The Story Hour by Thrity Umrigar Read Free Book Online Page A

me,” I say.
    Husband’s face look shock. “Did suicide make you crazy? If I pay you, how I pay electric company? How I pay gas bill?” Then he get angry. “Only loose woman speak like this to husband, Lakshmi. I am the one who feed you, clothe you, give you roof over your head. When I come home and find you dead-like on sofa, I call 911 and transfer you to hospital. You know how much this hospital bill going to be? Insurance rate will go up also. Other man would leave wife after this evil business. Such shame you have brought on my family name. Every day customers saying, ‘Where your missus?’ And what answer I give them? That my missus is doing aram in a hotel room, eating goat biryani and gulab jamun, while I break my back before a stove?”
    I feel ashame. “I’m sorry,” I say. “I was making a joke, only.”
    â€œJoke?” the husband say. “Joke is funny. This is not funny.”
    I say sorry second time, and when I looks up, I see someone standing inside the room. At first I only sees the white coat because the face is so dark, but then I know who is standing there and my stomach move, like I on a boat. The husband hate the black people and this is same lady who was here before. She standing with one hand in her coat pocket and her head crooked sideways and she frown. She look at back of the husband like he smell bad.
    Then she walk into room, and husband hear her and push back his chair. He open his mouth but she talk first. “Hi. You must be Lakshmi’s husband?” she say. “I’m Dr. Margaret Bose. Her therapist.”
    My husband look like he have heart attack. No one say anything and in that minute, I feels something move inside of me, so I shifts from my husband to her side. I feel bad, but it happen automatic-like—I feel happy watching husband try to think what to say, do, where to look. And she not know how he hate the black people, and I want to protection her, the way I do my Shilpa. But she also stronger than Shilpa, I know, she no needing me to do protection.
    â€œYou are Mr. Patil?” she say, and husband look surprise and then say, “Yes.”
    â€œGood. I’m glad I caught you. We have a lot to discuss,” she say, and then she come to me and put hand on my shoulder. “How are you today, Lakshmi?” she say, and her eyes are so soft and again I think of my Mithai. And of Ma as she lay on the mud floor of our house, the ’rthritis twisting her hand and foots into the crooked shape of the ginger root.
    â€œI am fine,” I say loudly and both she and husband look at me surprise.
    â€œDid you have a good weekend?”
    â€œI am fine,” I say again, wanting her eyes to stay on me, wanting to build the thread tying her to me, against the husband.
    â€œGood.” She smile. “Good.”
    Husband make uh-uh sound in his throat. “When will she be discharge?” he say. “My business suffering with her absent.”
    The lady look at him funny. “Well, Mr. Patil, we’re hardly at that point. Your wife has just attempted to kill herself. Unfortunately, because of the weekend, I’ve not been able to work with her much. I realize the pressures on you, but under the circumstances—”
    Husband not bother to behave his temper. “Then bring a real doctor to give her treatment. I have a business to run. I cannot leave the business to come every day during visiting hours. Very difficult and very costly.”
    The black lady’s eyebrow go high. “I am a real doctor, Mr. Patil. Now, if your wife has a problem with me, I’d be happy to refer her to a different therapist. But”—her voice get real quiet—“I think you’re the one with the problem.”
    Husband open his mouth, but just then the black lady say, “Now, if you’ll excuse us, visiting hours are over. And I need to start my session with Lakshmi.”
    I feel