1
WOU
The plane finally landed several mind-numbing hours later at the airport in Portland, Oregon. When my feet hit the tarmac, I shifted my gaze from the terminal to the gray, overcast sky. I closed my eyes and let the cool breeze blow over me. It carried the smell of the forest. A soft, dewy sprinkle settled on my bare arms from what must have been a recent rain. It felt good to be home.
Taking a deep breath, I felt Oregon center me. I was a part of this place, and it was a part of me. I belonged here. It was where I grew up and spent my whole life. My roots were here. My parents and grandma were buried here. Oregon welcomed me like a beloved child, enfolded me in her cool arms, shushed my turbulent thoughts, and promised peace through her whispering pines.
Nilima had followed me down the steps and waited quietly while I absorbed the familiar environment. I heard the hum of a fast engine, and a cobalt blue convertible pulled around the corner. The sleek sports car was the exact color of his eyes.
Mr. Kadam must have arranged for the car. I rolled my eyes at his expensive taste. Mr. Kadam thought of every last detail—and he always did it in style. At least the car’s a rental, I mused.
I stowed my bags in the trunk and read the name on the back: Porsche Boxster RS 60 Spyder. I shook my head and muttered, “Holy cow, Mr. Kadam, I would have been just as happy to take the shuttle back to Salem.”
“What?” Nilima asked politely.
“Nothing. I’m just glad to be home.”
I closed the trunk and sank down into the two-toned blue and gray leather seat. We drove in silence. Nilima knew exactly where she was going, so I didn’t even bother giving her directions. I just leaned my head back and watched the sky and the green landscape zip by.
Cars full of teenage boys passed us. They whistled, admiring either Nilima’s exotic beauty and long, dark hair flying in the wind or the nice car. I’m not sure which inspired the catcalls, but I knew they weren’t for me. I wore my standard T-shirt, tennis shoes, and jeans. Wisps of my golden-brown hair tangled about my loose braid and whipped at my brown, red-rimmed eyes and tear-streaked face. Older men cruised past us slowly too. They didn’t whistle, but they definitely enjoyed the view. Nilima just ignored them, and I tuned them out, thinking, I must look as awful as I feel.
When we entered downtown Salem, we passed the Marion Street Bridge that would have taken us over the Willamette River and onto Highway 22 heading for the farmlands of Monmouth and Dallas. I tried to tell Nilima she missed a turn, but she merely shrugged and said we were taking a short cut.
“Sure,” I said sarcastically, “what’s another few minutes on a trip that has lasted for days?”
Nilima tossed her beautiful hair, smiled at me, and kept driving, maneuvering into the traffic headed for South Salem. I’d never been this way before. It was definitely the long way to Dallas.
Nilima drove toward a large hill that was covered with forest. We wound our way slowly up the beautiful tree-lined road for several miles. I saw dirt roads leading into the trees. Houses poked through the forest here and there, but the area was largely untouched. I was surprised that the city hadn’t annexed it and started building there. It was quite lovely.
Slowing down, Nilima turned onto a private road and followed it even higher up the hill. Although we passed a few other winding driveways, I didn’t see any houses. At the end of the road, we stopped in front of a duplex that was nestled in the middle of the pine forest.
Both sides of the duplex were mirror images of each other. Each had two floors with a garage and a small, shared courtyard. Each had a large bay window that looked out over the trees. The wood siding was painted cedar brown and midnight green, and the roof was covered with grayish-green shingles. In a way, it resembled a ski cabin.
Nilima glided smoothly into the garage and stopped the car. “We’re home,” she announced.
“Home? What do you mean? Aren’t we going to my foster parents’ house?” I asked, even more confused than I already was.
Nilima smiled understandingly. She told me gently, “No. This is your house.”
“My house? What are you talking about? I live in Dallas. Who lives here?”
“You do. Come inside and I’ll explain.”
We walked through a laundry room into the kitchen, which was small but had lemon-yellow curtains, brand new stainless-steel appliances, and walls decorated with lemon stencils. Nilima grabbed a couple of bottles of diet cola from the fridge.
