Smita pulled up a chair next to the bed. She could hear Mohan and Nandini talking in the hallway, the woman’s voice high and strident.
“You got Anjali’s number. right?” Shannon asked with her eyes closed. “You’ll call her soon and find out if she has a date for the verdict?”
“I will. I got it. Now, stop worrying about work.”
Shannon smiled. “You’re the best. This is why I could trust this story to only you. You’ll understand Meena, like none of the other reporters can.”
Waiting for Mohan to return, Smita sat watching Shannon as she dozed. After a few minutes, she got up and walked to the window. Outside, the sea crashed against the enormous boulders, spraying spittle into the air. She jumped, realizing Nandini was standing next to her. She hadn’t heard her come back into the room. “Oh, hi,” Smita said, not bothering to hide her annoyance, dreading the thought of being alone in the car with this strange woman.
“I’m so scared, madam,” Nandini said. “My friend’s mother had this same surgery. And she died.”
Was it fear that was making Nandini act so strange? “She’ll be fine,” Smita said. “This is a good hospital.”
Nandini nodded. “Mohan bhai was also saying that to me.” She wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “But, madam, Shannon has been so good to me. Better than my own sisters, she has treated me.”
Smita had seen this phenomenon all around the world—young women from low-income families, slender as reeds, working insane hours against insane odds to better their lives. And the gratitude they felt toward bosses or benefactors—anyone who tossed a morsel of kindness their way—was so heartfelt, so earnest, that it never failed to break her heart. She pictured the crowded tenement where Nandini lived, the long commute by public transportation, the Herculean efforts to learn English, and at long last, the chance to work for a Western agency or newspaper—the liberation that came from such an opportunity, and the loyalty that this inspired.
“Nandini,” she said, “Shannon is otherwise healthy. She will bounce back quickly. And in the meantime”—she took a deep breath—“we will have a good time together, okay?”
“One thing, Smita.” The younger woman’s eyes swept her body. “You will need some other, more modest clothes, like shalwar kameez. It’s a conservative area we are going to.”
Smita flushed. Did Nandini think she was some kind of a rookie? “Yes, I know,” she said. “I will buy some outfits later today. As you know, I was on vacation until yesterday.”
“That will be good.”
They stood looking out at the sea until a nurse came into the room. She said something to Nandini in rapid-fire Marathi while Smita looked from one to the other. She heard the word “American” a couple of times, the nurse looking visibly upset. Finally, the woman turned to Smita and said, “It is past visiting hours, madam. You must leave.”
“She’s here,” Smita said pointedly, nodding toward Nandini.
“Matron has made exceptions for Miss Shannon’s caretaker and the tall gentleman. But please, guests are allowed only during visitation hours.”
Smita sighed. “Okay.” And when the nurse didn’t move, she said, “Please give me a few minutes to make some plans.”
“Five more minutes.”
Smita followed the nurse out into the hallway. Mohan was at the nurse’s station, talking to the same young medical resident as before. Mohan spotted her, said something to the young man, and approached her. “You’re leaving?” he asked.
“I’m being kicked out.”
“They’re very strict about visiting hours. But I could try . . .”
“It’s okay. It sounds like they’ve already made an exception in your and Nandini’s cases.” She heard the bitterness in her voice and knew that Mohan had heard it, too.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
She shook her head. “It’s fine. The fact is, I still have to prepare for Birwad. I need to contact that lawyer. And also, I was told by Nandini that I must buy more suitable clothes for our trip.”
Mohan looked embarrassed. “We are all under pressure,” he murmured. He then brightened. “By the way, I just got some good news. They are putting Shannon at the top of the list. Hers will be the first surgery of the day tomorrow.”
“Great. What time should I be at the hospital?”
“Let’s see. They will take her in by seven. But nothing is going to happen until eight. And it’s a long surgery. Even if you came by nine or ten . . .”