airport in thirty minutes.â
I donât have the capacity for any more of Saraâs hints, so I say, âI canât come to the airport to drop you, but why donât you finish packing and Iâll see you outside in a bit.â
When I open my bedroom door to let Sara out, I hear Mary washing dishes in the kitchen. She should be practising for the big game, I think, before a little voice quips: what would be the point of that? I shut the door behind me.
I look at the garnet glass frame holding my motherâs photo, taken long before leukemia burnt the skin and bones off her, a time five years ago when we could pass off as sisters. Her face shines in the sunlight. Looking at her this way, with life caressing her hopeful eyes, her endless smile never fails to fill me with grief. Yet, when I burst into tears, I know Iâm not crying for her. The morning falls around me like ash.
I hear her voice, my motherâs voice, and I am happy for it gives me a break from my own.
She tells me to believe.
I reply, Iâve never believed in anyone but you.
Then feel, she says.
I tell her, I feel nothing but anger since you left.
Believe, feel.
Then sheâs gone, again. I donât search for her this time. I think. And somewhere between her quiet place and mine, a new emotion finds its way and I think it may be possible for me to love again.
~
I fill my jeans pockets with fifty thousand rupees, an amount that will cover return train tickets from Mumbai to Delhi for twelve girls, along with twoâthree days of lodging expenses. I hand the jeans to Mary and tell her that Iâm going to drop Sara to the airport, that she should wash my jeans before seeing herself out of the house. Then I take Saraâs hand in mine, as Lalit picks up her suitcase, and bid a cheerful adieu to Mary.
When Iâm back home, three hours later, my jeans are hanging on the clothesline and the fifty thousand rupees are no longer there.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY!
Nadia didnât mean to stare at her breasts, but it was difficult not to when they were exposed like that, between the plunging neckline of her gold-amber dress. Dolly was known for her clothes as much as her parties, one of which Nadia and Danesh were attending today. Gold was the theme of this party.
Nadia probably stared too long because Dollyâs eyes were looking at her, sharp but not surprised, chillingly polite from below the gold sparkle lacing her thin pencilled eyebrows.
Dolly turned to Danesh. Air-kiss. Raspberry lips.
âWelcome to my home,â she said with a sweep of her arms, smugness and approval lighting her diamondshaped face, her movements smooth despite their latent keenness. âDanny, youâre looking dapper as always.â
Danesh grinned in acceptance, as if receiving compliments was a way of life for him. It was a way of life for him, Nadia thought ruefully, with his ineffable charm glossing over the shrewdness that had made him the CEO of GluMart at forty-two. None of his complaints over the past ten days about how a man, any respectable man, could be seen wearing gold, showed on him now, as he stood tall and proud in a gold-tinged suit Nadia had had custom-made for him.
âShoes over there,â Dolly pointed, her wrists thin and clever hands unwavering. Nadia obediently bent down to remove her shoes, but Danesh hesitated as if actually considering not doing it. Nadia was mortified. Dolly was not someone who took ânoâ for an answer. She saw as Dolly tilted her face sideways at Danesh, and noted with surprise that the hostess had no adornmentsâno earrings, no necklaceânothing except a green-and-beige striped hairband at the base of her thick springy black hair, which sheâd pulled back into an elegant coiffure.
Under Dollyâs glare, Danesh leaned one hand against the wall and with his free hand began untying his cream lace-up shoes. Nadia groaned quietly; she had told him to wear slip-ons so
George Simpson, Neal Burger