

Sex,  
Murder  
& Really Good Mangoes

Morgen La Civita

Sex, Murder & Really Good Mangoes

Copyright © 2019 M. La Civita

All rights reserved.

# TABLE OF CONTENTS

Title Page

The Tale of the Pharaoh's Mistress

Forgotten

Inspiring Anusha

About the Author

# THE TALE OF THE PHARAOH'S MISTRESS

In the halls of the ancient Egyptian palace of King Amun, Meryneith, affectionately known as Mery, made her daily runs between the kitchen, the servant's quarters, and Queen Neferet's chambers. Being cousin to the king allowed her a certain amount of station in the king's palace, but unfortunately, that station also meant that she would most likely always be in service to the king and his bride.

Mery, in all of her piety, did not wish for more. She was pleased to be of service to Their Majesties. In their dark beauty, they were the very embodiment of the God and Goddess here on Earth. To serve them fully and completely was her duty, and she did it with great pride and humility.

She wore her dark hair in a plait of braids around her head but did not dress as ornately as the other women of her station, despite her kinship to the king. She did not paint her eyes with kohl except on special occasions or at King Amun's request. He did not request it of her often as he preferred her in her more humble and innocent ways.

Their Majesties had been betrothed since their childhood. Mery was only a girl of six when Neferet was promised to Amun. They were then bound for all eternity in marriage when they were just twelve years old. Of course, they had nannies, tutors, and servants that guided and taught them until the time came when they were old enough to rule the kingdom and produce heirs. Mery and Neferet were like sisters during that time. They played like all young girls did, and were thick as thieves until the time came for Neferet to occupy Amun's halls in the palace.

By that time, Mery has nearly grown herself and was given a place in the palace where she could be of service to her cousin and her longtime friend, the Queen Neferet. She would have preferred to serve in the Temple of Isis had she had a choice, but doing her king's will was what the gods had chosen for her, and so she would. The king had given her chambers in the same halls where the queen lived, but he kept her equidistant to his own chambers so she could be of service to them both.

Amun and Neferet had visited each other's chambers several times a week since they took their regency, and yet no heir was born. Mery anointed her queen's breasts and belly with perfumed salves and cooked for her wild yams before each visit with the king. But still, no children came --no sons to carry on the royal bloodline.

It was a great honor when the king began to ask Mery to visit his chambers. While Mery herself would never take the throne, she carried the royal blood within her and was a most acceptable mistress. He would ask her to come to him right after bathing, wrapped only in linen sheets at the end of each month when the queen was approaching her moon time. Because Mery served the queen in all her needs, she was always prepared at a moment's notice to go to the king when her queen's blood was about to flow. While she prepared the Queen's moon linens, she also prepared the linens which she would wear to visit the king.

The first night the king called for her, she was unprepared and frightened. Although a woman for some time, she still retained her maidenhead. She had hoped to someday be married with a family of her own, but her duties to her sovereignty took priority. The first night he called upon her, she'd thought he only requested her services to bring him food or fresh linens, but when she entered his chamber she found him unclothed.

She did not imagine that she would have this intimate knowledge of His Majesty himself, but if it pleased her King, it pleased her as well to yield.

That first encounter sparked a love within Mery that she had not experienced before. She loved her king as his loyal subject, but now sore and confused, she retreated to her chambers feeling a different kind of love for Amun--the love of a woman for a man. Surely these feelings were blasphemous. One would not love a god as if he were a mortal man; so loving this embodiment on Earth must certainly be equally wrong.

In the morning, Mery was summoned to Queen Neferet's chambers. The queen sat in her favorite chair with the scooped arms adorned with gold, and the lion's feet at the bottom of the legs. She was much more a woman than Mery--her plump hips and full breasts with dark, pointy nipples showing through her chamber gown made her look more a goddess than a woman. Her wide, almond eyes painted artfully by the other attendants made her look beautiful but imposing. Mery had never been frightened of her childhood friend, but this morning, her queen looked venomous. Her voice possessed the timbre of a woman attempting to contain her emotions while on the verge of tears or anger, which one was not evident to Mery.

"Meryneith, come sit beside me. I wish to speak with you."

She extended her long brown arm, and Mery sat at the queen's feet on the floor cushions below.

Mery lowered her eyes. "My Queen," she said and kissed the palm of her outstretched hand.

"Do not be afraid, Mery. Have we not been friends for many years?"

"Yes, My Queen. I am your lifelong friend and humble servant."

"And yet, you look nervous, Mery. Is there something troubling you?"

"Yes, My Queen."

"The kitchen girls say that they brought wine and fresh bread with sweet oil to the king's chambers last night. The king requests these things after spilling his seed. Unless I was overcome with a walking dream last night, he did not spill his seed into me."

"No, My Queen. You were not overcome. The king spilled his seed into me."

Mery began to cry, and she awaited the queen's wrath.

The Queen's anger waned at the sight of Mery in tears. It broke her heart to see her so frightened. Amun was to blame for Neferet's distress, and she calmed herself before speaking again.

She stepped down from her chair and knelt beside Mery on the floor. Mery was abashed at the thought of her beloved Queen kneeling beside her like a common chamber slave.

"My Queen!" she pleaded.

"Shhhh. A queen will do as she pleases. As will a king. Come, rest your head on my breast so I might comfort you."

Mery was horrified at the thought of being allowed to touch Her Majesty in such a way, but she obeyed.

Neferet stroked Mery's hair and kissed her head.

"My dearest friend, my cousin. You need not be afraid. Your king commanded you to serve him last night, and you obeyed. There is no shame in obeying the will of your king. I harbor no resentment towards you. It is no secret in this palace that I have been unable to conceive. It is also no secret that the king must have an heir with royal blood. You are most honored to have been taken as his consort, instead of a _kitchen slave,_ " she hissed through her teeth.

It had only just occurred to Mery that the king had had many lovers. Of course, conceiving with a house servant was out of the question, and taking preventative measures was something the servants all knew how to do; animal intestines and stomachs, or crocodile dung were kept on hand in case a man could not remove himself in time, or if he found anal intercourse distasteful. Most were very careful. The act of ridding oneself of a pregnancy was not a task to undertake lightly. In most cases, the woman, as well as the babe, perished. Only a year ago, a noblewoman died after ingesting a combination of opium and mercury she acquired from a tradesman from the Far East after an indiscretion with a stone worker.

"Yes, My Queen. It weighs heavy on my heart as I love you so."

"Yes, I know it does. You have always been a most loyal friend. You are kind and chaste...well, you _were_ anyway," she teased as she kissed Mery's head again. "Come."

The queen rose, and Mery scrambled to her feet to join her. She stood at least six inches taller than Mery, and she laid her head on her breasts when Neferet pulled her close in an embrace. She stroked her head absentmindedly and whispered:

"The king will call on you again while I'm in my moon time. You must learn how to pleasure him properly while finding some pleasure for yourself as well. Men, especially kings, care nothing for a woman's pleasure."

She kissed Mery on the mouth. It tasted both bitter and sweet. She took Mery's hand and led her to the bed where they laid naked, breast to breast and stomach to stomach, gliding against each other's soft and fragrant skin. They caressed each other gently until they fell helplessly into sleep.

In the morning, Mery supervised the preparation of the king and queen's breakfast and made sure the kitchen girls delivered extra dates to Neferet. She then prepared herself for the audience with the temple priestesses that day. She felt herself growing aroused thinking about seeing Amun, and could barely stand the wait. She went about her day supervising the servants and visiting Their Majesties in the Great Hall while they listened to music and entertained guests. They were especially fond of the temple priestesses visits. They rarely left their temple home, and when they did, it was usually a greatly anticipated visit.

The priestesses of the Temple of Isis were a mystery to Mery. She had once longed to serve with them; to be an oracle herself. They were beautiful and a little frightening. They exuded wisdom and grace and everyone at the palace came to the Great Hall when they were there.

To be in their presence was to be in the presence of the Holy Queen Herself. They counseled to both royalty and slave alike and did so without judgment or pretense. The priestesses knew the ancient secrets of healing and magic and were always generous with their time. They told the story of the Gods to the children, and were especially kind to the young girls, and often offered them a place with them once they became of age. They were the very epitome of female power, and they made Mery feel safe.

Queen Neferet often asked the priestesses to intervene on her behalf to Isis in matters of fertility. They would anoint her with mysterious oils, and speak rites over her. They would then offer the king private counsel and advise him on what his future held. They would bless his reign in the name of The Great Queen and offer suggestions on how to please the Goddess.

The young priestess, Atet, was to go to the king's private chamber for his counsel and bid Mery to join them. The king, misunderstanding, asked Mery to fetch a wine-servant. Atet waved her hand. "I do not require wine, King Amun. But I do wish that your young cousin join us today."

King Amun was taken aback but conceded, and Mery gathered herself and quickly made her way to follow them. Queen Neferet's eyes glinted with fury, as the king's counsel with the temple priestesses was sacred and secret. Daring not to question the turn of events, Neferet bit her tongue until she tasted blood. She lowered her eyes and bowed her head to King Amun bidding him farewell, but when she walked ahead she lifted her eyes to meet Mery's, and Mery shivered with fear.

Inside King Amun's meeting chamber, there was a large stone chair painted in gold and bearing the crown of Isis that honored her sister Hathor. The walls were covered in hand-painted pictures depicting the story of Isis tricking Ra into revealing his name. In her hands, Isis held the snake, while Ra bled waiting for her antidote. Ra, in agony, rested his bird head on the arm of his throne; lips pursed and whispering his secret to her, giving her ultimate power over all. In the next painting, Isis stood, wings spread, in victory.

Pedestals were scattered around the room: hard stone pillars with u-shaped tops where one would rest their head during sleep. Mery waited for Atet to sit upon one before taking a seat herself. Atet fanned her long white dress with golden veil out around the seat and smoothed her lap with her hands. Wordless, she raised her head and waited. Mery looked nervously from Atet to King Amun, waiting for someone to speak.

"Priestess, I will know the meaning of this intrusion on my private counsel," demanded Amun.

Atet did not answer immediately. Her eyes were fixed on Mery's. Mery could _hear_ her!

_Child, if it is your wish to join us, I will speak for you. I know the King's intentions for you. You need not be afraid. Your sisters and your Mother are with you._

Mery was in disbelief but answered silently, _I will do my King's will._

Atet abruptly broke her gaze and looked to Amun.

"King Amun, I come to offer Meryneith a place in the Temple in Philae. I believe it is in her heart to join us, but she will only do what your majesty requires of her. So, I have included your cousin in this counsel so she may speak freely, and know that she is most welcome in our home and to hear your majesty give his blessing." She bowed her head.

Mery felt panicked. As a child, it had been her hope to join the temple priestesses, but now as she looked at Amun, she found herself flushed with lust at his strong, muscular legs as he sat in his chair. His loincloth gathered high above his thighs and she followed the trail of his dark hair and remembered with great clarity the area underneath.

Atet's head snapped to Mery, _Steady yourself and your thoughts child!_

Mery startled, centered herself on the pedestal, and tried to ignore her lustful thoughts. He had made her feel loved--if only for the evening--and she longed to be possessed by him again. A part of her wanted to let him use her and conceive.

Atet sighed in exasperation and Mery hoped she had not heard those last thoughts.

King Amun spoke. "Mery belongs to me. And she serves me well."

Mery thought she noticed movement under the king's loincloth. A bead of sweat rolled down her temple.

Atet, cool and calm, said, "Your Majesty, if the child is called to serve the Great Queen, surely you would not deny her."

"The Great Queen requires an heir to the throne. That is for the greater good of all of Egypt. Is that not also a service to Her? If Queen Neferet cannot conceive, Mery must ensure the royal bloodline."

"And if I can help your Queen conceive," Atet protested, "then Mery might be free to choose?"

"Even if the Queen conceives, there is no promise that it will be a son. And, even if it be a son, there is no promise that he will survive long enough to rule. One must have...options," he argued. He turned a menacing eye to Mery. He looked like he wanted to fall on her and devour her. He wanted to show her how powerful he was, and for Mery to understand that she _would_ submit to him.

Atet spoke to Mery but kept her eyes fixed to Amun. "Mery, what say you in all of this?"

"I will do as my King commands," she said in a choked whisper. Beads of sweat gathered under her tunic.

Amun stood. "Then it is settled. Mery stays. Our counsel is over. You may go."

Atet stood and bowed her head. "Yes, my Lord. Might I ask one question?"

Amun was impatient, but said, "Yes."

"Is Mery to never marry? To live a life of her choosing?"

Amun seemed to pause on this question.

"I will think on that. Go now. My guards will give you our offerings for the temple. Be well."

Atet backed towards the great door and then turned to leave. She paused for a moment at the door. _Beware the queen, child. She worries you will replace her. And she believes that to do so would mean that she is dead._ And with that, she was gone.

Mery watched Atet leave, and before she could turn again to face the king, she felt him behind her. He wrapped his hands around her waist and pulled her abruptly into him. Amun bent her head to expose her neck and kissed her softly there.

He whispered, "Where do you belong?"

"With you, My King," she replied.

The King took her for pleasure this time - not for obligation. He _wanted_ her. He wanted to make Mery his and his alone.

He whispered in her ear, "To whom do you belong?"

"You, My King, only you," and she turned her head to kiss him deeply. There was no way Neferet would not hear. _Good_ , Mery thought uncharacteristically, _he is mine._

Amun turned Mery around and laid her on the floor and entered her. When it was done, he withdrew and with one soft kiss, he rolled over exhausted on the cool floor next to her. Mery turned onto her side and saw a scarab beetle scurrying across the floor.

_Someone was going to die._

Mery and Amun exited the meeting chamber and returned to the Great Hall to find Queen Neferet sitting just as she had been when Atet first arrived. Her face was like stone, and she looked as if she'd seen a ghost. Her eyes were unfocused and both hands tightly gripped the arms of her throne as if she were expecting to be suddenly thrown from it. King Amun took his seat beside her, and Mery knelt before them both, wishing nothing more than to flee the room.

"Your Majesties, may I retire to my chambers?"

"Of course, Mery," King Amun answered.

Queen Neferet's eyes were unblinking as she concurred. "Yes, Mery. You may go."

* * *

"I assumed you had retired to your chambers," King Amun said with a tone of smug satisfaction.

"My King, I think we both know that you thought no such thing." Queen Neferet continued to stare straight ahead.

Amun gave a small smirk, ordered wine, and spoke again. "The Oracle has gone?"

"Yes. We spoke briefly. Her wisdom belies her young age. She knows much."

"She does. Is there something my Queen would like to discuss?"

Neferet's teeth clenched, and the grinding was audible as she willed her rage into submission.

"I believe you are visiting my chambers this evening?" she asked without moving her jaw.

"Yes. I have not forgotten."

"I shall see you then--if His Majesty is not too exhausted from today's _activities_."

"Not at all. I feel surprisingly energetic. Make your preparations. I shall come to you soon."

"Until then." She rose and exited the hall with several of her servants on her heels.

* * *

Neferet seethed as she bathed and prepared for King Amun. She felt threatened by Mery now, and it broke her heart to feel that way. She knew that Mery had little choice when the king commanded her to serve him. But she sensed that Mery had fallen in love with Amun, and that could not be tolerated. With love comes the desire to possess, and Mery could not possess him. Neferet did not know for sure if Mery understood that the only way to truly belong to Amun was if Neferet died, but she suspected that she did. Mery was a mouse of a girl, but she was not stupid.

Even as a child, Mery had a gift for understanding that which went unsaid. She could feel another's pain and suffering, or know when someone needed her. It was a shame that she'd not been allowed to join the Temple of Isis in Philae. She would have made a good Oracle and temple prostitute. Mery had not grown up with the same restrictions that were upon Neferet. Neferet blossomed early, and at the age of nine, she possessed a woman's body with all its accompanying functions. Her father and brothers had kept her locked away under the closest supervision, as many suitors came for her hand. Men from good families would often stake their "claim" on a young girl, and when she was full grown, come and collect her like a farm animal that was ready to be slaughtered for meat. Neferet had thought it despicable, but at the same time, it had intrigued her that a woman could have so much power.

_After all, without cattle, a village dies._ Neferet laughed to herself.

The day had come when Amun's father came to claim her for his son. His father had carried out the transaction with a very business-like demeanor. He had barely glanced at Neferet, never mind speak to her. Amun's mother, however, was kinder. She brushed her hair and spoke to her of how beautiful their palace was. Soon after, Amun's parents died, and he took the throne and collected his new queen from the quiet solitude of her father's home.

The first night they'd been together, Neferet wasn't afraid. She had stood, naked, her hands on her fleshy hips, challenging Amun with her eyes. He had been gentle with her, out of respect for her virginity he'd claimed, but she'd always secretly suspected that it was he who was nervous. Neferet was not one to be coy or swooning, and Amun was not used to that. He liked to feel powerful, but here was Neferet with her ample breasts and buttocks (and a few inches taller than he) standing strong as his equal. She had tried to ride on top of him, and he quickly used his strength to turn her to his own liking.

When she was done bathing, her servants helped her oil her body--she doubted Mery would come to do it for her now--and she felt suddenly sad. The servants brought her wine and bread. She much preferred beer, but the beer was peasant food and she'd once been told it was distasteful to imbibe it. Neferet bid her servants brush her long black hair until it had shone like the river under a full moon. She looked a little wild with her hair loose, and it made her feel powerful.

She waited for him to come.

When King Amun arrived at her chamber, he looked every bit the boy she'd met all those years ago. He was shirtless and barefoot, and only wore a light loincloth. He approached the bed where the queen sat, ankles crossed. She swung her legs lightly as she leaned back on her arms, and Amun could see the soft pink soles of her feet.

Amun said nothing as he guided her down onto her back, and held her hands together with his over her head so that she could not touch him. She spread her legs for him, and he admired her full form and soft, substantial breasts as her arms stretched further above her head. He freed one of his hands from her wrists, and guided himself out of his garment, ready to enter her. He reinforced his grip on her wrists again. His arms locked tight and he rode her with an aggressive passion, pushing himself deeper inside her than he had with Mery. The queen could take it which disappointed Amun because he wanted to punish her just a little for her demeanor in the Great Hall. The harder he pushed into her, the more she seemed to like it; she was so willful! She wrapped her thick legs around his waist and tightened his grip on her wrists. Neferet laughed out loud. Furious, Amun grabbed her by the back of her hair and her neck arched as he slowed his pace to make every thrust as intentional and penetrating as he could.

Neferet wrapped her arms around Amun's back and interlocked her fingers. With one swift movement, she had forced him onto his back and clamped a hand down on his dominant arm. In the same instant, she grabbed his neck under his chin and attempted to hold him down while she altered his pace, and created her own. Instinctively, Amun reached for her arm on his throat and struggled to free himself; she was unrelenting. How had he not known how strong she was now? She rode him, rolling her hips and buttocks slowly, like a belly dance, until she erupted in orgasm. Finally! Triumphant, she released her grip on Amun, and he instantly slapped her across the face.

"You _bitch_!" he growled at her.

He grabbed her hair again and attempted to turn her over onto her stomach. She resisted, and he was unable to move her past lying on her side. He wrapped her long hair like a rope around his hand and held her in place. With one leg draped over her thigh, he pinned her there while he entered her harder than he'd ever entered anyone, and to his great frustration, she seemed to enjoy it. How he would punish her for this! When he felt he was ready to explode, he pulled out of her and nestled his cock between her cheeks, letting his seed spill onto her back. He stroked himself, pulsing until every last bit came out onto Neferet.

_"Noooooo!"_ Neferet screamed. "Amun, how _could_ you!"

Amun kissed her gently on the cheek and whispered, "You will get _nothing_ from me, you willful little _bitch_."

He stood up from the bed and stormed out of Neferet's chambers as she collapsed in a deluge of tears.

Mery appeared at Neferet's chamber door, timid and humble.

"My Queen?" she asked tentatively.

* * *

Mery had been racked with guilt since the incident in the king's meeting chamber. She knew the queen was hurt, but she also knew that she could have done nothing about it. At least that's what she was telling herself. Mery tried hard to forget how pleased she had been at the thought that Neferet could hear her and Amun together. She could blame Amun for making her do such a thing, but the truth was, she loved Amun too. Wasn't it normal for a young girl to want to be loved in return? To desire a life for herself outside of duty? In that moment in the counsel room, she had claimed Amun for herself; claimed a thing that didn't belong to her.

She resolved to convince King Amun to release her from his service so that she might join the Temple of Isis with Atet. Or perhaps she could find love elsewhere. Whatever her fate would be, she knew she could not stay here in the palace. Her Queen, her friend, was threatened by her and she would no longer be used against Neferet.

"Come, Meryneith," Neferet bid.

Mery walked towards the bed where the queen lay distraught. She had draped the bed linen loosely across herself, but her breasts were still exposed. Her eyes were red and swollen from crying, and her cheek was bruised where Amun had struck her.

"I always envied you Mery," said the queen in a soft and broken voice. "You were free when we were children. I had been angry with you when you would come to visit me at my father's house to keep me company. You had your freedom and you chose to stay locked up with me on most days. Why?"

Mery thought carefully on this before answering.

"My Queen, what young girl would leave a beautiful bird with a broken wing?"

Neferet cried again and reached out to embrace Mery. Mery went to her outstretched arms and held her close.

"Mery," she whispered, "would you leave that bird to wither away alone now? I know you desire your freedom. I know it is not in your heart to hurt a soul, and the King is turning you into an asp, but would you still leave me alone in this beautiful cage of a palace?"

Mery could not answer her without lying, for she did intend to leave.

Neferet pushed her aside gently and rose from the bed.

"Come, help me gather and burn these linens. If the servants see the king's seed on them, there will be gossip. My face is the result of falling after too much wine. Do we understand each other, Mery?"

Mery silently nodded her head in agreement.

The next day, King Amun announced that the palace would be hosting royalty from Greece.

"King Medon and his people will be here by nightfall. We shall make them feel most welcome here. For the ladies of our great palace, it is rumored that Medon seeks an Egyptian bride in order to ally our great kingdoms. I command that all high - born maidens bring their fathers, or eldest brothers, to the palace for the festivities tonight in the event that the king should claim you. Go now and make your preparations."

The servants busied themselves with cooking and cleaning, and dancers and musicians were gathered from across the province. By nightfall, King Medon was announced, and the guards were sent out to greet him. Mery stood by Amun and Neferet as they took their thrones and waited to greet the Mediterranean king. Neferet looked like a goddess; she wore a cape of gold over her pale linen dress. Her face was painted so artfully that the bruise which appeared just hours before was completely camouflaged on her cheek. Her eyes were black and intense, and her lips were painted a deep red.

King Amun's skin had been oiled to a glistening sheen, which made every muscle on his body appear more defined. He wore gold cuffs on his wrists and held a tall golden staff with the ankh on the top. They looked like statues as they sat straight-backed with their chins lifted slightly. Mery couldn't decide who was more menacingly beautiful between the two of them.

"King Amun!" a deep voice bellowed. "I present King Medon!"

The guards parted to reveal King Medon as he walked down the aisle of the Great Hall. The Greek king was much older than Amun. His dark, curly hair had flecks of grey around the edges, and his beard was salted with age. His body was thick with black hair covering his legs and arms. He had wild, amber eyes that looked as if they'd seen many battles, many men's deaths. He had a deep scar across his brow that gave a pink offset to his deep olive skin. His robes were dyed with a strange purple color, and his tunic was the color of mustard seed and the edges, bark. The women bowed deeply as he passed. King Amun stood.

"King Medon, welcome to our palace. Our dancers have prepared something very special in your honor. Please, you and your men be seated. The servants shall bring you food and wine."

Amun clapped his hands, and nine dancers appeared in veils and long skirts. Their breasts were covered in only a small, light cloth, and their hair flowed loosely to their hips. The drummers took their places around the far walls of the hall and began to beat a steady rhythm on their skin drums. The dancers moved within and around each other like a flock of birds changing patterns suddenly and yet with perfect synchronicity.

The servants ran from the kitchen to the hall over and again feeding the Mediterraneans, who were kind and good spirited as they laughed and helped a wine servant to his feet when he tripped and fell. Mery sat quietly observing the ladies attempting to get the attention of King Medon. They smiled shyly at the king and peeped out of the sides of their hair while they giggled amongst themselves.

When the events came to a close, everyone was good and drunk. Some of Medon's guardsmen retired for the evening with some of the slave girls, while others retired with some of the boys. Neferet seemed amused by the strange customs of their new friends, and despite Amun's coaxing to return to her chambers to sleep, she had stayed until there was no one left but themselves, Mery, and King Medon.

Medon spoke in a deep, gruff voice.

"Amun, thank you for a most festive evening! My men were in much need of... _relaxation_."

He laughed a husky laugh.

"The honor is ours, Medon. It warms our hearts to see you and your men enjoying our palace. My queen and I were wondering if any maiden here has captured your attention tonight."

Mery startled as Medon's eyes flashed toward her and he smiled a half smile out of the corner of his mouth.

"Indeed, there is one."

King Amun's jovial demeanor quickly changed as the understanding of Medon's intentions set in.

"Meryneith is unavailable," Amun said with a timbre of authority in his voice.

"Is that so? You are betrothed, my lady?"

Mery swallowed hard, and answered, "No, your Majesty."

"Then, Amun, what is the problem?"

"Mery belongs to me. She is my mistress and having royal blood, her duties are to her King and to Egypt."

"So she is a second wife, then?"

Neferet flinched at the words and her jaw locked down in response.

"Egypt has only one queen," Neferet spoke through gritted teeth. "As far as I am concerned, Mery may choose her own path...if it pleases her King."

"Of course, Your Majesty. I see that I have offended Your Highnesses. It was not my intention. But unless Mery is a servant, I see no reason for her not to consider all her options. Especially when our kingdoms can form a most beneficial alliance. She could belong to _both_ Greece and Egypt."

