“Is there running water to the property?”
“Yes, from the tank in the trees. Good you reminded me—I’ll go turn on the flow on that end. Only take half a minute. And don’t worry—I don’t let it sit. Plenty of rain around here, easy to keep it refreshed in case the family decides to visit unexpectedly.
“Dr.Rajesh had me put in a filter,” he added. “So it’s safe to drink, but the doctors always said to boil it anyway. Kushma will also put some bottles of water from the shop in your kitchen, in case you don’t want to bother with boiling and cooling.”
After Ravi left to walk to the tank, I turned and went back to the house, the mango in hand. It felt as if it had gained in weight in the time since Ravi handed it to me, and I suddenly found myself wondering if Ani’s ashes hadn’t been given to water, if she was buried under the tree, her blood and bones part of its veins…
I left the mango on the kitchen counter.
Abruptly aware of how sticky my skin felt, I decided to have a shower in the large bathroom down the hall from my room.
There was no soap stocked inside, but the water was ice-cold and pure, the droplets that fell from the old-fashioned showerhead fat and round. Though I’d shivered when it first fell on me, I found myself lingering, letting the water soothe me, wash away all the pain and stress for a short window of time.
When I finally got out, I realized I’d forgotten to bring my duffel in with me. No towel, no fresh clothes.
And Ravi’s wife was meant to be making up the bed for me.
I opened the door a crack and said, “Hello? Anyone in here?”
Silence, the ripple of a curtain in the distance.
I called out again, just in case, but if the mysterious Kushma was inside the house, she wasn’t answering. Hoping I wasn’t about to scandalize the caretaker’s wife, but loath to put on my sweaty, dusty clothes—oh, how Susanne would’ve laughed at my predicament—I kept an ear open as I walked naked down the hall.
But when I peeked into the bedroom, it was to see the bed neatly made up. On the end sat a stack of towels, beside that a small basket that held soap and other toiletries. She’d clearly been intending to stock up the bathroom for me before realizing it was already occupied.
Grateful for her and Ravi’s help, I used one of the towels to dry off, then hitched it around my hips and walked to fully open one of the larger windows. The air was cool against my body. This, I thought, would be the most comfortable time of the day to hang around outside. Could be Kamal would be happy to have a visitor at this time, but all at once, my bones ached from exhaustion.
It wasn’t about the amount of time that had passed since the fire, but the sheer weight of the stress I’d been under. Tonight at least, I could sleep, free from the threat of Ackerson swooping down on my head—or the media discovering the identity of Diya Prasad’s American fiancé.
My hands squeezed the window ledge.
—
I’d expected to spend the night tossing and turning despite my tiredness, but I slept for nine straight hours, as if my body just shut down. No dreams. No haunting wind chimes. No fear. Maybe it was the invisible but efficient Kushma’s cooking—she’d sent dinner over withher eldest son, who’d told me to leave the dishes on the porch table outside where I’d eaten.
Those dishes were gone when I walked outside into the comfortable morning air, and when I stepped down to stand on the grass, I could almost feel the thunder of the surf in the distance. I considered walking to it, watching the ocean under the morning light…but it felt like a betrayal to Diya.
“I can’t wait to show you Fiji!” Kisses pressed to my jaw that made me grin. “I’ll be Mrs.Tavish Advani to the whole world by then! We’ll walk hand in hand to the beach. It’s so beautiful, Tavi, better than any Caribbean resort, trust me.”
My fingers curling into my palm, I headed back inside to do a workout using my own body weight; I’d started exercising as a kid in order to burn off the rage I couldn’t acknowledge. Not then. Now I just liked it.
As for the rage…I’d dealt with it.
I’d just walked back outside after a quick shower to freshen up when Ravi appeared with a tray. “Bula! I thought you’d be awake. Breakfast for you. I know Diya beta likes bread, but we didn’t have any fresh, so Kushma made you roti, and eggs from our chickens—she made them with onions and chili, but she said she can do an overseas-style omelet for you if you want.”
My heart twisted—Diya had made eggs for me that way, taught me how to roll them up in the flatbread called roti, so that it became a savory wrap. “It sounds delicious, thank you.”
Ravi put down the tray but didn’t stay to chat, saying he had to get his boys to school. “It’s a long drive every day, but education, you know.”
When I took the lace cloth cover off the tray, I discovered coffee and a plate of sliced papaya and what I thought might be guava, as well as the roti and eggs. I was glad for the absence of mango. Thoughthe coffee was instant, it still provided the necessary caffeine hit, but I slammed into a roadblock when I tried to eat the eggs.
Diya’s laughter in the kitchen of my condo, the way she’d told me to watch as she flipped the egg “like a maestro”—only to splatter it all over the floor.
We’d laughed like lunatics while cleaning it up, just two people who were stupid in love. My wife had been so different back then, so full of a radiant light. Coming home to New Zealand, I realized with the gift of distance, had stolen a piece of that light from her, replacing it with shadows black and ominous.
Why?
Was it the same reason she’d spoken Ani’s name when she thought she was dying?
