Yesterday Ajay had gone all out, cooked a meal that interpreted a traditional Thanksgiving meal though an Indian lens. Herbed paneer, the cheese squeaky and fresh. Cumin roasted carrots. Scalloped potatoes made with masala and coconut milk. Before roasting the turkey, he’d marinated it overnight in freshly toasted spices and homemade yogurt. On the side, he had served tangy chutney and, to cool everything off, a bowl of raita made with more yogurt, chopped cucumber, and spices.

The yogurt he’d used was a direct descendant of the yogurt his dead grandmother had brought to the US forty years earlier. She’d wrapped a tiny container of it in carbon paper, believing that an airport X-ray machine couldn’t detect it. One of her first acts in America had been to use that bit of yogurt to start a new batch. And week after week, year after year, the cycle continued, the old giving birth to the new. The fridge always held yogurt, and it was eaten with every meal, offering a cooling respite to spices, a tang to soups, a lift to desserts. As usual, his grandfather, his dead grandmother’s widower, had gotten a little teary-eyed when he tasted the telltale tang of the raita. The meal had been another unqualified success.

Now the Thanksgiving leftovers were refrigerated in the collection of old pickle, chutney, and jaggery powder containers that his frugal parents used instead of Tupperware.

Ajay sighed in frustration. The chatter in the living room was not abating. It was clear he was not going to be able to go to sleep, even though the sun had not yet started to rise. Yesterday, he had had family and food to distract him. But today he was fully aware of Bridget’s absence. He wouldn’t be with her for three more long days. He missed seeing her blow on her cold fingers, hearing the humming sound she made when she tasted a dish he’d made. Watching her lips as she read aloud.

And now to his surprise, Ajay found he also missed the world of Swords and Shadows. The twists, the secrets, the betrayals, the doomed loves, the sudden turns of fate. On Wednesday, Bridget had finished reading Unicorn Wars, the third book in the series. The book had actually ended with two of the main characters on the gallows, nooses around their necks. Bridget had refused to tell him, but Ajay was pretty sure they would live. At least he hoped so. On Monday she would start Court of Sorrows and he would know for sure. But the idea of having to wait that long now seemed untenable.

Trying to distract himself, he picked up his phone. And then somehow he found himself clicking on Multnomah County Library’s website. The print and ebook editions for Court of Sorrows weren’t available. But the audiobook was. And before Ajay could think twice, he clicked on the link to download it.

DERRICK

Much Better