by Sonali Dev
“You want me to believe you’re a chorus dancer who’s called Kitty Sinha? Come on! That’s like something out of those seventies Bollywood movies Aie made us watch.”
She tried to look angry, but it was funny. “And you’re an Indian American called ‘Nic Joshi.’”
He smiled. Those glorious dimples sinking deep into his stubbly cheeks. “True. We’re stereotypes, both of us.”
Only nothing about him was a typical anything.
He took her hand. “Stereotypes are supposed to be predictable. Nothing about you is predictable. Nothing.” He squeezed his eyes shut. “Nothing is predictable about how you make me feel.”
“Please, Nikhil. Please don’t. Please don’t do this to me.”
“But I want to. I know I said before that I couldn’t. But I was lying. Because look at me. I don’t even know how not to. I want to do everything to you, with you.”
The shaking started somewhere deep inside her, her shoulders vibrating because the air was sticking and unsticking in her lungs. Sobs, but not sobs, laughter but not laughter. An inner vibrating dance too effusive to be contained on the inside.
He moved his hand to cup her face in that too-intimate, too-familiar way. She pressed her cheek into his palm, two involuntary motions, without instruction, without logic, without fear that should’ve been learned by now but wasn’t.
He smiled again, and she knew he wasn’t done turning her world upside down. “At least tell me what to call you. So I don’t feel like an idiot when I tell you how I feel.”
“Kitty,” she said, wanting to torture him.
His grin widened. “You would do that to me?”
“It’s my name.”
“No, it isn’t.” His laughing eyes got serious again. Dancing between joy and sincerity, the two halves of him that she was trapped between.
“How do you know? Did you ask Joy?”
“I knew it! And no, I didn’t.”
“My name is”—she took a breath—“Nikita, Nikita Sinha. Everyone calls me Kitty or Nikita here. But everyone at home always called me Nikki.”
“No way.” He was laughing again, his perfect untimely laughter. “Nic and Nikki? Really? That sounds like the title of a really bad Bollywood film.”
It sounded lovely. But she couldn’t say it.
“Nikki,” he said, and God above, something heavy and liquid rushed through her. Bloodletting. This had to have been what bloodletting felt like. Like disease and impurity and pain flowing from you, taking your life, but also taking what was killing you. Aama was the last person who had called her by that name.
“Hey,” he said as her grip on his hand tightened, the shaking inside her deciding to go with sobs. Very carefully, he wrapped his arms around her and held her close, his breath falling on that spot on her head.
He whispered her name. “Nikki. I think that might just work.” She closed her eyes and drowned in the sensation, soaked up his words. “I love you, Nikki. Please don’t ever leave me again. I don’t think I could take it.”
43
The greatest gift Nikhil ever gave me was family.
—Dr. Jen Joshi
“Vic and Ria are making a huge donation to the new surgery wing at Holy Spirit Hospital and they’re naming it the Jennifer Joshi wing. They’re all flying down next month for the dedication ceremony,” Nikhil announced, turning off the phone.
“That’s wonderful,” Nikki said, although Ria had already told her yesterday. But Vikram and Ria had wanted to tell Nikhil themselves.
“Ria had already told you, hadn’t she?” Nikhil asked, shaking his head at her across the dining table where takeout containers of biryani sat wiped clean.
“I heard them talk about it on the phone yesterday,” Joy said, hopping off Nikhil’s lap. In a matter of three weeks the boy had turned into a complete traitor.
“Jenna’s coming too,” her little traitor said excitedly. Ria and Vikram had named their baby girl Jenna in honor of Jen. Nikhil had told Joy that she was his little cousin and Joy could talk of little else.
He took Rahul’s hand and tried to pull him off the chair. Rahul had taken to coming around to the flat ever since she’d come home from the hospital a week ago. At first it was because he was trying to find answers, but then it was like Nikhil and he had suddenly become long-lost friends. “That’s Ria Parkar’s daughter. You know Ria Parkar?” Joy, her little name-dropper, said to Rahul. “She’s a big film star. She’s Dr. Nic’s sister. She told me I can come see Jenna anytime. You want to see Jenna’s pictures?”
