When Lizzy arrived home at six o’clock, she found Salma sitting at the dining room table, playing solitaire. “There’s some vegetarian biryani in the refrigerator if you’re hungry.”
“What is it?”
“A classic Indian dish with basmati rice, potatoes, carrots, peas, and lots of spices.”
Lizzy plopped her purse on the table. “Thanks. I’ll give it a try. Where’s everyone else?”
“Kitally is in her bedroom, and I haven’t seen Hayley all day.”
Lizzy wrinkled her nose as she walked toward the family room. “What’s that smell? It’s not your yani dish, is it?”
“It most certainly is not. And it’s called biryani, not yani.” Salma sniffed the air. “It does smell in here, though. Kind of smells like seafood, doesn’t it?”
Lizzy walked around the main room, trying to find the source of the smell. “Yes, that’s it. Smells like rotted fish. Makes me want to gag.”
“I mentioned it to Kitally, but she couldn’t smell it. I thought maybe I was going crazy.”
Lizzy gave up on finding the source of the smell. As she walked back toward the kitchen, she said, “I’m sorry about the other day. I haven’t been myself lately.”
“Don’t worry about it. It wouldn’t feel like home if everyone walked around with smiles on their faces.”
Lizzy forced a smile, and then opened the refrigerator and pulled out the container holding the dish Salma had made. She popped the lid and gave it a precautionary sniff. Nope, that wasn’t the smell. If the rotting-fish stench didn’t go away soon, she was going to start opening windows. She put the container in the microwave and pushed a few buttons to heat it up. “I have a friend coming here to stay for a few nights. She should arrive any time now.”
“Oh. I can move out of the bedroom and give her some privacy.”
“She can sleep on the couch. She’ll be fine.”
The quiet settled between them while Lizzy waited for dinner to heat up and Salma played her card game.
“If you need any help with anything, let me know,” Salma said.
“I will. So, what’s the deal with you anyhow? Do you have family in the area?”
The girl nodded. “I do. Not that you’d know it. Since they found out I’m pregnant they’re not talking to me.”
“What about the father of the baby?”
“He’s around.”
When Salma grew quiet, Lizzy went to the table and took a seat across from her. “How old are you?”
“Eighteen.”
Lizzy didn’t believe her. “You look much younger.”
“That’s what everyone says.”
“Are you a runaway?”
She rubbed her swollen belly. “No.”
“Do your parents know where you are?”
She shrugged.
“If you tell me where you live or give me a number, I could call and talk to them.”
“Listen, this isn’t something you can just jump in and fix. My father is not happy with my choices—that’s a nice way to put it. The cultural differences between my boyfriend and me make it impossible for my family to accept him. My brother can be a hothead. If they find out where I am, who knows what could happen? So no, no phone calls. If you don’t want me to stay, I’ll leave. I didn’t ask to come here. Your friends dragged me here against my will.”
Lizzy didn’t like the ultimatum. She also didn’t like the idea of the young girl roaming the streets. She needed to think things through and figure out what to do with the girl. With a baby on the way, she couldn’t stay here indefinitely.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Annie Shepard staggered out of the doctor’s office. Her cell phone was inside her purse, and she could feel it vibrating against her thigh. It was probably her husband, calling from work to find out the results of the latest test.
A tear ran down her cheek.
Standing in the hallway, her only thought was, Oh, my God. Oh, my God.
She wasn’t ready to talk to her husband. Not yet. She just needed a moment to herself to take it all in. She’d never felt so damned happy in her life.
Deliriously happy.
After all these months of staying strong, refusing to cry or show emotions, she was a wreck. Her heart pounded inside her chest. Her hands felt clammy; her legs wobbled beneath her bony frame. It boggled her mind to discover she’d never really seen this coming. It was a miracle. And she knew it.
As she followed the carpeted hallway, making a left and then a right, she recalled taking this same walk through these same hallways two years ago, almost to the day.
She’d been given an upsetting diagnosis that day—told she had ovarian cancer. One year to live was the most they could promise her. Tops.
She’d spent the last twenty-four months of her life doing everything she could to reverse the cancer that had dared to invade her body and turn her life upside down. After getting a second and third opinion, each diagnosis grimmer than the last, she’d had surgery, and then chemotherapy followed by radiation. Not to mention a radical change in her diet. Despite the weakness in her arms and legs, she began to exercise, which consisted mostly of stretching and taking long walks. Every day. When she wasn’t exercising, she was reading self-help books. All very inspiring and positive books: No Fear for the Fearless. You Can Beat the Odds. Don’t Look Back, Moving Forward.
Not once had she allowed herself a pity party. In fact, the minute she had walked out of this same building two years ago, she had refused to accept the verdict. She would not go out without a fight.
And today, she’d learned she had won.
Her cancer was in full-blown remission.
She would live long enough to see her children grow, marry, have children of their own.
She stopped right there in the middle of the hallway and let out a “Yippee!” She blushed when an elderly couple passed by, gawking at her. After they disappeared inside the elevator at the end of the hallway, she let out another whoop, and then she laughed out loud.
She couldn’t remember the last time she’d laughed—a real honest-to-goodness laugh that made her insides thrum like this.
Things were going to change, she decided as she continued toward the stairwell at the end of the hallway. She needed to try new things. Live a little.
She spared a quick glance at the elevator as she walked by.
By nature, she’d always been a scaredy-cat. There were quite a few things, in fact, that scared the bejesus out of her, and the top two on her list were bridges and elevators.
After turning away from the door to the stairwell, she turned back toward the elevator. As she bit down on her bottom lip, she looked at the shiny metallic doors in a new light. She’d lost track of the number of times someone or another told her that the elevator was the most used transportation on earth. Elevators required regular inspections and maintenance, they would tell her. Elevators were perfectly safe. Accidents only happened in the movies or on TV. If there was an emergency, there were call buttons for just that reason.
She reached out and hit the red Down button.
Then she waited.
Since he still had plenty of time before his meeting, he’d taken the first empty parking space he could find on the side of the road and decided to head for Capitol Mall to do some people watching. Once his meeting was over, he planned to visit the Crocker Art Museum, one of his favorite places in Sacramento. The new wing was nice, light and spacious, but he treasured the original Crocker with its elaborately carved wood, dark colors, and stained glass. He always felt at home when he visited.
As he’d walked along the sidewalk, he watched various people pass him by without a second glance. With his neatly trimmed hair and casual suit, he was one of them. Everyone was rushing to work or perhaps to lunch.