I plopped my backpack down and said, “Okay, Nilima, now tell me what’s going on.”
She ignored my question. Instead, she offered me a soda, which I declined, and then told me to follow her.
Sighing, I slipped off my tennis shoes so I wouldn’t mess up the duplex’s plush carpeting and followed her to the small but cute living room. We sat on a beautiful chestnut leather sofa. A tall library cabinet full of classic hardbound books that probably cost a fortune beckoned invitingly from the corner, while a sunny window and a large, flat-screen television mounted above a polished cabinet also vied for my attention.
Nilima began rifling through papers left on a coffee table.
“Kelsey,” she began. “This house is yours. It’s part of the payment for your work in India this summer.”
“It’s not like I was really working, Nilima.”
“What you did was the most vital work of all. You accomplished much more than any of us even hoped. We all owe you a great debt, and this is a small way to reward your efforts. You’ve overcome tremendous obstacles and almost lost your life. We are all very grateful.”
Embarrassed, I teased, “Well, now that you put it that way—wait! You said this house is part of my payment? You mean there’s more?”
With a nod of her head, Nilima said, “Yes.”
“No. I really can’t accept this gift. An entire house is way too much—never mind anything else. It’s much more than we agreed on. I just wanted some money to pay for books for school. He shouldn’t do this.”
“Kelsey, he insisted.”
“Well, he will have to un-insist. This is too much, Nilima. Really.”
She sighed and looked at my face, which was set with steely determination. “He really wants you to have it, Kelsey. It will make him happy.”
“Well, it’s impractical! How does he expect me to catch the bus to school from here? I plan to enroll in college now that I’m back home, and this location isn’t exactly close to any bus routes.”
Nilima gave me a puzzled expression. “What do you mean catch the bus? I guess if you really want to ride the bus, you could drive down to the bus station.”
“Drive down to the bus station? That doesn’t make any sense.”
“Well, you aren’t making any sense. Why don’t you just drive your car to school?”
“My car? What car?”
“The one in the garage, of course.”
“The one in the. . . . Oh, no. You have got to be kidding me!”
“No. I’m not kidding. The Porsche is for you.”
“Oh, no, it’s not! Do you know how much that car costs? No way!”
I pulled out my cell phone and searched for Mr. Kadam’s phone number. Right before I pressed SEND, I thought of something that stopped me in my tracks. “Is there anything else I should know?”
Nilima winced. “Well . . . he also took the liberty of signing you up at Western Oregon University. Your classes and books have already been paid for. Your books are on the counter next to your list of classes, a Western Wolf sweatshirt, and a map of the campus.”
“He signed me up for WOU?” I asked, incredulous. “I’d been planning on attending the local community college and working—not attending WOU.”
“He must have thought a university would be more to your liking. You start classes next week. As far as working goes, you may if you wish, but it will be unnecessary. He has also set up a bank account for you. Your new bank card is on the counter. Don’t forget to endorse it on the back.”
I swallowed. “And . . . uh . . . exactly how much money is in that bank account?”
Nilima shrugged. “I have no idea, but I’m sure it’s enough to cover your living expenses. Of course, none of your bills will be sent here. Everything will be mailed straight to an accountant. The house and the car are paid for, as well as all of your college expenses.”
She slid a whole bunch of paperwork my way and then sat back and sipped her diet soda.
Shocked, I sat motionless for a minute and then remembered my resolve to call Mr. Kadam. I opened my phone and searched for his number.
Nilima interrupted, “Are you sure you want to give everything back, Miss Kelsey? I know that he feels very strongly about this. He wants you to have these things.”
“Well, Mr. Kadam should know that I don’t need his charity. I’ll just explain that community college is more than adequate, and I really don’t mind staying in the dorm and taking the bus.”
Nilima leaned forward. “But, Kelsey, it wasn’t Mr. Kadam who arranged all of this.”
