Free Where the Lotus Flowers Grow by Mk Schiller

We were close.”
    “And here we are again. In the summers, my mum sold jewelry at different booths and craft fares around Cambridge. Sometimes, I’d go with her. What if we crossed paths before?”
    She played with the hem of her sari. “I doubt our circles ever overlapped, sir.”
    Yeah, Mary. Not then and not even now. That was what she was telling me.
    “Still kind of amazing, don’t you think?”
    “Yes.” She wrapped her arms around herself. “When I think about my time in England, all I remember are long trains, Dusty Springfield, Cadbury bars, and the cold, wet chill in the air.”
    “Dusty Springfield?”
    She laughed, the kind of laugh only faraway memories brought. “Papa was a fan of rock’n’roll. He amassed a huge collection of records when we lived in Cambridge, but my mother hated them and insisted we couldn’t fit them in our luggage. They got left behind. I used to dance to them as a kid.”
    I could almost picture her doing that. It was easy to read between the subtle lines of her dialogue. Dad was “Papa” and Mum was “Mother.”
    She shivered, rubbing her arms, although the room was warm. “You came at the right time. It has to be freezing in Luton.”
    “I’m sure it is, but I haven’t lived there in ten years. Manhattan is my home now.”
    “Of course, you moved there for work. That’s the corporate headquarters, no?”
    “I shifted to America at sixteen after Mum died. It’s where my father lived.”
    “Lived?”
    “He passed a few years ago. I suppose another thing we have in common.”
    She twisted a loose strand of her hair. The same strand I’d touched. “I’m sorry.”
    “Thank you. So, your father went to Cambridge?” I wondered how she got here for the thousandth time.
    She nodded. “He moved us back before my sister was born. He loved England, but he missed home, and he wanted to teach here.” Her eyes misted over talking about her dad, pride in her voice.
    “Did you ever think of going to university yourself? I can make inquiries on your behalf.”
    She shook her head rapidly. “No.”
    “Mary…”
    “I’m not interested, sir.” The sharpness in her tone surprised me. God, she was stubborn. She didn’t have pockets of sorrow—she had landmines. I could feel the blast coming, but I didn’t care to stop it either.
    “You’re brilliant. You can do so much with your life. I would like to help you in that regard.”
    “I didn’t ask for it, and I don’t need your help.” She stood and headed for the door.
    “Stay.”
    “Why?”
    “Because you want to be here as much as I want you to be here.” I took her hand and held it, staring at her.
    Her gaze lowered to our joined hands. She let go. Relief came when she finally sat again. Holding the legal pad higher, I focused back on my work, although the pencil felt shakier in my hand. If she hadn’t let go, I would have pulled her onto my lap and tangled my fingers through strands of ebony silk while my mouth crushed against hers.
    Get a grip.
    “Do you enjoy your job, Mr. Montgomery?”
    “No,” I replied without pause. I had no idea why I was able to answer so quickly. I could barely admit that to myself, let alone tell it to someone else. In fact, I’d never told anyone else.
    “Why not?”
    I shrugged. “Take me up on my offer and become a therapist, Miss Costa. Look at how many confessions you’re getting out of me.”
    “Will I get a straight answer?”
    “I don’t care for the bureaucracy of business or making decisions that impact the livelihood of others. Because, at the end of every bottom line, there is a person, a family, a life that is affected. Satisfied?”
    “Why do you do it then?”
    “Lotus Girl, I swear it’s not complicated. I do it for the money. Money can make up for many things. I understand you don’t share that ideology, but horses for courses as they say.” I didn’t know if I’d ever been this honest with someone. Why stop now? Why not just go completely