"I must ensure Egypt's royal bloodline, Medon," countered Amun.

Suddenly aware of the implication of Amun's statement, Medon looked to Neferet who in turn looked murderous with humiliation. He thought it better to remain diplomatic in his response.

"One can never have too many beautiful women or too many sons, Amun. Forgive me."

"There is nothing to forgive, my friend. Mery is a beautiful creature. Besides, that fruit has already been picked."

Mery turned red with rage. How dare Amun humiliate her this way! To declare her impure publicly in an attempt to make her less desirable! She had given Amun her virginity for the benefit of her country. She was not some immoral woman who bedded the entire palace! It had not occurred to Mery before, but no longer being a virgin would now make it impossible for her to marry. Amun could have denied it before, but this public statement sealed her fate. She was now seething with anger over it. Was this all that her future held for her? To be the king's mistress until she was too old, and then she'd be discarded as a spinster?

"Ah, I see," said King Medon kindly. "But for the record, in my country, women with _experience_ are not only accepted but desired." He winked at Mery.

With a deep sigh, Medon excused himself.

"I shall retire to my chambers then. I thank Your Majesties for your hospitality, and bid you a good night."

King Medon's words were an epiphany to Mery. If it was not frowned upon to no longer be a virgin in Greece, then she still had a chance to try and make King Amun see reason. If he allowed her to marry Medon, then she could unite their two countries in an alliance. She could be free, and Neferet would be at peace again. Surely she would conceive eventually. Mery thought she could seek the best physicians for her; try new remedies found in Medon's kingdom. If not, then certainly a lady from Greek royalty would be an acceptable mistress if the kingdoms were united. She would avoid Amun to ensure she not become pregnant until she convinced him to let her go with Medon.

"May I also be excused, Your Majesties? I am unwell from too much wine."

"Pity," Amun frowned. "You may go, Mery. Rest well."

Mery bowed and made her exit. On her way to her own chambers, she stopped a servant and asked him to show her where King Medon was staying. He showed her to Medon's room where she was greeted by two guards.

"I come with a message from King Amun regarding tomorrow's activities," she lied.

They let her pass, and she entered the room cautiously.

"I cannot say I am surprised to see you here, my dear."

She bowed her head, "Your Majesty, might I speak with you a moment?"

King Medon waved his hand in a gesture of invitation, and Mery sat down across from him. She didn't know where to begin.

"I know why you're here Mery. Please, speak freely."

"Your Majesty, if the King gave his permission, would you have me?"

"I might have you even if he doesn't give his permission," Medon teased.

"Is it true? What you said about experienced women in your country?" Mery pried.

"It is. We live our lives with great passion and joy. We eat, we drink, and we love whomever we choose. We celebrate our lives because the gods can take it away at any time with war, sickness or famine. So, we live fully while we still can." He smiled.

"And my life in Greece--what could I expect?"

"You are more bold than I thought, young one. What can you _expect_ of me and my country?" He howled with laughter.

Mery was embarrassed at having spoken so frankly, and quickly lowered her head.

"You should not feel ashamed. It is a perfectly logical question, and I am happy to answer it. What you could expect, is a fine palace, servants, musicians, teachers, philosophers--all at your disposal."

Mery was processing all of his words, when Medon added, "And you will be guaranteed your personal freedom, Mery, to partake in all that fulfills your soul."

He looked longingly at her, and Mery felt a strange kinship to the King. He was so very kind.

"Of course, it would be expected that we would have children. And given the years I already have on you, you will most likely outlive me, at which time you can take any lovers you please, or even leave Greece altogether if you choose. But of course, the palace would always be your home as well." He smiled again.

"Thank you, Your Majesty. I must be going now." Mery felt suddenly aware of the time she'd spent in Medon's chamber, and the trouble she'd be in if she was caught.

"Of course, my lady. I intend to stay in Egypt a few more weeks. I love your country. The pyramids! Ah! Fantastic!"

Mery rose to leave, and King Medon rose with her. He kissed her on both cheeks and said, "You do not need his permission, Mery. Even if you would not be my queen, Greece will always have her arms open to you. We Grecians go to war over beautiful women all the time."

He winked at her, smoothed her hair with his large hands, and Mery said, "Good night."

Mery felt hopeful for the first time in weeks. She would speak with Amun first thing in the morning. Surely, some compromise could be arranged. Amun loved his people, and he certainly would not risk his soldiers to simply stop Mery from leaving. After all, she had royal blood in her veins. She was not a slave. He would not publicly humiliate Neferet either by going to war over a mistress. She felt confident that he would be reasonable.

Mery went to sleep that night dreaming of a palace by the sea.

In the early hours of the morning, Mery was awakened by the sound of men's shouting voices and rushing footsteps in the halls. Frightened, she called out to her servants, who came in running and panicked.

"What is it? What's happened?" she demanded.

A young servant girl was wide-eyed as she recalled to Mery what she'd heard.

"My Lady, King Medon is dead!"

"How?" Mery's voice was shaking with fear.

"A viper, My Lady. The servants say it was a viper."

Mery dressed quickly and ran barefoot through the long corridors to reach the Great Hall. King Medon's guards surrounded his dead body but faced outwards in a protective stance. Through the spaces between the guards, Mery could see the swollen and bruised face of Medon. He was pale blue, and his eyes bulged from their sockets. Dried vomit clung to his beard and covered his clothing. The hall was loud with weeping and panic.

"I will have silence!" King Amun's voice rang through the hall, and everyone was still.

"Has the animal been caught and killed?" he questioned one of his own guards.

"It has, Your Majesty." He held up a sack that held the snake.

Then to King Medon's men, he said, "This is truly a great tragedy. All of Egypt grieves your loss. You will have our assistance to preserve your King's body for the journey home. May his soul reach the kingdom of your gods."

He ordered his guards to fetch the embalmer, and then he turned to go back to his chambers as if not much had even happened.

"Mery, come!" he demanded.

Mery was terrified and she felt relieved that Amun wanted her to be with him. She did not want to be alone, in case there was another snake loose within the palace.

Once inside Amun's chambers, he turned on her with a fury.

"How _dare_ you plot to leave me!" he shouted. "Did you think I would not notice that you went to him? He thought to steal you from me, and that I would not retaliate!" he said, mad with rage.

Mery's eyes widened in horror as she pieced together that Amun had been responsible for the Greek king's death. She tasted bile in her mouth.

He pinned Mery up against the wall, and whispered in a voice trembling with anger, "You will learn to never betray your King!"

"I only wanted to ensure a life for myself!" Mery shouted. "As your mistress, I will be of no use to you when I'm old, and no one else will have me now. Am I to spend my life alone? A breeding mare for His Majesty? I have not yet conceived either. Perhaps the women in your life are not the ones to blame!"

The king looked shocked at her outburst, and Mery herself was sorry she'd said the words the moment they left her mouth.

"Let's see about that then, shall we?"

Amun kissed her hard on the mouth before moving down to suck her neck. Mery moaned in ecstasy. Despite her anger with Amun, she still desired him. She wanted to resist him, but if she would never be truly free, then she didn't know why she should. Her heart and mind wrestled with her body as it betrayed her in its yielding.

"Make me yours, Amun. Don't let me live this life without true love. Without a home. Without a future. Make me yours," she begged him.

Amun lifted Mery up against the wall and pushed into her. He took her slowly, passionately, but with purpose. To Mery, it _felt_ like he loved her. But he had done a horrible thing in his attempt to keep her in service to him: He had killed. A _king_ no less!

Mery wrapped her legs tightly around his waist and threw her arms around his neck. She breathed in his hair, and her eyes rolled back as she came in one wave after another. She loved him so much, she'd almost allow him to do anything to her in this moment.

* * *

Amun gripped Mery's thighs and with a few slow strokes, he had released himself inside her. His legs weakened in the pleasure of it, and they slid down to the floor still wrapped up in each other. The king felt himself loving her in a way he wished he hadn't. When his guards told him what they overheard outside of King Medon's chambers the night that Mery went to him, Amun was infuriated. But he was angrier with himself; had he not taken her as a mistress, she might have had a family of her own. She might have joined the temple priestesses. Amun had grown to love this sheepish little thing, but a part of him realized that love was a great inconvenience to them both. He had been so angry with her when she suggested it was his fault that his women did not conceive, but he worried she might be right. And if she was, then he'd be wasting her life for his own selfishness; love alone.

The severity of what he'd done in having a kitchen servant place a viper in King Medon's room was not lost on Amun. It was a brutal and vicious thing to do out of an emotion as petty as jealousy. He was the embodiment of the gods on Earth and to trouble himself with such trivial emotions was a disgrace. He did not wish to be seen as so very human among his people--the rumors surrounding the cause and reason for Medon's death were growing. If the people thought he'd killed another _king_ over a mistress, there could be an uprising, not to mention retaliation from the Greeks. He could not allow people to think he was so weak that he could not let a mere mistress go.

Amun kissed her again and with sadness in his voice, he said, "If you do not conceive this month, Mery, I will let you go."

* * *

Mery's heart filled with a mix of emotions. Of course, she wanted to be free and to leave Neferet in peace. But she loved Amun. Did this mean she would never have a chance to truly belong to him? How could she save all their hearts at once?

Mery said nothing, but gathered her dress and put herself back together. On her way out of the room she turned. "Do I have your word?"

"Yes, Mery. You have my word. I do care for you. If you do not conceive, you are free to live a life of your choosing."

In the morning, the entire palace came to see the Greek guard off with King Medon's body. The embalmer removed the king's brain, his liver, and intestines, and packed them neatly in four ritual urns. His skull was filled with wax and oil to keep the head's shape. The body of the king was packed with drying salts and wrapped with soft linen for his journey home. Upon his arrival in Greece, his servants were instructed on how to remove the salt packaging to prepare him for their own rituals.

Mery asked Neferet, "Who will rule his kingdom now? He had no heirs," she said, filled with sorrow at the thought of the great country of Greece without a king.

"His sister Lydia will rule as regent until a decision can be made. I heard his guards speaking of it. They are still searching for other kin that might be able to take the throne," she replied. "I feel very sorry for her."

Mery looked confused.

"To rule is to surrender oneself to a life imprisoned. Lydia will never be free again. And we, Mery, we take the terrible secret of what has happened here to our tombs."

The palace priest said the final blessings over King Medon's body and placed the Book of the Dead inside his coffin before they closed it and said goodbye.

When the sun rose the next day, one of the servant girls told Mery that Queen Neferet requested her presence in her chambers. She quickly dressed and fixed her hair as best as possible, and headed to the queen's room.

"Come in, Mery. Please, sit."

Neferet looked even more beautiful than usual. The bruise had faded quickly from her cheek, thanks to the palace physicians, and her hair was in a perfect plait of braids around her head. A sheer, linen cape flowed down her back, and she wore a large golden necklace that covered her collarbone. Her dark skin was oiled and it reflected bits of the morning light coming in through the window. She looked positively divine, and Mery suddenly felt very small and unkempt. She did her best to smooth her dress and hair with her hands and took her seat next to the queen.

"He loves you, Mery. No man kills for a mere mistress. As reckless as his actions were, it means that he loves you. A king will always demonstrate his power through violence. It is barbaric, but it is the times in which we live. Medon would have fought to keep you if you wanted him. Amun knew this. Men will fight with the biggest sword they can swing when a small one would suffice. It is all they know." Neferet sighed. "So, my question to you is, do you love him? Not as your King...but as a man."

Mery was speechless. Her mind raced to think of the answer quickly. She did love Amun, but he frightened her. If she were truly free to choose, would she choose him? If she did not conceive this month, would she go? And _where_ would she go? To the Temple of Isis? To Greece? She would be alone in this world; leaving the only home she'd ever known outside of her father's.

"I do love him, My Queen. But, I am not sure that matters much here," Mery finally replied.

The queen looked thoughtful. "It might... Atet?"

She turned to the far corner of her chamber, where the priestess Atet emerged from behind the curtains that hung throughout the queen's chambers.

"Your Majesty," said Atet.

Mery was terribly confused. Why was Atet here? Did she not remember her counsel with the king?

"Priestess, I am afraid that the King's answer, for now, is still no."

Atet smiled. "I am not here for you, child."

"Mery, the day that Atet came to counsel the king, she spoke to me before she left. She warned me that I was capable of doing a terrible thing. She warned that I would let jealousy consume me, and I would lose my soul in the process. She also told me that she saw in my future that I would have a surprising option. That I could live a life with great purpose."

"I don't understand."

"Mery, the king has agreed to release Queen Neferet and to take you as his wife. Of course, as Neferet is a rightful queen by blood, you would be taken as second wife, but you would serve as the acting queen here in the palace," said Atet.

"I don't understand. How could I rule as Queen here?"

Neferet looked peaceful as she spoke. "Atet has offered me a place in the Temple, and Amun has conceded. I will study with them, and serve Egypt from Philae. I shall be a queen in the Temple of Isis, and you shall be the queen here in the palace. I shall serve the Great Queen, and impart all my Divine inspiration to you here as needed."

"Why? Why would he do this?" Mery asked in a panicked voice.

"My loyal friend, my cousin and my sister, I do not love him as you do. And Amun does not love me. We were forced together in our sovereignty. Now, we want to choose."

Mery struggled to comprehend this unprecedented turn of events.

"But why did he not tell me of this himself?"

"Atet only arrived in the early hours of dawn. You had left his chambers by then. She just demanded that he see her right away," Neferet mused, clearly impressed.

"He told us that he planned to release you if it was what you wished. He claimed that he did not want to do so, but he did not want to see you suffer further."

Mery was speechless. How could she be expected to decide such a thing? She heard Atet's voice in her head.

_It has already been decided, my child. You are still free to leave at the month's end, and Amun will seek out another wife to take your place, but Neferet is firm in her decision. You will not conceive this month. But if you stay, you will someday. A year from now you shall bear a son, who shall live and rule. I have told Amun all I know. He does not doubt the Truth. To doubt an oracle is to doubt the Great Queen herself._

"So what we need to know, Mery, is what do you wish to do, now that you have many paths laid before you?" Atet was somber in her tone, serious.

Mery was resolved.

"I wish to stay here with the king as second wife and rule in Neferet's absence if it be the king's will."

"It is the king's _wish_ that you stay. Not his will, child." Atet was exasperated.

"I shall stay then."

Neferet stood and gathered the belongings prepared for her by her servants. Atet stood as well and placed both hands on Mery's shoulders.

"Serve your country, and the Great Queen, as best you can, Mery. Serve with compassion and grace. Be merciful. A woman with power is like a sandstorm: you think it will be a small thing that will run its course, and before you know it, the country is buried. Use it wisely."

Queen Neferet made her way, side by side with Atet and Mery, to the Great Hall, where she was greeted by all the house servants, the guards, and King Amun himself.

"My beloved Queen Neferet, it saddens me to see you off on your journey to Philae. However, your service to Egypt, through our Great Queen, is a great blessing to this kingdom, and it fills my heart with pride to give you to Her. In your absence, I take Meryneith as second wife, and allow her to serve here as queen in your absence."

The congregation in the hall knelt. "Long live Queen Neferet and Queen Meryneith!"

Tears filled Neferet's eyes, as she approached to kiss Amun, and embraced Mery tightly.

"We will meet again, my friend. As equals we will bring great changes to Egypt. We will love our people and guide them with wisdom and compassion."

Mery cried and clung to Neferet. "My Queen, forgive all my sins against you. I live with guilt from the pain I have caused you."

"You need not feel guilty. I am happy to serve in the Temple. I will do much good there. I am free too now, Mery. Never forget that. You never left that wounded, caged bird. Be at peace with what has transpired here this morning because I am."

Atet took Neferet's hand and guided her along the corridor, and out of the palace, where they walked out into the desert in the rising morning sun.

Amun took both of Mery's hands in his.

"Kneel, My Queen."

Mery kneeled and bowed her head before King Amun.

"I take you, Meryneith, on this day and for eternity, as my second wife and queen. I bind you to me, as I am bound to you."

He kissed her head and gestured to a servant who brought Mery her crown: gold, rectangular and tall with a blue lapis ankh in the center. He guided her hand and she stood to face her kneeling subjects before taking her throne.

Through the corridor, in the distance, she saw the outline of Atet and Neferet, and she smiled and raised her hand in acknowledgment. They raised theirs in return.

The rays of the Sun God reached through the windows and illuminated Mery's crown.

"Long live Queen Meryneith!" the congregation shouted.

"It is time for celebration!" King Amun rejoiced. "But first, a private moment with my new bride. When we return, we shall feast!"

With that, everyone clamored out of the Great Hall as Amun and Mery rose to return to Amun's chambers.

They never did make it to the feast...

## _Epilogue_

The Queen Mary University of London, England, 1927:

Dr. Chadwick stood before the surgical theatre and looked out at the anxiously awaiting faces of all who had come to hear him speak. He was usually very stoic and serious, but today was a huge event. Today made his stomach turn with the excitement of a young boy expecting Father Christmas.

At the center of the theatre lay a huge sarcophagus. It was three times the width of any that had been uncovered before, and the first brought to London to study. The cool, ancient stone was adorned with hieroglyphics, and it was speculated that it belonged to a king. A study on such a find would put Queen Mary College on the map in the important discoveries of the 20th century.

The sheer size of the sarcophagus required a herculean effort in its retrieval. The cost had been astronomical, and because of the generous funding of some private families, doctors, as well as noblemen and their wives and children, were in attendance. The tension in the room was palpable as all waited for Chadwick to speak.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, today we will unwrap a true treasure," he began. "A sarcophagus of this size has never been seen before, and as our ancient history professors are working closely with Dr. Zahi to translate the writings on it, we shall attempt to unravel the mysteries contained within."

Four men with crowbars entered the center and began to pry open the top. As the lid was pushed aside, a collective gasp could be heard from the audience.

"Remarkable!" breathed Dr. Chadwick in a whisper.

All fell silent once again and awaited the doctor's explanation for the unexpected contents inside.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we see here what appears to be a man of royal or high born station, with two females of the same rank. The female to the right of the male appears to be taller and larger boned than the other two mummies, while the female on the left appears to be much smaller. The man is of average height, and upon examination, appears to be between 30-40 years of age. The larger female can be guessed to be also about 30-40 years old at the time of death, while the smaller female may be between the ages of 19-30. It is difficult to make an exact determination of age without further study," he said, clearing his throat.

"The smaller female is seen holding the hand of the larger female as their hands lie across the abdomen of the male. The male's hands are positioned over his female counterpart's in a gesture that would imply devotion or love. Due to the crowns that adorn all the mummies' heads, I would venture a guess that these are indeed royals. It appears to be one king and two queens in the same coffin. _Remarkable!_ " the doctor breathed again.

Dr. Zahi took the center and addressed the theatre.

"Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. It is an honor for me to be asked to visit London and to work so closely with the team here in translating the hieroglyphics on the sarcophagus." He paused and opened a folded piece of paper, adjusted his glasses and began to read to the crowd.

_"Here lie the bodies of the great King Amun, Queen Neferet of the Temple of Philae, and young Queen Meryneith. Our son, Neheb, survives us. We enter the world of the dead with repentant hearts and join Queen Isis and our father, Amun-Ra in Heaven. Long live the great kingdom of Egypt."_

Dr. Zahi spoke again. "It is unprecedented to have multiple bodies in a royal sarcophagus, much less two queens of the same king. Because they have been entombed together, it stands to reason that they all died within days of each other, if not on the _same_ day. It is truly the greatest mystery that has been uncovered in Egypt."

King Amun and his two queens were sent to The Ashmolean Museum of Art and Archaeology in Oxford later that year so that their legacy and great love story could endure as immortal as the gods themselves.

_The end_

# FORGOTTEN

W _here am I?_

Since I opened my eyes on this cobblestone street, I'd repeated this same thought over and again in my mind as I stared up at the dusk sky. It was chilly, and I could smell seawater in the air. I heard nothing except the cooing of an evening bird nearby.

_You have to move...my name! What the fuck is my name?_

Wracked with panic, I willed myself to sit up and felt my head throb in protest. _Ow!_ I raised a tentative hand to the back of my head. _Big lump --no blood_, I noted with relief.

As I took in my surroundings, I saw that I was on a short, narrow street lined with old, stone buildings. Long, shuttered, wooden doors tucked neatly into the arched doorways of the unfamiliar homes. I looked up at the empty balconies, trying to mentally will a human being to appear. Nothing. No one. But the buildings were painted in soft pastels--corals, pinks, and pearl greys.

_Could I be in Miami? Miami would have more people, though, wouldn't it? Or_ any _people._ I stood slowly and steadied myself the way one would steady a horse. _Easy now, girl._ I swooned a little, and my eyes refused to focus.

I squinted and peered down towards the end of the street.

"Hello?" I called out into the night air. My voice echoed and skipped like a stone on water before disappearing into the waiting silence. I gave my head a gentle turn and looked to the opposite end of the street. Something moved. Maybe a cat...I didn't know. I tried another feeble "hello." No answer. _Cat_. My heart picked up its pace as total confusion and panic took hold of me.

_Where do I go?_

_Walk_ , I answered myself.

I started to walk, very aware of moving one foot in front of the other. _Left, right, left, right_. _Ah! A Store!_ I slowly read the sign above the darkened storefront. Tutto Mare Souvenir. _Italian imports? Maybe I'm in some quaint New England town._ But it wasn't cold enough to be New England at this time of year. I made my way to the end, and the street led to a stunning view of the ocean. The dark of the setting sun swallowed the shore, and seagulls circled the slow rolling waves.

"Signora va tutto bene?" a voice called out in the night.

I startled. "Hello?" I called out.

"Signora stai persi?" he said as he approached me.

He was an older man. Italian obviously. _Probably a tourist, so he might know where we are._

_"Hello! Do you speak English?" I yelled, panic rising in my voice._

"Si! Yes, I speak a little English. For the tourists."

_Huh? He's speaking English for the other tourists in either Miami or Maine or wherever the fuck we are?_

_He made his way to where I stood and took my hand._

"Are you all right?" he asked in broken English.

"I think so. But I think I may have fallen and hit my head. Can you tell me where the nearest hospital is? I know you're not from here, but do you have any idea?"

"Si. I know. I am from here. The hospital, Azienda Sanitaria, is not far from here. I can show you."

I stood dumbfounded. I had never heard of a hospital with such a bizarre name.

"That's a hospital? Are you sure?"

"Yes! I have lived here my whole life. It's a very good hospital."

"Where are we? What state? Maine?"

"I do not know what is Maine. But you are in Lipari."

I searched my brain for some sort of recognition at the name. Nothing.

"I'm sorry...where is Lipari?"

"Signora, we should take you to the hospital."

My voice broke as I pleaded with him. " _Where_? Where is Lipari?"

"Sicily, signora. You are in Sicily. _Italy_."

And then everything went black.

The next time I opened my eyes, I stared into a white light being shone directly in my face. I looked around, and everything looked very sterile. _This must be the hospital. In_ Italy _, apparently._

"Signora, you are in the hospital. You speak English? You are American?" a tall, olive-skinned doctor said, peering down at me.

"Yes, I speak English. I am American...I think. I think I may have hit my head."

"Yes, I see that. Can you tell me what is your name?" he asked, this time looking at the monitor I seemed to be attached to now.

"I don't know." I started to cry.

He rattled something off to the nurse nearby, and she shook her head and replied, "No, niente."

"What? What did you say? What does that mean?"

"Relax, signora, it is ok. I asked her if she found any identification for you. You have no purse? No wallet?"

"I don't think so. I didn't have anything when I woke up," I said, my voice breaking with fear.

The gentle nurse put her cool hand on my forehead and said "Shhh...you are going to be okay. Be calm. We are here to help you. Do you know if you have any family here or friends? You are a long way from home, signora."

I began to panic and struggle. Sobbing, I yelled, "I want to go home! Let me go home!"

The doctor whispered, "Datele un sedative," to the nurse, and she inserted a syringe into my I.V. line. I started to fall under a warm wave of calm. Caught in an undertow of sedation, I fell with a thud into sleep.

When I awoke for the third time, I was in what looked to be a very nice, private hospital room. The walls were covered in earth-toned floral paper, and the television was on the Italian news channel. Through the heavy curtains, I could see rays of morning light peeping through.

_How long have I been here?_ I leaned carefully over the side of my bed and found a little remote with a red button on it. Assuming it would alert someone to my presence, I pressed it once and fell heavily back onto my pillow.

Within seconds, a nurse in pale blue scrubs came in, unraveling a stethoscope from under her thick, curly hair which she slid across her shoulders.

"Good morning! You are awake? How are you feeling?"

Without waiting for an answer, she plugged the stethoscope into her ears and pressed the cold metal of the bottom to my chest. Apparently satisfied that I was still alive, she put her hands on her hips and waited for my response.

"I don't know. I have a headache. But otherwise, I'm okay...I guess.

"You were quite upset last night when you arrived here. You are lucky that someone brought you in. An older man. Do you remember him?"

"Yes! I remember him."

"Do you know him?"

"No. I saw him when I woke up on the street. I thought I was in the U.S. I must have passed out when he said we were in--where are we again?"

"Lipari, signora. It is an island in Sicily. You don't remember coming here? Do you remember anything at all?"

I started to cry again. "No."

"It's all right... Don't worry yourself now. You have a concussion, and the doctor will be in to speak with you soon. Your memory should return. Can I get you anything?"

I thought for a moment.

"Yes, please. A mirror. I don't remember what I look like."

She smiled and turned to leave. When she returned, she held a small, black hand mirror out to me.

"See? You are still you. Even if you don't remember who _you_ are."

I looked. Pixie-short red hair. I did not expect that. Freckles. Slate blue eyes. _Am I Irish?_

Despite how I felt, I looked pretty normal. It was surprisingly comforting. I tried to place a name with the face. _Sharon? Megan? Kelly? I kind of look like a Kelly_. I studied my small nose and narrow, oval face. Kind of like a small bird.

