The season changed. Snow melted. Buds began appearing on the trees, and the temperature turned mild. I’d never known such drastic seasons before and I marveled at the way nature moved from one extreme to the next and wondered how it knew when it was time to change.
I purchased a new cell phone. I’d saved up enough paychecks that I could rent myself a room, and I did so at the end of April with Carly to assist me.
“It’s a shoebox, Karys. But it’s clean. And it has a garden view.”
A married couple owned the building and lived above the one-room basement apartment. The woman who Carly told me was from India, had planted what looked like hundreds of bright tropical flowers in colorful planters and was taking them outside now that the weather was warmer. “The term garden might be generous. God, it’s a mess out there,” Carly said, wrinkling her freckled nose at the myriad of colorful pots covering every surface of the concrete slab so that there was barely room to step between them, letting the curtain drop back into place. “But at least you have a source of sunlight.”
I pushed the curtain aside again, taking in the already-trailing vines and vibrant flowers spilling from their pots. My mood lifted and for just a moment, I felt a long-lost sense of . . . vibrancy. I reached for it, not managing to hold on, but it’d been there. For a heartbeat, I’d felt its warmth before it had slipped through my grasping fingertips. “I’ll take it,” I murmured.
My English teacher assigned The Prophet, but I stayed home on the day of the discussion, curled up in bed. I’d never skipped a class, but it was too painful to listen to the book I’d first read under the bright sunshine of Sundara. I knew they were Kahlil Gibran’s words, but in my mind, they were also Ahmad’s and I felt his spirit in every memorized line, and every moving passage. To hear others speak the words that in my mind belonged to that time was an agony I could not bear.
I had no idea if moving out of my uncle’s house would affect the scholarship I’d been given, so I prepared myself when it came time to register for school again. But to my great joy, when I signed up for a full load of classes, they all went through. I would attend again the coming fall, this time as a sophomore.
And when I went to purchase my books, nervous I wouldn’t have enough cash after paying rent and utilities, I was told that my textbooks had already been paid for. Braxton, I thought. It had to be. His way to say sorry?
It wasn’t long after, that I spotted him standing on the corner outside my workplace, watching me from across the street. I stopped in my duties, staring back, but giving him no signal that I might be willing to talk to him. “Who’s that?” Ayana asked, coming up beside me and following my gaze.
“My uncle,” I murmured. I felt Ayana’s stare and obviously whatever she saw in my expression compelled her to go to the front door where she stood with her hands on her hips, glaring at Braxton until he lowered his head and walked away.
But a few days later, a package came to the restaurant addressed to me and when I opened it later at home, it was filled with photographs of my father, and a collection of his military awards and patches. I examined each one, my fingers shaking to know that the man who had fathered me had once touched these items too. I brought his picture closer, gazing at it, my eyes moving over his handsome features, seeing more of Braxton in him than myself. He was a man I neither knew nor recognized. And yet I grieved him all the same, hot tears flooding my eyes and blurring my vision. He was another person who might have loved me, but was now gone.
I was grateful Braxton had sent the box, but was glad he hadn’t persisted in delivering it in person, or done anything more to persuade me to come back and live with him. Perhaps he knew it wouldn’t have worked. Perhaps his shame kept him from doing so.
In any case, I had already forgiven him. And Claire.
But I had no desire to have them in my life, nor to give up the independence I’d attained.
I had Carly and Ayana. I had enough money to live on. I had my own tiny room out of the cold. I had a blossoming garden of tropical flowers right outside my window. I had school, and I had all the books I could find time to read.
It wasn’t a lot. But I had proven to myself that I could move forward. I could embrace the new life I’d been given and find joy—even in small amounts—in the sunshine and in the colors just outside my window. It made me think of Bertha’s words from what felt like a lifetime ago and I began to understand.
We needed something beautiful, Karys. And you are so precious to all of us. You’ve been our light, our hope that there is still good in the world. More.
I was different now. My light had dulled. But for Bertha I’d try to retain some of the glow she’d once seen in me.
I’m trying, Bertha. I’m trying to keep that light, that hope. Trying to find the good in the world. For you. For all of us once held captive.
For those who didn’t survive Sundara.
Even Zakai.
CHAPTER TWENTY
I lifted a persimmon, closing my eyes as I brought it to my nose. It had no scent. Strange. But perhaps that’s what happened to things when they were brought to foreign lands. They lost the essence of what they truly were.
Perhaps I had as well. Ever since I’d arrived in New York City, my meaning had become fuzzy and obscure.
I set the fruit back down and continued through the grocery store, adding items to my cart.
“Karys?”
At the sound of my name, I turned, sucking in a surprised breath when I saw the man behind me, his own cart half full of groceries. “Cody Rutland!”
He grinned and I stepped toward him, hugging him tightly and then stepping away. “You know it’s okay to call me just Cody, right?”
I laughed. “Yes, I know that now.”
He held my hands in his and looked me up and down. “You look great. My goodness, you’re a regular New Yorker.”
I smiled, though if anything, I felt irregular. “I’ve learned how to blend in,” I said.
He smiled, dropping my hands. “How are you?”
“I’m okay.” I glanced away quickly. “I’m no longer living with my uncle. I . . . moved out on my own. I rent a room really close to here. It’s . . . nice. You must live close by?”
He shook his head. “No, actually, but I had a meeting in the area. My place is a quick subway ride away. Tell me more about what you’re doing now.”
“Oh. Well. I have a job that I love. I work at a sandwich shop.”
He leaned against his cart, studying me for a moment. “That’s great. And Zakai?”
My eyes slid away. “I haven’t talked to Zakai in quite a while,” I said, unable to keep the sadness from my voice.
Cody let out a slow breath. “I heard he dropped out of school. I was sorry to hear it.”
I swallowed. “Yes. I . . .” My words faded away. How could I explain everything that had happened in the last three years since I’d seen Cody, while standing in the frozen food section of the grocery store?
As if Cody had read my mind, he said, “How about you put those items in my cart and we check out together and then I cook you dinner at my place?” He pointed to the items he’d already shopped for. “I make a mean spaghetti and meatballs.”