Edward ordered a gin and tonic from the bar and sought out the nearest lobby phone. He felt underdressed in his T-shirt and faded blue jeans, under a chandelier as large and crystalline as the one above him and in a London hotel as smart as this one. It was his first time staying in such luxury as an adult, a huge step up from the shoe box he and Jane had found near King’s Cross when they came to London years earlier. He gave his room number to the bartender and raised the glass to his mother, thanking her silently for the money to take this trip. The decor in the hotel actually reminded him of the time he’d come home from school to find their living room transformed for a photo shoot. Back then, he hadn’t understood the extravagant costumes and set design. Redford and Farrow’s The Great Gatsby had just come out, with a screenplay by Coppola, and his mother had been passed over as costume designer. She’d been determined to attach her name to the moment somehow. The photo shoot was her response. Months later, when it received a sizable spread in Cosmopolitan without a single photo of his mother, she’d flown into a rage. He sat on the stairs and listened as she had the same impassioned phone conversation with at least ten sympathetic friends and drank almost as many gin and tonics.
He took a sip from his glass, noting the irony with mild discomfort, then crossed the room to the pay phone. He’d brought the note down on which he’d written Nayana’s last name as well as her husband’s first name. He spelled both for the operator. She asked for a postal code, which he did not have.
“Sir?” She sounded annoyed to be kept waiting or perhaps to have to deal with an ill-prepared American.
“He lives in West London, if that helps.”
“Please hold while I connect you.”
Even if he hadn’t just taken a sip of his drink, Edward would have been surprised into silence. He’d expected to get the number, not connected. And now it was ringing. A woman answered, and it might have been Nayana. She sounded neither too young nor too old.
“Yes, hello,” he said, clearing his throat. “I’d like to speak to Nayana Bhatia, please.”
“I’m sorry,” the woman said after a moment. “You have the wrong number.”
He was about to apologize for the inconvenience when the woman spoke again.
“May I know who’s calling?” she asked.
“My name is Edward Almquist. Do you know Nayana?”
“Yes,” the woman said. “I do. She’s my sister-in-law.”
He’d called Nayana’s husband’s family home, it turned out. Nayana and Ramesh lived somewhere else. Her sister-in-law was polite but understandably reticent with Edward.
“My sister adopted Nayana’s nephew.”
“Nayana’s nephew in Kerala?” she asked.
“Yes, that’s right.”
“I’m sorry Mr. Almquist, but this is the first I’ve heard of any adoption. Is it possible you’ve got the wrong name?”
“Nayana and Ramesh Bhatia. Her nephew is Birendra. My sister adopted him in December after his mother passed away.”
“Mr. Almquist, I hope this is some sort of mistake. Birendra, you say?”
“Yes.” She seemed to gasp, then she covered the receiver and spoke to someone else in a different language.
“Please excuse me, Mr. Almquist. You’re delivering a terrible shock.”
“I’m so sorry.” He felt light-headed and flushed. “You didn’t know?”
She said they had no idea about any of it. And then she explained that Nayana was not in London at all. Edward would need to speak to her husband about meeting with Ramesh. She would have him call Edward back when he returned from work.
Where was Nayana, if not in London? And how long had she been gone? So long that her family had not learned of her sister’s death months earlier? That seemed unlikely, yet there was no question: the woman hadn’t known. He returned to the bar, easily able to justify a second drink, although it was not yet seven in the morning in Los Angeles. He had a few hours to kill, but he couldn’t spend them all drinking at the hotel bar, especially if he was going to meet someone. But he didn’t want to give in to jet lag and fall asleep. Feeling warm from the gin, he wrapped his scarf tightly around his neck and set off to wander the city center. He had meant to be walking toward Big Ben, maybe for some sort of closure on his time with Jane, but he must have misremembered the way and ended up carrying on along the Mall, then turning and eventually finding the Thames in sight. It appeared even larger than it had in his memory. He walked onto a footbridge, and the city on either side of him seemed amplified as well. Or maybe he felt himself growing smaller in a country full of strangers. Maybe that’s what he’d wanted to feel anyway. Alone, as he had on the day Jane left him so many years ago. Alone in a place where no one knew him. Alone as he had been after his sister left home for college.
That house had sometimes been so quiet, so still, it was as if the air itself were locked in place, stifling. Before Maddy left, she would invite him into her room sometimes. Edward would watch as she flipped through a magazine or sketched in her journal. Mostly she drew houses. She’d wanted to be an architect then. The first time she told him so, he was six. Hovering by the side of her bed, he asked what she was drawing. She scooted over to make room for him and continued to sketch in quick strokes with her pencil. “It’s the house I’m going to live in someday,” she said. She had seemed so old in that moment to him. Maybe fifteen. He’d thought of her in her own house, a different house, and wondered if she would take him with her. “And that there,” she said, indicating a structure with her finger, “is an iron gate so I can keep out everyone I don’t want to come in.” She must have seen the concern on his face, because she smiled. “I’ll give you the key,” she said. “You can come visit. I’m going to be an architect so I can build my own house, and I’m going to live there alone. Maybe with a dog.” She’d added the last bit about the dog while gazing out the window, imagining her future.
