“But don’t take that to mean that I don’t understand how difficult all of this has been for both of you. Don’t be so hard on yourself, Henry. But for heaven’s sake open your eyes and realize that the two of you have both been given a rare and wonderful gift, and to pass it up would make you a fool.”

“What’s that?” Henry asked.

Oliver whispered with a smile, as if it were a magical secret, “A second chance, my boy. You’ve been given a second chance.” In a more normal voice, he said, “None of us would have wished for Kat to leave us the way she did, but I believe that God doesn’t take things away from us without offering some kind of blessing to compensate. We just have to pay attention and do our part. When God took our dear friends from us so tragically in India, He gave us their daughter to care for as our own. And now—as I see it—God is offering you and Amala a second chance, and I don’t believe there is another man in all the world—of any color—who could make her as happy as you could.”

“You really mean that,” Henry said again, more than a little stunned.

“I think we’ve established that I don’t say what I don’t mean.” Oliver smiled. “Now, why are you still sitting here? Go find Amala and tell her how you feel, or I swear to you I will force the two of you to talk over the supper table.” He winked. “Are you willing to take that risk?” He picked up his glasses with an indication that he intended to return to his reading. At the mention of the word risk, Henry recalled Amala’s words clearly: Trust cannot be rebuilt without some risk.

Henry stood but paused to reach out a hand toward Oliver, who looked at it before they shared a firm handshake. “Thank you,” Henry said, “for everything . . . Father.”

“Thank you, son,” Oliver said with sincerity, and Henry hurried from the room, wondering how long it might take him to find Amala when he had no idea where to begin looking.

* * * *