Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 106422 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 532(@200wpm)___ 426(@250wpm)___ 355(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106422 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 532(@200wpm)___ 426(@250wpm)___ 355(@300wpm)
Probably courtesy of the bank of Mom and Dad, but Perez is going to chase it down.
Meanwhile, I still can’t get a bead on the guy—women definitely like him, but he doesn’t strike me as the playboy type. He’s more focused, more the kind who could make one woman believe she was his everything, and that’s not exactly unusual. Henry over in Traffic marries women like it’s his job, gets bored, and moves on.
Only difference with Advani is the money involved. Is he targeting rich older women or does he just end up with rich older women because he grew up in that environment?
I need to talk to someone he actually dated. It’s not looking good—so far, he’s two for two when it comes to dead ex-girlfriends.
Chapter 15
The next day, I learned that the Rotorua Hospital ICU had a generous visiting policy.
“As long as you’re not disruptive,” the charge nurse told me, “we’re not going to kick you out. If you want to visit after the main doors are closed, ask the security guys downstairs. I’ll make sure they know you’re to be let up.” Her eyes were sympathetic.
“Can you tell me anything about my sister-in-law? Her family won’t be here till later in the day, so I’m all the family she has for now.”
I was expecting her to stonewall me, but she said, “Her father instructed that you’re to be kept updated on Shumi Prasad’s status. Honestly, she’s much the same as your wife. Since the ICU is full, she’s next door, in the Coronary Care Unit, which also functions as the ICU overflow area.
“You can go look in on her when you’re ready—it’s just through here.” She pointed to an internal hallway. “No locked door between the two units, but check in with the nursing staff when you enter so they know who you are.”
“Thank you. I’ll go visit after I spend some time with my wife.”
When I walked over to Diya, I saw that someone on the staff had placed an armchair beside her bed in an act of silent compassion. I also consciously noticed the monitors on either side of the bed and what appeared to be some kind of a mechanical arm on the ceiling.
A hoist, I guessed, to help with patients who needed to be moved. I didn’t have enough interest to ask for confirmation, Diya my sole focus.
After pulling the curtain so we’d have at least a little privacy—but making sure I didn’t block the line of sight of the monitoring nurse—I sat down in the armchair and held Diya’s hand, the intricate filigree of mehndi on it seeming even darker today.
“They say the darker a bride’s mehndi,” she’d told me, “the happier and more loved she’ll be in her marriage.”
But my bride lay broken in a space filled with the sound of mechanical breaths, the brunette nurse who watched her—whose name I’d learned was Hazel—rising every hour to record her vital signs. “Any change?” I asked each time.
The answer was the same. “No.”
Diya’s life hung in precarious balance, a fact her surgeon confirmed when she came by later that day. “How much information do you want?” she asked with a bluntness I guessed might be typical for surgeons.
“Don’t worry about detail,” I said, because the last thing I wanted to know was how many times she’d been stabbed. “I’m only interested in her overall status. We can discuss the specifics with her after she wakes.”
Nodding, the surgeon said, “Overall status is critical. The head wound worries me—we’ll be monitoring that constantly. I repaired her abdominal injuries but they were significant, so she’s not out of the woods yet. Liver and kidney injuries on their own wouldn’t put her in the ICU, but infection is always a risk.”
Each word was acid on my skin.
The only good news that day was that Shumi’s parents would be landing in Auckland early that afternoon. The Kumar clan had intended to rent a car to drive the three hours to Rotorua rather than waiting for the next flight to the city, but I’d talked them out of it.
“It’s a long drive and you’re not in the best frame of mind.” I’d driven like a maniac after being notified of Jocelyn’s death, and almost plowed straight into a concrete freeway barrier. “The last thing Shumi needs is for you to get in an accident. The closest flight to your arrival into Auckland will get you here not that much later than if you drove.”
It had been Shumi’s younger brother who’d convinced her parents I was right. “We need to be there for Shumi,” Ajay had said. “None of us are thinking straight. We shouldn’t be driving.”
Now I took Diya’s cold hand in mine, held it. “I’m here, baby,” I said in a quiet tone that wouldn’t reach Hazel. “I’ll find out what happened.” I pressed my lips to her skin, wishing I could give her the life that pumped inside my body so she’d laugh again, dance again.