Page 101 of The Last Letter of Rachel Ellsworth

The land of dreams and romance, of fabulous wealth and fabulous poverty, of splendour and rags, of palaces and hovels, of famine and pestilence, of genie and giants and Aladdin lamps, of tigers and elephants, the cobra and the jungle, the country of a hundred nations and a hundred tongues, of a thousand religions and two million gods, the cradle of the human race, the birthplace of human speech, mother of history, grandmother of legend, great-grandmother of traditions.

—Mark Twain

Chapter Forty-Six

The flight was surprisingly long, almost twelve hours, putting them on the ground at eight in the morning. The three of them had been scattered around first class, so Veronica hadn’t been able to keep an eye on Mariah. Henry ambled by three or four times, until Mariah, irritated, said, “I’m not drinking, okay? Promise.”

Veronica surprised herself by sleeping almost all the way. Now, as they taxied to the gate, her heart was in her throat. India! She was actually physically here. She peered out the window eagerly, hoping to see ... something.

But it was only a big airport, the same as any other. As the plane taxied, she opened her phone and saw a long string of messages from her kids, largely Jenna, and a couple from Ben, one from Tim, wishing her Merry Christmas.

Jenna texted:I’m sorry I missed you.

Great day on the slopes. Perfect powder.

are you really traveling with Mariah Ellsworth? If you’d told us that, we wouldn’t have been soworried about you. Not like she’s going to strand you somewhere, right? Is she good now? Healthy? Seems like it would be hard to recover.

and omg, I’m going to call you.

Veronica clicked on the voice message. “I’m sad I can’t talk to you today. It’s been super, super weird with Fiona and Grandma. They do not like each other at all, and it’s been like a tug-of-war all day. Fiona gets all fainty and swoony, like some Victorian heroine, and it’s extremely annoying. She didn’t ski at all, of course, and then she whined about it, and I’m pretty sure Dad is down at the bar drinking whiskey to get away.” A pause. “It’s really not the same without you. I hope you’re having a good day in Morocco. We’ll be here through the New Year, as always, but home in the evenings. Love you, bye.”

Veronica closed her eyes. Through the New Year. So she wouldn’t be back in time to save Veronica’s things. How could she solve this problem from so far away? Could she get a storage facility and maybe hire someone to move the most important things?

Except that would cost almost as much as the rent, most likely. Not that Nancy was going to let her stay anyway. If she was home, occupying the apartment, she might be able to fight the eviction, but it was impossible from here.

Was she crazy for not going home right away? She would return to no home, no job, and with only a little money. Where would she even stay?

A wave of terror filled her heart, making her sweat. Was this the stupidest thing she’d ever done?

Around her, people were standing up, gathering their things. A businessman, well tended and smelling of some alluring aftershave, gaveher a nod. She got her things together. Henry was at the end of the aisle, and she followed them out.

It wasn’t home. It wasn’t England. The voices rising and falling around her as they headed for the customs line held cadences new to her, and her heart lifted a little. She saw a young woman, no more than twenty, with a long black braid and dozens of red bracelets on her arm, striding along in a blue sari.

India.

Her heart whispered it. She was here.

Today, she was here. She might go home to nothing, but she couldn’t really do anything about that right now, so she might as well drink up whatever she could before she had to don the tatters of that old life.

Then they emerged into the airport, and Veronica looked around, seeing Hindi words and packaged snacks that were nothing like she’d ever seen, and when she stopped in the ladies’ room, there was a woman working, clearly for tips, and Veronica was annoyed with herself that she didn’t have any rupees, though a kinder voice asked how she would have known to prepare for that. Instead, she found a pound coin in the outside pocket of her purse, and gave the woman that. She dipped her head in thanks.

A sense of calm filled her, even as they crept through customs. She presented her visa and was delighted to receive a stamp, and she eagerly took in the details of the people making their way outside.

A taxi waited, driven by a short man with dark hair combed back from his face and deep-black sunglasses. He loaded their suitcases and they got in the taxi. Tiny fake flowers lined the inner edges of the vehicle, and the ceiling was painted in pink and red stencils. Veronica smiled, thinking of Rachel’s letters.

“No beige,” Henry said, smiling. He took her hand, lifting a brow for permission. They were smashed close in the small car, with Mariah and her bad leg in front. Veronica curled her fingers around his in answer.

The driver took off, and they plunged into the city, down a highway lined with tall buildings, some offices, others clearly apartments, and then along a shining river connected to the sea in the distance. Couples parked along the center concrete wall, kissing, and Veronica wondered why they’d choose such a dangerous spot.

She admired the stretch of water sparkling into the distance, the shape of the bridge. She peered at the faces in the cars and taxis, wondering what that woman did for work, and how that man spent his weekends and what that little girl had eaten for breakfast. And yes! She spied a semitruck decorated exuberantly, Kapani and Sons trucking. “Trucks like that charmed your mother, Mariah.”

“Really? Is that in her letters?”

“Yes. You might really enjoy them, honestly.”

“Yeah, maybe I should read them.” She turned. “Forward them, will you?”

“Of course.”