“You’ll have to sign him out,” the doctor said. “He’s going to wake up in a lot of pain. He’ll need care. He’ll have to use a bedpan. It would help if you hired a private nurse for a couple of days.” He scribbled instructions on a sheet of paper. “Follow this routine and bring him to my office in ten days, unless the swelling in that ankle doesn’t go down, or he has memory lapses, or blurred vision.”

Max did not care. He was indifferent to this son of his. If anyone deserved to suffer and hopefully learn something from it, it was Zachary.

It was dark when an ambulance transported Zachary back to Cove Road. Hannah had phoned Anna, and she, Jose, and their cousin Irena, newly arrived from Charlotte, had prepared the dining room, moved out the table and chairs and brought down a bed from upstairs. A pot of Anna’s chicken and rice sat on the stove waiting for them.

Although medicated, Zachary moaned and groaned all night. Sarina paced, frantic that he was suffering.

“I had a cousin moaned like that even if he got a little splinter in his finger. He say it make him feel better,” Anna said. “Don’t worry so much. They fix his ankle again, and his arm, too. He gonna be fine after a while.” She looked into Sarina’s troubled eyes. “He’s tough, Señora. Nobody travel around the world like he done and not be tough.”

Sarina sat in Max’s oversized recliner. Tears ran down her cheeks and dripped from her chin. She covered the baby’s head and felt the hot tears on her hand. Ironic, water was dripped on Sarah’s head at her christening, and my tears are christening her with my pain. Please, Krishna, God, whoever is listening, do not give my child an unhappy life with unhappy parents.

She would not raise Sarah in a strife-ridden home. Divorce in America was not a disgrace. Her family would not bear witness to her shame. Twice during the long night, she nursed and changed Sarah, and took comfort from the baby’s softness and her sweet helplessness. She reminded herself that she was loved by many in Covington, even if not by Zachary, and that once she was divorced, Hannah, the ladies, and Max would surely help her find a job and a place to live.

Sarah’s small body grew heavy on her chest, and Sarina sank deeper into the big chair and closed her eyes. Her mind wandered through her childhood home, seeing her mother in traditional Indian clothing standing in the kitchen instructing the cook, who chopped onions on a dark wood table. Her father sat behind his huge mahogany desk in his office, mulling over a ledger, his glasses low on his long, narrow nose.