean you have to stay that way. Family is family. You can’t do a thing about it. However, at the end of the day, you’re your own person, Leon.”

  Those words from four years ago sent a shaming flush through him. He knew better than most not to stamp guilt on a person simply by association. Kapoor’s guilt was not his sister’s.

  The tips of his ears heated. He withdrew from the magnetic allure of Gargi’s dark chocolate gaze. “You’re absolutely right. I’d never be disrespectful to a woman. My mama taught me better than that. I’m sorry.”

  He cleared his throat. “Now, I’ll be back on Monday to start over again. In the meantime, here’s a list of exercises for you to do with your brother.” He extracted the paper from the folder and ambled over to Gargi. “You should do about three sets of repetitions each day for about an hour.”

  She took the sheet and bent her head over it. The afternoon sunlight traced amber-hued strands intermixed with the inky darkness of her hair. It created an arresting contrast.

  “Is there anything else you need from me?”

  Gargi shook her head, not looking up.

  So, it was going to be like that, huh? She was still upset over his slip of the tongue. Well, he’d already apologized and tried to explain himself. There wasn’t anything else he could do. If she wanted to go and have a snit, he’d let her.

  “Okay, I’ll see you on Monday.”

  He exited the house without a backward glance, but couldn’t curb the feeling he’d left something behind. Maybe when he returned on Monday, he’d find it again.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “I’m making kachori for breakfast, bhaii.”

  “Fine. Whatever.”

  Gargi stood in the doorway of her brother’s room and sighed. Ever since Thursday evening, he’d been in a surly mood. He snapped at her for no apparent reason, and then complained about everything. When she probed with gentle questions to see what bothered him, he refused to answer. It had taken the patience of a saint to get him to do the exercises Leon had left with them.

  Through the entire weekend, she’d tried to be an understanding sister. The one who sympathized with her brother’s hardships and limitations.

  Today, though, his attitude began to wear on her nerves.

  “Look, Dev, do you want kachori or not? Would you like something else maybe?”

  “Just cook whatever, Gargi. You’ll have to feed it to me anyway. Just like you had to wash me and get me dressed today.”

  She dragged her hands through her hair. “Dev, please. Let’s not do this again. You’ve been like this all weekend. If you think I’m going to let you ruin my Sunday, you’re mistaken.”

  He inclined his head in her direction. “What? You and God got some business to attend to?”

  The caustic tone made her frown. “Haan, we do. I know it hasn’t been easy, Dev—”

  He let loose a harsh sound. “You think, chhotee bahan?”

  “But today is Sunday. I’m going to turn on the TV and watch a church service, read my Bible, and do some devotional time. You’re more than welcome to join me.”

  “After all this, you really think I want to sit there and read the Bible about a God who did this to me?”

  Gargi closed her eyes. Even in prison, Dev had clung to his faith. Now, it seemed this disease had robbed him of that.

  What was she supposed to say? After all, his words mirrored her thoughts. Like the situation with her mother’s death and the decision to keep silent about it, she didn’t mention anything about her consternation with God. It didn’t seem right to get mad at the Creator of everything.

  And yet, despite her claim on worship, a slow burn of…something…rested in t
he center of her chest. She stared at the back of her brother as he fixed his gaze on the bay; that question of why bad things happened to very good people nudged her mind again.

  She turned away. “I’ll bring breakfast once I’m done, Dev.”

  Leaving the door ajar so she could hear in case he called, she went to the kitchen. She placed the deep-fryer on the stove, poured oil into it, and set it on low heat. Breakfast would take about forty minutes to an hour to make, but she didn’t mind the time. Maybe the action of cooking would send those undesirable thoughts back to the recesses of her mind.

  Gargi opened the refrigerator door and extracted the bowl of pigeon peas and yellow lentils she’d soaked the night before. As she drained them and began the process of grinding them into a coarse pulp for the dal filling, she found herself thinking of Leon.

  The house seemed emptier. At first, she considered it a good thing. She didn’t have to be reminded of why he was here and how he perceived the wrong Dev had done to his mother. Yet, each day, her ear perked in a vain attempt to hear the doorbell ring, announcing his arrival.

