You hobble past the receptionist, holding tightly on to Fiaz’s arm. Downstairs, you wait on the steps under the glass canopy for Fiaz to drive his car up to the entrance of the hospital. You ignore Tahera’s pleas to take a seat in the lobby inside or to at least take her arm for support.

She is distraught. “Ammi, why won’t you listen to me?”

Because: this pain is an appropriate punishment for your unforgivable anger toward Seema. How could you start blaming her, like her father and sister? Instead of making amends, your visit to San Francisco is now tainted. Clutching the ends of your shawl to your chest, you huddle in your misery and your suffering. “Leave me be, Tahera. Nothing can be done.”

The spasms in your legs make it painful to stand, and you know you should take the arm Tahera has offered, but you can’t ask for it now. “You can’t help me, Tahera. If you want to help me, there’s only one thing you can do. Help your sister.”

You lean back on the front glass wall of the lobby. Tahera begins pacing the length of the shelter, her jilbab swirling. But you have nothing to offer her, you know only what you need from her.

“Ammi, why do you say such things? Is my presence here no help to you? And am I not helping Seema already?”

“Promise me you’ll continue to help her after I’m gone.”

“Why do you only think about Seema, Ammi? You never think about me.”

One side of Tahera’s hijab and jilbab is wet from the sudden downpour curtaining the canopy, but she’s oblivious to it, merely dashing away the drops of water dripping down her face. The rain has become as vehement as in Chennai during the monsoons. You remember how Tahera would run up to the rooftop to catch the first shower every year, despite your admonitions, returning drenched and shivering but elated. You would wait with a towel and, if you’d made some that day, a hot glass of the peppery rasam she liked.

“Tahera, you know that’s not true. I think about you all the time. I worry about Seema—” If there is a question, it’s only which daughter you have failed more.

Fiaz’s car pulls up and he jumps out. “You’re getting wet, Aunty. Please get in.” He looks at you both, perplexed. Tahera’s standing at the other end of the steps, her face papery pale in the dark silhouette of her attire. “Tahera, you’re shivering. Why didn’t you wait inside?”

53

Fiaz texts that her mother and sister are with him in the car. Seema assumes this is to give her time alone with Leigh, who reports that she finally understands Seema’s reluctance to introduce her to her family.