I went upstairs and found Carrie in the small room we were sharing. She had made an impressive dent in the candy stash I had left her with earlier in the day. She was pecking away at the keyboard on her work laptop, so I knew the Warden had sent her some “urgent” task that only she could do from her vacation halfway around the world even though there were hundreds of lawyers in the Los Angeles office.
“Looks like I’m heading back with you,” I said, flopping onto the bed.
She stopped and looked up at me. “Really?”
I nodded. “Neel and Dipti are ready to go home. So that means there’s nothing keeping me here either.”
She glanced at her computer. Two new emails had come in during our small exchange, each with the telltale red exclamation point that had once made me jump to the ready like Pavlov’s dogs. She held up a finger gesturing for me to wait while she sent off hurried responses.
“You don’t seem that excited to head back,” she said.
“No, I am.” My voice trailed off, and I fidgeted with the rajai on the bed.
“That’s convincing.” She laughed and then said, “Are you sure there’s nothing keeping you here?”
“Of course. I’ve never spent a day in India without my mom and Neel. It makes sense for all of us to go back together. That was always the plan.”
She shrugged. “Plans change.”
Sure, sometimes they did. But I had always been someone who stuck to the plan, and that was how I survived. Fit in with the American kids after we immigrated. Get a job in which I didn’t have to worry about financial instability. Commit to Alex because I had said I would, even if it meant losing my family. I wasn’t one to deviate from the plan.
Carrie looked at me in the way that only a best friend could—with compassion, understanding, and pity all blended together.
“Go talk to him,” she said.
I made a move as if I was about to object, but then stopped myself. She was right.
I was about to fly down the stairs and out the door and hail a ricksha when I heard Dipti call out to me. She was in the room she and Neel had shared before she’d moved out and was collecting her clothes that she had brought for the wedding but never worn.
I leaned against the doorframe and tried to keep the angst out of my voice. “Do you need help with something?”
She shook her head. “I wanted to say thank you.”
“For what?” I asked.
“For not giving up. On me, and on Neel.”
I moved closer to her. “There’s nothing to thank me for.”
Dipti managed a half smile. “I doubt any of that was easy for you.”
“It was easier than you think,” I said. “I’ve seen what you and Neel have through such a different lens while we’ve been here. I was too stubborn to see it before, but I see it now. You’ll always have my support.”
I tried to be present in what she was saying and not let my mind wander to where I needed to be.
“Are you okay?” Dipti asked. “You seem . . . I don’t know . . . jittery.”
I tried to calm my nerves. “I’m fine. Just didn’t realize we were going to be leaving so soon, so trying to wrap some things up.”
“You mean with that photographer?”
I froze and looked at her.
She laughed. “Come on, I’m grief stricken, not daft! What wedding album could possibly take this long to put together or require a late-night session on New Year’s Eve!?”
I wrung my hands together.
“Don’t worry. I haven’t shared my suspicions with anyone. People have been so distracted by other things that you’ve managed to stay under the radar.”
“Thank you,” I said, the tension subsiding a little.
“It will be our secret. I hope you get whatever answers you need.”
As I rushed down the stairs, I knew Dipti would eventually be okay. That they would be okay, and it propelled me forward as I bounded out of the bungalow.
The ricksha ambled through the traffic at the same pace as the lackadaisical animals crowding the streets. The horns from the cars and the people yelling from the cycles and lorries were deafening. I willed the sea of traffic to part and let me continue on my way to Happy Snaps, but the ricksha moved as if it were slogging through wet cement.
All I cared about was getting to the shop. I hardly noticed the exhaust around me or the swirling dirt that normally irritated my eyes. Thirty-five minutes later, I threw some rupees at the driver and nearly tripped over my feet as I scrambled out of the seat.