  “Silly girl,” she muttered as she finished grinding the peas and lentils and set them aside. “Stop thinking of him.”

  But she couldn’t. Not even as she retrieved a skillet, heated a couple tablespoons of oil, and added cumin seeds to the hot liquid. Once the aroma lifted into the air as the seeds spluttered, she added ginger, a pinch of the odious-smelling but flavor-enhancing heeng, and green chilies, and sautéed it all together until the color of the seeds started to darken.

  What was he doing on a Sunday morning like this one? Would he spend it enjoying the weather by the beach as some of her neighbors were doing this very second? Did he go to church or some other religious gathering?

  Would he spend the day with his mother?

  Gargi stared at the spice blend in the skillet. What kind of woman was his mother? She must be something for him to be so protective of her. Although she could sympathize with his mother’s plight of losing her savings, her brother had nothing to do with the loss. Though she hadn’t known Leon very long, she got the idea they had at least one thing in common.

  Family loyalty.

  She and Leon may vehemently disagree with each other, as evidenced in this strange, unspoken cat and mouse game loitering between them, but she could not find fault with his loyalty. In other circumstances, she’d admire the tenacious hold he had on his mother.

  When the spices had changed to the appropriate color, she reached for the bowl of pigeon peas and lentils and added them to the skillet. Her additions to her mother’s recipe of garam masala, chili powder, coconut, and poppy seeds soon followed.

  Her stomach growled as the fragrant aroma rose into the air. Would Leon find a dish like this appealing? Though she doubted he’d understand the various nuances of Indian cuisine, she wanted to know what he would think about her cooking.

  Gargi froze. Why was she pondering a ridiculous thing like that? He was her brother’s physical therapist, not a candidate for a husband. If she needed one, she could simply let Papa send over the prospects he’d procured!

  The dal mixture sizzled. She added water and kept stirring. Once more, her thoughts turned to Leon. She should have offered some food while he was here last week. To not offer spoke of rudeness, even if he was ignorant of Indian social etiquette. Even if he refused, she had an obligation to feed the only person who had a chance of helping Dev out of this situation.

  Once the dal finished cooking she added tamarind and sugar to balance out the flavor, and sampled a small amount on her wooden spoon.

  “Uttam,” she groaned with satisfaction as she set the skillet aside. “Perfect,” she repeated as she gave herself a playful pat on the back. Humming a song, she mixed the maida, baking powder, salt, and water with a few tablespoons of ghee and kneaded it all to make a stiff dough for the shell.

  When she covered the dough to let it rest for a few minutes, the doorbell rang. Gargi frowned. Who on earth could that be? Swiftly she washed her hands and dried them off with a towel before she answered the door.

  “Papa!” she greeted with a smile.

  “Beti.” His strong arms wrapped her in a hug she collapsed into like a little girl. The cologne her papa preferred drifted into her nostrils. Gargi inhaled it deeply. He’d been wearing it since she was a child. She hoped he’d never stop.

  Drawing out of her papa’s embrace, she asked, “Aap kaise hain?” Her gaze traveled over him. He looked like he was doing okay.

  “Mai theek hunn,” he affirmed as he chucked her chin with a bent knuckle. The wide, white smile shone through the darkness of his full mustache and beard. Though threaded with gray hairs, Ajit Kapoor still managed to attract many women, young and not so young. Yet he chose to never marry again after her mother’s death.

  She clapped her hands. “I’m glad you—”

  Someone moved from behind him and she met the frank stare of an unknown Indian man. A lanky man with a buzz haircut, scrawny neck, a blade of a nose, and long arms and legs. His pecan thin-skinned face had narrow lips and flat brown eyes. The blue suit he wore hung off his frame like a wet towel.

  When he clasped his hands together and greeted her with a slight bow and a low-murmured, “Namaste,” she couldn’t help noticing he seemed to have twice the number of teeth normal people did.

  Papa, please don’t tell me this is…

  “This is Aadvik Harshvardhan,” her father said with a wide smile. “We met at Shruti’s wedding. We happened to be in the neighborhood and decided to come by to eat some of your cooking.”