"Anything?" the nurse interrupted.

"No. But I think I look like a Kelly."

"That will work--for now." She smiled.

"So what's the next step? How long until I remember anything?"

Just at that moment, the doctor from the emergency room appeared in the doorway.

"Ah! Perfect timing! _Kelly_ here was just wondering when she will be regaining her memory."

"Is your name Kelly? You remember?"

"No. It's Kelly for now. _Until_ I remember."

He was not as amused as we were.

"I see. Okay, then. You have sustained a serious head injury. While your memory should return within the next few weeks, you may find that you have some permanent lapses in your long-term memory. I realize that you have no identification and don't remember how you got here or who you came with, but someone from Social Services has already called and should be here this afternoon to speak with you to get some information from you."

"Well, that might be a short conversation." I laughed.

"I understand, but it is protocol. If they hadn't called, we would have been obligated to do so, anyway. We will keep you here for another night to watch you and to give social services enough time to make a plan for you. In the meantime, you should eat. The nurses will bring you something."

"Well, at least if I have to eat hospital food, I'm glad it's going to be Italian hospital food."

"You might be disappointed. Hospital food is universal, I believe," the doctor joked, breaking through his serious facade for a moment.

Somewhere between the bad lunch and the bad dinner, a very tall, very attractive man appeared in my hospital room doorway. He had light facial hair--more than a five o'clock shadow, but less than a beard--and wore a crisp, white, button-down shirt and jeans. He removed his sunglasses to reveal the most beautiful golden-hazel eyes. Clearly, he had the wrong room.

"Signora, my name is Carlo Vitale. I am from Social Services. I will be your liaison while you are here and until the U.S. Consulate can determine your identity and status. May I sit down?"

I wished more than anything that I hadn't been wearing a paper gown.

"Yes, please," I said, gesturing to the chair in the corner. "The doctor said someone had called the hospital this morning. How did you know I was here?"

He brought the chair over to my bedside, and now, I also wished I had brushed my teeth.

"We received an anonymous call that there was a tourist who had been injured on the street. There are not many hospitals on this island, so narrowing it down was fairly easy," he said. "What's your name?"

"I don't know. We're going with Kelly for now."

"Hmmm. Okay. Kelly. So, is there anything you remember that might be helpful to me?"

"Not really. I'm sorry. I just woke up on the street. I don't know what I would have done if that man hadn't helped me"

Carlo paused. "What man?"

"He was an older man. He was at the end of the street I woke up on. He told me I was in Italy, and then I passed out. I think he brought me here. I'm not sure."

"That's very interesting. Did you get his name, by any chance?"

"No. I'm sorry."

"It's okay. Do you remember where you woke up? Are there any landmarks you noticed?"

"I saw a store. It was called Tutto Mary Souvenirs."

"Tutto _Mare_. I know it well. It is strange that you saw anyone near there because that part of the island is mostly abandoned in the off-season. Nothing is open."

I didn't know how to respond to that. I knew nothing about where I was or who should be here.

"So, what does that mean, then?"

"We shall see. Don't worry about that now. First order of business is to find you a place to stay until the Consulate can decide what to do."

My heart sank. I had no idea how I'd stay anywhere. I had no money, no I.D., and no proof I was supposed to even be here legally. Carlo must have noticed what was probably my very worried face.

"It's okay. I will find you a place. You won't have to pay for anything. It is my job to take care of you until you can return home. I'm going to make some phone calls. I'll be right back."

"Okay. Thank you, Mr. Vitale."

"Carlo," he corrected, smiling at me.

"Thank you, Carlo."

"I'll be right back."

He stood and headed out of the room, I caught his scent...he smelled very, very good. _Stop that! Oh my God! What if I'm married?_ It was the first time that thought had occurred to me. I could be married--even have a family. What if people were looking for me? That was a good thing, actually. What was more frightening was what if people _weren't_ looking for me? At best, it could be weeks before any memory came back to me at all. At worst, I could lose pieces of my past forever.

Carlo returned--eyes serious and frowning--looking very discouraged. He sat down again in the chair next to my bed and took a deep breath.

"Kelly, I've been working on trying to find you a place to stay after you're discharged from here. But unfortunately, being the off-season, everything is closed. Very few people live here year round, and the hotels are usually out of business for the season by this point."

I felt a familiar panic rise in my chest again. _What will I do now? Where will I go?_

"We have a couple of options," he continued. "One is to take a boat back to the mainland and try to find you something there. However, most of the boats are also out of business for the season, so chartering a shuttle might take a little time. In addition, your doctor does not feel that you should be traveling by boat, given your head injury. He would like for you to stay close to the hospital in case of complications."

"And what is the second option?" I asked

"The second option breaks protocol a bit, but it might be the best choice. My family has a villa here for vacations. I could bring you there. You would be comfortable for the next few days."

"Alone?"

"No. I would stay with you until we have some more options."

_So, not only do I not know who I am or where I'm from, but I will now be staying in a strange house in a strange country with a strange man. This just keeps getting better._

_Although, as far as company went, I could have done a lot worse. If nothing else, it would be very entertaining to be around such an attractive man for a while._

"Don't you have a family that you'll be leaving behind?" I asked. "I don't want to be a burden."

"No. You're not a burden at all. It's part of my job, and frankly, I could use the vacation time. A vacation when the island isn't filled with other vacationers." He laughed. "I don't have children or anything, so I am free to do what I choose." He smiled at me, but I noted that he didn't exactly say he was single.

I smiled back with relief. He had a very comforting disposition, and I felt safe with him despite the fact that I'd only met him this afternoon.

"We have a plan then, it seems."

"Yes, we do. I will go inform the doctor of our decision, and I will be here to pick you up when he releases you. I will see you later then, okay?"

"Okay. And thank you."

"It's my pleasure. You get some rest, and I will see you in the morning."

I remember that I had so much trouble sleeping that night. The nurses kept coming in and insisting that I take something. I refused. I felt like my unconsciousness had been enough sleep for me. There was so much to think about. _What will tomorrow bring_? Before long, the sun came up, and a new round of nurses and doctors came in to prepare me for discharge. With my vitals checked and instructions printed out--in Italian, which I could not read--I dressed and let them wheel me to the main entrance where Carlo was waiting for me.

Like a true gentleman, he escorted me into the car, fastened my seatbelt, and drove very, very carefully through the narrow streets of the island. We drove up a long, steep hill until we came to a driveway. It was landscaped with plants that looked like they belonged in a desert, not an island--very large and colorful.

The villa itself was _gorgeous!_ I'd never seen anything like it before, though I wouldn't have remembered it, anyhow. The construction was similar to concrete but wasn't. There was no wood. It was smooth and had softly rounded edges, with no right angles anywhere. It looked very hand-made rather than machined. I was lost in gazing at the exterior for far too long when Carlo broke the silence.

"Shall we go in?"

"Yes, of course." I snapped to, embarrassed. _I must be very unworldly...whoever I am._

We entered through the large double doors, and he asked, "Do you feel well enough for a tour?"

"Oh yes!" I answered with a childlike excitement.

There was a very large open kitchen with a huge walk-in pantry There were tiles on the walls that looked like a mosaic, but were porcelain-smooth and, I thought, hand-painted. The floors were decorated tiles too, but with more of a terracotta feel. The dining room was off to the side and the table seated at least twelve. The French-style doors opened to a patio that seemed to surround most of the villa. Some areas were not finished but covered in what I thought might be local vines and deeply weathered. The villa had two levels, and on the second floor, there were five bedrooms with ceiling fans in a few of them. The master bedroom opened to yet another patio which overlooked the town.

"Would you like to see the roof?"

I nodded my head eagerly.

The roof was very open and walkable, but with a three-foot wall surrounding the perimeter. I assumed it kept people from falling off.

"This is where the maid hangs the laundry."

"The maid? Where is she?"

"She only works here in the summer. It's usually a very 'full house,' as you Americans would say." He laughed.

He had a captivating smile. At least I remembered how to recognize a hot guy when I saw one.

"I took the liberty of finding you some clothes. I thought you might like to take a hot shower while I cook for us. You're in the master bedroom which has a private bathroom. There are fresh towels and clothes are on the bed. I'm sure they will fit you."

"Yes. Thank you so much. That was very thoughtful of you. I have no way to repay you," I said regretfully.

"There's nothing to repay. This is what I do. You're not the first person to find themselves stranded on this island. Although you _are_ the prettiest."

I felt my face burn hot, and because I had no appropriate response to that comment, I said nothing at all. We stared at each other for a few moments until I finally cleared my throat and excused myself to go take a shower.

The hot water felt wonderful! I had no idea how long it had been since I'd actually showered, and the nurse's humiliating sponge bath was not nearly enough to make me feel clean. Carlo had supplied all the toiletries--shampoo, soap, even razors. He was very thorough. As I soaped my tired body, my mind kept wandering back to how attractive he was. I let my hand slip down between my legs, and as my arousal began to build, I was stopped suddenly by the sheer rudeness of masturbating in someone else's home. _Ew! Kelly! Or whatever the fuck your name is. Knock that off!_

_I emerged from my shower feeling better than I had since I woke up. I put on the loose cotton pants and pale blue sweater Carlo had gotten for me and made my way down the stairs where the smell of absolute deliciousness led me into the kitchen._

"Ah! There you are! Perfect timing. Lunch is ready."

"It smells delicious. What are you making?"

"Have a seat. I will bring it out to you and explain."

I took a place at the huge dining room table. The room was lit with multiple candelabras and looked more like the setting for a date than amnesiac-person-babysitting. Carlo joined me a moment later with two plates of food. I was suddenly ravenous.

"And here you are, signora. We have swordfish, antipasto with fresh peppers and cheese. And on this plate, we have arancini. They are like little fried balls of rice. And to drink sparkling water. Normally, we would have wine, but given your head injury..."

"Thank you. This was very nice of you."

"It's my job to be nice. But, to tell the truth, it's nice to have you as a client and be able to hide out in this villa when it's quiet."

"And dark," I added nodding towards the candles.

"I'm sorry about that. This house was closed up. The electric was turned off. But I've called them, and it will be up and running tomorrow. Did you think I was trying to romance you?"

"No! Of course not. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you."

"I'm not offended. I thought it was...cute." He smirked at me from the corner of his mouth.

"Well, that was my plan. Get hit on the head, wake up on a street in another country, then have social services take me to a candlelit villa in order to get him to seduce me. Haha!"

"I'm sure it wasn't. But you are in Italy. We are very hospitable, so if that would make you feel more at home, I'm happy to seduce you," he teased.

"I might be happy to _be_ seduced." I snapped my mouth shut immediately after saying the words. I was horrified! This wasn't like me...or was it? I couldn't even blame my boldness on wine because we were drinking sparkling _water_ for fuck's sake.

We finished our meal in silence, mostly because I was much too afraid to speak again. I had no idea who I was really, or what else might fly out of my mouth. When we were through, Carlo led me to the sitting room where we talked for a while. Mostly, he talked because I didn't have anything about myself that I could share. He told me about his upbringing in Naples. Because I had no memory of ever learning about Italy before, it was like learning about a new planet for the first time. Everything, in fact, was brand new. I moved over to the sofa where he was sitting so I could absorb every detail. I sat with my knees to my chest and my arms wrapped around them. The tile was getting too cold for my bare feet as the sun began to set and the temperature began to drop.

Carlo told me all about the island. We were off the coast of Sicily, a six-hour boat ride from Palermo. He told me about the local customs, the fishing community, the pumice that floated by the hundreds in the water while 'you American women pay ten dollars for one small piece of it.' His voice was hypnotic with that heavy, Italian accent. The end of every word had a slight upward inflection and seemed to always end with an 'ah' sound. I was transfixed.

He looked down at my foot and inquired about a small, red patch on my ankle.

"Oh!" I laughed nervously. "I shaved tonight, and the weather is chilly, so it might be a little red from that. Unless I've always had it...I don't know. But the rest of my leg is smooth," I whispered, guiding his hand to my leg to feel for himself.

With a few passes of his hand, he seemed satisfied and smiled at me. And for no reason I could think of, I reached to touch the back of his hair which was surprisingly soft for a guy. As I stretched my fingers out through his dark hair, his eyes rolled back and he moaned, "If you don't stop that, I might never let you leave." There was an intense chemistry growing between us, and I locked my eyes to his and continued to stroke his hair and the back of his neck in rebellion.

"Do you want to go upstairs?" I whispered.

"I do. But that might be a very bad idea. Your head. I am supposed to be helping you recover, no?"

I shrugged my shoulders, got up, and walked upstairs to find my bedroom. By the time he joined me a few minutes later, I had already stripped my clothes off and sat down on the edge of the massive four-poster bed. He didn't hesitate to undress, and within seconds, he was naked too. His body was toned, compact, and tanned. He had just the right amount of chest hair, as well as a light tuft that created a beautiful patch just above his pelvis. He took two steps and wrapped his arms around me to kiss me.

I lay back on the bed. I opened my legs, and he inserted himself--just enough to test the waters--before pulling out of me again. When it seemed he couldn't wait anymore, he plunged into me with hard, slow thrusts. His body curled into each push while he flattened himself against mine. I felt his back muscles tightening with intensity as he used all his strength to control the thrusts so that each one was delivered with deliberate precision.

I wrapped my legs around him, and in that moment, everything fell away. There was nothing but he and I in this intense embrace. I turned to look in the mirror on the dresser next to the bed, and I could watch him making love to me. We looked as if we had merged into one person, my legs encircling his, arms entwined, and our bodies one slow-moving entity in perfect rhythm. The only way to tell whose limb was whose was the contrast of his tanned skin against my pale white.

It was almost _spiritual._ He licked my neck and groaned until he exploded in an intense series of spasms that accompanied several loud shouts which broke through his cool, indifferent demeanor. I could feel him spilling into me in short pulses. I wrapped my legs around his back and ran my fingers through his hair once again. I kissed him hard before he collapsed into my neck, exhausted.

We lay there, not speaking, for what felt like a very long time. I wrapped myself up in the sheets, turning them into a little cocoon, and curled into his side with my head in his neck. He looked down at me and kissed my head before speaking.

"I am very loud. My apologies."

"Your apologies?" I laughed myself into tears. He was still trying to be so polite, despite the fact that we were lying there naked.

"It's okay... It balances us because I am very quiet...apparently."

"Who knew?" he teased.

"Not me. Haha!"

He took a deep breath and asked, "Are you hungry?"

"Not really. Is it time to eat again? Didn't we just eat?" I argued.

"That was only a small tapas. In Italy, it is _always_ time to eat." He tickled my side lightly, and as I squealed and tried to wriggle away, he began to kiss me. I wanted him again, and I knew he wanted me too. I turned to hover over him. We created our own heat in the dark and dead silence of that abandoned little village...and I don't think we stopped at all until morning.

I woke the next day to the sound of singing in the master shower. Some poorly executed opera reverberated through the door, and it made me laugh. He was playful and self-assured. He made me feel welcome and warm with his song as if this was my home and I wasn't some wayward tourist.

I heard the water shut off, and within a moment, I saw him emerge from the bathroom fully naked and drying his hair with the towel. In the daylight streaming through the window, I had a much better view of him as he hung there soft, uncut, and with beads of water trapped inside the dark pubic hair.

He watched me, amused at my gawking. He waved his hand in front of my face and said, "Hellooooo?"

"Sorry! I'm sorry!" I apologized.

"Let a man wish you a good morning before you stare at his penis, no?" He laughed that hearty, playful laugh that would become the thing I adored most about him.

"So, are you still worried about abusing your social worker-client relationship?" I joked.

"A little. But maybe I was counting on you forgetting it" he teased, winking at me. "How is your head today? I have pain medicine for you from the hospital if you need it."

"No, thanks. I'm okay, actually."

"Has anything come back to..." His voice trailed off as he spotted something outside. He furrowed his brow and looked concerned.

"What is it? What's wrong?" I asked.

"Nothing. There is a man below, staring up at the window. An old man. Is this the man who found you? Come, look." He beckoned me with his hand before wrapping his towel around his waist.

I wrapped myself in a sheet before moving toward the curtains. I looked down and saw him in his black hat and wool coat and gasped.

"Yes! That's him! I'm sure of it. How did you know/"

Carlo called down to the man, "Buongiorno signore. Posso aiutarti?"

There was no response. But the old man's eyes met mine, and I was suddenly afraid. _But why? He helped me, brought me to the hospital and made sure I was all right. Didn't he?_

"Signore, hai bisogno di aiuto ? Ti sei perso?" Carlo called down again.

"What are you saying?" I questioned him, growing more panicked by the minute.

"I'm asking him if he needs help...if he's lost."

"Why isn't he answering? I know he speaks Italian. I heard him."

Then, suddenly, the man spoke. "Perdonami. Non mi ricordo dove vivo."

"Qual è il suo nome, signore?" Carlo asked.

The man stood, frozen, for a moment. Then, with his voice breaking, he said, "Non riesco a ricordare."

"Holy shit." Carlo was dumbfounded.

" _What?_ What is it?"

"He doesn't remember who he is or where he lives."

"Holy shit," I concurred.

Carlo threw his pants on quickly and tore down the stairs. I rummaged for my clothes as well, although I wasn't in nearly as much of a hurry to get down there. I was terrified. I peered out the window and saw Carlo greeting the old man, and although I couldn't understand a word, I knew that nothing good was happening.

By the time I reached the sitting room, Carlo had the old man sitting and was headed to the kitchen. As I passed him by the foot of the stairs, he whispered to me, "I'm getting him some tea."

"Maybe some coffee? Is he drunk?"

In my heart, I knew he wasn't, but the thought of two people being plagued with amnesia on the same island seemed incomprehensible. _Were we both poisoned?_

Carlo looked worried too. "No. He's not drunk. Something happened to him. I need to get him to the hospital. He is local, so someone is sure to know who he is. The police might be able to track down some family. Maybe he has some medical history of dementia." He kissed me on the forehead in an effort to calm my growing anxiety.

I felt better at that idea. He _was_ an old man. It was entirely possible that he was having some sort of episode and this was completely unrelated to my case. I thought that, but I didn't believe it.

"I am going to let him finish the tea and settle himself and then take him to the hospital. Do you want to come along for the ride? I think it would be wise if you did."

I knew I did not want to stay there alone, so I agreed to go. But when the time came to leave and Carlo tried to help the old man into the car, the man went into full panic mode. He was shouting and nearly crying as he protested getting into the car. Carlo put his arm around the man's shoulder and said to us both, "It's okay...we walk, huh? It's okay, my friend."

The three of us started down the hill, and the two men began talking a bit. I cleared my throat a little to alert them to the fact that I did not understand.

"Oh! yes. I'm sorry. Forgive me. Signore, you speak English. Can we make our American friend more comfortable?"

"I speak English?" he said, pausing to listen to the words as they came out of his mouth. "Ah! Yes, I do! How did you know?"

Carlo and I exchanged knowing glances, and he reached out to hold my hand as we walked. His hand felt very warm against the crisp, autumn island air.

"What is the last thing you remember?" he asked the old man.

"I don't know. When I came to, I was standing outside a shop."

"Was it the Tutto Mare?" I questioned.

"It was! How did you know?"

"Because that's where I woke up too. And you are the one who found me. You brought me to the hospital, they told me."

"I did? I don't remember."

"Do you have any wallet or identification?"

He checked his pockets.

"No, I don't. I think my wallet must have been stolen. I can't imagine that I don't own one or any identification."

"You told me that you were local here. So someone must know who you are," I said, trying to jog his memory.

"We should go to the police," the old man replied.

"No. I think the first stop should be the hospital to make sure you are all right", said Carlo.

The three of us walked through the hospital emergency room doors and were greeted by the same nurse who helped to discharge me the morning before.

Carlo gave her a rundown in Italian, and she asked us to take a seat and wait. We saw her talking to the doctor who had been on duty the morning before as well. He said something to the nurse that made her turn and look nervously at us. She turned and headed back towards us after nodding her head in agreement with the doctor.

When the nurse returned, she and Carlo spoke for a moment. Knowing that I needed clarification, he explained she was asking if he had been injured or was in any pain. The old man replied that he wasn't. She blurted out what seemed like a very curt answer, then said in English, "Good day," turned on her heel, and went back through the doors.

"What was that all about?" I asked.

"She said that this is not an emergency if he is not injured. And that he is an old man who probably just lost his way."

But her tone of voice seemed frightened and I didn't understand.

"I think we should go to the police station," I said, fear rising in my voice.

"Yes, I agree it is our only option now. He may have family here looking for him."

I rubbed my head and neck.

Carlo asked me, "Are you all right?

"Yes. I just feel very tense and have a bit of a headache. Maybe I'm just tired."

"You haven't eaten anything since yesterday afternoon. We should get you some food." He turned to the old man. "Signore, can you wait here a moment while I get Kelly something to eat? She doesn't feel well. I can bring you back something if you like."

"No, no. I am fine. I will be here. Your name is Kelly?" the old man looked alarmed.

"Oh, no. We just had to call me something until I remember. Kelly's as good a name as any."

The old man stared at me, bewildered. I didn't know why, but his intense staring--like he did at the villa--scared me. I just wanted to leave.

Carlo took my hand and we followed what must have been a sign for a cafeteria although I couldn't read it. Halfway down the long, sterile hall, we came to a door. He opened it slowly and peeked inside.

"Oh! Perfect," Carlo exclaimed.

He took me by the hand and brought me into the room which was nothing more than a supply closet with blankets, pillows, and cots for the hospital rooms.

"I don't understand. What is this?"

"This is tension relief," he answered. "Sit down here."

I sat down on the nearest cot, and Carlo began to undo the drawstring on my cotton pants and slide them down. They were loose, and I slid one leg out of them with my boot still on. I looked ridiculous in cotton lounge pants and boots, but they were the shoes that I was wearing when I was found and pretty much all I had. I laughed to myself, thinking it was funny that I should be so concerned with my outfit when there were much more serious matters happening.

"Is that funny?" he asked confused.

"No, never mind. What are we doing? This is a _hospital!_ " __ I shout-whispered.

"Then you should be more quiet," he said and proceeded to spread my legs apart while I sat, stunned, on the cot. He held the back of my neck while undoing his pants with his free hand and entered into me. I cried out, and he placed his hand gently over my mouth. "Shhhh. Mi amore." I moaned in frustration at being so restricted. He was right, though. At any moment, someone could have walked in, and then we'd surely be arrested.

I gripped the edge of the cot with my hand in a futile effort to keep it still. His pace slowed, and the cot settled into silence while we tried to keep our heavy breathing in check.

"Dio mio," he whispered and laid his head down on my shoulder.

I understood that one. He kissed my cheek and took a deep sigh.

"See? No more tension, right?" he said.

He was crazy!

"No." I laughed. "Now get dressed before someone comes in here. This is completely inappropriate behavior."

"And how would you know? Maybe this _is_ appropriate behavior and you just don't remember," he teased.

"Fine. Now _get dressed_!" I hissed at him.

_I was scrambling to get my clothes on when I heard someone walking towards the door. I yanked my pants up and froze._

"Quick!" whispered Carlo. "Grab some linens!"

I quickly filled my arms while he grabbed a stack of blankets, and just as the door to the storage room opened, we walked out. The startled orderly gasped.

"Mi scusi! Che ci fai qui?"

"I am sorry, my friend. We were just looking for extra linens for our friend who is in the emergency department. Very sorry!" Carlo answered.

We ran out of the room, dumped the sheets and blankets on a nearby cart, and headed back to the emergency room at top speed. When we arrived at the waiting room, we found the old man being questioned heatedly by two policemen. They had him by each arm and were attempting to lock their handcuffs on him. He was putting up a hell of a fight for an old guy. Carlo and I looked at each other, and with wide eyes, mentally relayed the same message to one another-- _this is not good._

As the officers caught sight of us, they yelled, "C'è l'altra!"

"What? What does that mean? Carlo!"

"It mean, 'the other one", he answered, trembling.

"The other _what_ , Carlo?" I shouted

They came rushing toward me, shouting, "Non si muova!"

"Kelly...do not move."

Carlo put his hands up a little in a gesture of submission, and I did the same. They rushed us and started shouting at me in Italian while slapping handcuffs on my wrists as well. I was terrified. They were very aggressive with me as if I was some sort of hardened criminal. Carlo shouted at them in Italian and they shouted back. The old man was furious and spitting what I assumed were Italian obscenities from across the room.

Carlos turned to me and said, "Try to stay calm and cooperate with them. I'm not sure exactly what is going on, but they are taking you to a holding cell in town. Don't panic. You have the right to an English-speaking translator, and I will make sure you get one. I will meet you down there and we will get this all sorted out."

"Why are they arresting the old man? What has he done? Do you know?"

"No. They keep telling me to mind my own business and stay out of it, and that the two of you are coming with them. I promise you, I will figure out what's going on and meet you at the police station. We will get this all sorted out. Just go with them for now. Don't cause them to feel like they have to hurt you. Please, O--Kelly," he pleaded.

Carlo had almost called me another name! _What the hell happening?_ I opened my mouth to ask him what he was going to say, but before I could, an officer took hold of me while the other grabbed the old man. And with an entire waiting room full of people staring and whispering, we were escorted outside into a waiting unmarked car. Once inside, I kept asking questions, but neither police officer answered me. I didn't know if they didn't speak English or if they were just ignoring me.

I turned to the old man. "Do you have any idea what's going on?"

"No! I know nothing! I don't understand at all. But don't worry. Just wait until Carlo meets us. He will help us."

The old man suddenly looked startled, as if he'd just awoken from a very bad dream.

"You have to have family here. Someone is probably looking for you. Not only do I not belong here, but no one is looking for me, and I don't even know who I am. At least you'll be home in a couple of hours, I'm sure."

The old man looked at me with sad, solemn eyes and whispered, "I doubt that sincerely."

"Why?" I demanded.

