Page 64 of The Last Letter of Rachel Ellsworth

Chapter Fifty-Five

Veronica ran after Mariah when she dived through the mall doors. Mariah disappeared into a tangle of shoppers, and Veronica heard her heartbreaking cry, “Mom!”

Henry was with her, and they were close to catching up when Mariah fell to her knees, letting go of a moan of such deep, guttural sorrow that people around her recoiled. Not everyone. A woman dropped down beside her, touching her arms, her shoulders, murmuring comforting words.

Veronica got to her first. “Mariah. You’re safe.”

She was shuddering and crying and screaming, clearly terrified, and Henry bent down, scooped her up and carried her outside where he set her down in a shady place. She bent over, covering her head, her face, her head again.

“What do we do?” Veronica whispered.

He squatted with Mariah. “I’m here, baby,” he said. “I’m here. We’re in Delhi, not Colorado.”

She bent over, hyperventilating. “I can’t breathe. My heart is going to explode. Help me!”

In his calm, warm voice, he said, “You’re not dying. It’s okay. Breathe for me. In—”

“I can’t,” she gasped. “I can’t. I can’t.”

“You can.”

Veronica took her scarf off and soaked it with water from her bottle, offering it to Henry, who used it to wash Mariah’s overheated face.

“I saw her,” Mariah cried. “I saw her go into the mall, and I followed her.” She broke off with a keening sound. “She’s not here!”

Henry looked up at Veronica. “I’ll take her back to the hotel. You find the bookstore and talk to Zoish.”

“No, I really think I need to come with you. I’m worried about her. Let’s just forget the rest of it.”

Henry tucked Mariah close to his chest. “Shh. It’s okay, kiddo. You’re safe. I’ve got you.” Over her head, he said, “You have to finish. I’ve got Mariah. You go.”

Veronica looked over her shoulder, courage leaking away like gasoline from a tank. “No. I feel like she needs me.”

“She also needs this story about her mother finished, and you’re the one who can do that. I’ll keep you posted.”

Veronica touched her belly. “I’m scared.”

“It’ll be easy. You were already leading the way.”

Veronica looked toward the street, at Mariah, so overwrought. “Maybe we should forget this. Maybe it’s a sign that we shouldn’t find out what happened.”

“It’ll be fine. Follow the directions, and then call for a rickshaw or a taxi to take you back to the hotel.”

“I don’t think I—”

His clear eyes steadied her. “Of course you can.”

This is your life, something said inside her. She pulled out her phone. “Let me drop a pin for the hotel. What’s the name of it?”

“Hotel Bonne,” he said.

She looked up. “Really?”

“It’ll be a substantial ride, but tell him you’ll tip very well.”

She dropped the pin, and tucked her water bottle in the pocket of her backpack. Every single cell in her body wanted to go back with them. This seemed like a scary trip to take on her own.

But honestly, she had a phone. She had a plan. The book needed this interview, and she was the one who could do it.

She thought of her children on Thanksgiving day, aghast that she’d travel to India, and then their “intervention” to get her to stay home. She thought of the joy she’d found this last month, doing what she wanted.

Mariah keened, her face in her hands.

“Get her to the hotel. I’ll be fine. See you in a couple of hours.” She helped Mariah to her feet, and on impulse, hugged her. “You’re gonna be okay, honey, I promise.”

Mariah clung to her. “I’m so scared.”

“I know. But you’re going to be okay. I promise, all right?”

Tears wet her neck, and Mariah’s fingers were tight on her shoulders. “I’m sorry.”

“Oh, honey,” Veronica said, lifting her head. “You have nothing to be sorry for.” She brushed hair out of her face, pulling strands away from her wet cheeks. “Henry’s got you, all right, and I’ll go get the rest of the story from Zoish.”

“Okay. Okay.” She swung back toward Henry. He raised a hand and flagged a rickshaw. Veronica took a breath, looked at her phone, and set out to find the bookstore.