Josie stared at his hands and felt foolish. It hadn’t been a date; of course not. One does not say the things he’d said to her one night, and then take someone else out for dinner the next, but this was, of course, not true. Josie had known plenty of men who did this kind of thing. And Mary had said.

“Forget it. I won’t meet her,” Devesh said.

“No,” she said weakly.

“Yes,” he said.

She was still staring at her hands, not wanting him to see her wet eyes, but he tilted her chin up and kissed her softly.

“Warm now?” he asked.

She nodded and wiped at her eyes.

“Come,” he said, and laid her down next to him on the couch. She rested her head on his chest and listened to the rain. It was coming down fiercely now, and she tried to hear each drop slap against the rooftop.

“In India, monsoon season is very romantic. Lots of films with torrential rains and young girls running around in wet saris.”

She giggled.

“Lots of songs about rain and love and love and rain,” he said, and ran his fingers along the back of her neck. “Ek baar tumko jab baraste paaniyon ke paar dekha thha,” he sang softly.

She closed her eyes and listened to the words, felt them warm on her cheek.

“Yoon laga thha jaise gungunaata ek abshaar dekha thha.” His fingers massaged down her spine, each vertebra vibrating under his touch, and he pushed gently at the small of her back.

“What does it mean?” she asked.

“Once I saw you through a downpour”—he paused—“and it was as if I had seen a humming waterfall.”

And as he said this, she could feel her heart swell, could feel him like a splinter trying to pinch under her skin. The room began to pulse, and she pushed hard against him and ducked her head into his chest. He pulled her close, held her hands in his, and then slipped his fingers firmly around her wrists. She inhaled quickly, and he laughed.

She looked up at him.

“Yes, baba. I know,” he said.

She closed her eyes, and his hair tickled her eyelids and lips, and she opened her mouth and let a strand fall on her tongue. It tasted salty and coarse as rope, and she imagined she was naked, her wrists in one of his hands, head empty of thought, body electric and planted in only the moment.

CHAPTER THREE

WHEN JOSIE WENT HOME THE NEXT MORNING, SHE FOUND MARY sitting on the front porch, reading the paper.

“Where were you?” Mary asked.

Josie felt her heart contract, and she wanted to put her arms around Mary and smother her in apologies. “Out.” She looked at the ground and focused on the thin line of ants making their way through the cracks in the walkway.