Vegas to Varanasi (Fortytude Series Book 1) (12 page)

Nineteen

Kiran and I have just boarded the plane in Las Vegas, when he looks at me with a joyous grin and shakes his head. “I can’t believe it.”

“Believe what?”

“I can’t believe that my friend, Anna Templeton, is sitting on a plane with me to India. This is a good day.”

“That’s so nice!” It
is
pretty surreal. Who would have thought all those years ago in high school that we’d be here?

“Are you prepared for the endless hours of travel ahead of us?” he asks.

“Sweats.” I lift my foot and point to my leg. “Which qualify as long loose pants. Got my comfy Annie Lennox t-shirt on from her concert in 2004. Notice the upper arms are hidden and it does not hug the body.” I motion with my hand as if I were modeling Versace. “And of course, my Kindle’s in my backpack. I’m good to go.”

“I’m impressed. You’re a good student.”

“I try.”

Kiran’s expression sobers as he studies me.

“What?”

“I’ve always thought about you through the years. Wondered about you.”

“Really?”

He nods.

He’s left me seriously tongue-tied, so I just smile, hug his arm, and rest my head on his shoulder. I breathe a little faster when he leans into my hair, his mouth lingering, as if he considers crowning my head with a kiss.

The first leg of the trip to Newark isn’t that bad. It leaves in the morning and is only about five hours, so aside from the occasional catnap, Kiran and I are awake and chatting off and on the entire trip.

After a four hour layover in Newark, we begin the most brutal leg of the journey— the fourteen hour flight from Newark to New Delhi. Thank the Lord, Kiran booked first class seats for this portion! Even though we have a little more room, I am horribly sore from sitting so long, but try not to complain too much.

Our longest layover is in New Delhi, when we arrive at 9:15 in the evening, an hour later than scheduled, but our flight to Varanasi doesn’t leave until 10:40 the next morning. A long gap, but not long enough to make it worth getting a hotel. Kiran offers to try and get us a room close to the airport, but by the time we’d settle in, it seems hardly worth it just to get up a few hours later.

I bring my backpack to the restroom to brush my teeth. I’m already standing out among the women in their saris. I feel awful and cannot wait to lie in a bed. For some reason, my stomach starts hurting when I’m sleep deprived. I’ve never done well with lack of sleep, even when I was young. My college dorm mates would stay up late and party all night, but I never could.

When I rejoin Kiran, I sit beside him so we can lean against each other, in hopes that we can both catch a few Zs. However, he insists on letting me lay my head in his lap.

I have to say, for being in this unfamiliar place, clear on the other side of the world, I feel quite safe here with him.

Twenty

At last, we arrive in Varanasi, and we take a taxi for the half hour drive to the Kapur apartment. The heat is oppressive and my senses are overwrought by the bustle of traffic. I learn this: I will never again complain about the traffic in Las Vegas.

Cars, motorbikes, rickshaws, and bicycles all compete for space on the streets, and there seems to be no order to the flow, aside from driving on the left side of the road. The cars honk incessantly, and I wonder at the purpose of horns when every other vehicle uses them without interruption. Motorbikes quickly weave in and out, and pedestrians walk right into the middle of streets to cross, fully trusting the vehicles to stop.

My hand tightly grips the armrest on my door, and for a moment I close my eyes.

Kiran places his hand on my knee. “Are you doing okay?” He seems a bit amused.

“I could never drive here.”

“It’s crazy, huh?”

“Will you be driving during our stay?” I look at him sympathetically.

“No, we’ll take taxis. Though there will be times when the areas are so congested, we’ll have to take rickshaws or walk.”

I close my eyes again and lean my head back. “Ohhh, I’m starting to get a little carsick.” All of this stopping and going in the traffic is giving me motion sickness.

“Hang in there. We’re about ten minutes away.”

The scenery for the bulk of our drive is not very attractive. The buildings are old and dingy, and there’s not a lot of foliage visible. However, as we near our destination, the neighborhoods green up and the surroundings are cleaner.