“What? If it wasn’t Mr. Kadam, then who. . . . Oh!” I snapped my phone shut. There was no way I was going to call him, no matter what. “So he feels strongly about this, does he?”
Nilima’s arched eyebrows drew together in pretty confusion, “Yes, I would say he does.”
It almost tore my heart to shreds to leave him. He was 7,196.25 miles away in India, and yet somehow he still manages to have a hold on me.
Under my breath, I grumbled, “Fine. He always gets what he wants anyway. There is no point in trying to give it back. He’ll just engineer some other over the top gift that will only serve to complicate our relationship even further.”
A car honked outside in the driveway.
“Well, that’s my ride back to the airport,” Nilima rose and said. “Oh! I almost forgot. This is for you too.” She pressed a brand-new cell phone in my hand, deftly switching it with my old phone, and hugged me quickly before walking to the front door.
“But, wait! Nilima!”
“Don’t worry, Miss Kelsey. Everything will be fine. The paperwork you need for school is on the kitchen counter. There’s food in the fridge, and all of your belongings are upstairs. You can take the car and visit your foster family later today if you wish. They are expecting your call.”
She turned, gracefully walked out the door, and climbed into the private car. She waved gaily from the passenger seat. I waved back morosely and watched until the sleek black sedan drove out of sight. Suddenly, I was all alone in a strange house, surrounded by quiet forest.
Once Nilima had gone, I decided to explore the place that I was now going to call home. Opening the fridge, I saw that the shelves were indeed fully stocked. Twisting a bottle cap off, I sipped a soda and peeked into the cupboards. There were glasses and plates, as well as cooking utensils, silverware, and pots and pans. On a hunch, I opened the bottom drawer of the refrigerator—and found it full of lemons. Clearly, this part was Mr. Kadam’s doing. The thoughtful man knew drinking lemon water would be a comfort to me.
Mr. Kadam’s interior design touch didn’t end in the kitchen, though. The downstairs half bath was decorated in sage green and lemon. Even the soap in the dispenser was lemon-scented.
I placed my shoes in a wicker basket on the tiled floor of the laundry room beside a new front-loading washer and dryer set and continued on to a small office.
My old computer sat in the middle of the desk, but right next to it was a brand new laptop. A leather chair, file drawers, and a shelf with paper and other supplies completed the office.
Grabbing my backpack, I headed upstairs to see my new bedroom. A lovely queen-sized bed with a thick ivory down comforter and peach accent pillows was nestled against the wall, and an old wooden trunk sat at the foot. Cozy peach-colored reading chairs were arranged in the corner, facing the window overlooking the forest.
There was a note on the bed that lifted my spirits right up:
Reading Mike and Sarah’s note in addition to being back in Oregon grounded me. Their lives were normal. My life with them was normal, and it would be nice to be around a normal family and act like a normal human being for a change. Sleeping on jungle floors, talking to Indian goddesses, falling in love with a . . . tiger—none of that was normal. Not by a long shot.
I opened my closet and saw that my hair ribbon collection and clothes had indeed been moved from Mike and Sarah’s. I fingered through some things I hadn’t seen in a few months. When I opened the other side of the closet, I found all the clothes that had been purchased for me in India as well as several new items still in garment bags.
How on earth did Mr. Kadam get this stuff here before me? I left all this in India. I closed the door on the clothes and my memories, determined not to open that side of the closet again.
Moving to the dresser, I pulled open my top drawer. Sarah had arranged my socks exactly the way I liked them. Each pair of black, white, and assorted colored socks was wound into a neat ball and placed in a row. Opening the next drawer wiped the smile right off my face. I found the silky pajamas I had purposely left in India.
My chest burned as I ran my hand over the soft cloth and then resolutely shut the drawer. Turning to leave the bright, airy room, a detail suddenly hit me, causing my face to flush scarlet red. My bedroom was peaches and cream.
He must have picked these colors, I surmised. He’d once said that I smelled like peaches and cream. Figures he’d find a way to remind me of him even from a continent away. As if I could forget . . .
