The Taste of Ginger(7)

“Dipti. She’s in the hospital.” The line crackled as if it were strained by having to transmit Neel’s voice across the globe. Damn cell reception!

I fell into the ergonomically correct mesh on the back of the chair. When I’d gone through the list of possible people he could be calling about, Dipti hadn’t even entered my mind. I checked my watch, did some quick math, and figured it was about five in the morning in Ahmedabad right now.

“What happened?” I shouted into the phone the way my parents had done during the calls from India I remembered from my childhood. Calls that told us Nani had passed away, and then Nana, or that Fua had had a stroke.

There was a soft buzzing sound in the background. I pushed the phone closer to my ear. Was it static or was he crying? It had to be the connection. I couldn’t remember the last time he’d shed a tear.

“She was in a ricksha . . . a truck hit it. She . . . the baby . . .”

I pictured one of those kerosene-powered, three-wheeled buggies that we used to take all over Ahmedabad because my mother didn’t want to drive through the chaotic traffic. They could barely take on a goat, let alone a truck!

The line crackled again. “We . . . she . . .”

His voice trembled. I knew it was bad. He took after our mother, rarely losing his composure.

“Are you okay?” I pressed the phone closer to my ear.

“Me? Yeah. Just some abrasions that need to be stitched. But Dipti . . . she’s . . .” He breathed in sharply. “They can’t wake her up! I don’t know what to do.”

My eyes welled up at the angst in his voice. We had always been a package deal—if one got emotional, usually the other did too. Forcing myself to sound confident, I said, “She and the baby are going to be fine. If you need me, I’ll get there as fast as I can.”

A few moments of silence passed. I glanced back at the sun setting over the Pacific. A week ago, I’d been so relieved to return to my familiar California life.

“Neel, say something.”

After a few more moments of silence, he said, “You don’t have to.”

Hearing the hesitation in his tone, I knew I did. He had always been my rock, especially lately while I’d been dealing with the situation with our parents and breaking up with Alex. Without hesitation, I closed the brief I’d been working on and navigated to a travel website.

“Hang in there. I’ll get on the first flight I can.”

“Thanks.”

His relief was evident. I had no doubt I’d made the right decision and knew for the first time in a long while that he needed to lean on me more than I needed to lean on him.





4


The next flight to Ahmedabad left close to midnight. After booking it, I packed my things, ignored the new emails that had come in during the last couple minutes, shut down my computer, and headed toward the Warden’s office.

The interior of the firm was as impressive as the view. I rushed through the hallway of frosted glass doors with brushed-nickel nameplates on them and then up the dizzying spiral staircase that connected the floors. Bright Warhols loomed over me as I maneuvered around the sterile white furniture.

The firm was emptier than usual. I could have heard a binder clip drop against the commercial-grade carpet. There wasn’t the usual chaos of everyone moving around at lightning speed. There was no buzzing sound from so many people talking at once that it was impossible to follow a single conversation.

As expected, the Warden was pacing around the wide expanse of his corner office, headset secure atop dark-brown hair that was peppered with grays, and arguing with the person on the other end of the phone.

When he caught my eye, he held up a finger to let me know to wait. I could tell from his tone that he was in a foul mood. Leaning against the wall outside his office, I closed my eyes and tried to summon the strength to explain to him that I needed to leave work. Immediately. Absences were, at best, frowned upon.

“Come in, Preeti!” he bellowed after a few moments.

He said my name with the hard t sound that grated on my ears every time I heard it, but he’d never bothered to learn the correct pronunciation. He was shaking his head while he lowered himself onto his chair. My legs moved as if I were wading through molasses as I made my way to the chair across from him.

Jared’s brows furrowed together. “People need to learn to step up to the plate around here. When I was rising up through the ranks, I knew I needed to knock it out of the park every single day. We’re like athletes. We need to commit three hundred sixty-five days a year. Now, getting people to do work is like pulling teeth.” He pounded his fist against the desk before forcing a smile. “Sorry, slugger, I know that you aren’t part of the problem. I got your hours report for last week.”

I gulped, wishing I could have caught him in one of his rare good moods.

Fingers clutching the armrests, I said, “Jared, I’m really sorry to trouble you with this, but I just got a call from my brother. My sister-in-law has been in an accident. I need to fly to India to be with my family.”

Jared scowled and then quickly forced a neutral expression. “I’m sorry to hear that.” His tone was measured. “How serious is it?”

“My brother wouldn’t have called me unless it was bad. My sister-in-law is pregnant, so I’m sure that complicates things. Hopefully, she and the baby will be fine, and I’ll be back in no time.”