“Go pull them up on your computer, Joy. I’m going to help Dr. Nic clean up,” Rahul said to Joy, and Joy skipped off.
Sweetie rolled his eyes and stood. “Dr. Nic and cleanup! Evidently, DCP Savant hasn’t spent too much time with Dr. Joshi.” Sweetie had returned from London two days ago, and over the past two days Nikhil’s inability to pick up after himself had him in a state of shock. “Almost makes me want to go back into hiding,” he had said to Nikki that morning.
But she was glad that he was home safe.
It still felt a bit strange to believe that they were safe.
Asif Khan was in a coma in police custody. Even five bullets hadn’t killed him. Rahul was waiting for him to wake up from his many bullet wounds so he could make sure he went straight to the electric chair from there. Jen’s evidence documented the horrific list of all the organs that had been stolen and transplanted into recipients across the Gulf. Nikhil’s friend Omar was working with Rahul on tracking down the other side of the ring.
Naag had sent Nikki one last text telling her he would not be contacting her again unless she tried to find him. True to form, his last text had been a threat. If she tried to find him or talk to the police about him, he would be back, otherwise she was free. Naturally, his phone number had been entirely untraceable. Rahul was still trying. She had told Rahul every detail she could remember. She was determined to do all she could to bring him to justice. Never again would she let any bastard get away with turning her into a victim. But she wasn’t going to let it consume her life.
That was Rahul’s job, and he was doing it.
“I need Asif Khan to get out of that coma,” Rahul said. “Until that happens, we can’t track down the man who sent you after Nikhil. The home minister’s office won’t authorize that search until Asif wakes up and makes a statement. At least we’ve worked with the UAE authorities to cut off the ring. I’m sorry that’s still all I have.”
“Don’t be,” Nikki said. “We’ll get him. How’s your friend who got attacked by Asif Khan?”
Rahul’s face turned dark and stormy and so tormented she was reminded of Nikhil when she had first met him. Evidently, there was history with this friend.
“She must be fine. She won’t see me. Won’t speak to anyone.” Nikhil patted his shoulder, and Rahul stiffened some more. The man took the strong-and-silent type to a whole different level. “Oh, and Nikhil, everything is sorted out with the clinic. You can start on Monday.”
Joy hollered from the bedroom, and Rahul went off to find him.
Nikhil picked up a few glasses from the dining table. “Please tell Sweetie I can clean up.” He took them into the kitchen where she could hear Sweetie rinsing things out.
“You want me to lie to Sweetie?” she called after him and then yelped when he came back out and scooped her up from her chair.
“Funny. But you know what I can do?”
She giggled. “I’m about to find out, am I not?”
He pressed a kiss into her ear before putting her on the couch and then tucking a blanket around her. “I can take care of people.” And then softer: “And I can really take care of you.”
She stroked his face where the dimples sank deep beneath her palm. “That I do know. Thank you.”
He dropped a quick kiss on her lips.
“What was Rahul saying about the clinic?”
He sank down on his knees on the floor next to her. “I have a job. At Je
n’s clinic in Dharavi.”
She wasn’t sure how to react to that. “If that’s what you want to do, it’s wonderful.”
“It is what I want to do.” He dug her hand out from under her blanket. “I want to make sure the clinic starts up again and make sure the organ transplant registry is fixed.”
“I know. I thought you were considering the job Holy Spirit offered you after you operated on me there.”
He played with her fingers as though they were endlessly fascinating things. “Do you want me to take that instead?”
She shook her head. “No. That’s not you. The clinic in Dharavi is perfect for you.”
“Yes it is, for now,” he said. “You sure you’re okay with that?”
“Of course.”
“Because if you don’t feel safe staying in Mumbai—”
She pulled their joined hands to her lips. “I’ve never felt this safe in my life.” He was here, and she couldn’t explain it, but it was like having armor. Maybe not so much armor as a shield at her back. Like if she looked away from Joy, from her life, like if she lay down and fell asleep for a bit, there was someone who could step in for her as the world spun, someone to take over until she was ready again.
