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)
“Yes, yes. I want to show you something.” When she bustled off as fast as she could on her hobbled leg, I ate a still-warm scone I’d made up to my liking.
It actually tasted good instead of turning to dust in my mouth—because unhinged or not, Andrea would make a great witness against Bobby. People would understand that it was a mother’s grief that had driven her to this sad facsimile of a life. Her husband’s desertion would only intensify the sympathy.
I was eating a second scone by the time she returned with a white cardboard box. Rectangular, it was bigger than a shoebox but still clearly only big enough for documents alongside small physical items.
Sitting down across from me, she put the box on the clear part of the coffee table. “I’ve been keeping records. Just in case the day came when people finally began to pay attention. And now here you are.”
I put the half-eaten scone aside as Andrea began to take out newspaper clippings. Some were so yellow and faded that I was scared they’d fall apart, others new enough to leave newsprint on my fingertips. All had to do either with Rhiannon’s death, with Bobby, or—most recently—with the Lake Tarawera fire. She’d even saved the newspaper notice of Bobby and Shumi’s wedding, and the publicly available financial reports from his company.
It was the kind of box kept by a stalker.
Nothing in it could help me, but I listened intently as she went through it piece by piece, just in case. It was dark outside and my head was pounding when she said, “Do you see? It had to be him. It’s all right here.”
“Yes,” I said, before glancing at my watch. “I’m so sorry, but I have to make the drive back to Rotorua—I don’t like to leave Diya alone too long.”
“Oh yes, that lovely girl. I have her letters, too, but not in this box. Hold on.”
Interested now, I did wait, and she soon returned with a group of letters stored neatly inside a clear plastic file folder. “Little Diya and my Rhi were pen pals.” She smiled. “I loved that they were doing something so old-fashioned, used to get Rhi pretty stationery for it.” A pause. “I was so proud of my girl for being so kind to a younger child who idolized her.”
Taking out a letter, I smiled at the rounded childish writing on the first envelope, and at the stickers placed on every part of it aside from the spots for the address and stamp. The letter inside was a single sheet full of girlish excitement about a movie that Diya was going to see with her brother and Shumi, and about how she missed Rhiannon sooooo much, and wished they could hang out together all the time.
We’d be best friends every day instead of just in the summer!
My heart ached.
Andrea took my hand, squeezed, and it wasn’t until then that I realized I was crying. “She’ll be okay,” she said, her voice trembling with years-old grief. “If there’s any justice in this world, that sweet child will be okay.”
* * *
—
I was exhausted when I arrived back in Rotorua, but I stopped by the ICU regardless. Security knew me by name at this point, even asked about Diya. When I made it to her, I wanted to believe that she looked better, had more color in her skin, but knew I was likely just seeing what I wanted to see.
Afterward, I went to check in on Shumi—the Kumars had let the staff know I had their continued permission to visit, and to be updated on my sister-in-law’s medical status.
The nurse with her—a warm woman who had been kind to me from day one—looked up from charting Shumi’s vital signs when I entered. “Hi, Tavish.”
“Hi, Maria. Any updates?”
A shake of her head. “Her poor brother asked the same—he only left two hours ago after I told him he had to get some sleep. And Mrs. Kumar can hardly bear to see her daughter like this—she was in and out for two short visits today, and looks like she isn’t eating. Such a sad situation.”
Nodding, I touched Shumi’s hand for a moment. “Hey, Shumi, it’s your favorite brother-in-law.”
The nurse continued to write on the chart. “Were you two close?”
“Never got the chance. I only came into the country a short time ago.” I took a deep breath, the medicinal air familiar by now. “Do you think they’ll remember everything when they wake up? From the day of the fire?”
She was compassionate enough not to tell me that they might never wake up. “I’m not sure. Diya did have that head trauma, and Shumi almost drowned, according to the paramedics…We’ll just have to wait and see.”
A silvery shimmer of wind chimes, a child’s laughter.
I jolted to look in every direction around us. “Did you hear that?”