Deven laughs. “Not a large one. Go ahead, give it a try.”
Mani takes a bite and his eyes widen with pleasure. Juice dribbles down his chin, and he wipes it away with the back of his hand. “This is so good,” he says, talking around a mouthful of fruit.
I glance over at Deven and he is watching me with the strangest expression, like I’m a puzzle he can’t solve. “I heard you talking about him,” I say, tilting my head toward Mani. Deven doesn’t say anything, just raises one eyebrow a fraction and waits for me to continue. “What were you saying?”
“That he looks ill,” Deven says. His voice is gentle, sad. I just nod, because there’s no response. Mani does look sick.
“Why the fruit?” I ask after a moment.
“He looks like he could use something healthy,” Deven says. I prickle at the suggestion that I’m not feeding Mani properly, but then I remember the pastries we keep eating for breakfast and I swallow my complaint. Besides, anything that makes Mani feel better is fine with me.
Mani finishes his fruit and licks his fingers one by one. “You better go wash your hands before you touch any books,” I tell him. He hates anything resembling a bath, so I am expecting an argument, but instead he grins at me.
“Completely worth it,” he says, before skipping off to the basin in the storeroom.
Deven touches my arm. “Marinda,” he says. “Are you—”
The bells at the door jingle, and a man and woman walk in. “Customers,” I explain to Deven before I head to the front of the shop. I can still feel his hand on my arm, can still feel the exact placement of his fingers as I ask the couple if there is anything I can help them find. They browse for a while before they bring their selections to the counter—two beautiful books of fairy tales, leather-bound, gold-tipped and stunningly illustrated. I wonder what child will be lucky enough to read them. I wrap the books in fine paper and reluctantly trade them for a handful of coins. The customers leave, and Deven is still standing where I left him, as if he’s waiting for me to come back. I busy myself stacking coins. Each one has a sun in the center with four rays that shoot toward the edges, dividing the circle into four parts. Each segment depicts a member of the Raksaka. I stack the coins and then twist them so that the bird is closest to me and the snake is farthest away. It’s a silly childhood superstition, but the snake has always felt like bad luck. By the time I nestle the coins in the wooden money box under the counter, we have, to my great relief, more customers. It’s several hours before the shop empties.
Mani is curled on his purple cushion reading again, and Japa seems to have disappeared. I busy myself straightening books and hope Deven will forget I’m here. He doesn’t.
He comes up beside me and touches my arm—in the exact same place, as if the physical contact is a vital part of whatever he has to say. My breath feels lodged in my throat, because I want to shake him off and at the same time I never want him to stop touching me. No one ever touches me. Not like this, all affectionate and casual and unafraid.
“Marinda,” he says again. “Are you and Mani—are you okay?” I’m not sure what I was expecting him to say, but it wasn’t this. The back of my neck feels hot and I can’t meet his gaze. I thought for just a minute…I thought…
“We’re fine,” I say.
“Are you sure?” he asks. “Because you don’t seem—it doesn’t seem…”
I can’t have this conversation. There are a dozen reasons why I can’t have this conversation, and all of them are life-threatening. I have been careless and now Mani and I can’t ever come back here again.
I touch Deven’s arm in the same place he touched mine. He is warm and I can feel the curve of muscle beneath my fingers. A little pang of sadness shoots through me, but I force myself to smile, to make eye contact. “Really, Deven, we’re fine.” It hurts a little to say his name, because I’ve never said it out loud before and now this is goodbye.
Deven’s brow furrows. “Marinda, you can trust me. I—”
“Time to go, Mani,” I say cheerfully, cutting him off. Mani sulks as he puts the book back on the shelf. My heart is thudding against my rib cage. Stay calm, I tell myself over and over. Calm. Calm. Calm.
“Japa,” I call with too much brightness in my voice. “I’m leaving now.”
Japa emerges from the storeroom and looks around. “The shop looks amazing,” he says. “I can’t believe what you’ve done.”
He’s grateful for the cleaning, but his words hit me at an odd angle. Because I can’t believe what I’ve done either. I embrace Japa more fiercely than usual before I say goodbye. And then Mani and I walk out of the bookshop for the last time.