Janya leaned over and ruffled her hair. “I’m glad you do.”
Rishi came home earlier than usual, and Janya was still trying to make the red beans and rice delicious. As with many of the American recipes she had tried, it would not cooperate.
She reached around to turn off the CD player, which had been loudly trumpeting some of her favorite songs. “I do not understand American cooking,” she said. “I can’t believe Americans prefer these dishes.”
Rishi came to stand beside her and peered into the pot. “And what is that?”
“I got a new cookbook at the library this week. American Cajun Cuisine. Very American, so you will probably like it. It’s called red beans and rice.”
“Someday I’ll take you to New Orleans. The food is wonderful. All of it’s good.”
“Well, there are many recipes here for things I will never cook or eat.”
“Red beans and rice is served in Louisiana the way we serve dal and rice in India. Only I’ve never smelled any quite like this.”
“The recipe was not good as it was.”
“You tried it as it was?”
Janya put down her spoon and frowned at the pot, hoping to figure out what was lacking. “It would have had no flavor.”
“That’s not usually a problem with Cajun food.”
She glanced at him. “Well, perhaps this cookbook is at fault.”
He looked away, as if something outside had captured his attention, and he cleared his throat. “That must certainly be it.”
Rishi left to change clothes, and she added what she hoped would be the final touches to the beans. They met to say prayers; then Rishi helped her set the table. Janya went to get the food, but Rishi put his hand on her arm.
“Such a beautiful table needs beautiful flowers, Janya.”
There were no flowers in the house, and none growing outdoors. The plants she and Tracy had salvaged were catching their breath on the patio, resting after the assault against them. But none of them were blooming now, as if that was one thing too many to expect.
“I have no flowers to put there.” She made a small gesture with her hands, as if to show they were empty.
“Then we must get some outside.”
She had no idea what Rishi was talking about. He wasn’t a man who cared about the way things looked. Days had gone by after his first business trip before he realized that she had painted their bedroom red.
“There are no flowers outside. Many of the pots were destroyed, remember? I made cuttings from some that would not survive, and I am rooting them. The others are trying to recover their strength.”
“I’m sure I saw flowers there.”
She no longer sat on the patio to rest and think. The little fountain she had taken such pleasure in had been destroyed, and the sad plants that had survived were not the most charming company. Still, she watered the pots every day, as she always had. She knew what was there and what was not.
“Then go see what you can find,” she told Rishi, since he was so insistent.
“Come with me to be sure I don’t pick something I shouldn’t.”
Janya wanted to eat, so she agreed. “Yes, all right.” She followed him out the door and around to the patio. Then she stopped.
She couldn’t imagine how she hadn’t heard the noise. Certainly there had been noise. How else would the table and comfortable chairs have arrived? The large pots from Mr. Krause’s cottage been moved into place on the patio? The new pots, four of them, overflowing with flowering hibiscus and gardenias, and jasmine climbing up a small wooden trellis? The fountain, and yes, through teary eyes she saw there was a fountain in the sunniest corner, much larger than the tiny one she had bought at the garage sale, gurgling happily. How had these things appeared without her knowing?
“How did you…?”
“You had music on. You didn’t hear me come inside until I was in the kitchen, remember? The men who brought the furniture helped me get the plants in place, too.”
“Could my music have been that loud?”
“Do you like it?”
She wandered across the little space, looking at the ID tags on the beautiful new plants, admiring the way Mr. Krause’s had been tucked in here and there to form a screen of sorts for privacy from the road. She ran her fingers over the sleek wood of the table, touched the plastic cushions of the chairs, and imagined evenings here with candles, good food and laughter.