Quiet in Her Bones Singh, Nalini (the top 100 crime novels of all time .txt) 📖

that. And ­since—­at this ­point—­you appear in control of your faculties, I’ll allow a heightened regime of checkups in lieu of inpatient care. Twice a week, my office. No room for negotiation.” His expression didn’t soften, but his voice was quieter as he added, “I won’t threaten you with any kind of forced medical intervention, but I will tell you that if you keep going as you are, you’re going to do permanent damage to your system.”

He’d said nothing about my license to drive and I decided not to remind him. If another migraine came on while I was driving, I could stop before I became a danger to anyone. Because I needed my car now more than ever.

If my brain was getting screwy, I had to finish this before I couldn’t.

Transcript

Session #13

“It feels as if I’m always apologizing to you.”

“Your reaction wasn’t violent the last time. That’s progress.”

“Do you think so?”

“Yes, and you know I’m honest with you.”

“Even though I’m paying you, I think you might be one of the few people in my life who is honest. Everyone else wears masks, their own skin suits.”

“What makes you believe that?”

“People hide things all the time. And when you start looking under rocks, you find a whole bunch of venomous insects.”

43

Diana drove me home an hour later, after I’d agreed to Dr. Binchy’s terms, and convinced him I’d sleep better at home than in the constant ­low-­level buzz of the hospital.

“I’m sorry.” Her hands strangled the steering wheel. “I didn’t want to say anything, but he’s a neurosurgeon and he kept ­pushing …”

“It’s fine, Diana. I must’ve freaked you out with the repetitive questions.”

“No, I thought it was just stress, you know? Because of how they found Nina.” A shaky smile. “You’re really not angry?”

I shook my head; it wasn’t her fault I had a brain injury and had screwed up my meds. “Mia told me that Beau was going for his piano exams. How did he do?”

“Oh, he passed with flying colors.” Her voice was dazzling now. “You see that ­boy—­all slouchy and ­grumpy—­and you think he does nothing but play video games, but then he goes and pulls off something like this. I swear, I have to beg to get him to play on the baby grand we got for him, but he obviously does practice.”

“I’ve heard him,” I told her, amused that Beau went to such lengths to hide his industriousness. “Mostly on Tuesday and Thursday afternoons after school.”

“That’s when I go to watch Mia’s netball and hockey practices. The sneak!” But she was smiling. “He did say he’d play for my birthday.” Reaching over to touch my hand, she squeezed. “Will you come? It’s not for another month.”

“Yes, of course.”

It was only as she turned into the Cul-­de-­Sac that I suddenly remembered something. “My car.” I should’ve noticed it on the drive home.

“Oh, it’s fine.” She used her remote to open the gates. “Shanti drove it home earlier, after Anastasia gave her a lift. She’s lovely, you know. Adores her ­twins—­just looks high maintenance with her hair and nails.” A pause. “Like Nina. That’s who she reminds me of and maybe that’s why I keep avoiding her overtures of friendship. Because she isn’t Nina, isn’t the person I miss.”

We sat in silence the rest of the way to my father’s house. The sedan sat parked on the main drive rather than our private area. Unsurprising if Shanti had been the ­driver—­she hated any kind of precision parking. “Thanks, ­Diana—­and please thank Calvin, too.”

“I’m so glad we were there.”

I watched after her as she followed the curve of the Cul-­de-­Sac to her home. Someone had lit up the house against the night. Golden light poured out of every window. Even Diana’s ­winter-­bare rosebushes looked softer in that light.

Shadows passed in front of the glass panel beside the door soon after Diana had gone up her drive. Then two silhouettes came together in a kiss. It looked like Calvin had done his surgery and beaten Diana home. Must’ve caught a cab from the hospital so she’d have the car.

Hands tight on the grips of my crutches, I turned away at last, and walked into the house. It was two in the morning but a wedge of light fell from the doorway of Shanti’s prayer room, a piece of warmth in the cold dark.

Shanti appeared in the light when I’d only just closed the front door. “Aarav, you’re all right.” Eyes wet, she walked rapidly toward me, and when she hugged me by sliding her hands under my crutches, I didn’t know what to do.

So I stood still.

That seemed enough.

The scent of incense clung to her skin. I had no need to ask if she’d been praying for me.

Pulling back after a ­seconds-­long hug, she wiped away tears, then spoke in a rush of Hindi. “I was so worried when Diana called from the hospital. Your father was, too. You’re his only son, you know.” She patted one of my hands. “Come, I’ll get you some food.”

“I’m not hungry,” I managed to get in, while ignoring the rest of what she’d said. “But could you carry a Coke upstairs for me?”

She sighed. “You need to eat better.” But she was already turning to the kitchen. “You go on upstairs.”

When she came up to my room after a few minutes, she had both the Coke and a small platter of crackers and cheese, with a side of pickle, and a bunch of grapes.

“Thank you,” I said after she put everything down on my desk. “Sorry to have worried you.”

She looked at me with those limpid, gentle eyes. “Everything is all right?”

“Yes,” I lied without hesitation. “Got a bad migraine and blacked out, that’s all. Just didn’t take my pills in time.”

“Oh.” A relieved smile. “I’m glad it’s nothing more serious.”

She pulled my door shut as she left.

Once alone, I opened the balcony doors to get some fresh air into my room, then limped over to sit down on