The end result was that the Lake Tarawera land was the only thing tying either woman to that region, and it would sell once put on the market.
But the sale wasn’t necessary.
Rajesh and Sarita had left their only surviving child a rich woman—and Diya had already decided to sign over half of her inheritance to Shumi.
“It’s what they would’ve wanted,” she’d told me. “They loved her, thought of her as another daughter.”
My wife still couldn’t understand how Bobby could’ve done whathe had, no matter the evidence. She kept returning to the subject each time we were alone, her expression a dark cloud. “I knew my brother. He didn’t hit girls or women. I hate that people are saying that about him.”
I hadn’t pointed out that Shumi herself had confirmed Bobby’s tendency toward domestic violence. Diya was already heartbroken; if it made her feel better to pretend the world had it wrong, so be it. And she wasn’t hurting anyone else with her beliefs; she followed Shumi’s lead where Bobby was concerned, never brought up her brother with the other woman on her own.
This time was for healing, for peace—and for privacy. I’d chosen a house on a hill, the lake some way in the distance, no neighbors close by to spy on us. Looking out at the lights of other houses reflected in the dark sprawl of Lake Taupo seemed to give Diya solace. My wife had been quiet today, but I’d felt her relief as we left Rotorua and its memories behind.
“We could plan our trip to Fiji while we’re here,” I murmured, very aware of the urn of ashes stored at our rental in Rotorua.
Quite frankly, I wanted it gone, but despite her words at the hospital the day Violet visited, Diya wasn’t quite ready to let go.
Today, however, she nodded. “Yes, let’s do that.” She looked up. “I know I’ve been dragging my feet, but how I felt when we drove out today…I want them to have their freedom, too.”
While we sat talking quietly in front of the large window that framed the view of the lake, Shumi hummed to herself in the kitchen.
She’d made me stop at a local grocery store on our way to this house and stocked up on supplies with feverish intent—includingliters of milk for the chai she was now making. An excessive amount of chai for the three of us, even had I liked the stuff.
Shumi was too much bright chatter and a refusal to discuss anything that had happened. She’d been like that since the first few days after she woke up. Like she’d shut a door and wouldn’t look behind it lest she see a monster standing there.
I don’t want to say.
She’d gone from not wanting to say to not wanting to even think about the events of that bloody morning. The other day, she’d chirped about how Bobby had always brought her coffee in bed each morning, and how he’d never forgotten to pick up her special spices from a shop in Auckland when he drove up for a business trip.
“He was such a good husband,” she’d said with every indication of sincerity.
I was waiting for her to snap, just collapse into a screaming mess of grief. But I was also glad that she hadn’t yet—it gave me time to hold Diya, focus on her heart.
“Shumi’s hurt bad,” she whispered after her sister-in-law sang out that the chai was almost ready. “The last time she got like this, it was after Velvet, her miniature poodle, died. She loved her so much—Bobby gave Velvet to her on their one-year anniversary.”
She swallowed hard. “When Velvet got hit by a car and died, she got like this. Smiling real hard and trying to do everything at once. She made two enormous pots of biryani, baked a cake, and was in the middle of mixing dough for naan when she just…crumpled onto the floor. Like her strings had been cut. And she rocked and rocked and cried.”
“We’ll be ready,” I whispered, pressing a kiss to her temple. “When it hits her.”
Diya nodded and settled back against me. “I just…I don’t understand it,” she said again. “Why would Bobby do that to ourparents? To us? He never hurt me, not once in our whole life. If anything, he drove me crazy with his overprotectiveness.”
I knew by now that she just needed me to listen, so that was what I did, stroking my palm over her shoulder and dropping kisses on her curls.
Diya’s tears were silent. “My parents loved him, Tavi. He was their firstborn, the child that made them parents. And he loved them. Loved all of us.”
“I know, baby.”
She spread her fingers over my heart. “I was holding my pills the other day, thinking I could take a few extra and just make it all go away.”
My heart kicked. “Diya,no.” This was the first time she’d even mentioned the idea of suicide.
“I won’t.” A firm promise. “Because the next second, I saw my wedding ring and I thought, how could I do that to you? Leave you to grieve me, too?” She shook her head. “No, Tavi, we’re in this for the long haul. Me and you.” A look toward the kitchen. “I’ll talk to Shumi about finding her own place. She already mentioned how she knows we probably want to be alone as a couple, so she’s expecting it.”
“Can’t say I’m not ready.” I ached for alone time with Diya, but I hadn’t wanted to kick a woman at such a low ebb in her life, so had kept my mouth shut. “Ajay’s being really good with her. Maybe they can salvage a bond. He might even want to stay with her for a while.”
“I’m hoping that for her.”
I stroked her back. “Have you talked to the therapist about your thoughts? About the drugs?”
