His eyes focused on my face. He did that when he was in listening mode. It was part of why I had liked him. When I talked, I had his full attention.

“It’s like … I went to bed. Had this … eleven-year dream that turned into a nightmare. And I woke up and I’m right back where I started … except I’m older and I’m still missing a son. Like some kind of Einsteinian time warp.”

He picked up his wine and sipped. “Not easy.”

“Not easy at all.”

“Did you like India?”

The question threw me. “Yes. Especially at first. I’d never traveled anywhere, and Mumbai is a very exotic place. After a while, I found it exhausting. You couldn’t turn a corner without running into people. Mostly men. I mean, there were women on the streets, but it’s a little creepy being out there by yourself. I was a real alien, constantly looking over my shoulder.” He nodded. I sipped some wine and said, “Maybe I was looking for you.”

He smiled but said nothing. His eyes were constantly jumping between me and the door. Since I had been away for eleven years, I’d forgotten what it was like to sit with him in a public space. His vigilance: it bordered on paranoia, especially when he drank.

I filled in the silence. “Have you ever been there?”

“To Mumbai? Yes, I have.”

I was surprised, but kept it to myself. “What did you think of it?”

“Sensory overload.”

“Yeah, really. All the people, all the colors, the traffic, the noise, the smells … lots of smells. The good ones are the street food. The bad ones … well, no need to talk about them.” He smiled again. Enigmatic. I said, “When were you there?”

“Around five months after you left me.”

I grew quiet. Luckily some white-aproned server came to the table to hide my embarrassment. He was young—really young. Gabe’s age. He looked at my finger and said, “I hear congratulations are in order.”

Chris smiled, but it lacked warmth. “This is my fiancée, Dr. Terry McLaughlin.”

He looked at me and said, “Pleased to meet you, Doctor. I’m Scott. What can I get you?”

I didn’t have a menu. “Uh, what do you have?” I asked.

“Scott can get you anything you want,” Chris told me.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “My mind’s a blank.”

“How about ravioli?” Chris said. “It’s probably soft enough for you to eat.”

“Perfect.”

“Bring her some ravioli. Make sure it’s vegetarian. I’ll have my usual boring dinner. Refill on the wine.”

“Certainly, Mr. Donatti.” He scooted away.

I remained quiet. Then I said, “What brought you to Mumbai?”

“You. I knew you were there. I went to hunt you down.”

Weird choice of words. But maybe it was exactly what he was thinking. I said, “Did you find me?”