The Direction of the Wind: A Novel(66)
“I don’t have that choice,” she said.
Dao squeezed her arm. “I understand. And I’m here for you. Whatever you need.”
Nita fell into her friend’s arms and let herself feel the warmth of the embrace. The words “I’m here for you” had a power in them that was greater than any other, even the phrase “I love you.” “I’m here for you” showed solidarity and acceptance and conveyed in the best way possible that one was not alone. Nita had felt alone in some way for most of her life, and her heart swelled at Dao’s support for whatever decision Nita made. She was going to be a mother again, and, in this moment, all she needed was for someone to hold her and comfort her as if she were a child.
A little over a week later, on April 8, Nita found herself again thinking about Rajiv’s letter. It was their anniversary, and she knew he was in Paris somewhere and would be at the Eiffel Tower that evening at five, just as he had said he would. He was always punctual. Several days earlier, she and Dao had gone to a clinic to confirm her pregnancy. She had not told Mathieu, and she wondered if it was because she had not yet made up her mind about Rajiv.
She told herself there was no point in going there. What could possibly be gained? It was not as though she could return to her old life and pretend none of the past eight months in Paris had ever existed. Especially now.
Still, as the sun began to creep down from the sky, her feet led her toward the Eiffel Tower. There was a chill in the air, and she tucked her hands into the pockets of her coat as she walked along the Seine on the north side of the river. Her hair was safely tucked into her beret to keep it from swirling around her face. She could see the Eiffel Tower to her left, looming larger as she moved from the second arrondissement to the first. She crossed to the south side of the river using the bridge near the Musée d’Orsay. Her pace slowed as the iconic landmark grew larger. As she neared the metal structure, the crowds of tourists enveloped her. The most popular place in Paris was the easiest one to disappear in. She knew she could go there without being seen.
It was also the part of Paris that reminded her most of Ahmedabad. The throngs of people milling around and hawkers selling cheap novelty items, like Eiffel Tower magnets and coffee mugs, from wooden crates suspended around their necks reminded her of the chaos of India. The people yelling “Souvenirs” and haggling with tourists made her think of nights she had spent in the Law Garden in Ahmedabad, a bustling outdoor market with street vendors and small stalls set up along the perimeter. There, too, people were selling knickknacks and harassing passersby to unload some rupees on a shawl or brass trinket. Rajiv had never liked the Law Garden because he preferred to avoid noisy crowds, and she suspected he felt the same way about the scene at the base of the Eiffel Tower.
Nita walked slowly down Avenue Gustave Eiffel, careful to look inconspicuous. She stopped behind a guided tour group, the leader explaining the history of the landmark in German. She peered between people, trying to see if she could spot Rajiv. It was only four forty-five, but she knew he would be there already. Not seeing him, she ducked through the tour group and moved a bit closer, now standing behind a crêpe cart with a long line of people. She heard the sizzle of the batter hitting the hot plates before the vendor deftly spread it into a perfect circle using a T-shaped wooden spatula. She inhaled the smells of sweet chocolate-hazelnut spread and caramelized sugar and lemon. She peered around the cart and scanned the crowd ahead, seeing many families and couples posing for photographs they would cherish for years to come. She did not see Rajiv and feared something had happened to him. It was the only reason a man like him would miss such an appointment. Her thoughts cascaded toward him being in a car accident or something happening to his plane and Sophie being left without a parent. His two sisters would then be left with the job of raising Sophie, and they had never been overly kind to Nita. She worried they would not treat Nita’s daughter as their own. She’d have to return if that were the case. Leaving Sophie with her loving papa had been difficult enough, but leaving her in the care of anyone else was unthinkable. Nita would have to do what she and Dao had discussed with her pregnancy. She could not have a second child and show up in India again.
As her thoughts tumbled around her, she saw him. Standing in a camel-colored trench coat that she had commissioned from their local tailor several years ago, shifting his weight from right to left while his eyes searched for her face. He was no more than ten meters away from her. Gray hairs dotted his temples, standing out against his jet-black hair. He looked skinnier and frailer than she remembered. Her husband. She saw the faintest glimmer of hope in his expression, which otherwise reeked of doubt. He held an envelope the size of a flat sheet of paper, and she wondered what it contained. She also saw the thick gold wedding band he still wore on his ring finger. She had left hers behind on their dresser the day she walked out of their house and out of his life.
A lump formed in her throat, and part of her wanted to go to him, but her legs felt as though they were cemented to the ground. She watched him scanning the crowd for what seemed like an eternity.
“Did you want to order something?” the crêpe vendor asked her with his nose in the air, clearly suggesting she should move away from him if the answer was no.
“Désolée,” she said without taking her eyes off Rajiv and backing away from the cart to another place where she could still see him without being seen. Night fell as the hours passed, and it would have been even more impossible for Rajiv to have found her then, but he remained in place. The lights on the Eiffel Tower sputtered on, and revelers began photographing the monument again in a flurry. Rajiv pulled his coat more tightly around himself as the temperature dropped.