It must have been hard to grow up in the States with deep brown skin and a white mother. She hoped Shan’s mom had been sensitive to this. Her son Kush had a hard enough time as it was. The kids called him Raghead even though he’d never worn a turban. Kush quit believing in God years ago, only dated white women. She blamed the childhood bullying on his abandonment of his culture and faith, wished he could find a way to get back to it. Did bullies know this, she wondered, how their abuse could alter the very identity of their victims, could erase thousands of years of ancestry via incessant humiliation? How they could really break someone with a few cruel comments?

He was a good son, Kush. But the distance between them had grown long and wide since Harjeet’s death. He’d not yet visited her in Atlanta.

She dabbed her mouth with a napkin. “There’s quite a story behind these candlesticks,” she said, clearing her throat. “The Singhs were Sikhs who lived in their home for generations and had planned to return after the chaos of Partition died down, but that’s not what happened. The candlesticks, along with some gold and jewelry, were the only things Harjeet’s family could carry with them when they fled Pakistan to Amritsar, a city on the Indian side of the border.”

Shan raised her eyebrows. “Where in Pakistan were they from?”

“Rawalpindi. Harjeet’s family home had already been ransacked and robbed once. His father, Akal, worried that they’d be killed the next time.”

“How did they make the journey?” Shan asked.

“They took the train,” Chandani said, “at least for most of the trip. They had to stay one night at a refugee camp.” She stopped herself there. She promised her husband she would never tell the story. Doing so now would betray his memory, wouldn’t it? Didn’t promises between spouses outlast death?

Chandani skipped further ahead. “Anyway, they lost everything at the camp except for the candlesticks.”

The heater kicked on. The drapes ballooned open from the air rushing out of the vent. Shan ran her index finger around her cup’s rim, took another sip. “How did you meet Harjeet?” she asked.

“My family is Hindu and has always lived in Amritsar,” Chandani said. “But Harjeet’s family and my family became close soon after they came to India. I’ve known Harjeet since I was a baby.”

“So you were born after Partition?” Shan asked.