CHAPTER 21
C HAPTER 21
C urtis followed Gloria’s Lexus SUV across the bridge connecting Atlantic Beach to the mainland, then north on 70 and into Beaufort. Most of the late-morning traffic flowed in the opposite direction, toward the bridge and the beach. They made good time.
He drove alone.
As they left the architects’ office, Amiya had offered the Dixons such a warm farewell, even Emmett unleashed a rare smile. She then asked Gloria if they might ride together, and shot Curtis a look that said clear as words that he should follow.
He minded, and he didn’t mind. On the surface, all this was excellent progress, his boss making friends and influencing everyone with whom she had contact. Just the same, he had questions. As in, what had Amiya and Rae talked about? Because something had happened. The look she had given him, back there in the office—he’d have to be blind not to know there was a definite change in the wind.
He minded, and he didn’t mind.
The new high-rise bridge connecting Radio Island to Beaufort entered the town at Gallants Point. Highway 70 then made a sweeping turn west by north, exiting the peninsula much farther inland. Running parallel to the highway was the older Live Oak Street, from which branched off several residential havens, well removed from the heavy tourist traffic that dominated the town’s southeastern reaches.
Their destination was a single-story home on North Shore Road, fronting Gibbs Creek. It had been built in the late 1970s and the side facing the road still held a modest and dated appearance. But the current owners had gutted the interior and added two stubby arms framing a new infinity pool. Walls facing the waterfront now held sliding glass doors that vanished into cubbies, so as to offer an uninterrupted waterfront vista. Working fireplaces adorned the living-dining area and master bedroom.
The viewing did not take long at all. Curtis had assumed these three meetings—Rae and the Dixons and finding a suitable rental—would take all day. Instead, they were finishing up in time for a late lunch. Curtis tracked the two women back to Gloria’s SUV and mentally began filling the now-empty afternoon. So much needed doing. Two issues, in particular, were time sensitive. First and foremost, would Kurien require round-the-clock specialist care? If so, there were a number of other issues that couldn’t wait—hospital bed, nurses trained for residential duty, and so on. They were taking the place furnished, but there was bound to be specialty items he should have on hand.
The second issue was security. While Curtis had been in Delhi, Kurien had never bothered with a full detail. There had been a lone staffer with military training who had served as driver and personal aide. But that was before the attack.
Kurien’s brother had been even worse about personal safety. He had scorned the very idea of armed guards, and had referred to them as human hood ornaments. Both brothers had played cricket, trekked the high country, loved the sea and work and family and life. Which made Ajeet’s suspicious and narrow-minded nature all the more baffling.
Curtis had no idea what sort of changes had been put in place since the kidnapping. He wished he had thought to ask these things when they had been talking.
Gloria opened the vehicle’s rear hatch and used a box of files as her temporary desk. As she set out the rental documents, she described the Charlotte couple who had spent years transforming the home in preparation for their retirement. But an unexpected promotion took them to Oregon and delayed their move to Beaufort. They wanted top dollar; they wanted a huge deposit; they wanted this; they wanted that. Until Curtis arrived, Gloria had thought it would be impossible to meet all the owners’ demands.
Amiya stood to one side and waited as Curtis signed the documents and wrote out two checks, one for the deposit and another for the first three months’ rent. As they accepted the keys and said farewell to Gloria, Curtis was about to suggest they tell the Dixons that their build time was no longer so crucial. If Kurien was as weak as he sounded, another move in less than a year might actually cause the man harm.
But Amiya was giving him another of those looks.
She showed a rare ability to leave him utterly unsettled. Stripped bare. Like she was inviting him to dive right in and . . .
He asked, “What is it?”
She tasted several responses, or so it seemed to Curtis. But all she said was “Everybody has been telling me about Aunt Emma. You, then Rae, now Gloria. Do you think I might meet her?”
He was certain that was not what Amiya had been thinking. But something about the moment, the look, left him mentally incapable of pressing. “Of course.”
“Should you call?”
“Not with Emma. My guess is, she’s already expecting us to stop by.”
Once they were underway, he continued to struggle with how to frame a simple question. As in, what was going on?
Then Amiya interrupted his conflicting thoughts with a question of her own. “Do you remember when you first came to Delhi, and I walked you down the central corridor in Daddy’s home?”
Something about her solemn tone, the coming reunion with Kurien, the slow drive through familiar streets, brought the memory up in sharpest detail. “All those old photographs.”
“Five generations of my family on display. Back to the days of the Raj. I felt it was so important, introducing you to the people whose invisible hands shaped and molded my world.”
The musical note to her voice carried something new, yet familiar. Like he was being reintroduced to something long forgotten. “Will you tell me what’s wrong?”
She remained quiet for a time. When she spoke, Curtis had the impression she had shelved his question. At least for the moment. Amiya went on, “I feel like this is what’s happened today. I am walking through the corridors of your past. Being introduced to the places and people who framed your beginning. New-old images drawn from both now and a different era.”
She waited until they had pulled into the bookstore’s parking area to speak again. “Curtis, have you ever wondered how we came to acquire an unfinished hotel on the Outer Banks of North Carolina?”
He cut the motor, swung in his seat, asked, “What kind of question is that?”
“The kind I want you to answer.”
“Amiya, of course I know.”
She refused to meet his eye. Instead, she slowly shook her head to the sunlit windshield. “You only think you do. You assume we sent commercial realtors on a nationwide hunt. Find us a five-star waterfront resort with ample land ready for development. That’s what you think.”
“Because that’s what happened.”
She continued shaking her head, a fractional shift, slow as a metronome. “It happened because Daddy and I talked. Two months before the realtors informed us of Fortunate Harbor, he and I met in Delhi and wondered if you might be ready. If you would ever be. Daddy knew what I wanted. And he thought it was time. I was so afraid to hope, Curtis. But Daddy said, ‘Have them see if there’s a property near his birthplace. See if he can come to terms with the prospect of new beginnings. Make peace with his past and accept a new version of his future.’ ”
His heart had become a thundering force, a beat so strong it drowned out everything except Amiya’s voice. She, by contrast, held to an ethereal calm. Reading from a script months in the making. Years.
He knew she was waiting for him to speak. And would sit there studying the shadow-scripted glass until he did. Ask the question she wanted, demanded, that he pose. He had no choice. Far more than the car’s rising heat forced out the words: “What is it you wanted?”
“It’s quite simple, really.” She looked at him. Her eyes were huge, luminous. Her complexion had become parchment-pale, as if all the woman’s force was drawn into that bottomless gaze. “I want you to marry me.”