The man looked pale and terrified.

"Why! Tell me! Tell me why you think you're not going home!" I begged.

"Because I just remembered who I am. And had I remembered a moment ago, we would never have gotten in this car. I do not get into any car but my own."

And with that, the police turned around with guns pointed at us and told us in very clear English, "Shut up. _Now_."

We did not go to the jail in town. The police car pulled slowly up to what looked like an old abandoned townhouse. An officer came around to each side of the car, opened the doors, and made us get out at gunpoint. We were rushed through the front door of the house and, once inside, were told to sit on the floor of what probably used to be someone's dining room. The walls were very similar to the walls of the villa, stone and tiled but far less beautiful in this situation.

"What's happening? I demand to know what is happening! Where are we and what are you doing with us?" I shrieked

My words went unheard, or at least unacknowledged, while the men spoke to each other in the next room. One of the officers pulled out a cell phone, and again, very quietly whispered something to the person on the other line. After a moment, he shut his phone and put it back in his pocket. The old man started breathing very heavily.

"Are you all right? You said you remembered who you are. What is your name?"

"Ernesto. My name is Ernesto," he answered.

"Okay, Ernesto, can you tell me what's happening? Do you know why we're here?"

"No. But I do know that those are not policeman. And I also know that if they're looking for you, then you are important to someone powerful. Me, on the other hand, not so much. I assure you, I will not be leaving this house."

"Do you know who I am? Did you know who I was when you found me on the street?"

"Yes, my dear. I do remember. But this is not a story you are ready to hear right now.

"What are you talking about? We're going to die here!"

"You are not going to die."

"What? Why?"

Before I could speak another word, the two policemen came back into the room.

"I thought we told you two to shut up."

I was terrified beyond comprehension. I felt my heart racing and my chest constricting with fear.

They turned on Ernesto.

The skinny one asked, "So, Ernesto? Still don't know when to mind your own business, do you?"

"I think you know the answer to that... _Everything_ here is my business," he spat.

"Yes. It's just that it seems like a waste of time to us."

They said something to each other in Italian, and the old man became enraged.

"You two! You are nothing but lap dogs! Servants! You don't have the balls to think for yourselves!"

The taller man looked at the shorter, fatter one, and acting on some cue that I missed, they raised their guns and opened fire on Ernesto. I screamed. Unable to cover my ears, I turned into the wall and curled into myself, bracing for the bullets that would surely be aimed at me next. I could feel my hands sprayed with something warm and wet and heard the sound of a body toppling over onto the floor.

I started to cry, and I shouted out to them, "Carlo knows you have us! When he goes to the police station and we're not there they will all be looking for you. He works for social services, and they will listen to him!"

The two men began to laugh. "Social services? Is that what he told you?" asked the fat man.

"What are you talking about?" I demanded.

"They hit you much harder than the old man. You're _really_ lost. Ha ha!"

"That shit is potent. She had enough to bring down a horse," said the skinny one.

"What? What was I given?" I screamed.

"Just a little something to make you forget, bring you out into the light," said the fat one.

"Make you easier to find," sneered the skinny one.

"I don't understand..." I began to cry.

"Don't worry, Olivia. You will."

My head snapped up. _Olivia? is that what Carlo had started to say? Was he in on this? No! He couldn't be!_

_"What did you call me?"_

"Oh. Sorry. _Kelly_. Right," said the fat one again. "We forgot." And then they both burst into riotous laughter.

"Okay," said the skinny one. "It's time to get serious now. Let's move her upstairs until he gets here."

They proceeded to grab me and lift me up and began forcing me up the stairs. I started screaming.

"Who? Until who gets here? Where are you taking me? Please! I don't know anything! Please! Let me go!"

They dragged me kicking and screaming all the way up the stairs, and when we reached the top, they kicked open a door at the end of the hall and threw me in. With a loud slam _,_ the door locked behind me. I heard them laughing all the way back down the stairs. I curled up on the cold floor and cried. I heard them gathering up Ernesto's body and dragging him out the door. Poor Ernesto. The kindly old man had probably saved my life, and I would never be able to thank him.

As a thick blanket of night rolled in, so did a storm. I heard the thunder in the distance, and the sound of the waves crashing against the shore was loud enough to hear from my tiny cell of a room. I tried to adjust my eyes to see in the dark. There was nothing but a small, bare, single bed, a bathroom, and an old Persian rug. Nothing I could possibly use as a weapon. My heart thumped heavily against my chest, and my breathing quickened as my fear built inside of me with each minute that passed.

_Where is Carlo? Has he gone to the police station? Are they looking for him? How does Carlo know my real name?_ I wanted to believe Carlo and the real police must be looking for me. Surely someone would come before 'he' did--whoever _he_ was. Why would anyone be looking for me? _What have I done?_ At least I knew what my name was now. _Olivia. Think, think Kel...Olivia. Who are you?"_ I closed my eyes and scanned my brain for any sign that my memory was returning. Although I could not remember, I could _feel_ certain things I couldn't feel before. I suddenly felt victorious, even brave.

_Well, that makes no sense._ I began to look around. The first order of business should be to increase my ability to move. I sat and threaded my legs through my arms so that the handcuffs were in front of me. _That's better._

_I stood and began to walk around the room, searching for anything that could be of any help to me. There was a window. I looked out and attempted to do the mental math of figuring out if I could jump and survive. Maybe._ There was nothing but cobblestone below. If I didn't hit my head, I would surely, at least, break a leg. _That would be counterproductive_ , I thought. I made my way over to the bed and turned the mattress over. I pressed down hard. _Springs!_ I began to use my nails to tear at the thin cloth covering them until I successfully freed one. With my hands bound together, I wiggled the spring back and forth until it broke. _Yes!_ I shoved the broken metal into the front pocket of my pants, righted the mattress again, and continued to look around. I didn't know how much time I had until the men returned, but I knew it wasn't much. They'd been looking for me or a reason--an important one--so they would not want to leave me unattended for too long. I had to find a way out of there. I had to find Carlo before they did. He was all I could think about. I knew in my heart that he wasn't in on this. My need to make sure he was safe was instinctual and far more than just caring about the wellbeing of a kind stranger who I had an inexplicable attraction to.

_Find him_

I heard a loud slam __ and then the voices of the two men in the hallway. They were coming up. I hid behind the door and waited. I pulled the broken bed spring from my pocket and locked it between the interlaced fingers of my cuffed hands. There were twelve steps on the stairway to the room where I was kept. _How the hell did I remember that?_ Didn't matter. I counted down...seven...six...five...four...three...two...and the door swung open. The short, fat one entered first. I lunged at him, shoving the spring into the side of his neck, and as the tall one followed in behind, he caught me around my waist. I twisted myself around as he lifted me off the ground and stabbed him squarely in the eye. I ran like hell down the stairs, jumping the last four as I headed out the front door where I hit a tall, large wall of a man who instantly grabbed me by my throat and forced me back inside.

"And where do we think we are going, Miss Flynn?"

_Miss Flynn? Olivia Flynn. You are Olivia Flynn. Remember!_

His voice was steely-cold with a heavy British accent. I felt myself fighting for breath as he pinned me against the wall with his huge hand around my throat. I felt consciousness draining, and with my last ounce of coherence, I thought... _Carlo._ And then everything went black.

_I'm cold,_ I thought as I opened my eyes. My mouth felt tight, and I realized that it was taped shut. My arms were bound behind my back again, and my feet were tied together at the ankles. A light fixture swung slowly from the ceiling above. The stranger hovered nearby with his back to me. Without turning around, he said, "Well, good morning." Then he turned to face me, drawing fluid from a small vial with a syringe.

I screamed futilely through the heavy tape and wriggled around on the floor like a hog resisting slaughter.

"Do you really think that's necessary, David?" asked an all too familiar voice.

_Carlo!_

_I turned to look to the opposite corner, and there stood Carlo, calm and collected, smiling at me._

"Hell of a day, Olivia. Wouldn't you say?"

I shrieked a muffled scream in fury and kicked my feet in an attempt to cross the room to him.

David laughed. "She's a feisty one isn't she?" he mused.

"You have no idea," said Carlo, and then turned to wink at me.

I went mad. _How could I have been so wrong about him?_

David approached me, and with the syringe in his hand, knelt down.

"Now, now. Behave, kitten."

"Honestly, David, I think we need to keep her conscious," said Carlo.

"Just a very small dose. It will help trigger her memory a bit and give me the answers I need. What's wrong, Carlo? Has affection for your little pet cost you your reasoning? After all, you want to know what happened to it just as much as I do."

He slipped the needle into the side of my neck while holding my head with his free hand. I saw Carlo turn his head away as if it was too painful to watch.

"Just a little pinch and we are done," David said.

A wave of heat rushed through my neck and head and began to spread down to my fingertips. I felt like I was waking from a dream as it took over my brain. David ripped the tape from my mouth. I had flashes of running with a large satchel. Of being chased. There was a brief memory of a boat and then an airplane.

"Who are you?" I demanded. "What do you want from me? I don't remember anything!"

David answered in a very slow and deliberate tone, "I don't believe that's entirely true, Miss Flynn."

"Carlo! What is happening? Why are you doing this?" I screamed.

Tears filled my eyes. I had only known him briefly, but I loved him already. I loved a man who I not only didn't know but who was clearly trying to kill me.

"Miss Flynn. While I give you a few moments to try and jog your memory, I'm going to give you a brief rundown here. You stole something of great importance to me. Not only did you steal from me, but you took out two of my very best men. But I will deal with that issue later."

His pale blue eyes glinted with ferocity, and he looked absolutely murderous despite the smirk on his thin lips.

"You killed an innocent old man!" I yelled.

"So, innocent was he? Ernesto has been standing in my way since you were a child. First with your mother and now with you. I am assuming by the confused look on your face that you have not regained your full memory quite yet. Let me help you. Your mother fled from your father when he brought you both to Rome. Your mother wanted to return to the United States but he wouldn't let her. Your father was a great man--violent and temperamental, yes--but a great man no less. I admired him. Your mother fled to Lipari from Rome, and Ernesto, who was your father's brother, hid you in a small apartment in a souvenir shop in town. Your mother was quite the thief too...took many valuables from your father's house when she left him. Valuables that did not even belong to him."

_The shop --Tutto Mare!_

"I was thankful for his old age and wine-addled brain which meant that he did not recognize you as an adult when he found you on the street. Although to give him credit, he realized who you were shortly after bringing you to the hospital. But by that point, it was too late. Our best remedy for that problem was to give him a little dose of what we'd given you."

"Then why kill him now if you didn't kill him then?" I demanded

"I respected Ernesto. I wanted to give him the opportunity to simply walk away, not remembering who you were or what you had done. I attempted to give him a chance to save his own life. Unfortunately, his persistence in saving you was an abuse of my generosity." David pronounced every syllable of the last word with slow, intense diction.

"Had the hospital not known who he was, or the unsavory characters he often did business with, he might have been safely tucked away there now. Ernesto was a force to be reckoned with in his younger years. I don't believe there was a man in this country that did not fear him. However, he was adamantly opposed to violence against women. I believe that's why he protected your mother when she fled. I suspected he had other motives too, as your mother was quite beautiful. It is a shame. If he had returned her to your father, she would most likely still be alive today. That shop was no place for women or children. I believe she sent you to live with her sister in the United States."

A flood of memories washed over me as I remembered images of my childhood. A small house by the sea and being raised with an aunt and uncle and cousins.

"My parents died in a car accident."

"Oh yes! The cliché standard. The old car accident story," he said, laughing at me.

Carlo, seeming to understand my sudden anxiety said, "Your family in the States is safe, Olivia."

David looked to Carlo, clearly amused.

"Really, Carlo? It seems the Flynn women have some sort of magic over the Italian men. He looks to comfort you now, despite the fact that, very shortly, we will kill you. "So, being that it seems your memory is creeping back to you, tell me...where is it?"

"Where is _what_?" I asked him again in a panic

"The statue, Miss Flynn." He sighed in exasperation. "I am losing my patience with you. Where is the statue?"

"I don't know what you're talking about! I don't have any statue!"

Suddenly, there was a loud knock at the front door. All three of us jumped, and David put his finger to his lips and gave me a _"Shhh_. _"_ He signaled to Carlo to put the tape back on my mouth just as I started to open it to yell for help. Carlo slapped the tape over my face swiftly while I fought like hell to kick him. I was, unfortunately, unable to reach his balls, but that was the first thing I went for!

David hissed at Carlo, "Watch her! I'll get rid of whoever it is."

David shut the door to the room calmly and headed down the stairs. I heard him open it and start talking to someone in Italian. Carlo rushed towards me and knelt down on the floor beside me.

"Shhhh! Stop! I'm going to get you out of here, but you have to calm down and follow my lead. Okay?"

I quieted, frozen in shock. _Is Carlo truly on my side?_ Something in me believed that he was. Despite the serious predicament I was in, something in his eyes told me to continue to trust him.

"When he comes back up, I'm going to give you a signal and when I do, run. Do you understand? I'm going to loosen the ties around your feet. You should be able to break free of them on my signal. When you run, head out the front door and to the left. There is a nearby alley. Wait there for me."

I nodded. He kissed me on my forehead and lingered for a moment with his soft lips pressed against my skin.

"I love you, Olivia. I need you to remember that you love me too."

_What is he talking about? Of course I remember that I love him._

He smiled at me, and reading the confusion in my face, said, "Not now...from before, my love. Remember."

We heard the front door slam again and David's slow footsteps returning up the stairs.

"Remember," said Carlo. "On my signal."

David came through the door, and in one swift motion, Carlo tackled him around the waist and he fell to the floor, banging his head so hard that it bounced off the hardwood.

"Now!", Carlo shouted.

I freed my feet and slipped them through my cuffed arms once again until they were in front of me. I ran as fast as I could back down the stairs and out the door. I ripped the tape from my mouth. It was pitch black outside, and I ran to the left, searching for the small alley Carlo told me to go to. I struggled against the darkness, feeling my way along the sides of the buildings until I finally came to an opening. I ran down the alley, hid myself in the far corner, and waited for Carlo to join me.

I cowered there in the corner of that dead end and listened to the sound of scurrying around me. _Cats? Rats? Something else?_ My heart pounded, and I was covered in sweat. I tried to steady my breathing. _In through the nose, out through the mouth,_ over and over again. I started counting mentally to keep track of the time.... _one-hundred-nineteen, one-hundred-twenty...three-hundred-forty-seven_ ...

"Olivia! Olivia!"

"Carlo!" I cried and saw him running towards me in the blackness.

I stood, and as I met him, he threw his arms around me and lifted me off the ground. He covered my face with kisses.

"Mi amore!" he said, holding my face in his hands.

He released me and reached into his pocket and pulled out the key for the handcuffs.

"Give me your hands," he ordered, and as I did, he quickly un-cuffed me. I threw my arms around his neck and kissed him deeply.

"Come...let's go home."

"Home?"

"To the villa. The police, the real police, have David in custody. He's pretty severely injured, so it's not likely he'll be coming after us anytime soon."

"Is that who was at the door? I asked.

"Yes. They were investigating because the house is supposed to be unoccupied. He thought he got rid of them by telling them he was the caretaker. But they knew who he was...and that he had me."

"They knew he had you? How?"

"When I went to the police station to find you and you weren't there, I had a very bad feeling that David's people had you. I had no choice but to tell the police what I knew so we could finally catch him."

"Why? What did you know? Why did you have to play along with David? Carlo, I don't understand!"

"Come, let's go home, and I'll explain everything."

I had so many questions running through my head. I wanted them all answered right _then_. But I took advantage of the quiet walk home and tried desperately to remember. I entwined my arm into his and nestled my head against his shoulder. _Remember! Olivia Flynn. Remember!_ I pleaded with myself. When we arrived back at the villa, there was still no electricity. _Honestly! How do people live here?_ Carlo went in first and lit the candelabra.

"Olivia. Come sit down. I'll make you some tea."

"Sounds good. I'm so sore."

"Would you prefer to have your tea in a hot bath?"

_That sounds like heaven,_ I thought.

"Yes. Please. Will you stay with me? Talk to me?"

"Yes, I'll tell you everything."

He took me by the hand, and we retreated to the master bedroom. The bed sheets were still rumpled from the night before, and I felt a wave of heat as I remembered. I felt so _attached_ to Carlo already. I felt like I belonged here. A flash of memory raced through my mind.

Carlo and I, wrapped around each other in lovemaking. But it was not from last night. There was a din of noise from the sitting room below...music and laughter. We were sweating. The heat was stifling, and the ceiling fan above spun pointlessly. His hand holding my thigh, my head back in ecstasy. My hair, longer than it was now.

The water was running in the master bathtub, and I joined him in there.

"Carlo? Have we met before?"

He smiled at me. "Why don't you get in?"

I stripped down and slid into the hot bath and melted into the oval, garden tub.

Carlo sat on a small step stool behind me and gently rinsed my hair with a cup. He massaged my head and commented, "Your bump is much smaller. Does it hurt?"

"No... That feels really nice.... Wait! Don't distract me! Tell me what's going on!"

"Olivia, you're my wife. We've been married for five years."

_His wife!_ I felt a confusing mixture of shock and relief, but mostly relief that I had not acted like a complete slut with a total stranger.

He continued. "And this is our house. Our vacation house. We come here every year. We have friends...they join us sometimes in the summer. That's why I brought you back here. I was hoping you'd remember."

"I'm not Italian, though, right? Where do we live?"

"Olivia, this is the part that might upset you. I want you to stay as calm as possible", he said, massaging my head and shoulders gently.

"Okay."

"You disappeared. You were found in Morocco before you were brought here."

"Brought here by who?" I asked, feeling frightened.

"A group who calls themselves 'Le Molte Mani'--The Many Hands. They are an elite group of criminals, thieves mostly. They deal in very high priced antiquities."

"The statue?" I asked.

"Yes. The statue was first stolen by your mother when she fled your father who was a member of The Hands. She took many items she thought she could pawn. She had no idea of the value of it. When The Hands came to your father looking for it, he didn't have it and they killed him. They then came looking for your mother who Ernesto was hiding, along with you, in Tutto Mare."

My eyes filled with tears. I could feel what was coming next.

"When they found where your mother had been hiding, she ran in the middle of the night and left you, and the statue, with Ernesto. She wanted to protect you both...even though Ernesto needed protection from no one, she didn't want to put him in the position of having to protect the two of you anymore. When they finally caught up with her, she told them she had sold it to a street merchant, and they killed her too.

"They exhausted their search for the statue but never found it--until the day they found you in the United States. Ernesto had given it to you as a child before you were sent to your Aunt and Uncle. He knew it was a very dangerous move. Ernesto's storefront was the way these items were bought and sold. They suspected him, but given his reputation, they dared not take action without proof. When they found you last year, they had no doubt he had given it to you all those years ago."

"Where were you?" I asked with a growing sadness.

"We were married then and living near your Aunt's home in Maine. You and I met when you did a summer abroad in college. I followed you back to the States," he said gently. "You didn't even know you had the statue until you packed up to leave their home when we got married. When I saw it, I knew that someday, someone would come looking for it. The Many Hands are well known throughout Italy. I knew it was trouble. I confided in someone I trusted deeply, but unfortunately, he betrayed us."

"Who? Who betrayed us?"

"My brother, Umberto."

"Where is he now?" I asked. It was all so unbelievable.

"I don't know. He went into hiding. No one knows where he is now. But I believe he is alive," he said with longing in his voice. "When you were found by David's men, you ran and escaped. You ran and left me behind. I know you were trying to keep me safe, but I had to strike a deal with David. I agreed to help him for a cut of the profits."

"Why!" I shouted, enraged. "Why would you do that?"

"Because I knew they'd have a better chance at finding you than I would alone. When the policeman came to the hospital, I did not know they were David's men. I thought they were there for Ernesto, and for you by association. I assumed the hospital had called them because they knew Ernesto's reputation. But I had been counting on the hospital keeping him there and out of harm's way. Finding you was only a part of the plan. I had to get David. I had to make sure he could never come after you again. I thought you were safest in police custody. I was relieved, actually. You would be safe, and I could hunt David down. It was the biggest mistake of my life. As soon as I realized you weren't at the station, I knew that David had gotten you, and I knew where he'd take you. The house belonged to another member. I had to keep the charade going to make sure he didn't hurt you--which he would have if he knew I was playing him."

"I don't understand. If you knew that they found me in Morocco and brought me here, why didn't you say something after you knew where I was? Why let me believe I had no one?"

"I had to keep you safe. I couldn't risk you remembering anything right away, Olivia. You would have tried to run again. It would never have ended."

"You _helped_ them drug me, didn't you?"

"Yes." He looked stricken. "I convinced him that temporary amnesia was best, or you would refuse to cooperate when you saw me. I told him that you could not remember who I was, or we'd never find the statue. You had to believe I was a bad guy, be afraid of me. I began this deal with David to find you...but I needed to get him to trust me so I could take him out. I was preparing a plan to get his men out of the way first. But you took care of that yourself. Nice work, by the way."

"Yeah, thanks...okay, so why was Ernesto on the street? Why did he find me? As a matter of fact, why was _I_ on the damn street, Carlo?" I asked, my anger rising again.

He massaged my shoulders more deeply. I calmed.

"When David's squad found you in Morocco and brought you here, you tried to run, they knocked you out, and took off when they saw Ernesto. You can't begin to comprehend the level of fear and respect that he instilled in people. They were terrified once they realized they were so close to his store--his _turf_. They bolted, taking their private boat right back to Morocco. It's a good place to go if you don't want to be found. You knew that from all our trips here, Olivia. This island's history was well known to you too."

Carlo stood and handed me my tea before he moved the little stool to the other side of the tub by my feet. He took my foot in his hand and began to rub. I was infuriated at my inability to stay angry during a foot rub. _Dammit!_ But for the first time since he started his story, I could really see his face. He looked like he'd been through a war. The worry lines on his forehead were deep, and his eyes were glistening as if he were holding back tears.

"Carlo, who _are_ we?"

He smiled.

"We are just a normal, happy couple. But a happy couple with a very sordid past," he said winking at me.

Suddenly, another thought occurred to me-- _the statue! Where is the statue?_

"Where is it now? The statue?"

"Come. Let me help you out. I'll show you."

" _You_ have it?"

He said nothing but held out a large towel for me to step into. He wrapped it around me and went to the bedroom for a moment before returning with a soft, white robe. I dried off and slipped the robe on and followed him down the stairs again. He led me to the sitting room, and with a great shove, moved the sofa back a few feet. He walked to the nearby cabinet and pulled out a flashlight and a crowbar and returned to the spot left exposed by the absence of the sofa.

"Hold this," he said, handing me the flashlight.

I took it in my hands and shined it on the floor where he began working on a piece of tile with the bar. It loosened, and he removed it carefully, revealing a deep hole. He reached his hand in and pulled out a brown leather satchel. _The bag from my flashback!_ Very carefully, he opened it and unwrapped the linen inside. He pulled out a grey, stone cat sitting on its haunches, its large eyes relaxed and staring. I gasped. _I remember!_

_"How did it get here?" I asked with excitement._

"My best guess is that you came here first, before Morocco. We used to hide all our valuables here during the offseason. The silver, any euros we wanted to keep in case of emergency, important paperwork, etc. We are the only two people who know about this hiding spot. When you were found in Morocco without the statue, I knew it would be here. David did not think to ransack the villa, because who in their right mind would hide something that everyone was looking for _in their house_?" He laughed. "Only you, apparently. But it was brilliant!"

"Well, clearly, I am not in my right mind. So it makes sense, I suppose." I answered sarcastically.

"Bast, The Egyptian cat goddess of warfare and protector against evil spirits. Second dynasty, 3000 BCE. It belonged to the first king of Egypt, Menes, and is valued at four million dollars."

" _Che cazzo_!" I whispered.

Carlo looked shocked.

"So, your Italian is coming back to you, hmm?" he said, amused.

"Shit! I speak Italian?"

"Yes. You do. Not fluently, but certainly enough to get by...and to swear, apparently."

"Sorry! But this--I remember now! She's fantastic! No wonder I ran with her."

Suddenly, the thought that my mother had died because she had this statue entered my mind, and a rush of emotion flooded me. My eyes teared, and Carlo reached out his hand to touch my knee.

"I know," he said seemingly reading my mind.

"What was her name? My mother...what was her name?"

"It was Kelly. Kelly Flynn."

_I knew. Even in my amnesia, I remembered her in some way_! Then another thought occurred to me:

"Why isn't my last name Vitale?"

"Olivia, my family's history is a dark one. Umberto was into some bad stuff when we were younger, as was my father and grandfather. I thought he had put that all behind him, but when he betrayed us, I knew that the darker side of the Vitale name was still alive and well. When we married, I insisted you keep Flynn. I didn't want that name to follow us or our children...if we ever have them." He smirked at me.

"I want to change that. We're safe now, aren't we? I want to stay here, Carlo. I don't want to go back to the States."

He leaned over to kiss me, and as the memories of our life, before came back to me in bits and pieces, I wanted him even more than I had before. I did not hold back at all this time when he opened my robe and made love to me on the cold floor with a five-thousand-year-old Egyptian goddess at our feet and the flickering glow of a modern flashlight at our heads.

Somehow, during the course of the night, we had made our way back to the master bedroom, and when I woke, all my memory had returned. I remembered it _all!_ Our very short courtship in Naples, our wedding on the beach, our small cape cod style home in Maine...our whole life unfolded for me like the most lovely fairy tale. I rolled over on my side to find him staring at me and I said, "I'm back."

We ate breakfast, made love again--and again--and I excitedly replayed all the wonderful events of our lives as if he also had memory loss. He sat patiently, listening to me, and nodded with encouragement at every detail. It was, up until that point, the happiest day of my life. Somewhere in between the more food and more sex of this second honeymoon, a knock came at the door. For a moment, I was afraid again, but Carlo squeezed my hand tightly and said, "I'll get it, love. It's okay."

