Page 66 of The Last Letter of Rachel Ellsworth

“And then she did realize. And she broke it off.” She took a breath. “And my foolish brother hanged himself.”

Veronica sucked in a breath, her heart squeezing in pain. “Oh, dear. I am so sorry. What a terrible story.”

“It was a vivid scandal in our world, which is a small world, close. My father came to Delhi. My sister Hufriya went to London, and I went with her. Our other sister moved to Paris.” Composed, even-tempered, she said, “It was devastating to be exiled.”

Exiled. Veronica understood that very well. “Your sister took one look at Mariah, Rachel’s daughter, at the London Café Guli, and immediately ordered her out of the restaurant.”

“Do you have a picture?”

“I do!” Veronica reached for her phone. “Or I did. My phone was stolen.” She pointed to her face.

“What a calamity!” She stood up. “You must have a cup of chai before you leave.”

“Thank you.”

As she prepared a pot and measured tea, water, and milk, Zoish said, “Hufriya adored Darshan. She’s terribly bitter. It was easier for me to forgive her.” She shook her head. “We were all so young, so full of heat.”

Veronica nodded, thinking of her own moments of fury, smashing windows out of a need to somehow express her pain.

Zoish asked, “Are you married, madam?”

“Divorced, I’m sorry to say.” But she thought of the woman she’d been then, lashing out in despair, and the woman she had started to become. She revised. “No, I’m not sorry. It was hard, but I’m in a better place without him.”

“Same,” she said. “Now tell me what you will do with this book. I am intrigued that Rachel wanted to write about Parsi cafés. It’s such a rare world, and fading away, I’m afraid. Perhaps I might be of help?”

“Oh my gosh, yes! That would be amazing.”

Veronica returned to the hotel, thoughtful after the long discussion with Zoish. They had exchanged email addresses, and Veronica knew the book would be better with her input.

Since she was, after all, the start of the whole thing.

When Henry opened the door to her, he stood still for a long moment. “Rough journey, huh?”

“I got mugged. I need to pay the taxi.” She gestured. “Can you do it?”

“Yes. Wait here.” He dashed out to the taxi in bare feet and settled the bill, then came back. “What happened?”

“Two guys stole my backpack and my phone.”

He opened his arms, and she stepped into the circle. “Are you okay?”

“I’m good.” His chest was solid and warm, such a relief after the hard afternoon. “I have to admit I panicked when I realized they’d taken the phone, too. I was only a few blocks from the bookstore, but it was kind of hard to find, so I just started asking people.”

He made no move to stop her, just held her, stroking her back.

“How is Mariah?” she asked.

“She’s sleeping. She took something to help calm her down, and I brought her back and poured her into bed.”

“Poor baby.”

“Tell me more about what happened to you.”

“A woman helped me when it first happened, and then a really nice man at a radio shop told me how to find the bookstore, and then—” She lifted her head. “Zoish was ... amazing.”

“Why don’t you change your shirt, and we’ll go upstairs to the roof and have some dinner and a drink?”

“Yes. First, I have to kill my phone and credit cards.”

Using her tablet, she marked the phone locked and erased it remotely.

She reported the two cards stolen. Not that it would matter—they were maxed out—then looked to see if her social media accounts had been accessed.

She changed the passwords, and changed her email password.

“There are probably other things I should do, but honestly, I can’t think of them right now. ”

“It’ll be fine. Go get washed up, and let’s get you some food.”

She ignored the texts waiting for her and took a quick shower, found a clean shirt, and brushed out her hair. Her forehead was bruised, and it might be a pretty solid black eye by morning, but she was in one piece. The passport was here, safe, so she could get home.

They sat at a table in the open air, eating matar kulcha and sticky, hot cauliflower.

Each of them ordered a cocktail flavored with mango.

Veronica was bone tired, and she had a mild headache, but she also felt a stirring of possibility in the ideas she’d gathered for the book, the cafés, but also the foods themselves, the reasons people loved their local things. “What a wild day,” she said.

“Tell me about Zoish.”

Veronica condensed it, the background and the sad story of Darshan, whose rash act had destroyed his family. “I can see why Jill didn’t want to send the last letter to Mariah. It must have been about this.”

“Did you get it?”

“Not yet.” She savored a bite of very spicy cauliflower. Her eyes watered. “Sometimes, the heat level is a lot for me.”

“You have to work up to it. I spent a couple of years in Thailand and never could eat the hottest hot.”

“Such a glamorous life,” she commented, and sat back, finished. Then, “We have to take her home.”

He nodded. “She wasn’t well enough for this trip, and I feel like I let her down by not realizing that.”

“You were giving her autonomy. That’s everything.”

He barely shrugged, then reached for her hand on the table. “Is it all right to say I wish our journey wasn’t ending?”

She nodded, turning her palm upward to grasp his hand back.

“I know you’re still in the middle of a divorce and all that entails, but do you think you’d be open to seeing if this feels so—good—when we get back?”

She brushed his fingernail with her thumb. “I have a lot to figure out, and honestly, Henry, I’m kind of a mess. I’m worried that I’m looking for the romantic solution to my problems rather than trying to sort them out.”

He lifted her hand and kissed the palm. “Fair.”

Every cell in her body shimmered. “All that said, I’m not opposed to seeing you back in Colorado.”

“Thank God.” He bent close. “I’m not going to kiss you in public here, but I plan to do a lot of it after dinner.”

“I will look forward to that.” She touched her swollen lip. “But maybe easy kisses?”

He laughed. “Of course.”