The nurse purses her lips. She speaks in a sharp, low tone. When she finishes her lecture, she darts around him, resumes her quick pace.

Her father turns back toward her. The muscles in his jaws clench. His face crumples. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you. I promise.”

She shivers. He removes his shirt, lays it over her. A mole hovers at the base of his neck, like the one on her thumb. She has never noticed it before.

He leans on the side of her cot, closes his eyes, clasps his palms together. His lips move rapidly as he whispers, forming words to a prayer he says each night before he puts her to sleep: “Om, Shanti, Shanti, Shanti.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Amint green pickup truck pulled to the end of the driveway. A small hand appeared in the passenger-side window, waved. Shan squinted but remained on the porch. The window lowered.

“It’s me,” Chandani called out. “Get in.”

Shan jogged down the front walkway. “This is yours?” She opened the door and slid inside. “This is the car that was in the shop? I don’t think I’ve ever seen an Indian sitting inside a pickup truck before—let alone driving a pickup truck.” She buckled her belt.

It had only been a week since the D&C, but Shan had needed to get out of the house. She had been resting and bingewatching. But soon the four walls of her home, especially without Max there, felt as if they might collapse in on her. Chandani had suggested the Atlanta Botanical Gardens, a place Shan and Max had a membership to for years, until Shan started cutting back on nonessential expenses to put more toward their credit card debt. Well, his credit card debt.

Chandani flipped on her blinker and pulled away from the curb. She was propped up on a seat cushion, her hands at two and twelve on a steering wheel that looked disproportionately large given her height. Dark sunglasses with wide frames covered her eyes, a cotton scarf framed her face. She was an Indian Jackie O.

“Purchasing this was one of the first decisions I made after Harjeet died,” Chandani said, patting the dashboard. “Actually, Harjeet made all of the decisions during our marriage, and before I was married, my father did. So if you think about it, getting this truck was one of the first major decisions I ever made for myself.”

Chandani merged onto the highway, took a sip from a can of soda, and placed it back in the holder. “The used-car dealer kept pushing me toward a sedan. But this truck spoke to me.” She removed her sunglasses and looked at Shan. “It feels good to call the shots, even if they are impractical.”