“You are safe. I will do all I can to keep you safe.” It took an effort for him to say it, but he believed it. He believed that he could make that promise again, and that made everything in her heart expand and fill her up.
“Forever.” He dropped one of those feather-quick kisses on her lips, and she held his face and kissed him back. Forever.
“Ice cream?” Sweetie walked in with a tub of ice cream, cups, and spoons.
“Yay, ice cream!” Joy ran up and climbed onto Nikhil’s lap as he sat cross-legged on the floor. Rahul sank into a chair.
Sweetie handed everyone bowls. Chocolate on chocolate on chocolate, of course.
Nikhil fed her a spoonful. Joy fed Nikhil a spoonful.
“Holy wow! You were right, Joyboy. This is the best ice cream in the world,” Nikhil said as Joy pushed another spoonful into his mouth without waiting for him to complete his sentence.
She stared at the two of them. Hope no longer felt like a splinter in her heart but like chocolate on her tongue. Suddenly, it struck her, Nikhil and she could both taste food just fine now.
And it was the most amazing thing.
Dear Jen,
You thought I’d never be able to write something in this diary that I couldn’t say to you. But you were wrong. And here it is:
I don’t know how it happened, but she found a way to navigate her way around all the broken pieces of me you left behind. And somehow she grew each one until it filled in the cracks.
You know that look on the faces of patients when they wake up after the critical twelve hours we give them after lifesaving surgery? That’s how I feel sometimes, like an illness that should have killed me passed me by and decided to let me go.
You’re still here. You’ll always be. Sometimes I think about it and I still can’t believe you’re gone. But you left a little piece of something inside Nikki—like a starter cell in a petri dish. Yes, I know she doesn’t really have your heart, but somehow, she does.
I think you managed to save us both. Thank you.
—Dr. Nikhil Joshi
A READING GROUP GUIDE
A CHANGE OF HEART
Sonali Dev
ABOUT THIS GUIDE
The following questions are included to enhance your group’s reading of Sonali Dev’s A Change of Heart.
DISCUSSION QUESTIONS
1. Do you think Jess had any other options aside from going along with the plan to deceive Nic? If you were in her position, what would you have done?
2. Both Nic and Jess have suffered major trauma in their recent pasts. How does each cope (or avoid coping) with their respective traumatic histories? Once they meet, how does the way they deal with their trauma change?
3. Sexual violence against women, of the type that Jess suffers in the book, is an all-too-frequent occurrence in the world. What do you think are some solutions to this ongoing issue? What role do you think Jess’s economic position played in making her more vulnerable to this type of abuse?
4. Society repeatedly puts the onus of preventing violent crimes against women on women themselves, by blaming dress, behavior, where women go, etc. How do you believe this impacts rape culture?
5. Sweetie is made vulnerable to blackmail in part because of his relationship with a celebrity but also because of his homosexuality. What do you think about how LGBT rights impact the safety of individuals? What is your opinion about how laws and attitudes toward queer people have progressed in your country and what has the impact of that been on society in general?
6. Nic has been unable to get past his grief. Despite their closeness, why hasn’t his family been able to help? What do you think about the role of family and community in helping with grief after the loss of a loved one?
7. Transplant recipients often claim a connection with their donors. People who have lost loved ones claim that they are able to communicate with them through mediums and psychics. If you had the chance to communicate with a departed loved one, what would you do?
8. Something as heinous as the organ black market exists because people will do anything to save the lives of their loved ones. Discuss the choices various characters make in this book that involve hurting someone else to save someone they love.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Photo by Carlos J. Carvajal
Meera Lester is the author of of the first Henny Penny mystery, A Beeline to Murder, and nearly two dozen nonfiction books. She is the proprietress of the real Henny Penny Farmette, located in the San Francisco Bay Area. While raising chickens and honeybees, she draws on her life with her animals and gardens as the basis of her Henny Penny Farmette mysteries. She blogs about life there at hennypennyfarmette.com. You can also visit her at meera lester.com/mlls, facebook.com/meera.lester, and twitter. com/MeeraLester.