  She quelled a mournful sigh, pasted on a welcoming smile and returned Aadvik’s greeting. How could Papa do this?

  “I’m making kachoris, so please come in.” She waited for the men to pass before she said a quick prayer for patience. Why did she think her father would listen to her wishes and not throw prospects at her? She’d mistaken his silence for acquiescence, when nothing could be further from the truth.

  If her father persisted, and if she let him, he’d marry her off before she could do anything to save her brother from serving the rest of his prison sentence.

  “Looking forward to the meal. Dhanyavaad.” Aadvik said.

  Gargi fought to keep her mouth closed. Aadvik’s high-pitched voice reminded of her of a very young bird.

  Even if she had been in the market for marriage, the moment Aadvik opened his mouth she would have taken herself out. There were many things she could forgive in men, from laziness to arrogance. But listening to that voice for the rest of her life would send her into an early grave.

  One she’d dig herself before throwing herself in it.

  Leon rolled to a stop at Kapoor and Gargi’s residence Monday morning, and the restless feeling he’d had the entire weekend evaporated. So, he had left something here when he’d left last week. What that nebulous thing was, he didn’t know. Further, he didn’t like his acknowledgement of this intangible nonsense. Sighing, he lay against the headrest and closed his eyes.

  Through the open window he heard the bay again. The seagulls called overhead, and the wind blew a brisk, chilly breeze into the truck.

  He had to ignore this feeling, whatever it was. He shut off the truck and placed the key in his jacket pocket. From now on, there would be nothing but focusing on his job.

  When Gargi opened the door, he knew something was wrong. It was written over her features as if someone had taken a black marker and scribbled over them. What caused those worry lines between her eyebrows? What problem made the unsmiling line of her mouth more pronounced?

  None of your business. Stick to the job.

  Leon cleared his throat. “Good morning, Gargi.”

  “Good morning.” The words lacked the usual spite he’d come to expect from her.

  She stood aside and let him enter.

  The smell of an aromatic breakfast lingered in the air. Every time he came into the house, his stomach grumbled as if he hadn’t eaten the
sausage, eggs, and toast he made before he walked out the door. What did Indian food taste like? All he’d ever heard of was curry, and often in a derogatory manner. He didn’t even know what curry was.

  “Dev is ready for you.”

  Today, whatever bothered her hovered like an invisible mist. Dressed in a long-sleeved cherry-red shirt and black pants, her neat appearance underlined the chaotic atmosphere surrounding her petite frame.

  Why do you care?

  Why, indeed? It had nothing to do with him.

  “Great. How was the weekend? Were you able to help him with any of the exercises?”

  “I did.” Her dark eyes met his own. Their characteristic brightness was absent. “Dev couldn’t do anything at all, but we kept the exercises up just as you said.”

  Leon gave a curt nod and then inhaled a deep breath. He put every thought aside except for doing his job.

  Kapoor sat in the wheelchair in the center of the living room, dressed and ready as he’d been last week.

  “Hello, Leon. Want to get back at it again?”

  The chipper voice from Kapoor startled him. Last week, the man had barely looked at him as they went through the exercises. Now he wore an eager expression on his face. What in the world was going on?

  “Wait, that’s my line,” Leon replied, somewhat taken back by a note of humor in Kapoor’s voice. “You seem to be in a good mood this morning,” he couldn’t help adding.

  “I am, aren’t I, little sister?”

  Leon glanced behind to see Gargi at the entrance to the room. “You are.” The corners of her mouth curved down. “Which surprises me.”

  A look passed between the siblings; Leon took the time to take off his light jacket and set it on the edge of a chair in the corner of the room. “Just like last week, we’ll do some more exercises. Afterward, I’m going to do some massage therapy.”

  “Sounds good.”

  Gargi came forward then and, together, they helped Kapoor from the chair and onto the padded treatment table. While they situated him appropriately, Gargi’s fingers brushed against his bare forearm. Leon felt an electric jolt. He tried to shake it off, chalking it up to it being the first time they’d ever connected on a physical level.