Ma opened the door. A gust rushed in, flung the door open so hard it bounced on its hinges. A sideways rain splattered their clothing. She stepped into the sheets of rain, squinted as it soaked her lashes. Drops ran down the length of her nose, trailed along her jaw. Her head dropped to her chest. Her own tears mixed with the rain.

He’d never seen his mother cry before, not even at Granddad John’s funeral when Vijay was in kindergarten. At the funeral, her face was as smooth as a stone. He’d mistaken it for strength, but understood now it was a mask, a disguise for the feelings she needed to hide in order to survive, to be able to raise him on her own. Vijay had been wrong about his mother. She had never been strong. Only determined. There was a difference that he understood now.

Miss Trudy looked at Vijay, pleaded forgiveness with her eyes. But something had shifted inside of him. It was as if he’d suddenly grown from a boy into a man, a man who needed to take care of the woman who needed him the most.

He stepped back inside, wrapped his arms around Miss Trudy’s waist, and squeezed her tight. “I love you, Miss Trudy,” he said. He then turned away from her, pressed his hand against his mother’s back.

“Ma, come,” he said. “It’s time for us to go.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Atlanta

March 17, 2017

Her cell phone vibrated through the empty house like a dentist’s drill. Shan abandoned a vase half entombed in bubble wrap, wiped her hands on her pants, jogged toward the foyer. The soles of her sneakers crunched over loose staples, stray nails, crumbs of stale food, debris she uncovered when she rolled up the hallway rug.

She found it leaning just inside the front door, against the glass of the transom. The screen, with a long string of numbers, reflected in the beveled glass. She picked it up, flipped it over.

“Hello?”

“Is this Shan? This is Gertrude from London.”

Shan pressed the phone harder against her ear. “I’m sorry, who did you say you are?”

“Gertrude. You sent me a letter.”

Shan leaned against the banister. This couldn’t be. She assumed the name and address would be a dead end, had forgotten completely about mailing the letter, when was it? Three, four months ago?

“I’m sorry, I’m a little stunned. I didn’t expect to hear from you,” Shan said. “I didn’t know if the address was still current.”

“It wasn’t current. The post forwarded your letter to me here, at this godforsaken place.” She sighed heavily. “I’m sorry for your loss, Shan. I knew your father a long time ago, when he was a little boy. He was very dear to me. I’m so terribly sad to hear he’s gone, and has been gone for such a long time.”