I breathe a sigh of relief when our taxi pulls into the gated apartment complex. It seems relatively new, consisting of two towers, each with ten floors. The grounds are luscious and meticulously kept.

“This is so nice!” I say as I climb out of the car.

“You were a little worried, weren’t you?”

I give him an over-exaggerated shake of the head and frown. “No, not at all! I don’t know why you would think that.” I smile to let him know I’m being facetious.

After the driver retrieves our luggage from the trunk, Kiran gives him a tip and we roll our baggage toward the entrance. It’s now about 1:30 in the afternoon, and my clothes are sticking to me as if I had just taken a dip in the pool. This is definitely cotton sports bra climate. Though I’ve packed some, there will be no polyester bra wearing during my stay. No bra at all, once I’m in for the day. At least I’m not one who has to worry about big knockers to harness.

We step into the lobby, and the air conditioning is a welcome friend. The lobby’s not unlike one in a Vegas hotel, brightly lit with marble floors, a reception desk, and sitting areas that offer comfortable looking sofas and chairs. I stop where I am and lift my arms to let the coolness circulate through my clothing. I’m not sure what I want to do first once we reach our flat, shower or nap.

“Is your aunt on the same floor as us?” I ask as we take the elevator to the sixth floor.

“No, they’re on the top. She said she would like to have us up for dinner tonight, if you’re feeling up to it.”

Honestly, all I want to do right now is go to sleep and not wake up until morning, but I know I need to get my body used to the new time zone. “Sure!”

After nearly two days of travel, stepping into the apartment is almost a religious experience. It’s modern and clean, sparsely decorated, with a small kitchen, a living area with a dining set at one end, and two bedrooms, each with a queen-sized bed and a bathroom.

“Choose whichever room you like,” Kiran says.

“It doesn’t matter. Which room do you usually stay in, and I’ll take the other.”

“You’re the guest.”

I walk up to him, pulling my suitcase along with me. “Thank you so much for inviting me to come with you. I’d give you a kiss, but, blech! I look and feel disgusting.”

He laughs at me. “I’m sure I’m pretty rough on the eyes right now.”

Actually, no, you’re not.
Despite looking a little tired, his disheveled appearance in his wrinkled shirt, his two-day growth of beard, and his tousled hair make him pretty damned appealing. Of course I don’t say any of this.

“I’m going to shower and nap, if that’s okay.”

“Please, make yourself at home.”

I choose the room closest to me, close the door, and immediately start peeling off my stinky, sweat laden clothes. I send iMessages to the kids to let them know I’ve arrived okay and turn on the shower. Setting the temperature to lukewarm instead of hot, I step underneath the stream, relishing in the sensation.

I still can’t believe I’m actually here with that godsend in the other room. I keep expecting to wake up soon.

Twenty-One

I wake to the sound of tapping on my door. “Anna?”

“Come in!”

Kiran opens the door, and he’s now showered and clean shaven, donning khakis and a white buttoned shirt. “My aunt would like us over at 7:00. It’s 6:00 now. Do you still want to go? Or would you rather sleep?”

“No, I want to go,” I say, getting out of bed. Wearing a tank top and yoga shorts, I feel Kiran’s eyes linger on me and get that flutter in my stomach. “I hope the clothes I packed will be okay. Mainly pants and blouses. I didn’t bring anything particularly dressy.”

“That will be perfect. I’ll see you in the front room.”

***

Kiran’s aunt opens the door to their apartment and welcomes us in.

“Kiri, it’s good to see you again!” She kisses him on the lips, then turns her eyes to me. “Please, introduce me to your friend!”

“Aunt Nisha, this is Anna.”

“So lovely to meet you,” she says, offering her hands. She looks to be in her sixties, and has the most beautiful Indian accent.

“Same here. Thank you so much for having me.”