An official-looking man stood there at our door, and after a brief moment of conversation, Carlo invited him in. He offered the man a seat at the dining table and asked him if he would like some coffee.

"Yes, yes. Thank you very much," he said.

"I'll get it," I offered. "I'll be right back."

When I returned with the coffee, Carlo looked like he was deep in thought.

"What's going on?" I asked

"Olivia, this man represents Ernesto's trust. In his will, he left the store to you."

"To me! But why? He hadn't seen me in so many years. What would have made him put me in his will?"

The man spoke. "Mr. Vedovelli updated his last will and testament a few days ago and named you as his beneficiary. He had no family--no children--and so he has left everything to you."

I placed the palms of my hands on the table to steady myself before sitting. I was in shock.

"Vedovelli? Was that his last name?" I asked.

"Si Signora."

"I don't know what to say. Carlo?" I looked to my husband for an answer.

"You wanted to stay here on the island. To live here. I didn't want to discourage you last night, but there is little work here and it is difficult to live in the offseason. Ernesto's gift to you would make that possible. If you still want to stay, we could either sell the shop or run it. Given Ernesto's"--he cleared his throat--"eclectic tastes, I think running it might be the better option."

I sat speechless for a moment, and then I spoke again; "Thank you, Mr...."

"Giacomo," he said. "And please, do not thank me. This is my job. It was very important to him that I hold these papers for him. It's strange. It's as if he knew he was going to die soon. But he was an old man. And he did keep"--he cleared his throat--" _colorful_ company. If you will sign these papers, I have the deed to the store as well as the keys. You could have it immediately. Mr. Vedovelli saw to it that all the taxes and fees were paid in advance."

He opened up a small briefcase and pulled out several papers and a couple of pens, and handed them to me one after the other. I signed them all in silence, and when we were through, he handed me the keys, stood up, wished us a good day, and quickly headed back out the door.

I look to Carlo in complete shock and asked him, "Is this real?"

"It seems to be, my love. Shall we go see our new store?"

I leaped up from my chair to hug him, and with building excitement, I rushed to get dressed. Within minutes, we were headed out the door to Tutto Mare.

The shop windows were lifeless and a wave of sadness came over me as I vaguely remembered my time here as a child and how kind Ernesto had been to both me and my mother.

Carlo put his hand on my shoulder. "Go ahead, open it."

My hands shook a little as I put the key in the front door and pushed it open with a resistant, creaking sound. Inside, it was dark and a little musty, but every table and every shelf was filled to capacity with interesting antiques and trinkets, things that ranged from the usual tourist junk to fine art on the walls and intricate Chinese jewelry boxes. A stream of light shone down through a small skylight in the ceiling, and it gave a most mysterious glow to the neglected old store. I stepped inside, and it was so dead quiet that the sound of our shoes against the terracotta floor seemed thunderous and disrespectful. To the left of us, there was a very large black desk. I headed towards it, and when I reached it, I slid my hand over the top of the nicked, black wood with its peeling paint. When I lifted my hand back up, a small handprint remained in the dust. I opened one of the drawers, and inside, found more papers. _Probably personal receipts and taxes and things like that_ , I thought. I shuffled a few things around until I came upon a stack of old photos.

On top of the stack of photos was a small note that read in Italian: _My dearest Kelly and Olivia --summer, 1979_.

I flipped carefully through the photos and needed to sit down suddenly as I looked at a pair of sparkling green eyes and red hair in one of the photographs. It was my mother. The pictures that followed were of her and I together in the store, on the beach, and throughout the town. In one photo, I held a small striped tabby cat to my cheek. _I remember that day_. Kittens had been born in the back of the store and I had doted on them for weeks until they all went out onto the island on their own. I had cried when they were gone.

Carlo stood behind me his hands on my shoulders and asked, "Are you all right?"

"Yes. I really am."

"So we keep the store then?" He smiled at me.

"Yes, I think we do."

"But I think it's time to change the name and begin a new history for this place," he said thoughtfully.

"Vitale?" I suggested.

Carlo furrowed his brow for a moment, and looking thoughtful, he answered, "Yes. Vitale--vitality-- _life_ ", he agreed with a smile.

All that had been forgotten, we would bring back to life again...our love, my mother, Ernesto, the meaning of family, and all that this island could be. I stood and let Carlo wrap me in his arms, and I laid my head on his chest. He kissed it and breathed softly in my hair. That was the happiest day of my life...again. And it was the first of many happiest days of my life.

# INSPIRING ANUSHA

"U _ninspired_." The word jumped off the page and punched me squarely in the jaw. I read on: "Ms. Loughlin starts off well, but struggles almost the entire rest of the album. I found myself hitting Next after only ten or twenty seconds into each track. There was nothing remarkable, interesting or relatable here. Perhaps it's time for Mara Loughlin to think about a different career path."

Shit. My trembling hands crumpled the paper slowly as if they didn't want to accept what was said. I pressed the ball in my fist hard to my forehead before releasing it to the floor. Done. But I couldn't disagree with the review. Or the two before this one. The album was a disaster. I knew it as I released it into the hungry hands of the critics.

"Uninspired." It was uninspired. I wasn't really tired of the work itself. But still, I was tired. It was like I had used up every idea, every combination of notes, melodies and words. I racked my brain with every song, trying to figure out where I had heard this song before. Who had I unknowingly plagiarized? Had I written this already? The same rhymes and meters were just shifted around into different patterns.

Nothing new... just rearranged.

Maybe I hadn't been at my best. Since Mark left six months ago, I'd been pushing along when all I wanted to do was crawl into bed and stay there forever. I'd stopped eating and grew thinner. I would forgo makeup on most days, and my long, dark hair was locked in a permanent ponytail. Mark was not the love of my life. But I did love him. I think my depression came from a deep place of feeling like a failure. One relationship after the next, and each more explosive and painful than the last. My therapist told me, "You need to figure out what each of your relationships have in common." But all I had come up with so far was... me.

My cell phone vibrated violently as if to startle me out of my self pity. My head lay defeated on my desk as I pushed the phone to my free ear and offered a muffled,

"Hello."

"Hellooooo! Whatcha doing?"

Ahhh... the ever cheerful Christine. Note to self: find some new, depressed friends immediately. With my cheek smooshed against the cheap, fake oak desk, I reluctantly responded.

"Thinking about putting my head in the oven."

"Hmmm... yes, I read the review. But you have an electric oven, sweetie, so unless you have forty minutes or so to spend on it, suicide by oven doesn't seem very efficient. Why don't you come out with me to the Indian Pride festival? There'll be food and mu ­­"

"Chris, if you say music, I swear to God I'll start preheating the oven and basting my head right now. I don't want to go anywhere. I want to stay here and be pathetic. If you were really my friend, you would allow me to do that. You would also stop by with booze of some kind."

"Nope. No can do, Sunshine. I'm going to come get you in an hour. Be ready.

Then, we can discuss the booze."

"Do I have a choice?"

"Yes. I can come pick you up, or I can call the County Mental Health Crisis Center and have you committed. See you in an hour." _Click._

Punctual as always, Christine arrived looking polished with her neat, auburn bob and olive green button down wool coat. I had never seen this woman in sweatpants or without makeup.

"Jesus Christ, Mara, you look like hell. I understand you're upset, but for God's

sake run a comb through your hair," Christine said, rolling her eyes. I smoothed the front of my gray sweatshirt with my hands and gave a sarcastic demi twirl while posing for an invisible camera.

"What's the matter? No good? Is this a formal outdoor festival?" With a deep sigh, Christine gave a resigned, "All right. Let's go."

Outside, the sun was setting and the sky burned it's sad orangey good night into my eyes. I slid my sunglasses onto my face and climbed into the car. As soon as she turned the key, the radio blared, and I slapped the button off with super speed. I resumed staring out the window.

Christine let out an exasperated breath, rolling her lips like a motorboat. I did have to admit that the drive there (wherever "there" was going to end up being) was a pretty one. A combination of city lights and thick trees landscaped the horizon.

I loved the way the last house you see before cities changed to suburbs looked. I always made it a point to notice the color of that last one before I started to see grass.

_Yellow._

Then there were cows. I laughed to myself and hoped Christine wouldn't ask me what I was laughing at because I honestly didn't know. Slumped down in my seat, I just wanted everything to be silent. I was grateful that she seemed to understand this and said nothing.

The muscular, blond Mark popped into my head, and I spent some time talking to him silently. "How have you been?" I said, averting my eyes nonchalantly to the Mark inside my brain.

_"I've been a mess, Mara. I didn't know what I was doing when I left you."_ Imaginary Mark looked me up and down in desperate longing. " _And might I add how amazing you look. You've lost so much weight, yet your boobs are so much bigger!"_ His bright blue eyes looked defeated as I waved him away in my daydream. I laughed out loud again.

This time Christine did not respect the depressive silence I so desperately needed.

" _What_? What is your problem? You just keep staring out the window and giggling, Mara. It's creepy... _What_?"

"Sorry. I was just laughing because I've lost all that weight and my boobs are nice and he can't take it."

Christine looked confused and deeply worried.

"Mark... But 'brain­Mark'... You know?" I said tapping my temple with my index finger. Her face gentle and kind, she said, "I know."

* * *

The Indian Pride Festival was inexplicably being held at an Episcopalian church. We pulled into the dirt parking lot.

"We're here!"

"So I see."

"Listen, you, can you at least try to have a good time?"

Because I adored it when Christine said, "Listen, you," I got out of the car, pushed my sunglasses to the top of my head and took a deep breath. Something smelled very good, and I was suddenly ravenous. There were vendors set up everywhere. Steam from food stations filled the air. I felt warm, and a sort of peace came over me. The setting sun made way for the lights of lanterns, flickering candles, and glowing embers of incense that lined the perimeter of the lot, like roads of earthbound stars.

Women stood by their jewelry stands, entire tables glistening gold, as they chatted away making ting, ting, ting sounds with their bracelets as they gesticulated. They spoke quickly, the sounds rolling from their mouths despite the fact that they

didn't seem to open them very wide at all. The language sounded like an ocean, cool and restless. Seemingly effortless. I could fall in love with that sound and listen to it forever. Another sound caught my attention. The deep bass of some exotic drum. Fascinated, I looked around trying to pinpoint the sound that seemed to be coming from everywhere at once. Christine put her hand on my shoulder.

"Let's grab some food and go listen."

Before I could tell her that I had no idea what to eat, she presented me with a flat, fried bread and a thick, yellowish drink in a plastic cup.

"Naan and mango Lassi. You'll like it."

Agreeably, I took the bread and the drink, only looking for a split second so as not to take my eyes off the sound I was so desperately trying to "see." We wandered about and followed some girls, noses pierced and dressed in red and gold shirts with matching pants, over to the musicians. There were three. Two men played tabla drums and a woman plucked a sitar. I stood, mesmerized by the sound. Sad and joyful at the same time. It sounded ancient ­ written in a musical language that the gods themselves spoke. The deep bass, the sharp ring of the outer rim of the drum. The sitar was weeping, and the woman sang it to comfort. If the universe had a sound, that would have been it. Tears welled up inside me, and I stood there and cried.

Apparently, a crying woman in a gray sweatshirt (stained with mango Lassi no less) holding a limp piece of Naan, was not so unusual a sight to the other people, because a few turned and smiled at me. One woman offered me a napkin, which I gratefully took and wiped my eyes. I breathed so deeply, that I realized how long I had been holding my breath as it hit me sharply in the chest. I felt like all the words I had been trying to write... to put to music and sing...were completely irrelevant.

That was what I had been trying to say. That music was exactly what I had been feeling. There were no words, just the vocalizations of the beautiful middle aged woman with glossy black hair, singing back to her sitar. As she sang, she fixed her eyes on the audience that gathered and looked as if she was imparting wisdom to the crowd. Secrets sent out into the air, waiting to be breathed in by all of us. By me. Without a recognizable cue, the musicians changed tempo and rhythm. The drummers shifted seamlessly into another pattern, and without missing a beat, the sitarist followed, her focus now on the men.

It's difficult to explain how I was processing what I was hearing. It was sexy. But sexy in a most divine way. I blushed a little when I thought it, but they all looked like they were in love. Not with each other, but with something. Something that I couldn't possibly understand because that was who they were. That was their life. They played for love, for gods and goddesses, for their heritage. They were not bound to the "Verse­Chorus­Verse­Chorus­Bridge­Chorus" formula. There must have been some structure, but it was indiscernible to me. The men in their flowing white shirts sang harmonies in increments I would never have thought of putting together. Strange combinations of notes that I had never heard before. How could I have called myself a musician and a writer all this time when I was obviously so very limited?

I was jealous and upset that I had let labels, critics, and twenty­something "A&R" phonies tell me all that time what made a great song. "No more than a ten second intro. Get to the chorus in under forty seconds. Make the song no longer than three minutes and thirty seconds."

Had I settled for being a songwriter only, when what I really wanted was to be an artist?

Christine had been watching me quietly and suddenly aware of it, I felt embarrassed. "Hi."

"Hi," I replied.

"Feeling better?"

"Yeah. Loads."

That night I slept better than I had in a very long time.

* * *

I dreamed I was walking along the side of a mountain. Rain had accumulated in pockets of the deep rolling green of the land and I was walking not through it, but on top of it. The puddles appeared to get deeper and deeper until they became a small lake. And still I walked on top of it, the bottoms of my pants barely touching the wetness.

As I walked, I could no longer maintain myself above the water and my shoes became wet. As the lake deepened, I began to sink. From the distance I saw a man with golden brown skin waving at me with much agitation.

" _Ma'am! You are not supposed to be there, ma'am!_ "

Feeling embarrassed, I could only give a small, apologetic wave back as if to say,

" _Okay... I will be gone in a moment_."

The water rose up to my knees, then quickly, my waist. Freezing cold, I shivered and tried desperately to appear as if I was not being rude, but simply trying to hurry out of the water.

It rose up to my chest and neck. My lips kissed the surface as I braced to drown. I spied three snakes coming toward me from left, right, and straight ahead. I did not fear them and called out, " _Can you help me?_ " The snakes stopped only inches from my face and lifted their heads skyward. I lifted mine to look. The sky was churning, the clouds weaving in and out of themselves against a deep red sky.

The clouds parted to reveal a large palace. Golden and frightening in the sky, it seemed to be slightly rotating. My eyes were blinded by the lake water. The snakes whispered to me as I went down, " _Come and see... Mara, come and see_."

With one arm stretched above the water, my flattened palm begged them to help Me. Everything darkened and all I could see was the slight green of the murky water

as the palace light shone down. Suddenly I was propelled by a force that seemed to come from within myself. I went racing to the surface of the lake. I felt a warm hand on mine, and my body tingled with electricity as I found the golden brown man lifting me up out of the darkness. I collapsed against his chest and cried as if I'd just emerged from the womb.

* * *

The next morning I woke up feeling like I had been sleeping for years. I was always tired. Always. I could wake up at six am and go right back to sleep at eight. The perpetual bags under my wide set green eyes gave testimony to that. I required coffee intravenously if I ever wanted to stay awake past nine pm. My grandmother used to say that I was born an old woman. But that morning, I woke up rested. I quickly realized the foolishness of analyzing why I felt good and stopped immediately.

Out of bed, I pulled back the curtains and let a little sun in. I was immediately shocked by the state of my apartment. Dust particles flew around like angry little nymphs. Dirty clothes mixed in with clean ones, both so crumpled, washing them all again would have been easier than sorting them out. What seemed like a mountain of shredded paper and used tissues created a moat of sadness around my desk. It suddenly occurred to me that I'd been in pretty bad shape.

I navigated my way around the clutter and headed toward the kitchen to make coffee. The coffee pot, despite my ritualistic use of it, was covered in a fine layer of dust. I popped open the lid to find a wet coffee filter growing what might have possibly been the cure for the common cold on top of some old coffee grounds. I decided this might be a good time to practice leaving the house ­ like normal people do.

Out of respect for Christine, I decided to forgo the old gray sweatshirt and opted for an actual jacket. I tied my hair back, planted glasses on my face, and took a quick look in the mirror to admire the newly normal me. Just a girl in a blue jacket and ponytail heading out for her morning coffee and a newspaper. Nothing out of the norm to see here, folks.

Out onto the street I went. Confused for a moment about where to go despite living here for five years I followed the people in suits. _Ahhhh... Starbucks. Nice._ As I waited in line, a beautiful woman in an Indian kurta, jeans, and about 50 sparkling bangles smiled at me when she caught me staring. Caught off guard and feeling stupid, I apologized.

"I'm sorry. I was at the Indian festival last night and I've become a bit enamored with the culture. Your bracelets are beautiful."

"Well, then," she offered. "You must take a trip to India someday. Perhaps you had a past life there."

Attempting to tear myself away from her buttery accent, I smiled and said, "Yeah, maybe someday I will go."

I froze. The words ricocheted back at me the moment I spoke them. I could go to India. I could just get on a plane and go to India. Stupid. How could I go to India? I don't even know where I'd stay. I don't know anything about India.

Was it safe for a woman to travel alone there? How would I know the money, or the transportation system, or what a cab ride should cost? I couldn't go to India. The wiser Mara,

who did her hair and makeup and had her shit together, spoke in my brain _­ But there are people who book trips for people touring a country, idiot. Get a travel agent._

Yes! A travel agent.

"Ma'am, are you ready to order?"

I woke from my reverie to see a line of angry faces, now late for work, waiting for the mental patient in the blue jacket to order her coffee. I headed home, and for the next twelve hours, I scoured the Internet, reading everything I possibly could about India and researching travel agents. I scrolled through endless pictures, and because of the sheer abusing I'd done it, I donated $25 to Wikipedia before deciding on a destination: Mumbai. I said the word over and over because it felt good on the lips. I whispered the word, "Mumbai" putting an emphasis on the M and the B. Lovely. With a quick phone call to a local travel agent, I started compiling everything I would need to travel. Thank God for my credit cards (and my extreme cheapness, which meant I still had money left on them) and the passport I had purchased in the hopes of becoming very famous and needing to go on a whirlwind world tour.

So, when did I want to leave?

I could go when winter set in, or when spring arrived. Or, I could wait until summer to see how hot it really got there. I had nothing here to wait for. Mark was gone. I had no career and no prospects. I had no family since they disowned me for my "manic" life choices. I didn't have pets. I didn't even have a plant that needed me to stay. I could go... now.

* * *

"What do you mean you're going to India?" Chris sounded frantic.

"It's going to be good for me. Really, Chris, I think I need to do this." I tried to sound reassuring, but was probably just as scared as she was.

"By yourself? If you can hold off 'til the spring, I'll go with you, Mara. But, this sounds a little impulsive."

I laughed. "You say that like it's a bad thing. I'll be okay by myself. The travel agent booked me with some tour group so I won't really be alone. And I'll be taking an Indian rail tour for some of the time. I'll be fine."

"How long will you be gone?"

"I'm not sure. As long as it takes, I guess. I'm starting with a couple of weeks, though. I can't explain it, Chris. It's like that night at the festival woke me up. It's not like I wasn't aware of India before, but I had a narrow view of it. The 'they eat a lot of curry' view. But that was it. I feel like I'm missing out on parts of the world that have been making history for thousands of years. The U.S. is only a couple of hundred years old and sometimes we forget that this isn't all there is, you know? I've never been anywhere, really."

Chris sighed deeply. I knew she was worried. It made me love her even more than I already did.

"I'm gonna miss you, girl." She sounded resigned.

"I'm gonna miss you too. But I'm bringing my laptop, and I promise to bring you back something fantastic."

She laughed.

On the bus to the Philadelphia airport, I sorted through all my brochures and itinerary ­­ glossy, brightly colored landscapes with elaborate temples adorned the covers of them all. My stomach turned with excitement and fear. Had I packed correctly? I had no idea what to bring, but knew I should travel lightly. Only one bag. Considering my abysmal makeup and fashion skills, figuring out which clothes to pack was not a problem. Notebooks, camera, laptop, toothbrush, hairbrush, sandals, pants, shirts, and underwear. What more could I need?

I had my mail held and put the next month's rent on my credit card. Why not? If my credit was going down in flames because of this trip anyway, I might as well take advantage. I looked out the window and saw the last house in my city before we hit the highway.

Light blue.

The airport was strangely empty as I sat in the hard plastic chairs at the gate waiting for my plane to board. Philadelphia, London, Mumbai. I hadn't flown since I was a child. Even at that, it was only the short distance between Virginia and New York. Not much of an adventure at all. We had to circle for over an hour through stormy skies before landing, so that had been mildly entertaining.

"Flight 237 to Mumbai is now boarding at Gate C." I waited.

"Now boarding rows one through seven."

I was up.

I followed the herds of other passengers and squeezed my way through the aisles to the storage compartment. I took my seat by the window (damn right) and waited.

I arrived in Mumbai shortly after midnight and felt a strange sense of unreality. It was Monday there. I left on Saturday, but they were almost a whole day ahead. I felt like I'd accomplished time travel and spent at least a few minutes trying to sort that out when a voice snapped me to.

"Ma'am? May I take your bags?" asked a middle aged man with a potbelly.

It was the shuttle service. Barbara, the travel agent, told me he would be there.

"I only have this one," I said, still clutching the handles of my dirty old suitcase.

"Here, here... Give it to me." I handed over the bag and followed him out to the car.

Only a few minutes later we pulled up to the Suncity Residency Hotel. It looked like the Ritz Carlton compared to what I was expecting to see for a hundred dollars a night.

"Welcome to India," said a strikingly beautiful woman with short dark hair. She smiled at me and I yawned.

"I'm so sorry!" I was embarrassed and felt myself flush.

"It's okay. The time difference takes some getting used to. Can we take your bags up for you?" Again. "I only have this one."

She handed me the key to my room, and when I entered it, I was quite sure there had been a mistake and my card would be maxed out by the next day. It was enormous. There was a bedroom... and a living room. I wanted to appreciate it more, but I was so exhausted that I crashed onto the bed, fully clothed, and fell asleep. The next day I would begin my train tour along the coast. I was out cold within minutes and dreaming again.

* * *

It was the same rolling countryside. But no lake this time. The sun was shining brightly and was the very perfect temperature for me. Eighty degrees exactly. I could just tell by the way it felt.

The sun was blinding, and I saw a very large tree that looked like it had been around since the dawn of time. Its branches curved down like hundreds of dark brown arms. I sat under it and enjoyed the shade. I wished I could have sunshine and shade at the same time.

In the distance I saw the same golden skinned man from my previous dream. He approached me and asked, " _Feeling better, love_?"

I did not ask him why he called me "love." It seemed appropriate for some reason. " _Almost,_ " I answered.

He knelt down beside me and held my hand, palm up, to his lips. He reached for the other hand and buried his face in them. With only a short pause to catch his breath, he slowly pulled my arms in toward him until he could reach my waist. He wrapped one arm around me, and with the other, he began to unbutton my shirt. He slid the shirt and one cup of my bra aside and palmed my breast with his hand.

For some reason I was relieved. Like I'd been waiting a very long time for him. His eyes met mine for a moment. They were the darkest brown with small flecks of amber that glowed when the sun peeked through the tree branches. He grazed my nipple slightly with his fingertips, and I was suddenly weak. I fell backwards, unable to sit upright any longer. My shirt fell open, and now with both breasts exposed, he kissed them in tandem, pressing himself into me until I felt like I would lose control...

_Knock knock knock!_ "Ma'am? Ma'am? The front desk has been trying to reach you. You will miss your train, ma'am."

Startled awake, I looked at the clock and wondered when the hell eleven am happened. In a completely futile attempt to smooth my hair and fix my clothes to imply they were not the same ones I'd been wearing for the last two days, I answered the door.

"I'm sorry! I'm up. Is the shuttle leaving?"

"Yes, ma'am. In fifteen minutes. Please, you must get your things quickly." "Okay, I'm coming. Two minutes."

"Very good, ma'am."

"Oh... umm, one more thing. Is there any chance I could get a cup of coffee to go? Please?"

"Of course, ma'am. It will be waiting for you at the front desk."

I splashed cold water on my face and threw another shirt on. I tied back my hair and brushed my teeth frantically while pondering what kind of tip to leave housekeeping since I had slept on top of the covers all night. Throwing what was probably far too much money on the bed, I grabbed my bag and hurled myself through the door. I ran toward the elevator and pounded the Down button like I was in a bad horror movie.

Holy shit. What was that all about? I tried to shake the dream out of my head, but my body was still there with that man under the tree. In the lobby, my hero the bellhop handed me the cup of coffee, and I shoved some money in his hand and hugged him tight. "Thank you!"

"No worries, ma'am. If you go right out front, the shuttle to the train will take you to meet your group."

I zipped out the front door and found Potbelly Man waiting for me. "Did you sleep well, ma'am?"

"Umm, yes... A little too well, really."

"Yes, you will find there is magic in India. Makes for good dreams." He grinned widely at me exposing an oddly out of place gold tooth. I nodded and got in the car. He took off at top speed, and we pulled up to the Deccan Odyssey train station in no time at all.

I spotted the tour group right away. Everyone was pale, and I could pick out the Americans because they were the fat ones in obnoxious floral shirts. Eight people. None of whom I really wanted to talk much to. I really would have just liked to have gone back to sleep.

"Hi! You must be part of our little tour group here," said a heavyset blonde woman with a Southern accent. Her shirt was hideous and bright. She looked as though she meant to go to Hawaii and somehow got on the wrong plane, but was making the best of it. Her hair was an unnatural shade of yellow. She looked like she attempted to do a"smokey eye" for her trip to India, but forgot to blend all the colors leaving her with bizarre green, purple, and brown striped eyelids. She was wearing a cheap gold bracelet that she probably felt was very exotic and would be perfect for this trip.

"C'mon over here and meet everybody!"