I threw my backpack on the bed and instantly regretted it, realizing that Fanindra was still inside. After taking her out carefully and apologizing, I stroked her golden head and then put her on a pillow. I took my new cell phone out of my jeans pocket. Like everything else, the phone was expensive and totally unnecessary. It was designed by Prada. I turned the phone on and expected his number to show up first, but it didn’t. There weren’t any messages either. In fact, the only numbers stored on the phone were Mr. Kadam’s and my foster parents’.
Various emotions raced through my head. At first, I was relieved. Then I was puzzled. Then I was disappointed. A part of me pondered, It would have been nice of him to call. Just to see if I arrived okay.
Annoyed with myself, I called my foster parents and told them I was home, tired from the flight, and that I would come over for dinner the next night. Hanging up, I grimaced, wondering what kind of tofu surprise would be in store for me. Whatever the health food meal turned out to be, I would be happy to sit through it as long as I got a chance to see them.
I wandered downstairs, turned on the stereo, made myself a snack of apple slices with peanut butter, and started rifling through the college papers on the counter. Mr. Kadam had chosen international studies as my major, with a minor in art history.
I looked through my schedule. Mr. Kadam had managed somehow to get me, a freshman, into 300- and 400-level classes. Not only that, but he had also booked my classes for both the fall and the winter terms—even though winter registration wasn’t available yet.
WOU probably received a big, fat donation from India, I thought, smirking to myself. I wouldn’t be surprised to see a new building going up on campus this year.
Kelsey Hayes, Student ID 69428L7
Western Oregon University
FALL TERM
College Writing 115 (4 credits). Introduction to thesis writing.
First Year Latin 101 (4 credits). Introduction to Latin.
Anthropology 476 D Religion and Ritual (4 credits). A study of the religious practices around the world. Delineates religious observance as seen through anthropology, while focusing on particular topics including spirit possession, mysticism, witchcraft, animism, sorcery, ancestor worship, and magic. Examines the blending of major world religions with local beliefs and traditions.
Geography 315 The Indian Subcontinent (4 credits). An examination of South Asia and its geography, with emphasis on India. Evaluates the economic relationship between India and other nations; studies patterns, issues, and challenges specifically related to geography; and explores the ethnic, religious, and linguistic diversity of its people, historic and modern.
Winter Term
Art History 204 A Prehistoric through Romanesque (4 credits). A study of all art forms of that period with specific emphasis on historical and cultural relevance.
History 470 Women in Indian Society (4 credits). An examination of women in India, their belief systems, their cultural place in society, and associated mythology, past and present.
College Writing II 135 (4 credits). Second-year class expanding research-based document writing and skills.
Political Science 203 D International Relations (3 credits). A comparison of global issues and the policies of world groups with similar and/or competing interests.
It was official. I was a college student now. Well, a college student and part time ancient Indian curse breaker, I thought, remembering Mr. Kadam’s continuing research in India. It was going to be difficult to focus on classes, teachers, and papers after everything that happened in India. It was especially odd knowing that I was supposed to carry on and go back to my old life in Oregon just like that. Somehow my old life didn’t seem to fit anymore.
Luckily, my WOU courses sounded interesting, especially religion and magic. Mr. Kadam’s selections were subjects I probably would have picked for myself—other than Latin. I wrinkled my nose. I’d never been too good with languages. Too bad WOU didn’t offer an Indian language. It would be nice to learn Hindi, especially if I’m going back to India at some point to tackle the remaining three tasks outlined on Durga’s prophecy that will break the tiger’s curse. Maybe . . .
Just then, “I Told You So” by Carrie Underwood came on the radio. Listening to the lyrics made me cry. Brushing a tear away, I considered that he probably would find somebody new very soon. I wouldn’t take me back if I were him. Letting myself think about him for even a minute was too painful. I tucked away my memories and folded them into a tiny wedge of my heart. Then, I shoved a whole bunch of new thoughts in place of the painful ones. I thought about school, my foster family, and being back in Oregon. I stacked those thoughts like books, one on top of the other, to try to suppress everything else.