She stands between us and places her hands on our shoulders. “You look well, Kiri. Come in and say hello to Uncle and Dadi.”

The apartment is quite a bit larger than the one Kiran and I stay in, with far more personal touches to the décor. Its furnishings are warm and brightly colored.

As we enter the living room, Kiran’s uncle rises from one of the couches to greet us. “There is the boy!” He hugs Kiran and gives me a friendly greeting.

Sitting in a chair next to the sofa is Kiran’s grandmother, a wisp of a thing who smiles, seeming vaguely aware that there are visitors. As Kiran approaches her, I trail behind him to await my introduction. He crouches down in front of her. “Dadi, it’s good to see you.”

“Kiri!” Her smile is gentle as she holds his face. “How are you?”

He takes her hand and kisses it. “I’m good. Dadi...” He turns in my direction. “This is my friend, Anna.”

“Hello, Anna.”

I clasp my hands together in front of me and nod respectfully. “Hello, Mrs. Kapur.”

“Please, call me Dadi.” She holds out a gaunt hand to me and I take it.

“Okay, Dadi. Thank you.”

“How are you feeling?” Kiran asks.

She shrugs. “This getting old is not for wimps.”

We all chuckle and Kiran and I take a seat on the sofa.

“Can I get you something to drink?” Nisha asks.

“Water, please?” I say.

“And you, Kiran?”

“Nothing, thank you.”

She returns from the kitchen and hands me a bottle of water. “I made sure to stock your apartment with food for your stay,” she tells Kiran.

“Anna, what do you do?” Dadi nearly interrupts.

“Oh.” I sit up straighter to address her. “I’m a physical therapist. In fact, that’s how I met Kiran. Geena was one of my patients after her hip replacement.”

“Dadi, Anna and I went to school together in Las Vegas.”

Dadi nods, but her eyes are dull, as if she doesn’t comprehend what Kiran said.

“She is in and out, poor thing,” Nisha tells us under her breath. “Mother, are you ready to eat something?”

Dadi smiles.

“Come, let’s go to the kitchen,” Nisha takes Dadi’s hand and walks with her. “William, will you take the pizza out of the oven?” she asks her husband. “I hope you don’t mind that I ordered Domino’s.”

“They have Domino’s here?” I ask.

“Yes. I wasn’t sure what you would like to eat, so I thought I would go with something American.”

“You didn’t have to do that. That’s the joy of visiting another country, and I pretty much eat anything.”

“It’s okay,” William says, bringing two boxes to the table. “We like Domino’s just fine.”

Nisha seats Dadi at the head of the table, Kiran sits beside her, and I sit next to him.

“I love your clothing,” I tell Nisha. She wears a turquoise blouse that nearly reaches her knees, and pants of the same color that are baggy, but gather at the ankle.

“That’s the salwar kameez I mentioned,” Kiran says.

“It’s beautiful.”

“Thank you, Anna.” Nisha hands each of us a plate. “Mother, you need to eat something. Would you like me to get you some soup?”

“No, thank you.”

“I’m making you soup.”

“So, how was the trip here?” William asks as he places a slice of pizza on his plate.

“Long, tiring. Anna enjoyed the ride from the airport, though.”

“Did she?” William seems surprised.

I give Kiran a smirk. “The traffic made me a little nervous. And carsick.”

William laughs. “Just close your eyes if you have to.”

“I did.” I take a sip from my water bottle. “Nisha, is there anything I can do to help?”

“No, I’ve just heated her up something in the microwave.” She brings a bowl over and places it in front of Dadi. “Try to eat a little.”

Dadi turns to Nisha. “Is Kiri okay?”

Nisha looks up at Kiran, not seeming at all surprised by Dadi’s confusion. “Kiri is fine, Mother. He’s right next to you.”

Dadi disregards her reminder and takes Nisha’s hand. “I felt terrible for him when Christine called off their wedding. It broke my heart.”

Panic fills Nisha’s eyes as they briefly meet mine. I sit frozen a moment, not knowing what to do or say.

