When Devils Sing(51)
Neera giggled, unafraid now. She looked over the ocean as if she were a bird herself, propped up by Ajay’s hands. Over on the shore, Kiran sat beside the sandcastle they’d built together, waving at her with a plastic shovel in hand.
“I can swim!” Neera had yelled to her mom, to the sea, to the world around her.
On the other side of the pool, the little boy shrieked as his sister splashed him, and suddenly Neera was eighteen again, sitting on the hot, baking concrete of the motel sundeck. Ajay was gone for good, and those glittering sea salt days with him.
That was the thing about growing up—you never noticed your lasts. You never wondered if this time was the last time you’d smile at your mom, and she’d genuinely smile back. The last time your uncle would carry you in his arms, saving you from the things that scared you.
The last time you’d ever feel safe.
“Are you okay?” The mom of the family stood over Neera.
“Huh?” Neera asked, looking up.
The woman pointed to Neera’s leg. “You’re bleeding.”
“What? No, I’m…” Neera looked down. The scab she’d been picking was now an open wound. Blood ran down her thigh and onto the pebbled concrete. “Oh.”
The dad and kids were no longer playing. They stared at Neera from across the pool. She stood, wincing as her movement stretched the cut.
“Sorry,” Neera mumbled as she scurried out of the gated pool enclosure, seeking the refuge of Room 4. She glanced over her shoulder as she fumbled with the door to the room. The family was still staring after her as she disappeared within.
In their room, Kiran was awake and in her bartending uniform, smudging on eyeshadow before a compact mirror. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” Neera sighed, leaning against the door. “What’s the occasion?” Her mom rarely put on any makeup, much less bothered with eyeshadow. She grabbed a tissue from the box on the dresser and started wiping her bloodied leg.
“Jason made a comment about how tired I’ve looked lately,” Kiran said, dabbing a brush into the eyeshadow pan. “He basically told me I can’t work the festival nights if I don’t ‘clean up.’” Her mom made a disgusted noise, wrinkling her face in the small mirror beside the ancient TV. “So here I am, doing clown makeup.”
Neera’s stomach gave a sick clench. She crossed to the little vanity and prized the eyeshadow brush from her mom’s hand. She pulled another tissue from the dresser and gently took Kiran’s face by the chin, turning her closer. “Here, let me.”
Kiran closed her eyes as Neera wiped away her botched eyeshadow job. Her mom had never been good with makeup because she never needed to be. She was beautiful in an effortless way with a sharp nose, deep-set eyes, and full brows that complemented her rich brown skin. Modern beauty trends had been built around her, not for her.
“You don’t need to cake on a bunch of stuff, okay?” Neera said, trying to keep her voice soft.
Kiran gave her a wry, sad smile. “Just cover up these eye bags then.”
Neera did as she was told, dabbing concealer on her mom’s skin. Kiran was only in her midthirties, but she had streaks of gray coming through her shoulder-length black hair. The beginnings of wrinkles creased her forehead. Her hands were calloused and scarred from years of busting her ass in restaurants to keep them fed and housed.
For people like them, life drained away at you in double time.
Suddenly, Neera was just so sick of it. The constant scraping and grinding and gritting your teeth and smiling at assholes like Jason. The pretending like all this misery and struggle was something to be endured until the better days came along, rather than the blueprint of their entire lives.
Her fury curdled inside her, so intense she had to force herself not to tighten her grip on her mom’s face and shake her. “So…,” Neera began, an edge creeping into her voice even as she fought it back. “Are we gonna talk about the fire, or just pretend it didn’t happen like we do with everything else?”
Kiran sighed. “Don’t start, Neera. Not now, please.”
“I’m not starting anything,” Neera argued, dusting faint blush across her mom’s cheeks. “I just—I saw something the night of the fire.”
Kiran’s dark brown eyes shot open, locking with Neera’s. “What’d you see?”
Neera hesitated, not wanting to add any more stress to her mom’s plate, but this wasn’t something she could keep to herself any longer. “I saw Nanaji arguing with the handyman the other night. That guy—Wiley. He said Nanaji owed his boss money. Like, a lot of money. More than this place could ever be worth.”
“Goddamnit,” Kiran mumbled to herself, shaking her head. She rose from the chair, pacing the tiny length of their room. “The stubborn bastard lied to me.”
“The debt’s not from the motel, is it?” Neera asked.
“No, it’s not.” Kiran laughed dryly. “It’s from four years ago. Ajay. He’d convinced your grandfather to go in with him on some stupid bar on the edge of town. He called it Blind Bucks, I think. But it ended up costing more money than they’d anticipated. Never even opened. They told me the debt was paid off.”
“Ajay tried to open his own bar?” A sharp pang of hurt welled inside Neera. Honesty had always been a hard line between her and her uncle. “Why didn’t I know about it?”