She shuttled me over to the group of strangers with one large arm wrapped around me, and the other arm holding my elbow as if she thought I might try to escape. I am no social butterfly. She'd be right.

"Don't be shy, now... Come on over, y'all, and meet... What's your name, sweetheart?" I disliked her.

"Mara. Loughlin."

"Everyone this is Myra Loughlin."

"Mara. It's Mara."

"I'm sorry, y'all. This is Maura Loughlin."

Now I despised her.

Each one put out their hand to shake mine, and in a sea of names, I could only remember "Jim."

"It's okay. I heard you say Mara. Don't mind Lillian, she's a little excited. I'm Jim."

"Hi." I hid behind my sunglasses and coffee cup. It was empty, but they didn't need to know that.

Lillian continued, "Aren't y'all excited? I've never been to India before. Once I went to visit my cousin in New Jersey and there were a lot of Indians there, but this is soooo different."

_You don't say_ , I thought to myself and snorted involuntarily. Everyone stopped. "Sorry. Allergies."

Besides Lillian and Jim, there was Donna and Andy, a couple from Ohio. They looked like hippies and I liked them for that instantly. There was Peter and Allison, a couple from England on holiday (I love the word "holiday"), and Brian and Gillian, a father and daughter from Arizona.

"And Neer­uv is in the men's room. You'll meet him inside. He is a teacher! Shall we?" said Lillian. I was annoyed at her implication that an Indian man as a teacher is somehow a more impressive accomplishment than for anyone else who achieves it.

We climbed aboard and made our way to the dining car where we all spread out into our own little groups. Except I came alone, so I was my own little group. I took out my laptop and tried to look busy when I heard Lillian say, "There's Neer­uv." I looked up and stopped breathing.

He had golden brown skin, and deep, deep brown eyes. His hair was slightly long and pushed back and a little damp around the fringes as if he had just washed his face. His eyes caught mine, and as he paused for a moment, I quickly looked away. My face was flushed, and I didn't know what to do with my hands, so I opted for holding onto the sides of my laptop as if it might fly away.

Then, he was next to me, only his belt in my line of vision. I was almost grateful when I heard Lillian's intrusive voice say, "Neer­uv, meet Mayra."

"It's actually Mar­a," I said quietly. "It's actually Nir­av," he said back.

We smiled, shook hands, and offered polite It's nice to meet yous. With the whole tour group accounted for, the conductor prepared to depart and the waiters, dressed in deep burgundy, took our drink and lunch orders.

"Might I join you?" asked Nirav.

"Yes, of course! You can help me order." I laughed a little too loud at myself. "Well, to start, what do you like to drink?"

"Beer?"

"Beer they have." He proceeded to order for me in Hindi although I knew the waiter spoke English. The conversation sounded like it was going on far too long to just be ordering beer. They shared what seemed to be a private joke and I shifted awkwardly in my seat, feeling out of place.

"Very good, sir," said the waiter before turning on his heels.

"I am sorry. I took the liberty of ordering for you. I told him to put the monkey brains on the side."

I felt the blood leave my face.

"Kidding. I assume you have seen the Indiana Jones movies."

"Oh, yes... That's very funny," I answered sarcastically. Within moments, but still not nearly fast enough, the beer arrived and I was surprised to see an American beer with its trademark Budweiser label.

"So, Mar­a. What do you do?"

"That is very American of you to ask what I do before asking for any other details about me," I said rather bravely as the beer kicked in.

"Right. Okay, then. When is your birthday?"

"April fourteenth. Yours?"

"February second. And now, what do you do, Mara?" The way he said my name made me nervous. He spoke to me with too much intimacy. As if he already knew me but was going through the pleasantries. There was tension, and I wasn't sure if he felt it himself. Was I tense or was it sexual tension? I found myself feeling... restless.

He was still waiting for an answer. "I'm a songwriter."

"That's very interesting. What do you write about?" His eyes were piercing and intolerably sexy.

"Oh... I write about my life, mostly. My own experiences and things." "And you are here for inspiration, perhaps?"

I was stunned. "Yes, something like that." The words caught in my throat. I continued, suddenly feeling flushed and a little naked.

"Work has not been going well and I'm getting kind of discouraged. I wanted to find something new. I wanted to see India after hearing some music at a festival."

"And how are you liking it so far?" He licked his thumb where droplets of water from his glass were clinging.

"Well, I liked the inside of the airplane just fine. As well as the London airport. I got to see the inside of a cab, followed by my hotel room, and then the inside of my own eyelids before getting back into the cab and coming here. So I haven't seen much to be inspired by just yet." I laughed.

"We'll have to do something about that then, won't we?"

I was in love with the waiter for bringing food and breaking the unbearable tension.

"Here you are, sir," he said as he put a few dishes on the table.

"Ah! Thank you."

"So what am I eating, Nirav?" This was the first time I said his name out loud, and blushed at the ease of it. How intimate I sounded.

"Well, you have basmati and surmai. Rice and fish. And then this plate is Maharashtrian chicken tikka. Do you like hot food?" he asked.

"I do. The spicier the better for me." I took a bite, immediately downed a glass of water, and contemplated pouring it directly into my eyes while I was at it.

"Ha­ha! American spicy is a little different, no?" His eyes lit up when he laughed.

_Damn it._

"A little."

"Well, we do have McDonald's if you prefer," he joked.

I was momentarily offended until I realized that it would be completely American to look for a McDonald's while in India. I was secretly waiting for Lillian and Jim to ask about one.

"I'm sure I'll get used to it. It's delicious, though." I tried to appear sophisticated while my nose ran relentlessly. I attempted a distraction. "So what do you do?" (despite the fact that I

already knew what he did).

"I am a teacher. I teach computers at a boys' high school." "What made you decide to teach computers?"

"It is very hard in India to find jobs. I found that if you can learn a universal skill, you have a better chance of finding work in other countries as well. It broadens the range of possibility for many. And you, Mara, how did you get involved in songwriting?"

He took a small bite of food after his question, put his fork back down, folded his hands on the table, and waited attentively for my answer. I was horribly, horribly nervous.

"Oh... I suppose I just fell into it. I always loved music as a child and wanted to be in theater and ballet. I had been studying ballet for almost eight years when a teacher told me I could never be a ballerina because my hips were too big."

He peered around the end of the table, and made a mock shocked face.

I went on, "I was in a few small plays, but I don't have a very big voice so it was hard to keep that up. I am a quiet singer, I suppose. But I always loved to write. Poetry, stories, and then lyrics."

"Perhaps you will sing something for me someday." He returned to his food and smiled as he waved at Lillian, who was watching us.

"Hello, Lillian," he said.

"How y'all getting on over there?" she pried. I wanted very much for her to stop talking and go back to shoveling food in her face. Having realized that she had been watching us, I was now self conscious. But I didn't want to leave Nirav. I was utterly fascinated by him. His accent, his eyes, his hair. His mannerisms reminded me of royalty. He was kind and humble, yet confident. I never thought one could be both humble and confident.

"Fine, thanks," said Nirav cheerfully.

"Lillian! Shush now, leave them be. Look how nice the scenery is." Thank God for Jim.

"I feel like I'm being fixed up by my parents or something," I grumbled.

"Maybe you are being fixed up by your cosmic parents." Nirav smiled that smile again.

He had the most beautiful lips I'd ever seen on a man. Perfectly formed and nearly heart shaped. Soft with a lighter pink spot in the middle of his bottom lip. I was suddenly very aware that I wanted to kiss him, and my cheeks flushed.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be so forward." I hoped he had no idea what I was actually blushing about.

I quickly changed the subject.

"How did you get the scar on your eyebrow?"

"Ahhh. I got this one and this one from crashing my bike," he said as he pointed to his eyebrow, then his chin. His nails were pale and perfectly cut. His fingers, brown and soft.

"I have one here as well. But that one is from falling as a child. I broke my collarbone and needed twelve stitches."

He moved his loosely buttoned shirt aside a little, revealing a soft tuft of chest hair and a large scar which I couldn't seem to pay attention to. His skin was the most perfect shade of brown I had ever seen. And brown being my very favorite color, I had seen many shades of it.

I imagined all the various shades of browns and pinks he must possess all over his body. Like blended earth and sand. Smooth as water. His whole body perhaps an island paradise.

"I never asked you why you took this trip. You live here, so you can see your country any time you want to."

He thought for a moment and said, "I'm not sure. I've never taken any of the trips a tourist would. No need to really. As you said, I live here. But something made me curious lately. I have been having the same recurring dream about taking this trip, so I thought perhaps I should listen to it."

"What kind of dream?" I was almost afraid to know the answer.

"I dream that I am saving a drowning woman. And there are snakes in the water. In the distance I can see the shore and a large Bodhi tree. I don't remember my dreams very well. I'm not a vivid dreamer, so it is unusual for me to remember any details at all. Perhaps I hit my head too hard all those years ago when I fell."

I was stunned to hear that we shared the same details of our dreams. I was also a little paranoid. Did he know what I had dreamed? If he didn't, and that was a coincidence, that was a little frightening too. I wanted to dig further.

"How many times did you have this dream?" I hoped he would remember more details if he had to remember how many times he'd dreamed it.

"A few."

"What does the woman look like in the dream?" "She looks a little like you," he said contemplatively.

Feeling very brave I said, "I've been having a recurring dream as well, and the man in that dream looks a bit like you too."

"So what do you think that means?" He sounded too calm.

"Why aren't you surprised that we had similar dreams?" I was almost annoyed.

"Because I believe people's lives bleed into each other's over and over again. And that on some subconscious level, we remember each other. There's magic in India, you know."

"Someone else told me that too. Maybe I'm starting to believe it. I'm not a particularly religious person. But I believe I am open minded. So maybe you and I should start paying more attention to our dreams from now on." I smiled.

"Yes. Or maybe we should sleep close to each other."

That time it was he who blushed as he caught the double meaning of what he'd just said.

"I... I only meant that hopefully our cabins are near each other so that we can tell each other what we've dreamed quickly before we forget."

"It's okay. I knew what you meant." I let him off the hook.

The sun was heavy and red in the sky. The beautiful scenery, the rich food, the alcohol. I could never have written anything as beautiful as that moment in time.

The light hit his hair and revealed its reddish gold highlights. Its intricate waves and textures.

We would be spending that night on the train. The others would be having some drinks, talking, maybe playing a card game. But I wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of the evening, uninterrupted, with Nirav.

There was nothing more interesting than him. I wanted to ask him to spend his evening with me. I had a million questions. But maybe he wanted to interact with the others. They were, after all, not people he would normally get to talk to. We would be so obvious just hiding out together, talking well into the morning hours like children at summer camp.

How could I ask him without seeming selfish?

"Mara, I'd love to continue our conversation in the bar car, but..."

My heart sank.

"... I think there may be too much noise. Would you like to relocate to one of our cabins?"

He was an angel.

"Sure, we could do that. That would be nice."

"All right, then." He waved the waiter down. "Sir, would you mind bringing us some wine and an ice bucket?"

"Of course. Your cabin, sir?"

"Mara? Is that alright with you?"

"Yes. Red wine, please. If you don't mind."

"Not at all."

We tried to organize our plates, napkins, and whatever mess we'd made, and Nirav left a tip for the waiter. Even the money in India was beautiful with its floral designs and pastel ink.

"Thank you very much, sir. I'll bring your wine momentarily." Then he said something in Hindi to Nirav.

"Perhaps," Nirav answered back in English. I let it slide because I wasn't sure I really wanted to know.

His cabin was beautiful. As big as some hotel rooms I'd been in, and decorated with yellow golds and deep reds. As if we tourists were royalty. I'd slept in train cars before. Once I took a train to Florida and it was like a little mini hell on rails. This was nothing like that. The bed actually looked like a real bed, not a cot attached to the wall. The linens were cream colored and made of good sheets. Soft and cottony. Not like regular hotel sheets that make a _scritch, scritch_ noise every time you move.

The waiter came with the wine, two glasses, and a bucket. Nirav and I thanked him and he left. Nirav took the bedspread from the bed and spread it out on the floor picnic style. I took my shoes off and sat like I was in nursery school and this was "circle time."

Strangely, I only noticed how tall he was when he sat. His shoulders looked more square and broad. His five o'clock shadow made him look a bit older, but then it occurred to me that I hadn't asked his age. He looked younger than me in general.

"Nirav, may I ask you how old you are?" I tried my best to sound nonchalant ­ like I didn't absolutely need to know everything about him.

"Twenty­-eight."

_Twenty ­-eight?_

"And I know better than to ask a Western woman her age," he joked.

"I don't mind. I'm thirty-­six." I was forty.

"You don't look thirty-­six."

I froze, fearing that he suspected I was lying. He was gracious. "You look much younger. Perhaps twenty­six?"

I laughed. "You are very smooth, aren't you?"

He poured the first glasses of wine, giving me a few moments to collect myself, and I tried to think of something witty to say. I attached the glass to my face for longer than necessary to take a sip.

He saved me by speaking. "Where are you from in the U.S., Mara?"

"Originally, I'm from New Jersey. I refer to it lovingly as the armpit of the United States. I have been living in Pennsylvania, the Philadelphia area, for the last five years, though."

"I grew up in Mumbai. I still live near there."

I was having a very difficult time navigating my way through the polite conversation and the tedium of answering questions I wasn't really sure he wanted to know the answers to.

I felt ashamed that after two glasses of wine, and extreme jet lag, I was suddenly feeling very... brave.

"Can I hug you, Nirav?"

Nirav looked stunned. He blushed just a bit before looking humbled and said, "Of course, Mara."

I crawled toward him and wrapped my arms around his neck. His hands climbed their way up my back, stopping somewhere in the middle. I breathed him in. He smelled so good. Like clean linen and something earthy I couldn't quite pinpoint. Maybe it was pheromones or his natural skin smell or a combination of both. But it was like the room fell away and all I saw was him. I only meant to hug him briefly because I was feeling brave and very friendly, but found I couldn't let go.

And he didn't let go either. I felt him rise as I held on to him. He didn't apologize. Or become embarrassed. He didn't say anything. He raised his jaw to kiss me high on the cheekbone, so close to my ear that his breath gave me goosebumps. My nipples hardened under my shirt, and they felt too sensitive pressed against him. His skin was surprisingly cool.

I felt self conscious as I realized what I must have looked like ­­ flung on top of a man I only met that day. I felt foolish and tears started to well up in my eyes. I breathed in sharply and tried to suppress a sob.

He whispered, "Shhh... shhh," and I melted into tears, buried my face in one side of his neck, and wrapped my arm tightly around the other.

"It's all right."

Why wasn't he completely confused and maybe a little frightened? He seemed unaffected by my crying as he caressed my back. He was compassionate and kind, as if he expected it and he knew why I was crying. But I wasn't even sure why I was crying. He pushed back my hair with his hand and kissed my face. With his thumb he wiped away a tear and said,

"Mara, people can only handle so much before they need to let it go. It's like carrying a heavy package. Eventually, you will weaken and it will fall."

"But you don't even know why I'm crying," I protested.

"I don't need to. You are a person in pain. It does not matter if you are a stranger, or if you have a good reason to cry. If you needed to be held, and you felt safe enough to ask it of me, how could I refuse? Or judge? Or ask personal questions during this moment of release for you? I was not asked to analyze your pain. I was only asked for a hug." He smiled and kissed my forehead.

I turned my face to meet his and leaned in to kiss him. He kissed me back. So sweetly and gently. With his jaw strong, he put pressure on my lips, making me want to open my mouth and fall.

And I did.

I fell deep into the kiss, and we were no longer on Earth. We were weightless, floating through space and time where nothing else existed. Not sound, not smell, not sight. Just that kiss. If someone had tried to stop that kiss, God himself would have intervened. We were supposed to be there, in that moment. His hand found the back of my neck and he gathered up my hair in his fist and held tight, pulling me deeper into him. I wrapped my hand around his neck in a gesture of return, and there we stayed, locked together for what seemed like forever. I needed nothing else. He was air and food and water. He let himself inside me in that kiss and it was better than any sex I'd ever had. I felt more peace and contentment than I had in all the months since Mark left.

I never wanted it to stop.

Nirav pried himself away only to move to my neck. He kissed me gently on my throat and back I fell back onto the floor. As I looked up to the ceiling of the room, I could see those tree branches again and I knew what was coming next.

With my whole soul, I wanted him. Our eyes locked and spoke to each other what we did not have to say. He stood, took the pillows and bedspread from the bed, and came down to the floor with me. He lifted my head and slid a pillow underneath, then lay down next to me, throwing the bedspread over us both. He propped his head on his hand while supporting himself on his elbow, and with his free hand started unbuttoning my shirt. He brushed my shirt aside, and cupped my breast while kissing me deeply again. I fumbled with his pants and finally slid my hands over his buttocks and lowered them down.

He lifted his shirt over his head and stretched, revealing the most perfect stomach I'd ever seen. Slim and tan, with a small trail of hair leading like a map to the Adonis Belt of his pelvis. He tossed the shirt and pressed his body hard against mine while wrapping one arm underneath me, drawing me closer to him. He undid the button on my pants, which I quickly wriggled out of and kicked across the room with a sharp fling of my leg.

We lay there naked and warm under the sleeping coach's elaborate bedspread. The frenzy slowed when he parted my legs and slid himself into me. Only the head of his penis at first. He pulled it slowly out, repeating that tease a few more times before thrusting into me. Hard.

I cried out, but with the raucous drinking and talking amongst the rest of the tour group, no one heard me. I would not have been able to stop if they had anyway. My hips rose up to meet him as he pushed harder and rhythmically into me. Time stopped. I felt rippling waves of electricity all through my body, making me cry out even louder.

I saw images... memories that were not my own, and not from this lifetime. I saw sand and huts. I saw pyramids and castles and monuments of stone. Women in braids and men in loincloths, heads adorned with images of a goddess. Snake bracelets wrapped around brown arms.

He pushed deeper and deeper into me, and with every thrust came a surge of intensity. It felt like we'd been making love for centuries. A millennia of lifetimes bleeding into each other as we recreated it now. A heat rose up from my legs and spread out through my body as if I were submerged in warm water. I felt myself break with each swell. I contracted uncontrollably as my body gave way to the electricity coursing through me.

I exploded with ecstasy, clamping down on him as he grew harder within me. With my hands, I pulled him deeper into me, meeting his rhythm with my own dance, and with one great thrust he burst open too, and spilled all those lifetimes inside of me. He collapsed, and I held his hips steady, kissing him deeply. Exhausted and drunk, we fell hard asleep. There on the floor, we curled into each other like twins in the womb. We walked together in the dreams that came.

We slept for what felt like forever and woke to a thin ray of light emerging from the dawn sky. A star held on, unwilling to say goodbye to the night. A star who did not want to say goodbye to the lovers she watched below.

"Anusha," he said.

"What is 'Anusha'?"

"Anusha is the first lovely rays of morning light. It is also the name of a star." "That's pretty... I like that."

"You can be my Anusha, then."

We stayed locked together for the longest time, until the sun came up to take its turn at watching us, and the star disappeared into its light.

* * *

"I am starving!" I shouted from the bathroom as I took a much needed hot shower.

"They will be serving breakfast shortly. Shall I bring something back for us here, love, or should we go and attempt to be social beings?"

We settled on going to breakfast, but I snuck into my own cabin first and emerged as bright eyed and refreshed as if I'd been in there all night. I made a show of saying good morning to Nirav as we both entered the dining car. "How did you sleep?" I asked him.

"Very well, and you?"

"Good, good."

We shared a secret smile and sat ourselves amongst the group and said our "good mornings."

"You two disappeared early," said Lillian suspiciously.

"Oh, yes, I was very jet lagged and didn't sleep much at the hotel, so I called it a night," I answered.

"I had to catch up on some work and lost track of time a bit. You know how fast computer time goes by," Nirav said waving his hand dismissively.

Jim nudged her warningly with his elbow, while still looking down at his newspaper. Donna and Andy sat looking dreamily out the window with bowls of fresh fruit in front of them.

"You can just feel the raw energy of the sea here, can't you? The spirits of the ancients are still with us, even in this modern age," Donna said as she waved around at the train and all of its wondrous "technology."

"I know," said Andy seriously. "It's like you just know aliens were here once, and it feels like we are part of some great cosmic plan."

I rolled my eyes at Nirav.

Gillian sat at the table, not eating but fiddling with her iPhone and ignoring her father.

"I can't wait to see these beaches!" said Brian to no one in particular.

"Where are we exactly?" I asked, embarrassed that I had no idea what the itinerary was.

Nirav answered while pouring himself juice. "We, my American friend, are in Jaigad. We are going to the beaches at Ganpatipule."

"All right," I said, satisfied with that answer.

"Did you bring a swimsuit, Mara?" He winked at me.

"I don't wear bathing suits. I'm sure I'll be fine."

"Well, no worries. I'm sure no one will mind if you swim nude."

I nearly choked on my toast.

"Yes," agreed Jim. "We won't mind at all." Lillian slapped him repeatedly on the arm.

Andy chimed in, "We'll join you! I think it would be very freeing to swim nude in these waters. Like we are in the womb of the great mother waiting to be born."

"Thank you, Nirav, but I'll be keeping my clothes on today." I tried to squash that idea before I had to see all of those people naked and splashing around in the sea, getting sick with sunburn on their naked, white asses.

"Have it your way," he said laughing.

We emerged from the train, and our conductor said with a smile, "Welcome to Jaigad! We will be embarking shortly on the scenic cruise through the backwaters of the Shastri River to the Jaigad Fort. The fort is located on a cliff that will provide you with beautiful views of the ocean as well as Ganpatipule. We hope you enjoy your day here."

We all shuffled along, following the tour guide like baby ducks following the mama to the shoreline. We climbed into the tour boat and I situated myself between Nirav and Gillian. Gillian, still with iPhone in hand said, "There's supposed to be some pretty cool stuff to see here. And we'll be, like, really up high."

I smiled. "Sounds pretty cool."

On the other side of me, Nirav was reluctantly talking to Lillian. Gillian leaned in and whispered, "You know, he's totally into you."

"Who, Nirav?"

"Yeah. He's always looking at you. I've been messing with him by trying to talk to him while he's watching you." She laughed and said in her best Indian accent: " _Hmmm, really? That's very, very interesting."_

I leaned into her. "I'm kinda into him too." I smiled.

"But what'll you do when you go back home? I mean, that's like really long distance, right?"

My heart sank. She was right. It could never be more than a fling. That wouldn't be fair to either of us.

"Yeah, it is," I said, looking off into the distance.

Nirav looked at me, took my hand in his, and squeezed. Gillian put her earbuds back in, cranking her music once again. I started to feel a bit queasy and put my head on Nirav's shoulder.

"Not feeling so well, love?" he asked, concerned.

Feeling overcome with seasickness, I answered, "Not really."

He took my wrist and pressed his index finger to a small spot next to my pulse. He kept the pressure on until the nausea started to pass.

"How are you doing that?" I was amazed.

"It's a pressure point. My sister is always sick when we travel. It helps her, so I thought it might help you too. We'll see if we can't get you some ginger tea." I nuzzled my face into his armpit. He smelled like soap and sex. I breathed deeply and fell asleep.

Within what seemed like just moments, Nirav gently woke me with a kiss. "We are here. You're going to love Jaigad Fort. The view is very romantic."

It looked as medieval as the brochure made it sound. Like something out of the Lord of the Rings novels ­­ built of stone with a huge ramp that wound its way up and up. We began to make the trek up the ramp and the view was breathtaking. I don't think I had ever felt so small before in my life. The outside of the fort was colored in various shades of brick, cream, stone, and mud. Windows everywhere, like a thousand eyes, watched over the cliff for enemies. Outside the fort's entrance, there were small, stair like structures. Off to the side was a man playing an Indian flute to snakes in baskets. Three baskets.

_Three snakes._

We entered the fort where a monkey was lounging on a wall's edge, catching the sun. Inside a man sat on the floor playing a tabla drum, and in the same room sat a very large war drum with the head ties loosened and caving in. We spent the next few hours going from structure to structure. The world's largest cannon. The torturous looking water cooler. The mosaics adorning the outside of the temples. All of it was overwhelming. I had never imagined something called a fort could look and feel like this. Every step of the way, Nirav held my hand, explaining every artifact. There in the cool ruins, we stole a private moment. He kissed me and my knees went weak again.

When our visit to Jaigad Fort came to an end, we began to make our way toward the town of Ganapatipule to have lunch and see the beaches. As the sun sat high in the afternoon sky, I was questioning why I did not bring a bathing suit after all. I was not accustomed to the heat and was feeling quite flushed.

In Ganpatipule, there were a few structures that had almost pyramid like tops. We stopped to eat and get something to drink, as the tourists were melting in the sun. The smells were wonderful. Nirav ordered for me.

"This is patholi stuffed inside a turmeric leaf. It's delicious. You'll like it."

It was delicious. I'd not tasted anything so wonderful since that night at the Indian festival with Chris. Nirav ordered something sweet for dessert and I fell in love with it immediately.

"This is amazing! What is this?"

"This is called 'Paniyaram' or 'Sweet Appe.' It's like a sweetened, fried rice ball with coconut and turmeric." He looked suddenly distracted. "When you are finished, we can go explore the beach, yes?"

I knew what that look in his eyes meant. "Yes."

The beach, lined with coconut trees and overlooking the bluest water I'd ever seen, was one of the most beautiful places on Earth. The sun, moving west in the sky, took pity on us and a breeze cooled my head. The beach temple, with its pastel beauty, stood like a tiny palace. We walked along hand in hand, oblivious to our tour guide and group, and wandered away.

We made our way to a secluded spot near a coconut tree. Sand dunes behind us shielded us from the many tourists. Nirav opened his backpack and pulled out a pair of swim trunks and a large towel. He pulled his shirt off as I lay back on my arms and admired his tall, lean frame. He stepped out of his pants, and stood completely naked for a moment, before pulling on his swim trunks and flopping down on the towel.