“Kiran, what do you have planned for you and Anna tomorrow?” Nisha asks, hardly missing a beat.

He clears his throat. “I thought I would take her to see the ghats.”

Dadi’s face lights up and she brings her hands together. “Yes, she will love seeing the Ganges!” She seems to have returned to the current moment, and I wonder if her earlier comment was simply invented. However, the reactions of Nisha and Kiran said otherwise.

Nisha finally takes a seat and helps herself to a slice. “You’ll do the sunrise boat ride, won’t you?”

Kiran finishes chewing his food and swallows. “Yes, but not tomorrow. I’m sure she wants to sleep late.”

I nod vigorously. “Yes, she does.”

***

Later that evening, when we’re back in the apartment, I change into a tank top and knit pajama pants. When I emerge from my room, Kiran has the TV on and is preparing something in the kitchen. I have a seat at a chair in the living room, which connects to the small kitchen. “Your family is very nice. Dadi is adorable, but the poor thing is so skinny.”

“I know, she is.” He puts something in the refrigerator. “Would you like some chai?”

“Sure, if you’re having some.”

He brings me a cup and sits down on the sofa, before he takes a sip from his own and gives me a stiff smile. We remain in silence, and I’m certain Dadi’s remark from earlier this evening is creating the current tension.

“This is most excellent chai!” I say jovially, pointing to my cup.

“I bet you didn’t realize I’m known for my most excellent chai.”

“No. I did not know this.” I can’t leave this unease between us. “Kiran...”

He lowers his eyes and purses his lips. He knows exactly where this conversation is headed.

I set my cup on the coffee table. “You don’t have to tell me about it if you don’t want to, but... is what Dadi said true? About this woman, Christine?”

He rubs his jaw. “It’s true.”

“What happened?”

His body slouches and he holds his cup between his legs. “Christine was someone I met before I lost the weight.” He lets out a heavy sigh. “I’ll give you the abbreviated version.” He sets his cup on the table and strums his fingers on his knees a couple of times. “I met her at work. Her son was one of my patients. Like me, she was overweight. Though, not as bad.”

He leans back into the sofa, rubbing his neck. “We dated about a year when I asked her to marry me, and we planned to wed a year from then. Christine decided she wanted to lose as much weight as she could before the ceremony.”

Oh no. I think I know where this is going.

“I tried to do the same. We would do it together. However, my success was pitiful compared to hers. I lost about fifteen while she lost fifty, and she had far less to lose than me.”

I lay an arm on my chest and tuck my hand underneath my chin. Dadi’s words come to mind.
It broke my heart.

“I’m sure I don’t have to tell you the rest,” he concludes.

I take an extended breath and bite my lip, and he forces a grin, however brief. Venturing from my chair, I sit beside him on the sofa. He swallows, and I can see the pulse beating in his neck.

Leaning sideways on the couch so I can face him, I touch his cheek, hoping my eyes convey my complicated emotions. Empathy, sadness, and a deepening attraction that’s getting increasingly difficult to restrain.

He pushes the hair away from my face and continues to run his fingers through it, though he will not look at me directly. It seems to be the first time he doesn’t seek my gaze.

I long to say something light and snarky to ease his pain, like how Christine would eat her heart out if she could see him now, but don’t want to imply that his looks are the only thing that’s beautiful about him.

As if on autopilot, I find myself leaning in, bringing my mouth to his. Though my temptation is to turn the kiss into one of passion, it’s not my intent. My lips tenderly move against his as I caress his cheek. He reciprocates, lovingly, never once tainting the integrity of the kiss by forcing the moment.

I couldn’t be more aroused, wishing only to drag him into my room. However, I lean back and take his hand. “Three hundred pounds or two hundred, you are amazing.” I kiss his hand and smile, then stand to retire to my room. For several moments, our eyes refuse to disengage. “Good night.”

“Good night, Anna.”