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)
“I was working in Suva then,” Ravi elaborated, “but baby Ani’s parents died in a car crash. Terrible, just terrible. So young, both of them. Hitesh was Dr. Rajesh’s only brother, and so of course Dr. Rajesh and Dr. Sarita were going to look after baby Ani.”
He turned, began to walk up the stairs to the covered porch of the house. “Come, I have the key—I always keep it with me when I do my evening stroll, sometimes just go in and walk around, make sure everything is tip-top. You staying here? We keep it clean.”
“If you think it’ll be all right? I’m only here two nights.”
The caretaker shook his head again. “So sad. House is too big for one person. We can put our boys in one room for the night so you can have a bed.”
“Thanks,” I said, having the feeling the offer was sincere. “But it might be nice for me to stay here. I can tell Diya about it when I go back…maybe it would help her wake up.” My throat choked up, the last words barely audible.
Ravi blinked rapidly before clearing his own throat. “I’ll ask my wife to make you dinner, bring it over. You okay with spicy? Kushma likes using spice, but she leaves it out for her friend from Australia, so no problem if you don’t like it. She can make the recipe a different way.”
“No, I love it.”
Taking an old-fashioned iron key from his pocket even as I spoke, Ravi put it into the lock, turned. “Some caretakers, they just don’t do the work. They know the owner maybe won’t come back for years.
“But the doctors are a good family—they pay us well to be here full-time, and even pay our kids’ school fees every year and buy their textbooks, their uniforms, all they need for school. Dr. Sarita always says education is the key to a bright future. We take very good care of everything.”
He tapped the outside wall. “I told them, it needs paint, but they wanted to have a look personally, decide what to do—but they’re so busy it’s been two years since I told them and they haven’t managed to come here.”
It didn’t escape me that he was using the present tense in relation to Diya’s parents. Hope? After all, their deaths hadn’t yet been confirmed…even if the likelihood of survival was less than minuscule. “So they didn’t visit regularly?” I’d just assumed they had, with how much they talked about Fiji.
“They used to.” When he pushed open the door, it went inward without making a sound. “But last three years, only once. I think they did special doctor stuff, got busy.”
I had a vague memory of Diya mentioning extra certification but couldn’t recall the details. Not that it mattered now. “I don’t know how you’ll be paid until Diya wakes up,” I said. “Everything’s a mess.”
Ravi waved it off. “It’s no problem. The lawyer pays us from the rental money of their other house in Fiji. He’ll work it out.”
No wonder Ackerson thought this was about money. Diya’s inheritance kept increasing. “I didn’t know they had another property here.”
“In Nadi,” Ravi said. “Just a small one—would’ve been baby Ani’s. Was her parents’ place. After Ani died, Dr. Rajesh thought about selling it but couldn’t. Too painful. Last memory of his brother and family, you know?”
Inside, the Prasad house was cool and dark.
“I’ll open the curtains so you won’t have to in the morning.” Ravi was already doing so. “Most days, we keep them closed to keep out the sun, and we put up the shutters, too, during hurricane season. The upstairs we only fully open up when the family visits. Dr. Sarita likes the view of the water from up there.”
A sudden pause, as if it had hit him that Sarita and Rajesh would never again wake in the upstairs rooms of this old house, never again admire the view of the Pacific Ocean rolling in to shore. There was only so far you could go on hope when both doctors had been missing since the morning of the fire.
“Kushma,” he said in a quick, shaky burst, “she airs out the house properly once a month, checks nothing’s gotten inside, cleans the dust. I do all the outdoor work, keep the plants tidy, make any repairs.” He pushed open another set of curtains. “Here you go.”
The gray light of dusk poured over furniture from another decade that was worn but still nice enough for a family home. Comfortable. A rich person’s house, but not a showpiece. A true home. Small knickknacks sat on the shelves, and I spotted a pile of seashells on a windowsill, a stack of books on the coffee table.
“Here, I’ll turn on the light.”
No dust motes danced in the air in the creamy light that poured from the ceiling bulb, Ravi’s wife a conscientious housekeeper.