"Did you want to get out of those clothes?"

"I didn't bring a bathing suit. I'm not sure I'm bathing suit ready anyway." I laughed.

"Well, you could stay in your underwear and tank top. No one would see and even if they did, they wouldn't know that it wasn't a swimsuit."

Somehow that made sense.

I slid my cargo pants off and he was right. With black boy­shorts underwear and a black tank top, it looked like a swimsuit after all. I lay back on the towel with him and looked up at the trees. I felt so peaceful. So calm. And maybe... happy. "Nirav, I'm really glad I came here."

"I'm glad you are here too... my Anusha." He rolled over to kiss me deeply.

"You are so beautiful, Mara. You would make the most amazing babies." I looked away. My eyes filled with tears.

"I can't have any children. I was told by a doctor when I was sixteen after nearly dying of sepsis from a ruptured appendix."

Nirav looked heartbroken. "I am so sorry."

Tears started to stream down my cheeks, making puddles in the sand under my ears. He wiped them away and kissed my cheeks.

"Let's go for a walk."

I loved him for changing the subject. We dressed, stuffed our things back into our bags, and headed off. The sun was setting in the sky, turning it shades of purple and red I had only seen in the saris the Indian women wore. It was beautiful ­ like heaven itself was on fire. The tour group was rounded up and we took the cruise back to the rail station.

The river was much calmer on the way back and I sat, hand in hand with Nirav and watched the sun disappear into the horizon. Back on board the train, our group sat in the dining car reminiscing about the day, eating mangoes and comparing trinkets bought from the village locals. I'd had what was arguably the best day of my life.

Nirav leaned across the table and whispered, "Are you staying with me tonight, love?"

I contemplated the fact that I had not yet really seen much of my cabin and decided to go there and soak in a hot bath with a nice glass of wine. I wanted to process all that had happened in the last few days. I laughed to myself as my body reminded me just how sore and spent I was.

"I think I will spend some time alone in the bath first. Is that okay?"

"Of course. I was selfish to ask. You must be very tired and should have time to yourself. It is, after all, your vacation and I have monopolized too much of your time."

I smiled at him as if to say, " _Yes, you have... Thank you_."

I excused myself from the group and went back to my cabin. I felt oddly at peace and comfortable even in this quiet and strange room. With its rich gold and red colors, it looked nearly identical to Nirav's except everything was opposite ­ like a mirror image. The same way our bodies look pressed together.

I ran the bath and watched the steam rise. I went to the small wall mirror and looked at myself. I took a hard look, staring at the small lines around my mouth and eyes. My skin was burned from the intense Indian sun. Despite my SPF 50 sunblock, I was still red and freckled.

I undressed and felt the sand stuck to my back and thighs. I ran my fingers over my body, wondering if this is what I felt like to him. I had a sudden, overwhelming need to write to Christine. The water had risen too high while I had been lost in reverie. Quickly, I let some out and climbed in, sank down, grabbed my glass of wine, and closed my eyes.

I saw flashes of brown and pale skin blending together. I felt my stomach flip. I realized that I was falling hard for Nirav. Nirav, with his tall, strong body. His flat stomach and defined arms. The way he moved, the way he looked at me through his glasses, looking like the teacher he was. He'd definitely been a teacher to me the last couple of days. The way he spoke to me. He spoke in terms of souls, as if there was no real difference between us or our worlds.

When he made love to me, he was focused. Lost in the moment and giving me every bit of his heart. He made love to me as if he _was_ in love with me. After my bath, I slipped into the lightest pair of shorts I could find, and threw on a hugely oversized tee-­shirt. My sunburn was aching and making me feel very tired. I had every intention of going to Nirav's room to sleep, but first I really needed to write to Christine.

I opened up my laptop, searched for the train's wireless signal, and tried to think of the words to tell her everything that had happened.

_Dear Christine,_

_I'm sorry I didn't write to you sooner, but it's been a bit of a whirlwind. For starters, I got to my hotel in Mumbai very late and crashed out immediately. I crashed so hard that I overslept and nearly missed the shuttle to the tour train the next morning._

_Since then, so much has happened, I barely know where to start. The people in the tour group are pretty nice. There's one I could do without, but there is enough to do that you don't have to really spend a whole lot of time together._

_Today we took a cruise down the Shastri River to the Jaigad Fort which was incredible. From there we went to the town of Ganapatipule and hit the beaches. The food and the views were just breathtaking. I will be offloading some pictures I took to send to you soon._

_But mostly, I met someone. He's an Indian and a computer teacher. His name is Nirav and he is the most gorgeous man I have ever seen in my life. I fell hard, Chris. There's something so familiar about him and I feel so strongly drawn to him. It's very intense._

_We made love (yeah, I know I never say "made love," but that's what it was) and it was like I came alive inside._

_Now I'm feeling conflicted because I can't stay here forever and I really have grown attached to him in such a short time. He is kind, and smart and compassionate. It's weird, but I feel like I belong to him._

_Look at me getting all spiritual and romantic. Ew. Haha._

_I am horribly sunburned right now and about to go to sleep. My body has still not adjusted to the time difference._

_Tomorrow we are off on another boat to the Ocean Fort of Sindhudurg and then again to more beaches in Tarkarli. There is a two mile walk, and hopefully all my skin doesn't peel off in the process. I miss you terribly and love you. I promise to bring you back something awesome. Write back to me soon!_

_Love,  
Me._

After grabbing my toothbrush and suitcase, I shut the laptop and turned the lights off. I walked down the hall to Nirav's room. I knocked on the door and he answered shirtless, wearing white linen pants. He was wearing his glasses and holding an open book in his hand.

"Am I disturbing you?"

"Not at all. I am happy to see you. I wasn't sure if I would tonight. I tried to busy myself with a book." The lights in his room gave off an amber glow and he had music playing softly.

He stood aside, opening the door for me and waving me in with a sweeping arm. He closed the door behind me and kissed my cheek. He touched my back and I flinched.

"Sorry. I have a really bad sunburn."

"Ah. Get undressed and lie down under the sheets."

"I need to just sleep tonight," I said.

"I know. I won't disturb you. But the sheets will feel cool on your skin."

I undressed, slid under the sheets, and Nirav took a seat in the armchair next to the bed and continued reading.

No sooner had my head hit the pillow than I fell soundly asleep. In the morning, I woke to find Nirav sleeping next to me, arm thrown over my stomach in a spooning position. I grabbed hold of his arm and pulled it tighter around me. He put his face in my hair and kissed my head, and whispered, "Good morning, love. You're awake?"

"Kind of," I said yawning. "Did you sleep well?"

"Too well. I don't want to get up. This time difference is kicking my ass and my skin is on fire," I moaned.

"You know, we don't have to go sightseeing today," he said.

That was an interesting proposition. "But I'm part of a tour group. The operative word being 'group.'" I laughed. "This is my only chance to see... what are we seeing today?"

Nirav laughed. "You know, after this week is over, you can stay with me and see anything you missed. Or perhaps other interesting things. If you need to rest and are in pain, it's an option."

That was the greatest idea I had ever heard. An uninterrupted day of rest with Nirav. Heaven. "But what do we tell the group?"

"The truth. That you have a bad sunburn, are ill, and need rest." He was so reasonable. "They'll want to know why you aren't going."

He thought for a moment before answering. "Mara, we don't need to hide that we are sleeping together. We are adults, you know. Is there a reason you want to hide it?"

I wasn't sure how to answer that. "Nirav, in the United States, it's frowned upon to start sleeping with a man you just met two days ago." I laughed out loud.

"In India, people fall in love just like that. It is beyond one's control. It's romantic."

Love? "Fall in love?"

Looking embarrassed, he changed the subject.

"How about I talk to the group and then bring us back some breakfast, okay? We can plan our day then. Or not plan our day."

He smiled that perfect smile I adored. In the darkened, amber room with its closed curtains, it still felt like it could be night time. I imagined that time had stopped when I entered Nirav's room, and would stay that way until I left.

I might never leave.

He returned, hair still rumpled, carrying a plate of fruit. "I thought you might like to try some of the world famous mangoes from Ratnagiri. They are really wonderful. The waiter will send coffee for us shortly."

"Thank God," I said.

He laughed. "You sound so American. I could listen to you all day long." "I've been meaning to ask you how you learned English."

"Most schools teach English here. We start learning in elementary school. I also talk to many Americans, and with email being imperative in this day and age, I became fluent in college. We Indians do love all things Western." He winked at me.

"Do you really? That surprises me. We Americans can be very superficial and narrow minded," I said, sucking on a piece of mango. The juice dripped down my chin and as I scrambled, looking for a napkin, Nirav licked the juice off my chin, then laid a deep kiss on me.

"Knock it off!" I said, playfully pushing him away.

The waiter brought the coffee, we finished breakfast, and collapsed back down into the bed. I curled up in his armpit and breathed a sigh of total contentment.

"So, Nirav, why aren't you married? Don't you have a woman at home?"

"No. No woman. I was in love a few years ago, but her family wouldn't let her continue because she was of a different caste."

"Seriously?" I was shocked. "I thought the caste system was outdated. I didn't know people still followed it."

"Mmmm..." he said, stroking my hair. "Some do. It hurt me very much, but her family would have disowned her, and she just couldn't go against them. I didn't want to be the one to break up a family anyway. It would not have worked."

Then, inevitably he asked, "How about you? Why are you still single?" "My boyfriend, Mark, left about six months ago."

"I'm sorry. What happened? Did you love him?"

"I think I loved him. I was angry when he left and my self-­esteem took a beating, but I tried to move past it."

"Why did he leave such a wonderful woman?" he said, kissing the palm of my hand.

"He wanted children. And when I told him I wasn't able to have any, he left."

"Mara, that's horrible. How could he do such a thing if he truly loved you?"

"I don't blame him. Everyone should have that chance if they're able to. Who am I to keep him from that? Bastard," I said bitterly.

"That must have been very hard for you. See? We have something else in common. People we loved left us for reasons beyond our control."

"I guess so. Doesn't seem fair, though, does it?"

"Well, think of it this way, we would never have met if they had not left us," he pointed out.

"That's true," I said. "I wrote to my friend Christine about you."

"You did?" He traced my hands with his fingertips, sending me into a state of deep relaxation. "And what did you tell her about us?"

"Nothing much," I lied. "Just that I liked you very much and was having a nice time." "Is that all?" he said, winking at me.

"Yes, that's all." I smirked back at him.

I couldn't help but to lean in and kiss him.

"I have a surprise for you," he said in between kisses.

"You do?"

"Yes." He went to his bag and pulled out a large green bottle. I was intrigued.

"Aloe," he said.

I laughed and my skin pulled and burned in protest.

"Let me put some on your burns. It will be very cold at first, but it will help and keep you from getting scars."

I lay on my stomach as Nirav gently put aloe on my bare back. He rubbed very carefully up and down my skin. His hands slipped down to my butt and he rubbed that too, despite the fact that I didn't have sunburn there. Sand, maybe... sunburn, no.

He ran his hands down my legs and took my foot in his hand and began the best foot massage I ever had. He pressed on each part of my foot and concentrated on my toes, massaging them in a milking motion.

"Where did you learn how to give such a great foot massage?"

"My mother used to clean houses for a living and she would come home with very sore feet. I always rubbed them for her. It made her happy and I never minded doing it. I guess I just developed a knack for it over time."

"Your mother must be very proud of how well you do it now." I sighed.

"My mother has passed on," he said.

"Oh... I am so, so sorry. I didn't know."

He was soft spoken. "How could you know? It was a reasonable question. Do not apologize because you did not know something about my personal life. It was a long time ago, though. My father was forced to take work in Nigeria and mom died shortly after he left. I was raised by my aunt, her sister."

"That is such a sad story, Nirav. How old were you?"

"I was ten," he said. "But don't feel too sad. My aunt was good to me. I learned a lot about women from her. Maybe someday it will pay off." He smiled.

He wrapped his arms around me and pulled me into him. He smelled so good, and was so comforting, I could have died right there and been at peace with it. We dozed for a while. We woke up for lunch in "our" room, talked some more, and slept again. Before we knew it, the sun was low on the horizon again and we were clinging to what was a most memorable day.

Happy, well rested, and completely talked out, we put some clothes on and made our way to the dining car for dinner. I put on my sweatshirt as the chills of sunburn kept me shivering in the air-­conditioned dining room. The others had not returned yet and we had the place to ourselves for a bit. The waiter brought us something that I just devoured because I loved it all. He informed Nirav, "We added some extra saffron in this one. For love." He winked.

"Saffron, hmm?" I asked.

"Yes. It's said to be an aphrodisiac."

"Well, I think we've been doing all right on our own."

"Indeed," he concurred.

I knew that I might possibly ruin the moment, but asked, "Do you think you'll ever get married? I mean, since you couldn't be with the girl you loved."

"I'm sure it will happen for me someday. And you?"

"I don't think so. It seems like the only good men are unavailable. Or eight thousand miles away," I joked. "Besides, I think it will be difficult to find a man who does not want children. Unless he already has some, which is a problem in itself sometimes."

"Mara, you never know what will be. You could just stay here with me, you know."

"That's the second time you've said that. It's very tempting. But I couldn't stay here forever."

"But you are here for now." He raised his wine glass for a toast. We clinked our glasses together, smiling.

"I am."

After dinner, we listened to the tour group's stories of adventure and how we missed so much. We looked over Lillian's pictures on her cell phone. They were all almost as sunburned as I was except for Jim, who looked like he might have a little Native American in him and was tanned a golden bronze.

We went back to Nirav's room and I pulled out my laptop to see if Christine had gotten back to me. I signed into my email and there in bold black letters was her response:

_Hey girl!_

_I'm so glad to hear from you. I was getting worried. Thought maybe you'd been sold into white slavery. Or maybe you found a prince to marry or something. Doesn't sound like I'm so far off on that last one, huh?_

_I insist on seeing some pictures ASAP! How was today's excursion? Where'd you go? Was it incredible?_

_OR... did you blow it off and spend the rest of the day in bed with your Indian man? (you see how well I know you?)_

_I think it's good for you to have some fun with him this week. God knows you really needed to get laid. You've been a complete bitch! (haha)_

_Don't fall in love, though, or else I may never see you again. And you cannot move to India because there's no way I'm making that commute when you get all depressed and weird again._

_You're not missing much here. It's been cold as fuck and even snowed a little on Tuesday. Sucks._

_I have a date tomorrow night with this guy I met at the library. So at least I know he can read. Or perhaps he's just a filthy pervert whose fetish happens to be the Dewey Decimal system. Either way, I'm sure I'll have a good time. We're going to a steakhouse because I neglected to tell him that I don't eat meat. He was so excited to get reservations at this place that I didn't have the heart to tell him. Oh well, I can fill up on the baked potato. :)_

_Write to me again soon!_

_I need all the details... AND pictures! I miss you.  
C._

The next few days went by so quickly. The rocking train and its mountain views. The cruises to the attractions. But nothing was more intriguing than Nirav, himself. By day seven, I had completely fallen in love with him. Disastrous. He asked me to come back with him when the trip was over. He lived in Thane which is a lake city in Maharashtra. Not too far from Mumbai. And I said yes.

On the last day, we made our way back to Mumbai, and said our goodbyes to the tour group. The Americans exchanged email addresses. I gave them all fake ones except for Gillian, whom I liked very much. She reminded me a little of myself when I was young, before I got all old and jaded.

Nirav and I made our way through the crowded city of Mumbai. It was overwhelming to the eye. The streets were filled with trucks, buses, cars, and people all vying to occupy the same limited space. There were tin shacks piled on top of each other. They almost looked as if they were swept aside into a big pile that sat at the feet of rich looking skyscrapers. It reminded me of New York in the sense that the very, very rich and the poorest of the poor all lived in the same place.

Nirav explained, "They come with bulldozers sometimes and level the homes. Push the people out, not caring about the people or where they will go. It is very sad. So many of my students go home to this at night."

There were large sections where white sheets and linens were hung all over, and both men and women were bent over wash bins, scrubbing.

"What is this?" I asked

"These are the people who wash the linens from the hotels. All the hotels send their laundry here."

Mumbai was a paradox to me. The poor, the sick, the super rich. The elaborate and beautiful temples. The Elephanta Island caves. All that lay just beyond the shores of slums, garbage and poverty. The contrast between where God appears to be, and not to be, was perplexing.

"Do the poor think God has abandoned them? I mean, look at the rich. It would be hard to believe there is a God when you are suffering in poverty."

"The problem is not God or Goddess. The problem is the people. The government. We have lost our way as a country."

I was stunned. "In the States, we think that India is the world's next superpower. You have enough people and you have us as allies," I protested.

"The U.S. helps India, but our government squanders those resources. Our politicians are very corrupt. They look the other way on the suffering of the people too often."

He continued, "You are safe here with me now. But tourists, especially women, are robbed, raped and beaten by taxi drivers, derelicts and even the police sometimes. It is not a safe place, and people have become complacent and accepting of these things. Indians don't fight. We are taught to be passive as school children. But it's, as you would say, 'coming back to bite us in the ass.'"

"Do Indians like Americans?"

"Very much so. We think they are all rich and everything's all clean and pretty in the U.S."

I burst into laughter. "I guess rich only depends on what it costs to live there.

Here, I imagine the cost of living is less... But people are poor, so I suppose it's all relative," I pondered.

"Mara, I'm in love with you," he said quietly.

I stood frozen for so long that his mouth turned down at the corners and he began to look stricken, rejected.

"I love you too, Nirav," I confessed.

"So now what, love?"

"Let's enjoy the time we have together and figure it out later."

I smiled. "Agreed. Shall we go home?"

"Yes."

His house was about 500 square feet of space. Large for the area he lived in. There was a very small kitchen, a living area, and a bedroom. The bedroom was painted a deep red, and art, both Indian and American, adorned the walls. It was so small, but still felt like plenty of room for one person. Even two people. It felt safe. Contained. I adored it.

"Bathroom?" I asked

"Oh, that's outside. You'll see a hole in the ground. Just squat over it."

I froze in shock despite my best attempt at international diplomacy.

"I am kidding. Through that door." He laughed himself hysterical at his joke. "Very funny."

The bathroom was a strange, but vibrant shade of purple, like a wildflower. It was small enough to be an airplane restroom, but with a shower stall. We are used to larger bathrooms in the States, but I wasn't sure why. I mean, you could fit everything you need in this space. Toilet, sink, shower.

I washed up and joined Nirav in his living room. I liked it. It reminded me of our

first night on the train. I sat down next to him on his small couch. He put the TV on and

flipped through the cable channels. _Just like an American man,_ I thought to myself. "So, tell me, does everyone have cable television or are you just the lucky one?"

"Oh no! We must have cable here." He laughed. "People have no money, but yet everyone has cable TV. We can't live without it."

"So it's not just Americans, then?"

"No way. We're probably more addicted to the TV than Americans are."

I found this fascinating and a little disappointing. We sat hand in hand, my head on his shoulder, feet curled up underneath me, and we watched Bollywood movies.

I loved them. Every movie was an elaborate musical. I understood nothing, so Nirav interpreted. They were mostly love stories. A lot of romance and drama. It was addictive.

"Mara, you never sang for me. Why don't you sing me something?"

His request caught me off guard and I felt self­-conscious.

"Oh... No... You don't want to hear me sing now."

"Yes, I do. You can't be shy. I mean, I've seen, touched and tasted every part of you. So now it's time for hearing you." He nudged me with his arm.

"What do I sing?"

"Whatever you like. Sing me something that reminds you of home."

Home? I settled on Joni Mitchell's "River."

I kept my eyes closed almost the entire time, and when I was finished, I opened my eyes and saw him sitting with his eyes closed. I thought we could have been robbed, sitting there with our eyes closed and the door unlocked.

"Um. That's all. Have I put you to sleep?" I laughed nervously.

"Almost. That was beautiful. Reminds me of a mother singing her children off to sleep."

He paused, as if remembering that I would never sing a child to sleep. He held me close and whispered, "Shall we go and get some rest?"

I crawled into his bed and curled up. His pillow smelled like him and I buried my face in it. It was our first night truly alone. As if we were a real couple and not complete strangers engaging in some random vacation sex. Nirav stood at the end of the bed and began to undress. It was more exciting seeing him like this, in his own environment, comfortable and at ease. He stood there, tan and strong. His arms hung loosely at his sides as if he really wanted me to see all of him. He looked like he was surrendering. I had already surrendered to him days ago.

"What are you thinking, love?" he asked as he caught me staring at his cock.

"I'm thinking that it will be very, very hard for me to leave."

"So don't," he said as he hardened a little. He added, "I have something for you." "You do?" I asked breathlessly.

"I would like to show you the full scope of my massage skills." He raised his eyebrows playfully at me. I slid my shirt off, followed by my pants, and lay on my stomach. I heard him rummaging around, and then he was kneeling next to me warming oil between his hands.

He started with my feet, hitting all the right pressure points, and in moments I melted into the bed. He ran his thumbs around my ankles, spreading out to my lower calves. His touch was firm but gentle, and although it had been many years since I had had a massage, this felt as good as any professional. Better, even. His hands were large, and he easily cupped most of my thigh. I was now in a deep state of relaxation as he worked his way up to my buttocks.

He massaged both cheeks simultaneously, kneading deep. I felt his thumb on my vagina and with the oil, he slid it inside me easily. In a gentle wave of rhythm, he worked my buttocks with his hands while his thumb slid in and out of me. I could feel him hard on my leg as he hovered over me.

He slid up to my back and fanned his fingers out, gliding over the whole area. I had goosebumps and he whispered, "Feel good, love?"

"Yes," I moaned.

"Turn over."

I obliged, and he wrapped his hands around my waist, pulling upward as he massaged. He moved to my breasts and cupped them gently. He supported himself over me on his knees. I rubbed my thigh with my hand, scooping up some of the oil, and grabbed hold of his penis and let it slide through my hands. He laid himself down on top of me, using my oiled body to lead him as he moved.

He guided itself into me, and I felt the same sparks of electricity I felt that very first night on the train. I fell utterly in love with him all over again. He held my neck and kissed me so softly. I felt him love me back. He moved in and out of me very, very slowly in that tantric state in which he had loved me once before. His goal was not to finish, but to stay inside me, connected and loving.

I was growing impatient. The tension was torture. I was completely lost in him. I wanted to be fused to him.

He pulled himself out of me slowly and whispered, "I don't want to cum yet." He slid his middle finger inside me and worked my clit with his thumb. The two fingers worked together in perfect unison. I writhed and in an instant I was contracting hard, down on his fingers, wetness covering his fingers. As soon as that wave was over, I felt it rising up again as the aftershock came and I orgasmed again.

I had never known what multiple orgasms were, but I knew that I was having them with Nirav. Exhausted, I lay back, and he entered me again.

"Okay, then? Now let me do what I need to do."

I nodded and he moved slowly again, stopping for moments in between to kiss me and smooth my hair. He moved this way for what felt like hours until his face tightened and he started moving harder and faster inside me. He wrapped his arm around me and pulled me in close to him as he pushed deeper. With his free hand, he pinned my arms. I wrapped my legs tightly around him. I was weak with lust and fatigue and I felt my body responding to him again.

Together, we exploded. Each of us lost in our own responses and our own contractions. Together but separate in that moment. We pulled away from each other, and like rubber bands, snapped back into place holding on to each other as if our lives depended on it. We collapsed back into the bed, and surrendered to sleep at last.

I awoke not long after, unable to sleep for the first time since arriving in India. I felt a little woozy and decided I must be hungry. I snuck off to the kitchen and rummaged through Nirav's refrigerator before settling on some sort of flat, dark bread I found in the cupboard. I looked over at my suitcase and thought now might be a good time to write to

Christine. I had not written to her in days and she was probably worried. I grabbed a towel to try and de­oil myself. I wrapped it around me and pulled out my laptop. Nirav was still sleeping soundly. No Wi­Fi. I'd have to write a letter the old fashioned way. Of course, it would probably take a year and a day to get to her, but I needed to tell her everything immediately.

I went to the living room and thought about how I could possibly tell her all I was feeling. Would she understand? I'm not even sure I understood it. But I'd need to go back home eventually. Wouldn't I? I would run out of money after a while and then what? I couldn't find a job here. Applying for work visas was tricky. Unless he married me. I shook myself out of that thought quickly. It was way too complicated. Of course I was going home. Eventually.

_Dear Chris,_

_I feel like I've been gone forever, but at the same time, I feel like it's been just hours._

_I'm sorry I haven't touched base sooner. I know that you're probably pissed and initially will throw this letter right in the garbage. But, because you're also probably still worried that I've been sold into white slavery, you will eventually dig this letter out of the trash and read it. You're a good friend :). There is no fucking Wi ­Fi here, so this letter will probably get to you just in time for your 80th birthday. Happy Birthday, Grandma._

_Right now, I'm lacking the cognitive ability to tell you all that I want to tell you. But the short, non ­dramatic, version is that the train tour was fantastic and I am now staying with my friend Nirav near Mumbai._

_Do not freak out. He is not a serial killer and I am fine. I will, most likely, be heading home at the end of the week. You can yell at me then._

_I love you like a spaz.  
Me._

I folded the letter up neatly and ransacked the drawers in Nirav's living room desk looking for an envelope. I heard him stir.

"Looking for something? Photos of my secret family, perhaps?"

My cheeks grew hot. I was embarrassed at looking so suspicious invading his personal belongings.

"Envelope? Postage?

He stood, naked, and walked across the room. Without a trace of self­ consciousness, he stood beside me and opened a small drawer. Handing me the envelope, he kissed my forehead. He turned me around, and my back to the desk, I laid the letter and the envelope down. I stared up at him. His deep brown eyes were flaming as he lifted me up, positioning me onto the cool, sleek top and wrapped his hand gently around the back of my neck.

