Lunged, at first for Lew’s shoulders, then for that reaching hand, but Lew was receding—both reaching and receding—which it took her a moment to make sense of. And even when she did, it seemed as if it were not Lew but the whole world turning. In a dizzy panic she sprawled forward, snatching Baby tightly into her with one hand and clutching Raj’s ankle with the other as Lew, his arm now fully extended, fell back over the cliff and levered this bluff into the blue-bright and plummeting sky.

SAN FRANCISCO 1985

SAN FRANCISCO
1985

ROSA, PUTTING ON HER COAT IN THE KITCHEN, HEARD someone entering the house. No one was expected. Scowling, she burrowed her burly little body into the hallway, calling, “Hello? Hello?”

A man’s voice sang back, “Hello, hello, I don’t know why you say goodbye, I say hello.”

Delighted, she hurried to the front door, where Raj stood grinning like a guilty schoolboy.

“Mr. Travers, you early.”

“One more day in England would have killed me, Rosa. They eat giblets there, you know.”

“Giblets?”

“Out of old newspaper. And blood sausage with lashings of clotted cream.”

She gave him a brief exaggerated look of sympathy. “How the conference?”

“Symposium, Rosa. Means you get your own little bottle of Perrier for free. Which reminds me.” He opened his suitcase and handed her a silk scarf. “Woman next to me on the plane fell asleep, so I stole that for you.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Is my beloved family not here?”

“They think you come tomorrow. They out to eat. They want surprise you.”

“Surprise me?”

“Your son, he come yesterday.”

“Clay? From Africa?”

She nodded. “Is been a year, no?”

“Almost two. Oh, that’s great. Did my daughters devour him?”

“They very happy. They want surprise you with him. Go, sir.” She waved her hand toward the door. “Go. Come back tomorrow.” She laughed theatrically, as she always did when she presumed to make a joke. And repeated it, as she always did. “Go. Go, come back tomorrow, come back tomorrow.”

“I’ll hide somewhere.”

“Under bed.” She had tickled herself so much she could barely speak. “I feed you like little mouse.”

Raj smiled indulgently until she settled. She went to pick up his suitcase.

“No, no, I’ll take this.”

She nodded. “I leaving now, sir. See you next week. We miss you.”

“I missed you too, Rosa.” He put a tender hand on her shoulder as she opened the door, but she shrank away. She didn’t like to be touched. Stupid of him to forget.

When the door shut, the house seemed empty—even of him. He had expected to plunge into his loud, happy family. Instead: Rosa, recoiling from his touch. He didn’t need this. Not after England, which always made him feel both sad and inexplicably nostalgic. Not after what had happened with Rachel.