Her fois have booked her a hotel room and wired some money so she does not have to struggle as she did in Paris, and she is even more appreciative of her comforts now. She can think of no better way to spend some of the money Papa has left to her. Her fois made clear that after this journey she is to return home, where they can keep a watchful eye over her and make sure she is safe, and Sophie does not mind. She is ready to go home. Nita might have been searching for the place in which she felt at peace, but Sophie is lucky enough to know that place is Ahmedabad for her. And her travels outside of it have confirmed that.
When she reaches Los Angeles, Sophie is surprised by the pleasant temperatures in November. It is much warmer than the chilly streets of Paris, but that is only the start of the differences. Other than the fact that the city is filled with Westerners, she cannot find another similarity. There are hardly any people walking on the streets, and the city is so spread out that everyone is in cars. There is traffic and congestion like Ahmedabad, but it is more orderly than back home. There are no animals on the roads, and people obey the traffic signs and slowly move along wide multilane highways in neat rows, like ants marching toward a mango peel.
She has given the taxi driver Simon’s address and considers what she should say when she arrives. She is dropped off in front of an average-size white house with light-gray shutters along the outside of the windows and curtains on the inside. A white picket fence surrounds the perimeter, and there is a well-manicured garden with flowers and fragrant herbs along the front of the house. There is short green grass expanding from the house to the fence, and Sophie has not seen lush greenery surrounding homes like this. Ahmedabad is so dry and arid and polluted. She tries to picture a little boy—her little brother—playing in the yard. It looks nothing like the life she has in Ahmedabad, but she hopes it has been a good life all the same. She is wielding both her suitcase and the one Dao had given her with Nita’s belongings and realizes she probably should have gone to the hotel first and dropped them off. Surely, Simon will find it odd to see her laden with luggage as if she intends to stay indefinitely.
The air is cool and crisp, and she can smell the salty water of the nearby ocean. The only time she has ever seen the ocean was when Papa took her on a trip to Goa for her fourteenth birthday, and she already knows she differs from her brother in this way.
Sophie pushes open the small gate in the white picket fence, makes her way up the sidewalk, and tries to tuck her suitcases off to the side before she rings the doorbell. A chime sounds within, and she is surprised to hear a dog barking inside and paws padding closer to the door.
She hears a woman’s voice from inside as a latch turns. “Nigel, stay back and let me see who’s at the door.”
Sophie cannot believe her luck that someone is home. When the door opens, she sees an elderly white woman with wispy gray hair tossed into a haphazard bun. She is wearing a blue plaid buttoned shirt that appears to have some soil marks on it, and light-blue jeans that are cuffed to her midcalves. The woman is holding back the sandy-colored dog by its collar and cracks the screen door open a bit.
“Can I help you?” she asks.
“I hope so. I’m looking for Simon Harris.”
The woman’s eyes narrow, and she looks Sophie up and down. “May I ask why?”
Sophie shifts her weight back and forth. “It’s a bit of a long story, but he knew my mother many years ago, and I was hoping to be able to speak with him.”
The dog tries to leap outside and get closer to Sophie while the woman restrains him. She focuses on Sophie and notices the suitcases to the side of her.
“Have you just arrived from somewhere?”
“Paris, but I’m from India. I don’t mean to take up too much time. I came straight from the airport and will head to my hotel soon.” Sophie wants to assure this woman that she has no intention of moving in.
“You must be tired then, dear.” She opens the screen door wider while maintaining her grip on the dog. “Come on in for a second.”
Sophie squeezes through the opening and tries not to startle at the rambunctious dog, which has even more energy now that a new person has entered the home. Even though animals are everywhere in India, pets are not common. There, the animals roaming the streets are nonplussed by the human inhabitants, so Sophie has not come across an animal who is actively trying to engage with her.
“I don’t think I caught your name,” the woman says.
“Sophie.”
The woman extends her free hand. “I’m Maggie.” She pulls the dog toward another room. “Let me just put Nigel in the family room, and you and I can have a chat in the kitchen.”
Seated in a brightly lit, warm kitchen, Sophie takes in how different it feels from hers back home. The kitchen in her bungalow is a sterile room that is used by the servants to prepare meals and make chai. The only time Sophie has really spent in it, other than getting a snack, was when her fois were teaching her to cook as part of her new wifely duties. Here, this kitchen is a focal point and a room she can tell is filled with love. It is a room in which much time is spent, and the warmth makes it easy to understand why.
The woman washes her hands at the sink before joining Sophie at the table. “Sorry, I had been doing some gardening, so I’m a bit of a mess. Now, how was it that you said you know Simon?”
Sophie reaches into her purse to pull out the envelopes Simon had sent to Dao. “I didn’t know him, but I was told that he knew my mother many years ago. Back when he lived in Paris.”
Maggie’s posture stiffens as she waits for Sophie to continue.
“I’m afraid I don’t know too many of the details, and I was hoping Simon could help me fill them in. Does he still live here?”
The color drains from Maggie’s face, and Sophie is wondering if it was wrong of her to come. Perhaps she should have investigated further. Maybe even hired someone to do so, like her fois had suggested.
“He used to,” Maggie says. “He was my son.”
Sophie has experienced enough death lately to catch her use of the word was.
“What happened to him?” she asks gently.
“Car accident. He was hit by a drunk driver almost two years ago. The hospital told us it was quick and he did not feel much pain. Thank God for that.”
“I’m so sorry.” Her tone is deflated. She does not know why she hadn’t considered the possibility that Simon might be dead, just like Nita. She had prepared herself for finding a stranger who had never heard his name and having to investigate new ways to find him but wasn’t prepared for being at his house and learning that he was not alive. “Do you know what happened to the boy who was with him when he returned from France? Vijay?”
Maggie’s eyes widened. “Why?”
Sophie knows there is no turning away from the truth now. “He is my brother. We had the same mother, and I just learned about him and am hoping to find him. It’s a very long story,” she says apologetically, her hands resting on her lap.
Maggie’s hand goes to her chest. “You’re Vijay’s sister? Nita was your mother?”
Maggie studies Sophie’s face like she is searching for clues to an unanswered question, while Sophie is surprised to hear Nita’s name roll off this woman’s tongue so easily. The woman manages a small smile. “Life is just full of surprises, isn’t it?”