“Mrs. Benfatti?” Jennifer questioned.
“Yes,” Mrs. Benfatti answered warily.
Jennifer launched into a rapid description of who she was and why she was in India. She thought she heard Mrs. Benfatti draw in a breath when Jennifer explained that her grandmother had died in similar circumstances as her husband only the night before.
“I am so sorry about your husband,” Jennifer continued. “Given my grandmother’s death only the night before, I can truly sympathize with you.”
“I’m equally sorry for your loss. It is such a tragedy, especially being so far from home.”
“Why I was calling in particular,” Jennifer said, “is the hope that you might feel like having lunch with me.”
Mrs. Benfatti didn’t respond immediately. Jennifer waited patiently, fully understanding that the woman was probably engaged in an internal argument with herself. Jennifer imagined that she probably looked a wreck from crying and being depressed, which was a big argument for her to stay in her room. At the same time, she’d be intrigued by the coincidence and would jump at the chance to talk with someone who was in the same awful situation.
“I need to get dressed,” Mrs. Benfatti said finally, “and to do something with my face. I checked myself out a little while ago, and as the expression goes, I look like death warmed over.”
“Take your time,” Jennifer said. She liked this woman already, especially if she was strong enough to mock herself at a very difficult time. “There’s no rush. I can wait for you here or in one of the restaurants, say the main one just off the lobby, or would you prefer Chinese?”
“The generic restaurant is fine. I’m not very hungry. I’ll be there in half an hour, and I’ll be wearing a violet blouse.”
“I have on a white polo and jeans.”
“I’ll see you there, and by the way, my name is Lucinda.”
“Sounds good. I’ll see you there, Lucinda.”
Jennifer slowly hung up the phone. She didn’t know why, but she had a good feeling about Lucinda and was suddenly looking forward to lunch. Somehow, the nausea had mysteriously disappeared.
Having taken a Seat in the multileveled restaurant that had a clear view of the hostess table, Jennifer saw Mrs. Benfatti the moment she entered from the lobby — a least, she was quite confident it was Mrs. Benfatti. The woman was wearing a carefully pressed violet top over a darker purple skirt. She was a large woman with an ample frame. Her mousy-colored hair was medium-length and tightly permed. If pressed, Jennifer would have guessed mid-fifties or thereabouts.
Jennifer watched as she stopped to speak with the maître d’. When the maître d’ motioned for Mrs. Benfatti to follow and turned to head in Jennifer’s direction, Jennifer waved and Mrs. Benfatti waved back. As they approached, Jennifer continued to watch the woman. She was impressed by the way Mrs. Benfatti was walking with her head held high. It wasn’t until the woman got close and Jennifer could see her bloodshot eyes that it was at all apparent she’d just lost her life partner.
Jennifer rose and stuck out her hand. “Mrs. Benfatti,” she said. “So nice to meet you, though I’m sorry about the circumstances. Thank you for being willing to join me for lunch.”
Mrs. Benfatti didn’t speak right away. She let the maître d’ pull out her chair and then push it in once she was seated.
“Sorry,” she said when the maître d’ had left the table. “I’m afraid I have to struggle to keep myself under control. It’s all been so sudden. Yesterday when he came out of the anesthesia so easily and then had such a good day, I thought for sure we were out of the woods, and then this had to happen.”
“I understand, Mrs. Benfatti,” Jennifer started to say.
“Please. It’s Lucinda.” The woman dabbed at the corner of her eyes before sitting up straighter, visibly trying to regain and maintain control.
“Yes, of course. Thank you, Lucinda!” Jennifer said. Taking relative command of the lunch, Jennifer suggested they order their food to get it out of the way. Once they had that accomplished, Jennifer began talking about herself, how she was about to graduate from medical school, about losing her mother, and having been raised by her grandmother. When Jennifer paused as the food came, she was pleased that Lucinda asked a question. She asked about what had happened to Jennifer’s father, since Jennifer had not mentioned him.
“I didn’t?” Jennifer said with a humorously exaggerated questioning expression. “I’m shocked. Well, maybe I’m not shocked. That’s too strong. Probably the reason I didn’t mention him is because we never do, neither my two older brothers nor I. He doesn’t deserve it.”
In spite of herself, Lucinda chuckled, gently covering the lower part of her face with her hand. “I know the type. We have one of those in our family, too.”
To Jennifer’s delight, Lucinda picked up from there, and as they ate their respective lunches, Lucinda talked first about the disowned uncle who’d been sent to prison for a time. Next she talked about her two sons. One was an oceanographer at Woods Hole, Massachusetts, with one child, and the other a herpetologist at the Museum of Natural History in New York City, with three children.
“And your late husband?” Jennifer questioned with some hesitancy. She didn’t know what Lucinda’s reaction would be, but Jennifer was interested in eventually talking about the deaths of their relatives. She wanted to find out how far the similarities went.
“He had a pet store for many years.”
“Then I can see where the biologists came from.”
“It’s true. The boys loved the store and loved working with the animals, fish and all.”
“Why did you come to India for his surgery?” Jennifer asked, holding her breath. If Lucinda was capable of fielding such a question about a decision that had it been different, her husband might still be alive, Jennifer was confident there would be no holds barred as far as other questions were concerned.
“It’s simple: We didn’t think we could afford a knee transplant stateside.”
“I think it was the same with my grandmother,” Jennifer said. She was pleased. Although there was a slight catch in Lucinda’s voice, there were no tears. “Tell me,” Jennifer continued, “how have you found the Queen Victoria Hospital? Have they been easy to deal with? Are they professional? I mean, the hospital itself looks fantastic, which you can’t say about the neighborhood.”
Lucinda offered another one of her soft chuckles, which Jennifer was beginning to think was one of her idiosyncrasies, particularly the way she tried to hide the smile with her hand. “Isn’t all that trash just terrible? The hospital staff, including the doctors, act as if they just don’t see it, especially the child beggars. Some of them are demonstrably ill.”
“I’m equally mystified. But how have you been treated by the staff?”
“Excellent, at least at first.”
“How do you mean?”
“When we first got here, we were treated extremely well. Just look at this hotel.” Lucinda gestured around the restaurant. “I’ve never stayed in a hotel this nice. It was the same at the hospital. In fact, the service at the hospital reminded us of a hotel. Herbert specifically said so.”
Mentioning her husband so casually made Lucinda pause for a moment. She cleared her throat. Jennifer let her take a moment. “But it was a bit different this morning.”
“Oh?” Jennifer questioned. “How was it different?”
“They are frustrated with me,” Lucinda said. “Everything was fine until they insisted I make a decision whether to cremate or embalm. They said I had to do it right away. When I said I couldn’t since my husband refused to discuss it out of superstition, they tried to force me. When I told them my two boys were coming and that they would decide, the hospital representative said they could not wait for someone to come all the way from America. They needed to know today. I could tell they were truly upset.”