Page 89 of The Last Letter of Rachel Ellsworth

I’d better get back to my studies. Send cool air! I’m down to my bra, and my roommate will be scandalized if she comes back.

Love,

Rachel

Dear Jill,

Only 19 days left here! I’m so so so sad. This has been the most magical time in my whole life. I don’t even feel like the same person! I look back to who I was the day before I left, and it’s like I was a different girl, so naive and full of so many things that were wrong. It’s kind of hard to remember what I thought India would be before I got here—I thought of paisleys and elephants and the music I didn’t know was called a raga before. My head, my heart, my soul, my body are all packed full of new things. New ideas.

Last week, I went to Delhi with Darshan. It was sneaky, and I felt kind of bad about keeping a secret from Zoish but nobody could know we were together. He said he had a school trip, and I pretended I was going to see my old boyfriend Alex, and then we met at the train station and went to Delhi. I was both happy and sad that it might be the last time, but it was beautiful, too. Watching the scenery fly by, falling asleep to the sound of the wheels on the tracks, waking up a little bit to hear voices.

We visited the big Sikh temple there. I covered my head, and we sat and listened toragi jathasplaying in a room covered in gold, and then we ate a meal calledlangarwith everyone else, lentils and bread. It’s a thing all Sikhs do, offer a meal at the temple every day for whoever wants to eat. I don’t know why, but I cried sitting there, eating. Like how is this not a thing everywhere, all the time, in every city in every place of religion? I love them for this meal. It made me want to be a better person, to somehow bring this back with me.

But I don’t know, it feels so big, and who do I think I am?

The last day, we walked through this big park, and the sun was slanting down at that evening angle, you know what I mean? Everything was golden and hazy, like the sun was dancing with the air. A pair of ladies in saris walked ahead of me, chattering, and some girls in Western clothes were acting like they were the best of the best, like fourteen-year-old girls always do. Darshan and I were having a deep talk about history and time and how little we matter—how ancient humanity is, and history. We visited the palace of the Mughals who first settled there, and I kept thinking about how small we are, in time and place and our little bodies.

I know. I know. Kind of depressing, but kind of ... I don’t know, uplifting? Like we matter, but we also reallydon’t.

A giant eagle swooped down and landed right in front of us and just stared for a minute, then dismissed us, boom, and flew away. It felt like it meant something, a symbol or a message. In the US, I’d be all about the Native American symbolism, but does an eagle mean the same thing here? Darshan laughed and laughed. He said everything is a symbol, and nothing is. That’s how he talks.

I am sad to leave here. I am going to miss Darshan so much! I hope he can get a visa to come visit.

But I’m also looking forward to being home. I want twelve cheeseburgers when I get there. Miss you.

Love,

Rachel

Chapter Forty

Instead of a night of juicy sex, Veronica slept like the dead in the cool room, dark and insulated. It was, in fact, one of the best sleeps she’d had on the entire trip.

In the between time before she fully awakened, images from Rachel’s letters wafted over her imagination. The boy with dark eyes, the eagle, the sense of being so in love all wound around her mind, giving her a fuller picture of Rachel as a young woman, just becoming herself.

Mariah was still buried in the covers when Veronica got up, so she pulled on yoga pants and a sweatshirt to slip out to the courtyard. Henry was already there, dressed and ready, reading on his tablet while he drank coffee. A cat, not the same one from yesterday, sat on the back of the chair, tenderly sniffing his earlobe. He looked as graceful and at ease as a cat himself. His feet were bare.

“Good morning,” she said, combing her fingers through her hair self-consciously. “Is there enough for me?”

“Yes. I can call for more fruit and bread if you like.”

It was so weirdly luxurious and not like her real life at all to be waited on all the time, but a person could get used to it. Sitting on the velvet love seat with her own tablet, she nodded. “Yes, please.”

She’d left her phone in the other room, but that didn’t save her from a barrage of texts. They popped up in a long green line on her tablet, and she sighed, scrolling through them with as much indifference as she could summon. It struck her that it was Christmas Eve today, here,so middle of the night there, but still, by now the family had gathered in Breckenridge to ski.

It seemed very far away, a diorama of a time she’d read about. In texts, Ben complained that his dad had made him go, even though he couldn’t ski. Jenna complained that Fiona was too precious and picky. She also apologized for the fight they’d had, but notably didn’t offer a time to clear the apartment. Spence complained that the kids were being awful and spoiling Christmas.

She looked up, tossing the tablet aside with a noise of annoyance. So much complaining!

Instead of engaging with any of them, she poured a cup of coffee from a silver pot, stirred in chunks of amber sugar and cream, and took a sip. A bird sang somewhere, the fountain tumbled musically, and everything else was completely quiet. She let go of a breath. “This place is magical,” she said.

“It is. I’ve been coming here for a long time,” Henry said. He passed a small plate of pastries and orange sections to her, and she took it gratefully.

“How did you find it?”

He looked up, admiring the bright falls of bougainvillea. “On a holiday from a pretty bad stretch of reporting. I stayed for three weeks, and by the time I left, I was knitted back together.” He paused. “For a time.”

She wondered what that would have been like, to face the worst of humanity, rest from all the seeing, then go back. “Such a hard job.”