Also by Shobhan Bantwal
THE SARI SHOP WIDOW
THE FORBIDDEN DAUGHTER
THE DOWRY BRIDE
Published by Kensington Publishing Corp.
The Unexpected Son
SHOBHAN BANTWAL
KENSINGTON BOOKS
Acknowledgments
As always, I offer my initial prayer of thanks to Lord Ganesh, the remover of obstacles.
My heartfelt appreciation goes to my warm and supportive editor, Audrey LaFehr, who has placed her faith in me again and again. Special thanks to Martin Biro and Maureen Cuddy, consummate professionals who make my writing career a pleasure.
The friendly and dedicated editorial, production, public relations, and marketing folks at Kensington Publishing richly deserve my gratitude and praise for a job well done. I look forward to working with you on my future projects.
To my agents, Stephanie Lehmann and Elaine Koster, I thank you for your invaluable help and guidance at every step. I would not be here without you.
I am greatly indebted to four talented doctors, Shilpa Hattangadi, Anil Kagal, Ajit Divgi, and C. J. Lyons, for patiently answering my medical questions. Any inaccuracies and/or mistakes that may appear in this book are entirely due to my own lack of understanding and not these very committed and helpful medical professionals.
The Writers’ Exchange at Barnes & Noble in Princeton, New Jersey, and the Writers’ Group at the Plainsboro Public Library deserve my thanks for their insightful comments and suggestions. I offer a grateful hug to my many other friends, who are my cheerleading group.
And last but not least, to my super-supportive family, especially my husband, Prakash: I am deeply grateful to have you in my life and for putting up with my idiosyncrasies—and for loving me in spite of them.
Contents
Prologue
Part 1
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Part 2
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
A Reading Group Guide
Discussion Questions
Prologue
There was something odd about it, despite its plain and inconsequential appearance. Vinita gazed at the mystery envelope for a long moment, weighed it in the palm of her hand. Her instincts were prickling. It went beyond mere feminine intuition.
She didn’t receive any letters from her family in India anymore. Cheap long-distance telephone rates and e-mail had put an end to that somewhat antiquated form of communication.
The smudged postal seal on the envelope read Mumbai—one of India’s largest and most populous cities—a place Vinita was very familiar with. The envelope had that typical “India” look—multiple postage stamps in various colors and sizes; thin brown paper; and the sealing flap placed over the vertical edge, unlike the American-style horizontal edge. But it didn’t look like the occasional wedding invitation or the quarterly statements from the bank where she and her husband maintained a small account in rupees.
There was no return address, but it was sent to her attention—neatly hand printed. She slit it open with her finger and eased out the contents—a single sheet of white, ruled paper. Her hands shook a little. She wasn’t sure if it was anticipation or anxiety. Or both.
The message was brief—a few lines penned in blue ink. She scanned it quickly, trying to ignore the tingle crawling up her spine like the cautious progress of a venomous spider. The subject matter was bizarre. The writer’s name was missing. The trembling in her hands edged up a notch.
Only minutes ago, it had looked like any ordinary Saturday morning—a day to recoup after five hectic days of poring over spreadsheets, memos, and databases till her eyeballs ached and her back turned stiff as cardboard.
This morning, lying in bed, through drowsy eyes she’d watched the first shimmering rays of sunlight poke their fingers through the window blinds. The sound of the wind whistling through the pale green spring foliage was a sign of a brisk but sunny April day.
May, her favorite month, was right around the corner. The dogwoods and azaleas in the neighborhood, weighed down by fat, succulent buds, attested to that. Spring was always such a buoyant season, so full of promise. It had brought a contented smile to her lips.
Reminding herself that it was time to emerge from the warm cocoon of the down comforter, she’d sat up in bed, stretched like a slothful kitten, and leaned back against the headboard. She’d managed to grab more than two extra hours of sleep. Her reward for waking early on weekdays.
Her husband was on a business trip to Detroit, and wasn’t due to return until the following week, so she had the weekend to herself. She’d planned to indulge herself by brewing a cup of scalding masala chai—strong tea delicately laced with her own blend of five spices—instead of the usual coffee-on-the-run she drank on weekdays at the office. Then she was going to eat lunch at the taco place and do some shopping at the mall.
Working late the previous evening had prevented her from looking at the mail right away. Exhausted, she’d tossed the stack of correspondence on the nightstand, eaten a quick meal of leftovers, and gone straight to bed.
Now, as she sat on the bed in her aqua print pajamas and checked the mail before getting dressed, she wondered if the weekend of self-indulgence she’d been looking forward to was already beginning to wilt and curl at the edges. The tacos and the shopping spree no longer appealed.
Who could have sent her the odd message? An old friend? An acquaintance? She blew her disheveled bangs out of her eyes to read it again, more carefully this time. Perhaps there were clues she had missed the first time.
My dear Mrs. Patil,
I am writing to tell you about your son. He is suffering from myeloid leukemia.