For now, thinking about other things and other people was an effective distraction. But I could still feel his ghost hovering in the quiet, dark recesses of my heart, waiting for me to be lonely or to let my guard down, so that he could fill my mind again with thoughts of him.
I’ll just have to stay busy, I decided. That will be my salvation. I’ll study like mad and visit people and . . . and date other guys. Yes! That’s what I can do. I’ll go out with other people and stay active and then I’ll be too tired to think about him. Life will go on. It has to.
By the time I headed for bed, it was late and I was tired. Patting Fanindra, I slipped under the sheets and slept.
The next day, my new cell phone rang. It was Mr. Kadam, which was both exciting and disappointing at the same time.
“Hello, Miss Kelsey,” he said cheerfully. “I am so glad to hear that you have arrived back home safely. I trust everything is in order and to your satisfaction?”
“I didn’t expect any of this,” I replied. “I feel supremely guilty about the house, the car, the credit card, and school.”
“Don’t give it a moment’s thought. I was happy to arrange it for you.”
Curiosity getting the better of me, I asked, “What’s going on with the prophecy? Have you figured it out yet?”
“I am attempting to translate the rest of the monolith you found. I sent someone back to Durga’s temple and had pictures taken of the other pillars. It appears each pillar features one of the four elements: earth, air, water, and fire.”
“That makes sense,” I said, remembering Durga’s prophecy. “The original pillar we found must have been related to earth since it showed farmers offering fruits and grains. Also, Kishkindha was underground and the first object Durga asked us to find was the Golden Fruit.”
“Yes, well it turns out that there was also a fifth pillar that was destroyed a long time ago. It represented the element of space, which is common in the Hindu faith.”
“Well, if anyone can figure out what’s next, it’s you. Thank you for checking in on me,” I added before we both promised to speak again and hung up.
I studied my new textbooks for five hours and then headed to a toy store to buy orange-and-black stuffed animal tigers for Rebecca and Sammy since I’d completely forgotten to bring them back something from India. Against my better judgment, I also ended up buying an expensive, large, white stuffed tiger.
Back at home, I grabbed the tiger around the middle and buried my face in the fur. It was soft but didn’t smell right. He smelled wonderful, like sandalwood and waterfalls. This stuffed animal was just a replica. Its stripes were different, and its eyes were glassy—a lifeless, dull blue. His eyes were bright cobalt.
What on earth is wrong with me? I shouldn’t have bought it. It was just going to make forgetting him that much harder.
Shaking off the emotion, I pulled out a change of clothes and got ready to visit my foster family.
As I drove through town, I went the long way around so I could avoid the Polk County Fairgrounds and more painful memories. When I pulled in front of Mike and Sarah’s house, the door opened wide. Mike hurried toward me . . . but couldn’t resist getting a better look at the Porsche and ran past me to the car.
“Kelsey! May I?” he asked sweetly.
“Knock yourself out,” I said and laughed. Same old Mike, I thought and tossed him the keys so he could drive himself around the block a few times.
Sarah put her arm around my waist and guided me toward the house. “We’re so glad to see you! Both of us are!” She yelled and frowned at Mike who waved happily before backing out of the driveway.
“We were worried when you first left for India because we didn’t receive too many calls from you, but Mr. Kadam phoned every other day and explained what you were doing and told us how busy you were.”
“Oh? And what did he say, exactly?” I asked, curious to know what story he had made up.
“Well, it’s all very exciting, isn’t it? Let’s see. He talked about your new job and about how you will be interning every summer and working with him on various projects from time to time. I had no idea that you were interested in international studies. That is a wonderful major. Very fascinating. He also said that when you graduate, you can work for his company full time. It’s a fantastic opportunity!”
I smiled at her. “Yes, Mr. Kadam’s great. I couldn’t ask for a better boss. He treats me more like a granddaughter than like an employee, and he spoils me terribly. I mean, you saw the house and the car, and then there’s school too.”
