Page 3 of Lost and Stolen Gods
I bolted awake, pulse racing and heart pounding as if I’d finished a sprint. What was that? That nightmare…
Dread lingered in my belly.
“It was just a dream. A fucked-up dream.”
I glanced at the glowing numbers on the dash clock that said two twenty-two a.m. “Happy twenty-fifth birthday to me.”
I’d grownup in a house filled with love, superstition, and the air of magic. It had been cool when I’d been a child, but the older I’d gotten, the less ‘cool’ it became. It was hard making friends when everyone thought your grandmother was a witch and might hex them.
It didn’t matter that witches weren’t real. It didn’t matter that magic wasn’t real. Kids were simply cruel.
The fact that I smelled of Indian food and incense, and that my packed lunches consisted of vegetable curry toasties, didn’t help me fit in. There were a couple of other kids of Indian descent at the school, but they wore brand new clothes and paid for their lunches.
The word poor wasn’t explicitly said, but looking back now, I guess that’s what we were. I loved my home. Loved Nani, but over time I began to resent her insistence in clinging to culture. Why couldn’t we simply fit in? Why didn’t she stop making herbal concoctions and offering superstitious advice to thevillagers? Why couldn’t she stop sneaking out for moonlight walks to collect herbs and mushrooms?
I’d ask her these things, and she’d smile, nod, then hug me and say, “You shouldn’t seek to change who you are,beti.” The Indian word for daughter always fell with such love from her lips that guilt would tangle my adolescent emotions into knots, because there was a part of me that agreed with her—problem was that a bigger part of me simply yearned to be like everyone else.
I’d ended up a loner, despite my wishes, and it suited me fine. It was better than being the center of attention or the butt of jokes. Being on the sidelines was safe; it meant I could observe the world without being observed in turn. At least that’s what I’d believed until the Darren Markham episode had proven me wrong. But I wasn’t going to think about that. All that mattered was that it had forced me to act. To move forward, which meant moving away.
Fat lot of good it had done me. The last six years might as well have been for nothing, and Matt…surely his betrayal should hurt more? But now I reflected on it, aside from feeling angry, there was little else inside of me for the loss. If I was honest, I was a little relieved. If I was honest then maybe it had been over between us for a long time. No fancy lingerie was going to fix our relationship. The revelation didn’t excuse his cheating, but it excused me having to care.
Breaking up was for the best.
Coming home was what I needed.
The rain let up by the time I rolled into the village, taking the dread from my nightmare with it. I drove up the narrow track to our cottage at the edge of the village.
The small two-story building with its pretty hanging baskets and neat porch waited for me, dark and sleepy.
Nani’s face from my nightmare teased my mind, and I quickly parked and hurried to the door. I knocked three times and waited, but she didn’t answer. It was late, so she was probably deeply asleep. She’d always kept a key under the pot at the side of the cottage. Was it still there? I hurried to check and found it in its usual spot.
I let myself into the dark cottage that smelled of incense and an echo of whatever fragrant Indian meal Nani had made recently. My stomach grumbled, and my heart lifted. It had been too long since I’d had Indian food. About six years, in fact. Matt hadn’t been a fan of it.
I peeked into the moonlit living room, where neatly fluffed cushions sat on a brown leather sofa, parked on a bright patterned rug. It looked dull and gray now, but I knew it to be awash with reds and oranges. I’d spent countless hours lying on that rug bathed in sunlight, reading a book or in the armchair, feet curled under me, rainbow throw over my lap while rain tapped at the windowpanes like a nosy neighbor.
Books had been my escape. Portals to other worlds where I could be anyone else but Leela.
A soft creak above had me nervously reaching for my amulet, only to find it absent. A gift from Nani on my sixteenth birthday, I’d never taken it off, but I’d lost it a few weeks ago. The clasp must have broken. Nani would be upset about that. It was a family heirloom, one she asked after every time she called or texted. I’d been putting off telling her, but there’d be no avoiding the topic now. The woman had eagle eyes, and she’d notice it was missing for certain.
I rubbed the spot between my collarbones feeling the absence of it now. “Nani?” I climbed the stairs, wanting to give her enough warning that I was in the house.
Photographs of me lined the wall going upstairs. My age ranged from toddler to preteen in these. I wore a huge smile in each one. I had no memory of my parents. Both had died in a car crash when I was a toddler. There were photos, of course. But the people that looked out at me from them were strangers. The only family that mattered was behind the camera that had taken all these snaps.
My heart squeezed with nostalgia as I stepped onto the landing. I’d stayed away so long that everything seemed to have shrunk. Even the hallway seemed narrower.
Unless it was me. Was my ass bigger? “Nani? It’s me, Leela.”
I passed my old room and reached for the door to Nani’s. “Hello?” I knocked lightly before cracking it open and peeking inside.
The room was empty. The bed made. Her slippers placed neatly by the side, pink, fluffy, and so worn they looked like they’d fall apart any moment.
“Are these for me?”
“Yes, Nani, so your feet stay warm in winter.”
She’d always complained of the chill, and I’d used my first paycheck from my weekend job to get her these. She still had them, after all these years…
Guilt twisted in my gut. I should have come to visit.
