Chrissy Kolaya - Charmed Particles

Soon, their evening constitutionals were, by habit, taken together, Randolph opening Abhijat’s eyes to the larger world, and Abhijat opening Randolph’s to the smaller.

“I was sorry, for Mrs. Winchester, to hear the results of the election,” Abhijat said as the sun began to set in the damp evening heat.

“Yes,” Randolph nodded as he walked, hands clasped behind his back. “It’s been quite a disappointment to her. Quite a shock, as well, I think.”

“And what goal will she now pursue?” Abhijat asked.

Randolph looked up into the sky, where the light of the day was fading. “Do you know,” he said, looking back at Abhijat, “I haven’t got any idea. And I’m not sure she has either.”

They walked for a while in companionable quiet.

Abhijat felt, sometimes, as though he were awakening to his own life. He’d begun to notice the details of their home. The decorations Sarala had accumulated and arranged so carefully suddenly struck him with their beauty, all the more acute knowing that for years he had failed to notice their presence.

“It can be liberating,” Randolph noted, when Abhijat shared these thoughts with his new friend, “to let go of hopes that chain one to unhappiness, dissatisfaction.”

“And you?” Abhijat asked. “How go your memoirs, my friend?”

“Quite well, thank you,” Randolph said. “Now, at any rate. As a book for adults, I wasn’t able to find my way, but this—” He was writing now for the kind of curious child he had been, the kind both of their daughters had been. “This way feels, I think, like the right path to take.”

They made their way past the small man-made lake around which some of the more sought-after homes of the Eagle’s Crest subdivision had been constructed, pausing in their conversation to listen to the low gurgle of frogs.

“Today I revisited the Nile Delta, a place of much beauty and intrigue,” Randolph continued.

“Should you need another set of eyes on the manuscript as you work,” Abhijat ventured, “I would be honored to read it.”

Randolph smiled at him, clapping him on the back. “Just the thing, my friend. I’d be honored to have you.”

Their walk coming to an end at the Winchester house, Randolph took his leave of Abhijat, who continued on the few blocks to his own home.

The sun had set, and as Abhijat walked, he looked up into the lit-up windows of the houses he passed, as he had done in the early days of his marriage, just before Sarala had arrived in the States, searching those lit-up rooms for a hint of the lives that might stretch out before them.

Now, with Lily away at school, the Winchester house felt less lively. Rose missed coming in to find Lily and Meena at the kitchen table, heads bent over their schoolwork, chattering back and forth.

Randolph and Rose adjusted to the new quiet of their lives, of their home. On the happy days when letters from Lily arrived, they opened and read them together, Rose thinking of the many evenings she and Lily had sat together over dinner reading aloud from Randolph’s letters the latest news of his adventures.

How like her own parents, too, Rose imagined, picturing them together at the kitchen table poring over one of her own letters describing her and her new husband’s strange adventures.

“She’s liking her roommate a bit more than she did initially,” Randolph reported, skimming the page as Rose set the table for their evening meal. “Though she’s still cautious. I confess to not being terribly surprised about that,” he added, smiling at Rose. “And here, darling, listen to this.”

Rose could hear Lily’s voice tangling with Randolph’s as he read.

I know, Mom, that we didn’t agree on many of the issues, but I’m sorry that you didn’t win the election. I really am. I know how hard you worked and how important this was to you. I hope you’ll be able to find something else to work toward .

The truth was, Rose had so expected to win that she had in no way prepared herself for the possibility that she wouldn’t. Once the collider had been defeated, it had seemed so certain that she would take Mayor Callahan’s place. That this would be the beginning of a new era in Nicolet.

Now what? she’d found herself wondering the day after the results. It was the first time in her adult life that she’d been without a plan.

Before, Rose would have wondered whether she and Randolph might not again take up their adventures together — Lily off at school and there being nothing to tie them to Nicolet. But just now Randolph seemed so happy there at home, content in a way she had never seen when he was not traveling. No, she realized, those days were in the past.

She wondered, though, her thoughts drifting back to her political ambitions, if she had perhaps not set her sights too low. If her loss was in fact best seen as a nudge toward something larger, as an opportunity.

She called a meeting of her campaign team.

Abhijat, who had never permitted himself much time for pleasure reading, had allowed himself to sink happily into Randolph’s drafts, finding himself captivated by the world Randolph had conjured. Often, Abhijat would sit down in one of the comfortable living room chairs to read and would find, upon looking up at the end of a section, that hours had crept by and that it was now long since past time for him to begin preparing dinner.

He had begun assembling his own box of recipes — something he planned to give Meena one day. He’d bought a new wooden box, this one decorated with a wreath of hand-painted flowers, and a set of cream-colored index cards on which he kept track of the meals that became their favorites:

For when you have forgotten to see the loveliness around you , he wrote. And here his recipe for a simple dal.

For when one must be reminded of one’s own good fortune . Then Meena’s favorite — chicken prepared on their new barbecue.

For when you wish to thank the world for your happiness . And here, Sarala’s favorites — Kraft Dinner, Rice-A-Roni, green bean casserole.

Sarala made her way home from the evening’s party. She’d done well that night. Indeed, she’d been surprised by how easy it seemed, how effortless, how fun. She wondered if this was how Abhijat had felt among his theories and equations. At home. Where he belonged.

Now, she often passed her neighbors, returning from work just as she was setting out. She thought of this as her reverse commute, and she waved to those she recognized. Her first night, she’d felt as though she were setting off on a great adventure.

It was almost always dark when she returned home, and Sarala loved peeking into the houses with the curtains left open as she drove, loved catching glimpses of families in the midst of their evening rituals.

In front of the elementary school, she slowed for the stop sign. There on the corner was her home, light glowing out from the kitchen windows where she could make out her own family inside, Abhijat preparing a late dinner so they might all share their meal together, Meena at the table, bent over her schoolwork.

The Superconducting Super Collider (SSC) was a real project. Those readers who remember the SSC will recall that, unlike in this novel, it was not a matter of whether it would be built, but of where. For the purposes of this story I have simplified this, making Nicolet the only site under consideration, but the conflict illustrated in this novel played out in many locations around the country. The Department of Energy conducted studies of a number of potential sites, finally settling on Waxahachie, Texas. There, construction of the super collider began, but the project was canceled before it was ever completed, the site abandoned for years.