Invisible Lives Read Online Free PDF Page A

now. When she gets the cast off, she’ll do more stunts. Wow! She came into your store. You rock!”
    “She’s been called the hottest bachelorette in Bollywood, but now she’s getting married.”
    Chelsea swigs the last of her iced tea. “I’d like to get married someday, even have kids.”
    “No boyfriend in the cards?”
    “My only date for the weekend is with my nephew—his birthday party. He’s my sister’s son.” Her lips turn down in a slight frown, and I see her climbing the porch of a modest Craftsman bungalow, a gift box in her hands. Inside, a slim blond woman, probably Chelsea’s sister, kneels beside a small boy, who is throwing a tantrum on the hardwood floor. The woman tries to lift him into her arms, but he slaps her away, punches and pummels her, sending her stumbling backward, stunned. Chelsea stands in the open doorway, not moving, barely breathing.
    The boy’s mother reaches out a trembling hand, palm forward, and finally he presses the palm of his hand to hers. As their fingers touch, I know that this is the closest he will ever let her come. He can’t handle spontaneous displays of affection, the usual cuddles and kisses we all take for granted. His mother, and Chelsea, and everyone who loves him, will have to settle for this distance.
    His screaming has faded to a whimper.
    Chelsea is watching me, pinpoints of pain in her eyes. She doesn’t know what I see in her mind, and I don’t yet know her well enough to tell her.
    “If you ever want to talk about anything, just hang out sometime, I’m game,” I say.
    She smiles absently. “Sure, we could grab a brew or something.”
    “I don’t drink, but coffee would be okay.”
    “Chai. Cool.”
    “We could talk about—your sister.” Oh, lame, lame! I admonish myself.
    Her eyes narrow. “Lillian? What about her? Do you know her?”
    “Lillian, that’s a nice name,” I say. “I heard something about her. Doesn’t she come into your shop occasionally?”
    “Sometimes—she talked about checking out your shop sometime, too.”
    “I’ll give her a good deal,” I say.
    Chelsea nods, gives me a funny look, and disappears into her shop. I let out a long breath. That was a close one—I nearly spilled the beans. If I do, Chelsea might think I’m prying, or worse, she might steer clear of me altogether.
    The sidewalk stretches away, voices and laughter coming at me in shards. I am so close to the world, so close to hidden longings, and yet separate, alone.
    I stop in at Cedarlake Café for a latte. Heads turn to stare, but I’m used to it.
    “So, Lakshmi the beautiful.” Marcus winks at me from behind the counter. He’s a tanned version of Brad Pitt with a sweep of auburn hair, a goatee, and small silver earrings. “When are you going to go out with me? The Glass Menagerie is playing at the Rep downtown.”
    “And you’re not in it? How can that be?” I sidestep his question. He’s a handsome artist and actor, but no sparks fly between us. I place a ten-dollar bill on the counter. “My usual soy latte, please.”
    “I didn’t make that play, but I got an audition for Cat on a Hot Tin Roof .” He bites his lip, and I see him in a white spotlight onstage, reading from a script. His voice wobbles, but soon he relaxes and falls headlong into the role.
    “You’ll do great,” I tell him. “This may be your big break.”
    “You think?” His eyes twinkle with excitement.
    “I have a good feeling—kind of like a sixth sense.”
    He adds an extra shot to my latte. “No charge.”
    I leave the café feeling light on my feet. My day can yield diamond moments like these, and as I pop open my umbrella against the mist, I wonder where else I would be if not here, helping people in small ways in the shop. Perhaps I would’ve made principal at Overseas Investments. I was good at crunching numbers, good at peering into the complex minds of my colleagues. I could climb the corporate ladder with ease, like an acrobat in a circus,