The Direction of the Wind: A Novel(85)

Sophie feels a lump form in her throat. She agrees it was a bad trade, but as she looks at Vijay standing before her, she knows that without that trade there would be no Vijay and this moment she is having with him would not exist. It hurts to see how much animosity he has toward Nita because Sophie’s memories of her are not filled with any of that turmoil.

“To me, she was nothing like that. To me, she was a beautiful woman who always smelled of rose and sandalwood, and hummed while she brushed her hair, and creased her brow when she was concentrating intently on a painting she was working on.”

Vijay looks surprised, clearly not knowing this side of Nita.

“Maybe I will leave you two alone for a minute, and you can catch up?” Maggie says it more to Vijay to gauge if he feels comfortable with that.

He shrugs, which is probably as close to a yes as she’s going to get, and she takes her cue to step outside of the room while saying, “I will be downstairs if you need anything.”

Vijay traces a circle on the carpet with his foot, avoiding eye contact with Sophie.

“I’m sorry if this is hard for you,” Sophie says. “I only just learned about you because, well, I was in Paris trying to find her, and—”

“You didn’t know she was dead until now?” Vijay asks, staring at her.

Sophie sighs. “Yes and no, I suppose. Do you mind if I sit?” She gestures toward the bed.

Vijay shrugs, and Sophie sinks onto it, her body feeling weary.

Her voice quivers as she says, “My papa died a couple weeks ago. He was my whole world.” Her tone is soft and low, as if she’s mainly speaking to herself at this point. Then she meets Vijay’s gaze. “He raised me alone from the time I was six years old. I came home from school one day, and he told me that Nita had gone to the village she was from to care for my ba. I didn’t think anything of it. And then a couple weeks later, I came home and found Papa sitting alone at our dining room table, waiting for me. That’s when he told me she had died in a car accident.” She wills her tears not to spill, fearing that will make Vijay more skittish and uncomfortable than he already is. “So, for most of my life, yes, I thought Nita had died when I was a little girl. And I only just learned that when I thought she had died, she had in fact only moved to Paris and left Papa and me behind.” She keeps her eyes on him and sees he is rapt with attention. “When I was cleaning out his closet after he . . . well, after . . . I found some letters Nita had written to him, and they were a few years after she had left. I had just lost my only family, and I thought Bhagwan was sending me a sign that she was still out there. That I wasn’t really alone. So, I went to find her, using an address on the letters. It’s silly, I know. But I had a feeling that this was the answer. But then I learned that she had really died, even if it had happened several years after I had thought. And I was back to being alone again. Until, that is”—she smiles shyly at him—“I learned about you.”

“I’m sorry to hear about your dad,” he mumbles. “My dad died too.”

Sophie senses Vijay thinks of Simon as his father and does not want to bring up Mathieu. “Yes, your grandmother told me about Simon. I’m sorry to hear that. Do you know how he and our mother met?”

“I know Simon’s not my real dad, if that’s what you’re asking. I was old enough to remember that jerk Mathieu by the time I moved in with Simon, but Simon’s the only real parent I’ve ever had, so he’s the only one who matters.”

Sophie cannot even imagine what happened in his childhood to have caused this rancor in his voice in speaking about Nita and Mathieu. She has never felt anything but love for her parents, even after she learned Nita had left them; she was angry, but underlying that was still the love she’d felt as a child. But she can see that his childhood was very different from hers.

“You’ve had a better life here?” Sophie says. “With Simon?”

Vijay scoffs. “Easily. Dad was great. My grandmother is awesome. The weather is amazing. Dad taught me how to surf when we moved here.”

“How old were you when you came to California?”

“Six,” Vijay says. “I was four when I found Maman dead on the bedroom floor.” He lifts his gaze to meet hers. “So, I guess I don’t have to wonder if she’s really dead, like you did. Mathieu was out. Probably getting more drugs. That apartment was a used-needle haven by that point. Dad said it was a miracle I didn’t stab myself to death. Just got needle sticks when I was a kid, goofing around and not realizing that one of them had dumped one under the bed or in the closet or whatever.”

The way he speaks so indifferently about his childhood makes Sophie cringe inwardly. How could the mummy she knew have ended up raising a child in that environment? Sophie’s upbringing in India had been idyllic in comparison. The most she’d ever worried about had been a scraped knee from running too hard when playing cricket.

“I’m sorry she wasn’t a better mother to you,” Sophie says.

“It doesn’t sound like she was a very good one to you either.”

Sophie tries not to flinch. While she has always loved Nita, the fact that she was abandoned by her hasn’t fully woven its way into her consciousness. “It’s complicated because before all of this, I thought she was a great one. Do you have any positive memories of her?”