She got dressed in her old bedroom, which had not undergone a renovation. There was still pink paint on the walls as well as all of her posters of Johnny Abraham and Leonardo DiCaprio.
Riya grabbed her smoke-reeking clothes and took them down to the basement laundry room. They needed to be clean and fresh-smelling before her father noticed.
Her heart was still light and bouncy from Lieutenant Ambrose’s comments, and she was bursting to share the news with someone. It was the kind of thing you shared with a best friend or a lover. Thoughts of Dhillon flashed through her mind, but she dismissed them before they could take hold. He was neither of those things. Maybe she’d call Roshni.
She nearly bumped into her father on her way down.
“Ah, you are home.” He inhaled deeply, looking up at Riya. “Firehouse?”
“Um, yeah.” She avoided his eyes. “I only do one shift a week on the bus. Varsha Masi will cook on the days that I do my twenty-four-hour shifts.”Just keep the conversation to scheduling and move on.
He squinted at her laundry. “You know, it scares us. Because we lost Samir...”
She nodded. “I know, Papa.” She could just tell him that was why she did it, but it wasn’t the whole truth. Firefighting called to her. And it had since the fire. She tried to move past him.
“How do they treat you there?” her father asked, his brow furrowed with genuine fatherly concern. “The other firefighters. I assume mostly men?”
“All men.” She sighed, shrugging. “It varies. I have to earn their respect.”
He straightened. This, he understood. “And have you?”
“I’m working on it. Today—” she couldn’t help the smile “—my boss said I did good work.”
Her father nodded. He didn’t smile, but his brow was no longer furrowed. “I would expect nothing less. But, and I’ve told you this before, you are a woman, minority in the field you have chosen. You will have to work very hard to prove yourself and earn that respect.”
She met his eyes and damn if she didn’t see a bit of pride there. “Of course.” She did move past him this time. “I’ll get Scout back from Dhillon’s, but she’ll be with us until I find her a home. Is that okay?”
“Of course.”
She nodded and continued to the laundry room. Apparently, it was possible to share these things with her father. “Let me throw these in. Then I’m making khichdi.”
“Okay,” her father called down.
Khichdi and shak was the ultimate in comfort food, as far as Riya was concerned. Just add a dab of ghee to the steaming rice and lentils, with spiced vegetables on the side, and she was in heaven. She glanced at the Ganesha clock.
“Papa,” she called, “can you get Mom’s meds to her?” She glanced at Scout’s empty bed in the corner of the kitchen. She’d have to go next door and get her soon. The idea excited her a little too much.
A jolt of happiness and a flush of embarrassment heated her as she recalled Dhillon coming over just as she had been getting ready to leave for her twenty-four-hour shift. He’d walked into the house, his arms full of puppy toys.
“What’s all this?” Riya had been folding laundry.
“Just some toys for Scout.” A stuffed lamb fell out of his too-full arms.
Riya smirked as she bent to pick up the toy. “Just a few, huh?”
Scout had grabbed it in her mouth and taken off with it. “Well, Lamby is a hit.”
Dhillon laughed as Scout tore into the stuffed toy, destroying it with gusto. Bits of fluff flew everywhere. Riya laughed, too. She couldn’t remember the last time the two of them had done so together. Dhillon was relaxed and happy, and that was as contagious as his laughter.
“See? She needs toys,” he’d insisted as he stood in the doorway, a doggy Santa Claus in the middle of summer.
“She does. And that one is going to be her favorite.” Riya found a small basket in a corner of the room. “Let’s put those in here.”
Dhillon emptied his arms of the various squeaky balls and chew toys into the basket. Riya had opened her mouth to thank him and send him on his way, but he slipped off his shoes and came in.
“She’s doing really well.” He glanced at Scout with a professional eye for a moment, then came over and started folding towels.
“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” Riya insisted. “I can do it.”