"I love you," he whispered. The words sounded so helpless and pained that it broke my heart. He didn't make me say it again, but looked at me with a resigned solidarity usually reserved for people in a hostage situation. I wrapped my arms around his neck, and cried silently into his chest.

Monday. Three weeks since I'd left home. It was time to go back. Home. I had almost forgotten where that was, and what I even did there. Nirav and I said nothing the entire morning. The heaviness of the impending goodbye was as stifling and oppressive as the heat. I was nauseous and weak. Nothing like a nineteen hour flight when you feel like crap.

I packed silently while Nirav fiddled with the sheets and pillows in an attempt to make the bed. We did not make love. I didn't think either of us could bear it.

"Tea?" he asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

"Sure." I smiled weakly. I stood up, and nearly fell back down as a dizzy spell overcame me.

He rushed across the room to me and gently guided me to the nearest chair. "Are you alright, love?"

"I'm fine. It's the heat. And I don't think I've been sleeping well," I teased.

He headed to the tiny kitchen, and started the tea. With his back to me, he said,

"You could still stay, you know."

I knew he was afraid to face me. He knew I would say no. I had to.

"I know."

I drank my tea. I put the empty cup in the sink and, in silence, grabbed my bag. Time to go. We walked, hand in hand, to the taxi. Still in silence, we rode through the city.

_Pink house._

_Blue._

We sat at the gate and waited. I was afraid to speak. Afraid that I would collapse into tears. Afraid I would say something stupid. Afraid I'd vomit.

"Still not feeling well?"

I was so obvious. "I'm okay," I lied.

Without warning, he pulled me to him and held me tight. I fell apart. He whispered, "It's only goodbye for now. Just for now. India is magic, remember? This is not the end."

I whispered back into his hair, "Magic." I kissed his temple lightly. I boarded my plane as he waved goodbye.

I was violently ill the entire flight home.

I was ill on the bus home from the airport.

I was ill as I put the key in my front door, and ill as I collapsed into bed.

I woke in the morning, and tried to remember where I was and what day it was.

I went in search of my phone, and was grateful to find that it was 7:32 am.

Christine would be awake. I guzzled a nauseating glass of water, and dialed.

"Well, well... look who it is. Where the hell are you?" Chris demanded on the other end.

"I'm home. I got in last night. Or early this morning. No idea. Rough couple of days."

"I imagine doing the Walk of Shame all the way from India is quite the chore. You wanna get coffee?"

"I kinda feel like ass. Some kind of bug I picked up. Any chance you feel like coming over here?" I asked trying to sound as pathetic as possible.

"Oh. Jesus Christ. It's not Ebola, is it? Are we going to have to get the CDC to quarantine you?"

"Pleeeease. I swear I'm okay. It's just nerves. Or fatigue. I won't get you sick," I begged. "Fine. But if you start bleeding from your eyeballs, I'm outta there."

"Fair enough," I agreed, and hung up.

How I'd fallen into bed the night before without taking a shower was beyond me. I was gross. I started running the hot water, and figured I had a good five minutes to kill while I waited for it to warm up. Just enough time to suddenly get sick again.

_Lovely. Note to self: See a doctor and make sure you don't have Ebola._

I let the hot water run over me as I leaned against the cool tiles. It felt like heaven. I washed, I rinsed, I repeated. I shaved my damn legs, and started to feel a little more like a human being. I got out and studied myself in the mirror. I absorbed this new face, the face of a woman changed. Pale and tired, yes, but something else too. I threw on my lazy clothes and promptly planted myself on the couch, exhausted. I noted the soreness I felt, my insides, my breasts. That beautiful soreness that reminded me of my time in India. Of Nirav. And suddenly, my eyes filled with tears again. My life back at home felt empty. My apartment felt lonely. Cold. It was a reminder of the sadness I'd left behind when I fled to the other side of the world.

It was too quiet and too dull. The various shades of my beige and green walls seemed muted, and the smells were just ordinary. It didn't feel like home anymore. I was overly startled by Christine's knock on the door, followed by her immediate entry through it.

"And there she is. Mara Hari," she said, smiling.

"Hey, you!" I jumped up and embraced her. "I missed you!"

"Yeah, yeah. I missed you too. What'd you bring me back?"

Fuck. I did not bring her anything. "Ummm..." I said sheepishly while reaching for the coffee in her hand.

"Oh, God damn it. No souvenir? Jerk." She smiled and relinquished the coffee to me. "You're going to make it up to me by giving me all the filthy details of your Indian sexcapades."

And I did. For hours I recounted the whole adventure. She sat entranced and clearly shocked. "I have to say, I didn't think you had it in you."

"Had what in me? A vacation?" I laughed.

"Yeah, yeah. I know you pulled your head out of his balls occasionally to check out the scenery." I kicked her playfully and gulped the rest of my coffee. "Okay, lady. I have some shit to do today. You wanna come with? Acclimate back into society?"

"Nah. Thanks. I'm actually going to try and get some rest today and lay low. Not feeling so good. Need to kick this bug and the jet lag it rode in on."

"Suit yourself. I'll check back in with you later. Seriously, though, Mar, see someone. You look like shit."

"Will do," I promised.

I sat down at my desk, and started up my computer. It whirled reluctantly as if it were rejecting the very idea of me writing anything. I checked my email. About fifty from Christine demanding to know my whereabouts and threatening to call the American embassy.

Another seven from various music publishers rejecting my work. How nice. And one from Mark.

_Hey there,_

_I know we haven't spoken for a while, but I just wanted to reach out and say "hi." I heard you were in India on some kind of tour or something, but when you get back, I'd like to get together for dinner._

_Call me. I miss you._

I was infuriated! Mark broke my heart. Broke it because I couldn't have the children he didn't even know if he wanted. Who the fuck does he think he is? Fuck him.

I decided to call him to tell him exactly that. He answered with an excited, "Mara!"

And instantly, I was off. "Who the fuck do you think you are? Dinner? _Fucking dinner_? Are you kidding me with this shit?"

"So, how was India?" he asked smugly. All ego as usual.

"Go fuck yourself. That's how it was."

"Come on, Mars. Don't be that way. Can't we at least try to be friends?"

"Ummm. Nope. No, we cannot. I have a strict 'No Asshole' policy when it comes to my friends."

He was undeterred. "Listen, I have a bunch of your things still at my place. I'd like to stop by with them. I'll bring food."

I was so, so tired. "Fine. You can leave my stuff and the food and go."

He laughed. "Sounds like a plan, then. I'll see you in a bit."

Exactly one hour later, he was at my door. The rotten asshole looked too good with his clean cut blonde hair, jeans, and black leather jacket, to be so evil. I wished I couldn't care less what he thought of how I looked, but I regretted that I was wearing sweatpants and looked like I'd just contracted typhoid.

"What's up?" So casual. Asshole.

"You have my stuff?" I asked, attempting to sound steely.

"Can I come in? I brought peace offerings. Margherita pizza from Sophia's and red wine."

I caved. I was starving. If I'd had any self­ respect, I would have just eaten ramen noodles and called it a night.

Sigh. "Fine."

He put the Sophia's box in the kitchen, and got a corkscrew for the wine. He pulled two wine glasses from the cabinet, and I grew increasingly irritated that he was just making himself at home. I didn't like that he knew where everything was. It reminded me that we used to be a couple. We used to be in love.

He handed me my glass of wine and set the plates on the table. "You gonna sit down?"

_Fuck him. This is my house. I sat down._

"So, you gonna tell me about India?" he pried.

"Nope." _Good for you, Mara. Very bitchy._

"Okay. Should I just get to the point, then?"

"Yup. The sooner you do, the sooner I can throw you out of here."

"Mara, I know you're pissed at me. I do. And I am so sorry for how that all went down. I wasn't kind to you, and for that, I am really sorry. I've been torn up about it."

I snort laughed. I was already a little drunk. Flu + No Food + Wine = Hilarity. He sat down in the chair next to me and poured another glass of wine which I quickly got to work on.

"I've missed you. Horribly." He was way too close. "I haven't been able to stop thinking about you," he whispered.

_Oh no. Don't do this. Don't make it so much harder for me. It's too confusing. You broke me._

"Your beautiful eyes. Your skin. Your mouth."

And there it was, his lips on mine. Forceful. Domineering. His hand grabbed at my breast as he attempted to pull my shirt over my head. I have no idea why I let him, but I did. He was familiar, comfortable. The mental struggle grew stronger inside my head while I repeated the mantra:

_He broke your heart. He broke your heart._

_Stop him, Mara_! my subconscious yelled. _Stop him_!

He sucked at my nipples harder than necessary, and they hurt. He reached his hand between my legs to gauge my response to this extremely weird turn of events. My body betrayed me in its yielding. His fingers slipped into me, and I felt him growing hard on my leg.

_Stop him!_

Something in me snapped and I slapped him hard across the face.

He looked stunned. "What the fuck, Mara?"

"Get out. Get the fuck out of my house!"

He stood, and for a moment he looked like he might hit me back. "You know what, Mara? You're not alone because you can't have kids. You're alone because you're a fucking psycho."

"Get. Out."

He slammed the door on his way out, and I watched him walk to his car. He opened the trunk, threw all my "stuff" on the curb, and peeled away. I finished the pizza and the wine and retired to the couch where I cried myself to sleep.

"Fuck him. I am not alone."

I said the words, but I didn't believe them.

I woke up in the morning with a vile hangover. Added to the stomach flu I had, I felt like I'd been drinking poison.

I scrolled through the contacts in my cell phone. I really should see someone. Most of where I was in India was "touristy" and pretty safe food and water­wise. So, maybe I picked up something at Nirav's house. My stomach did a little flip at the thought of his name. I wondered what he was doing now. How long would it take for him to forget all about me? His vacation fling.

We often say things in the heat of an affair that we don't really mean. I'm pretty sure I meant them, though, I thought as I put my head in my hands. I decided that I'd rather see a doctor than have Christine yell at me. So, I dialed, made an appointment, and got myself together. (Helpful hint: If you ever want to get in to see a doctor quickly, tell them you've been traveling and now you're sick.)

I rocked the standard issue "sick" uniform of sweatpants and baseball hat as I headed out the door. I sat in the cold, sterile office and resisted the urge to pick up the local music magazine in which the scathing review that sent me packing to India appeared.

_Don't torture yourself, Mara._

"Mara?"

The tiny Latina nurse called. She was very pretty with her long, dark curls and big eyes. I felt like a troll. I followed her to the little room and went over my trip and my symptoms while she took my vitals.

"When was the first day of your last period?"

I thought about that for a minute. That was a good question. No idea. I rounded it off to a couple of weeks before the trip and picked a date. Made no difference anyway. Don't know why they always need to ask that. I never remembered.

"Do you realize that that would make you nearly two weeks late for your period? Is it possible you're pregnant?"

"No. I can't get pregnant." _Thanks for bringing up the painful subject though,_ I thought bitterly.

"Okay. The doctor will be with you shortly," she said as she flitted from the room, leaving a trail of floral perfume behind her.

My sweet grandpa­-like primary care physician joined me a few moments later, and smiled his warm smile at me.

"Mara! Good to see you. How've you been? Traveling, I'm told."

"Hi, Dr. White. Yeah, I took a trip to India, got sick the last day I was there, and haven't been able to shake it."

"Well, you don't have a fever, and your vitals look good. But it does look like you missed a period. Is that correct?"

"I guess so. I don't keep track very well." "Let's just do a quick pregnancy test, then." "I can't get pregnant. So, it's not that." "Humor me," he said gently.

So, I did. I peed in the little cup, and the lovely nurse Maggie told me to have a seat back in the examination room.

Soon, Dr. White returned with my file and a little wheel which he turned thoughtfully. "Well, my dear, it looks like you are just about seven weeks pregnant."

I stared at him, uncomprehending.

He stared back.

Silence.

"Mara? Does this come as a surprise to you?"

"I can't get pregnant," I repeated again, stupidly.

"The test doesn't lie, kiddo. Now, I'm going to send you for some blood work and we'll do a quick ultrasound today, but I'd say that's the reason you've been feeling so sick. I'll have Maggie come in and help you get set up. Won't be long."

I waited, laid back on the table, feet in the stirrups, and cold jelly sitting in a glob on my stomach, while Dr. White ran the ultrasound wand over me. I still hadn't said a word. I didn't believe it. Probably even if the fetus reached up and waved "hi," I still wouldn't have believed it.

"There it is," he said and pointed to the rapidly pulsing little black dot on the screen. "There's your baby."

My mouth gaped open.

_There is magic in India._

"I'm going to go ahead and write you a prescription for prenatal vitamins, and I want you to follow up with your gynecologist. Given your advanced maternal age, you should see someone within the next couple of weeks."

Wait... what? I broke my silence. "I'm sorry. Advanced maternal age?"

"Don't get upset. It just means you're over thirty­five, and therefore just need to be a bit careful."

I already felt confused. Now I felt old too. Old and confused. "Okay. Thanks."

I made my way out to my car like a zombie. I thought I should call Chris. I didn't know where I'd even start. And Nirav. Do I tell him? I can't keep this baby. Can I? What if this was my only chance?

_Was this my baby?_

I stared at my cell phone. My memory failed me. Thank God for speed dial.

"Chris?"

My voice must have sounded off because she was suddenly worried.

"Oh no. What is it? Is it the plague? Please don't tell me you have the fucking plague." "I'm pregnant." The words were correct, but they hit my ear wrong. Like a lie. Silence.

"You're pregnant?" She sounded concerned about my sanity.

"Yes."

"I'll meet you at your house in twenty minutes," she said before hanging up.

I opened the door to my car and was violently sick on the pavement.

Back at home, I sat pathetic on my couch like I was the star of my very own after school special.

"Jesus, Mar. How did this happen?" Chris stood at my door with muffins and coffee.

"Oh, I don't know. It's possible that it was all the unprotected sex I had across the Asian continent."

"Oh, that's cute. Well, at least you haven't lost your sense of humor," she said dryly. "I meant that I thought you couldn't get pregnant."

"That's what I thought too. Clearly."

"Damn, Mar. You gonna tell him?"

My memory finally kicking in, I said, "Oh my God. I almost slept with Mark."

"Wait... When the hell did that happen?" She was lost.

"Oh. He came over last night to drop off some of my stuff and there was wine involved."

"After what that fucker did to you? Are you kidding me right now?"

"I slapped him, and threw him out." And for no reason at all, I started laughing like an idiot.

She was laughing too. "Good. You've redeemed yourself. So, are you going to tell the Indian guy?"

"Nirav. His name's Nirav."

"What the fuck ever. Are you gonna tell him, Mara?"

"No. I don't know."

"Wait," she said. "Are you keeping it?"

"I don't know that either." I sounded far away in my ears.

"Holy shit, Mara. This is heavy. This is really fucking heavy."

"Not helping, Chris. Seriously."

"Sorry. Eat a muffin. You look like you're gonna drop dead."

We sat with our muffins, and I laid my head on her shoulder. The TV on, we sat and watched in silence.

She kissed my hair. I loved her. I loved her so much that it made me wish I was gay. The two of us, sitting quietly watching TV. No babies with fathers on the other side of the world. No morning sickness. No giant life altering decisions to make. So easy.

The weeks passed quickly, the sickness faded, and my stomach bulged out from under my belly button. Obviously, I was keeping "it." Because I couldn't make a _decision_ , I was at the point where not keeping it was no longer an option.

I took my vitamins. I bought a yoga mat and a DVD. I watched the DVD while eating Chinese takeout on my couch. I did not write to Nirav. I did not try to reach him. I intentionally neglected to get his cell phone number. I figured I was easy enough to find if he wanted to find me. He obviously didn't.

I felt sorry for myself. I didn't sing. I didn't write. I figured I'd go work at Wal­Mart. Or McDonald's. I'd take night classes for unwed mothers through the Social Services office. I wasn't going to actually do any of those things. But the thought of them kept me just depressed enough to remain on my couch watching young blonde vegan mothers do pelvic tilts. Christine called me every day to check in to make sure I hadn't offed myself. She wanted to take me shopping for baby shit and maternity clothes, and I was being terribly uncooperative.

Right on cue, she called.

"So, how's it going, pregs?"

"Please don't call me that. I'm sure I'm too old to be called pregs, Chris." "Whatever you say, Juno."

_Sigh._

She continued, "Guess what I got in the mail today?"

"A warrant?"

"Haha. No. Dummy. I got the letter you sent me from India."

I had forgotten about that!

"No way!" I laughed.

"Yup. Took friggin' long enough! But that's not why I'm calling you about it. I'm calling you about it because I think you need to tell him. Mara, you seemed happy in this letter. You were happy, weren't you?"

I was.

"I guess so. It was a good vacation, Chris. But honestly, that's all it was."

"Yes, yes. A vacation. A vacation from which you brought back a human being as a souvenir." "I hate you."

"No, you don't. But you will in a minute because I wrote to him."

"What? You did fucking _what_?"

"I didn't tell him you were pregnant. But I did tell him you weren't doing so well. Mara, I love you, but this stoic 'I don't need anyone' bullshit has to stop. You loved him. You won't admit it to me... probably because I'll make fun of you mercilessly... but you did. You do. And you might think you're just fucking fine raising a baby alone, and maybe you are, but it's not right. Also, I would be remiss in my role as 'the smart aunt' if I didn't try to knock some sense into you. You're being dumb and I'm not going to let you be dumb on my watch. I mean, seriously, have you even written anything since you've been back? Have you done anything except sit around feeling sorry for yourself? You went to India for some kind of soul searching or whatever you want to call it. Is this what you're going to do with that experience? I won't stand by and just watch you go down in flames like this."

"Is that all?"

"No, that is _not_ all. Where's your father, Mar?"

"No idea. You know that, Chris."

"Right. And how much did you love that shit growing up?" "Not at all."

"Right again. So I used the return address from the envelope and I wrote to Nirav because you're too chicken shit to do it yourself. I gave him your address and your phone number and you're going to fucking tell him. Given that the baby will probably be in high school by the time he gets the letter, I'd say the sooner the better."

"And then what, Chris? We live happily ever after?"

"Maybe. Maybe not. But, you know what? That wouldn't be the worst thing in the world, Mara."

Changing the subject, I interjected, "It's a girl, you know."

"Holy hell. Try to make sure she never goes to fucking India -­­ turn out like you." I heard a sneer in her voice.

"I'll do my best."

"Love you."

"Love you back."

I curled myself into a fetal ball on the couch and fell deeply asleep. I dreamed.

* * *

The snakes again. This time Nirav and I were together. We were naked and locked in an embrace while I sat on his lap, legs wrapped around his waist. One of the snakes, black and purposeful, wrapped itself around our waists, binding us together. I buried him in my hair. His skin was cool, and I wished I could burrow myself into him.

* * *

I woke up soaked in sweat and utterly confused. What the fuck was that? Disturbed, I make my way to the kitchen for water. What I really wanted was a drink. But, no. I'm someone's mother now.

Terrifying.

I plunked myself back down on the couch and distracted myself with _Top Baby Names for 2014._

I was normally opposed to all this pre-­baby mania, but nothing shakes off a sex dream quite like preparing for your unplanned pregnancy.

Emma. Olivia. Zoe. Brooklyn. Tigerlily. Ugh. How did other women do this?

Women who were actually really excited and knew everything there was to know about strollers and breast pumps? Women who wore designer maternity clothes, and got manicures and highlights, women who baked cupcakes for PTA fundraisers. I didn't even know what "PTA" stood for.

I thought about what Christine had said. I was just sitting around feeling sorry for myself. I had been devastated when I'd learned that I would never have children. Sure, I didn't care as much when I was younger because I had secretly thought it would happen via some miracle. But, it never did. Until now.

Of course I loved Nirav. And, of course I was horribly lonely. I tried to keep up the facade of the cynical city girl, but deep down I was more terrified than I'd ever been in my life. I felt completely lost. If I was to be really honest with myself, I had gone to India because I was lost even then. My self-­esteem had taken such a beating. I remembered the _ting, ting, ting_ of gold bracelets, and the hot, humid air of the Indian beaches, the women in saris looking like dark angels with ancient eyes.

The sound of tabla drums and sitars swelled in my ears. I grabbed my pen.

_I've been feeling so lost_

_I've been feeling so small_

_So unimportant in this big, big world So alone in it all_

_I've been so defeated_

_And I've been feeling so low Sometimes I feel your hand on me And I know, I just know_

_There are angels There is someone crying over me_

_There's a light in this darkness I'm reveling, oh I'm reveling There are angels There is someone guiding me home_

_And there is peace in this madness_

_I'm not alone, oh I'm not alone_

Tears rolled down my cheeks as I sang the words in a lamenting alto voice. As I tapped the melody out on my keyboard, the notes ghosted between chords not found in the music I knew before. I used combinations not taught to me in any theory class. They were both simple and complex, like the music of the country that had changed me forever.

There _was_ magic in India.

I finished a rough demo of the song, opened my laptop and did a quick search for the entertainers who performed at the Indian Pride Festival and found her ­­ Esha Singh. The sitar playing woman whose voice brought me to tears. The day when my whole life changed.

I wrote:

_Dear Esha,_

_You don't know me, but I attended the Indian Pride Festival a few months ago and saw you perform. That day was the catalyst for some of the biggest changes of my life. I took a trip to India after the festival, and fell in love with the country. Prior to my trip, I was a struggling songwriter who was feeling very defeated by the industry. I lacked the ability and courage to truly be an artist and be true to myself in the process. India changed my life forever, and I wanted to share with you a song I've written that was inspired by those changes._

_I wanted to thank you for moving me the way you did with your beautiful soul. I sincerely hope you like the song, and would love to stay in touch with you. This is my gift to you, for the gift you gave to me that night._

_Thank you again,  
Mara_

Then, surprisingly, I did something I had not done in weeks. I showered. I threw my sweatpants and ratty old sweatshirt in the trash. I put on clean purple linen pants and a loose white cotton shirt. The baby inside me seemed to do a happy little flip as her mother sprouted free from the nourishing dirt of solace. I let my long dark hair dry freely, and for the first time pretty much in my life, I felt beautiful. Later that night, I checked my email, and to my delight, I found a response from Esha.

_Dearest Mara,_

_I know exactly who you are! You are the woman who was crying while we played._

_Please don't misinterpret my remembering of you that way. I was moved by you too. You looked so broken. But I saw in your eyes that something wonderful was happening to you inside. I see that I was right. :)_

_My beautiful friend, your song touched a place in me that even I had not known was accessible. So much hopelessness, followed by faith and acceptance. A total surrender of all that makes us human in favor of something divine._

_For whatever pain the music industry has caused you, I am grateful for it because you found yourself inspired to reach down into yourself to find the divine within._

_I played your song over and over again before sharing it with my band and manager. We would be honored to have it appear as the title track on our next album. If you are agreeable, I will have my manager send over a contract and pay the licensing fees for its use._

_You are a brilliant songwriter ­­ filled with passion, love and courage. Always stay true to yourself. And, thank you!_

The weeks passed quietly, and as spring poked her finger in the soft, dirty snow of the city, I grew rounder and rounder. I received the largest licensing check I'd ever seen in my life from Esha's people, and reveled in the fact that I'd really done it. I'd become an artist. I was going to be okay.

It was late in the afternoon, and the orange sky spilled into my living room window. My couch was permanently indented from my growing belly and the previous weeks of major depression. I had been trying to find the courage to contact Nirav myself, but the more time that passed, the harder it became to do it. He never answered Christine's letter. I didn't even know if he'd gotten it given the chaos that is the Indian Postal Service. The TV kept my mind occupied, as I lay lazily in the late day haze. I binge watched a strange combination of travel documentaries and cooking shows.

I heard a car slow in front of my house, and knew that I did not have the energy to answer the door for anyone just then. I froze and waited for the inevitable knock of what was most likely a Jehovah's Witness.

There it was.

I hoisted myself up and shuffled to the door. _Oh my God._

"Nirav?"

I was speechless! He was standing there while the taxi drove away behind him. Bag in tow, tall and beautiful, he was like a vision of an Archangel standing on my doorstep. His hair had grown longer and his eyes were even softer and kinder than I had remembered.

"My Anusha."

He stepped inside without being invited (because, let's face it, I was just going to keep standing there like an idiot) and I moved to close the door behind him.

He dropped his bag and hugged me like he thought I'd been dead all this time. He sighed in relief or exasperation, I didn't know which.

"Why did you not tell me?" he asked. His expression was pained as he glanced down at my swollen belly.

"I wasn't sure what I was going to do. Then time got away from me, and I thought you had probably moved on with your life. You know, because I never heard from you again," I said bitterly.

"And here I thought it was I who never heard from you again." He smiled. "Your friend told me you were unwell. I would have written to tell you I was coming, but I knew you'd ask me not to."

That sounded about right.

"Truth be told, I started making arrangements to come to the States shortly after you left. You didn't think I'd just forget about you, did you love?"

I kinda did. "What took you so long, then?" I asked, the words choking in my throat.

"I was applying for a work visa. I will be teaching at the Philadelphia University for the next two years. Unfortunately, I have not found a place to stay just yet. Perhaps you have room for one more."

My arms around his neck, I teased him, "And you thought you could just show up on my doorstep, and I'd take you in?"

"Yes," he said truthfully without even a hint of arrogance.

I kissed him deeply and feverishly. My hands tangled in his hair and tears streamed down my face. He smoothed my hair from my face and kissed my forehead. "Now, let's go and see what we shall do about dinner."

_The End_

# ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Morgen is the co-author of " _The Urban Manners Manifesto - A Practical Guide for A**holes_ " and has written lyrics, copy, and poetry for many years. She has written songs that have appeared on nearly forty albums and has had radio airplay in major market stations. Enamored with the exotic (and sarcasm), she has incorporated her own life experiences, and love of storytelling, to venture into new literary territories. She divides her time between Las Vegas and the greater NYC area.