He thought of Maddy at Birendra’s birthday party. Actually, he hadn’t been able to shake certain images of her, which he found himself conflating with others of their mother. Can a child escape one’s parents? He thought he had done this, though perhaps there were ways he was like his father, ways he would never know. Maybe Edward had never been single as an adult because he was trying to escape that solitude he felt growing up. And yet even with Jane, he had ended up on his own. The puzzles first, then the Cheers finale, which put an end to nights in front of the television together. It truly had been the end of an era. They’d stumbled along together for so long since, even the breakup hadn’t felt final. But now, with the Thames rushing beneath his feet, on a quest that held so little certainty, there was no denying it: he was at last on his own.
Nayana’s brother-in-law had called the hotel while Edward was out wandering. He’d left an address for a pub in Shepherd’s Bush and a meeting time with the front desk. Edward paused at the pub entrance to take in the rich blend of ale, whiskey, and wood. He scanned the room and its handful of patrons for anyone who might be Mr. Bhatia. He was early. The bartender looked over briefly, then back to a soccer game on the television.
“Mr. Almquist?”
He was startled at the sound of his name behind him, so formally spoken.
“Mr. Bhatia. Please call me Edward. It’s very nice to meet you.”
“Raj,” he said and took Edward’s hand. He was tall and carried himself confidently. His features were sharp and striking. “Pleasure.”
“Thanks again for meeting me, Raj.”
“Would you like a beer?”
When Raj returned, Edward was still holding his wallet out.
“I’m sorry. I meant to offer,” he said.
“Oh, you’re all right. You might be buying the whiskey in a minute.”
They smiled politely, tapped glasses, and found a seat by the wall. Edward’s gaze fell to the wooden table between them, its unique pattern of scratches marking a particular history. Here he was, in London, with one of Birendra’s relatives and little idea what to say.
“I’m really sorry to be the bearer of such bad news. I know it was an upsetting phone call for your wife.”
“Yes, it was. I had just found out myself and hadn’t had the chance to tell her. So your sister has adopted Nayana’s nephew?” Raj said, though this was clearly not the question he wanted answered.
“Of course I didn’t realize this would be news to you. I had only intended to reach out to you—well, to Nayana—in hopes of connecting her with Birendra.”
Raj asked what had brought Edward to London. What could he say? That he wanted to feel anonymous in the place his relationship had been mortally wounded years ago? Or that he’d come all this way just to find Nayana? To find a high school sweetheart?
“It’s a long-overdue vacation,” he said. “And one of my favorite cities.”
There was an awkward silence. They both drank from their beers.
“Where did your sister find the boy to adopt him?”
“In a place called Trivandrum.” He wasn’t sure he’d gotten that right, but Raj was nodding.
“Yeah, it’s the capital of Kerala,” said Raj. “And they never mentioned his relatives?”
Edward was stumped, embarrassed, even. He felt complicit and had no good answer. What was the story behind the adoption? How could it be that Maddy knew nothing, that they were never contacted?
“Look,” Raj continued. “I’m not sure what to tell you other than that Nayana left London before learning about her sister.”
“When?”
“Last week.”
“But it’s been nearly three months. How is it possible she wasn’t aware of her sister’s death for so long?”
“My brother just got the news. There was a letter sent in November, but it was delivered to a neighbor’s house, and that neighbor was out of town. Anyhow, my brother has been making calls to India since he got it, trying to figure out what happened to Nayana’s sister and her nephew. It’s been a frustrating experience from the sound of it.”
“So if Nayana left England before this letter arrived, you’re saying she would have only found out her sister was dead when she got there?” Raj nodded gravely. “I’d love to talk to your brother, of course.”
“Yes, I’m sure you would. But what you have to understand, Edward, is they’ve gone through a lot. My brother loves his wife very much.” He hesitated before he went on. “I’m not sure that has always been entirely easy.”
The door to the pub opened, and a black Labrador entered, followed by a blind man. They watched the man and his dog get situated at the bar, both clearly regulars. It was an opportunity to pause over all that was being said. Edward considered Raj’s position, wanting to be sympathetic, but there was Birendra to consider as well. He felt he had to do just what Raj was doing: protect the interests of those closest to him.
“I understand, Raj. I really do. And I’m sorry about the timing and showing up unannounced. I am. I can’t imagine worse circumstances.”
“But you’re here now, is that it?”
“Yes, precisely. Don’t you agree that Birendra deserves the chance to contact his family, especially his aunt? As far as we know, she’s his only surviving blood relative.” He waited to see if Raj might have further information on this point. If he did, he gave no sign. “By the way, he’s a wonderful boy; it’s not like we’re wanting to unload him or anything. He’s remarkable, in fact.”
Edward kept saying “we,” which made him anxious on two fronts. It seemed to increase his own responsibility for Birendra while reminding him that his sister would be devastated when she found out that Edward had made contact with Birendra’s family.
“Of course, none of this is his fault. But I have to say, Nayana has had a rough go of it lately.”
Raj had come back to this point. As if he were warning Edward about something concerning Birendra’s aunt. But what? They had reached the point in their conversation where they had heard each other’s position. They were both invested messengers who didn’t like the messages they had to deliver.
“I promise to be sensitive to your brother’s situation,” Edward said, unsure what more he could do or say.
“I’ll talk to him. See what I can do.”
“I can understand if he doesn’t want to meet me,” he said. “If that’s the case, though, I would hope for a chance to reach Nayana.”
“I’ll talk to him,” Raj said again, then emptied his glass with one swallow.