she stormed out of the car and took off down the street.
“China, sweetheart, come back. Chutney is going to be fine,” India called after her.
“Let her go.” Mom leaned on the car. A sight so heartbreaking, India didn’t know what to do with it. She offered Tara her arm. How had the illness progressed so fast? “You know she likes to walk when she can’t handle her feelings.” It was how China had done everything from throwing tantrums to thinking through decisions. If she didn’t get out and walk, she started to act like a caged tigress, and that was no fun for anyone.
India punched in the security code and unlocked the studio. They had left the original turquoise-painted glass-paned door as is during the renovation but added electronic locks. The sign in the door was flipped to CLOSED. India wasn’t teaching a class today. She wasn’t on the schedule for the next two weeks because she was supposed to be in Costa Rica. Tomas—the instructor they had hired last year when they had expanded their schedule to help pay for the renovation—had a class at seven and it was barely four.
As they made their way across the studio to the apartment stairs, the smell of home—floral incense mixed in with the aged-wood scent of an old house no renovation could erase—seeped into India’s lungs. She grounded herself in it.
“It’s just this one lifetime,” Tara said, yanking her out of her peaceful place. “It’s going to start and end when it does. We’re just here to aid it along the best we can while we’re here. Worrying won’t change anything.”
As always, Mom was right, and India refused to transfer her own worry to her.
At their first footfall on the stairs, the familiar pattering of a four-legged dance began on the upper floor and Chutney’s scrunched-up face appeared at the top. Over the years the dance of excitement had turned more into a slow plodding roll. Chutney could no longer go up or down the stairs, but you could not enter the apartment and feel like it really happened without seeing her face at the top, and smelling her slobbery breath. She was the sound of their tree falling in the forest.
Despite the inducement at the top of the stairs, Tara’s climb was slow and it made a restless determination churn inside India. Mom was going to be all right. One step into the living area with its timber rafters and cozy furnishings, and Tara’s shoulders relaxed.
India pushed her into the couch and tucked a quilt around her. “I’ll make you some tea and then get dinner started. Soup sound good?”
The family room and kitchen were one continuous space and India watched Tara as she put the kettle on.
“Will you burn some of that kashi agarbatti?” Tara asked crossing her legs into the lotus pose.
India grabbed incense sticks from the ceramic jar on the tiled island. Holding them over the stove flame, she waited for the ends to light, then shook out the flames that left embers at the ends of the sticks. Twisted ribbons of smoke wafted up to the ceiling as she poked the sticks into an inlaid wood holder designed to collect the ash drippings. The kitchen filled with earthy scent.
Carefully, she chose vegetables from the fridge and laid them out on the cutting board. It was a good day for soup. Soft light filtered in through the rattan blinds. Barely audible sounds of Tara’s practiced breathing spun around the room as she settled into her meditation, connecting with the only thing that was going to get her through this, her indestructible inner self.
On the surface it was just another day unfolding around them, but underneath it had a strange texture, an arrogance, as though it knew it was different from all the other days they’d spent doing these very things. India thanked the voice that had compelled her to come home and sliced through a carrot. Then like Tara she let her mind slide inward to the place that was strong enough to take on whatever life was getting ready to throw at her.
Chapter Five
It’s okay to admit you’re in pain. We can get you meds.” Rico looked more nervous than Yash had ever seen him look before a public appearance. Or maybe Yash was assigning emotions to Rico, since he couldn’t seem to manage any on his own.
“I don’t need meds.” Maybe it was part of the relentless numbness, but Yash had expected a bullet wound