“He did speak very fondly of you over the phone. He even admitted to us that he’s come to depend on you. He’s a very nice man. He also insists that you are . . . how did he say it . . . ‘an investment that will have a big payoff in the future.’”
I shot Sarah a dubious look. “Well, I hope he’s right about that.”
She laughed and then sobered. “We know you’re special, Kelsey, and you deserve great things. Maybe this is the universe’s way of balancing the loss of your parents. Though I know nothing will ever take the place of them.”
I nodded. She was happy for me. And, knowing that I would be financially secure enough to live comfortably on my own was probably a big relief to them.
Sarah hugged me and pulled a strange-smelling dish out of the oven. She placed it on the table, and said, “Now, let’s eat!”
Feigning enthusiasm, I asked, “So . . . what’s for dinner?”
“Tofu and spinach whole wheat organic lasagna with soy cheese and flax seed.”
“Yum, I can’t wait,” I said and wrestled a half-smile to my face. I thought fondly of the magical Golden Fruit that I had left behind in India. The divine object could make the most delicious food appear instantly. In Sarah’s hands, maybe even a healthy meal would taste good. I snuck a bite. Then again . . .
Rebecca, six years old, and Samuel, four years old, ran into the room and bounced up and down trying to get my attention. I hugged them both and directed them to the table. Then I went to the window to see if Mike was back yet. He had just parked the Porsche and was walking backward to the front door, staring at the car.
I opened the door. “Umm, Mike, it’s time for dinner.”
He replied over his shoulder, never taking his eyes off the car, “Sure, sure. Be right there.”
Sitting between the kids, I scooped up a wedge of lasagna for each of them and took a tiny piece for myself. Sarah raised her eyebrow, and I rationalized my small portion by saying that I’d had a big lunch. Mike finally came in and started chatting animatedly about the Porsche. He asked if he could take Sarah on a date and borrow the car some Friday night.
“Sure. I’ll even come over and babysit for you.”
He beamed while Sarah rolled her eyes. “Who are you planning on taking out, me or the car?” she asked.
“You, of course, my dear. The car is just a vehicle to showcase the beautiful woman sitting at my side.”
Sarah and I looked at each other and snickered.
“Good one, Mike,” I said.
After dinner, we retired to the living room where I gave the kids their orange tigers. They squealed in delight and ran around growling at each other. Sarah and Mike asked me all kinds of questions about India, and I talked about the ruins of Hampi and Mr. Kadam’s house. Technically, it wasn’t his, but they didn’t need to know that. Then they asked me about how Mr. Maurizio’s circus tiger was adapting to his new home.
I froze, but only for an instant, and told them that he was doing fine and that he seemed very happy there. Thankfully, Mr. Kadam had explained that we were often out exploring Indian ruins and cataloging artifacts. He’d said my job was to be his assistant, keeping records of his findings, and taking notes, which wasn’t too far from the truth. It also explained why I was going to minor in art history.
Being with them was fun, but it also wore me out because I had to make sure I didn’t slip and tell them anything too weird. They’d never believe all the things that had happened to me. Sometimes I had a hard time believing it myself.
Knowing they went to bed early, I gathered my things and said goodnight. I hugged them all good-bye and promised to visit again the next week.
When I got home, I spent a couple of hours studying and then took a hot shower. Climbing into bed in my dark room, I gasped quietly as my hand brushed against fur. Then I remembered my purchase, shoved the stuffed tiger to the edge of the bed, and tucked my hand under my cheek.
I couldn’t stop thinking about him. I wondered what he was doing right now and if he was thinking of me or if he even missed me at all. Was he pacing in the steamy jungle? Were he and Kishan fighting? Would I ever get back to India—and did I really want to? I felt like I was playing whack-a-mole with my thoughts. Every time I punched one thought down, another one would surface in a different place. I couldn’t win; they kept popping up from my subconscious. Sighing, I reached over, grabbed the leg of the stuffed tiger, and pulled it back onto the bed. Wrapping my arms around its middle, I buried my nose in its fur and fell asleep on its paw.