Purple Lotus by Veena Rao

Author:Veena Rao
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: She Writes Press
Published: 2020-11-14T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 17

Ruth Murphy lived down the street in a two-story, four-bedroom Cape Cod cottage with a steep pitched roof and dormer windows. The front yard was a vibrant bouquet—like the owner of the house, thought Tara. Gerbera daisies, azaleas, and day lilies nodded in the light afternoon breeze, secure among the oaks, magnolias, and dogwoods. Ruth pulled her red Oldsmobile up the paved driveway into the two-car garage. They entered the house, past a short hallway, into the kitchen, where polished pine wood met Tara’s eyes, and the mild smell of cinnamon wax and baked bread greeted her senses.

Tara had never been inside an American home before. Ruth ushered her into the family room, a charming interplay of wainscot paneling and old-world furniture, with a glass-and-brass enclosed fireplace that occupied the far wall. Tara slipped into the comfort of a soft fabric sofa and strained her neck to stare silently at a quaint town square scene on a large frame that adorned the wall behind her, as if the clues to her future lurked in the painting.

Later, after Tara had lunched on pickled cucumber and cream cheese sandwiches, washed it down with coffee so strong it felt like a tall mug of bitterness, finished it off with a large square of homemade brownie, and popped two Advils for her pain, she felt more human again.

Doodlebug was a child with an ever-smiling face, her mom insisted. To Tara, she was a friendly Yorkshire terrier with a glossy blue-black-tan coat and a moist black button of a nose. Together, dog and woman lounged on a wicker chair in the screened-in porch that overlooked a dry creek and woods past the grassy backyard. From the adjoining deck floated the herbal aromas of potted rosemary, thyme, and parsley, smells so foreign compared to the coriander and mint bunches of Amma’s garden.

Doodlebug jumped from Tara’s lap to her feet and back, madly wagging her tail, begging to be indulged, which Tara did, stroking her soft head, petting her under her chin. Doodlebug responded with happy noises and a dripping tongue, and Tara smiled as if she didn’t have a care in the world.

The back porch opened into the family room where Ruth spent time making calls, talking to the church pastor, and then, based on his references, to some other folks. Tara watched the older woman’s animated face from her vantage point, at the way she blinked her eyes in rapt attention, absentmindedly tapping her wooden pen on her writing pad, then responding with a stream of words spoken with wide-mouthed cadence, words utterly lost on Tara.

It shocked her, every now and then, that she felt no earthshaking fear or sadness, as if her problem were too enormous to infiltrate into her. Each time the horrors of the day started to play back in her head, Doodlebug would put a paw on her knee or a wet nose near her arm, and reality would go over to a corner and wait.

When Ruth finished her calls, Tara walked up to her and said, “Miss Murphy, my friend Alyona must be back from work.

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