Castlegrove suburb of Greater Toronto had houses with the same grey roofs and off-white vinyl sidings, the same handkerchiefs of front lawns, and pale green utility boxes as the Heatherton Heights in Calgary. The only difference was that they had prerequisite maples instead of the choke-cherry trees in their front yards.
Shanti got up to refill Daya's cup with tea. Her bare feet with scarlet nails moved expertly through the minefield of Rajni's Sweet Polly dolls, and Veer's LEGO pieces. Her sister's twins filled every inch of the available space with their stuff, even when contained in their bedrooms for the night. Kids are like that.
Unlike Daya, Shanti cut her hair to shoulder-length and used an industrial-strength curling iron every morning to turn the ends into a glossy wave. She wore a loose tunic, scarlet on the sleeves and at the hem-line, beige in the middle, with diamonds of curly patterns in ink-black. She kept the dangling earrings and wire-thin bangles on for the pleasant sound they made, but took off her make-up after her day in the office. Her face needed a breather, she said. In her domestic half-finery she managed to look both comfortable and picture-perfect.
In her yoga-pants, and with her fish-bone braid, Daya always felt like a frumpy schoolgirl next to her sister.
"You look brilliant, Shanti." She tugged her braid. Maybe she should get a hair-cut too.
"Thanks, kiddo," Shanti said, inserting the hot mug into Daya's hands. "But don't deflect. Did you really go in your Bluebeard's room?"
Daya stared guiltily into her tea. "Uh-huh."
Shanti fussed in her armchair, to refold her legs under her and leaned forward.
Daya kept silent.
"And?" Shanti prompted. "What was there?"
Daya also leaned forward to fix her sister with a stare. "A shrine with lady's jewelry and a wall of newspaper clippings about the murder victims."
She breathed out slowly, listening to the I have this feeling, someone is watching me... play in her head, adjusting her facial expression to match the music.
Shanti rocked back in her chair, both hands to her mouth. "Noooo..."
"You are too cute!" Daya burst out laughing. "And too clever by half to fall for it."
Shanti kicked her a few times. When that was not enough, she added pounding with an embroidered cushion. "Da-ya! What. Was. In. His. Room!"
"Enough, enough, I'll tell you!" Daya wiped her tearing eyes, feeling absolutely splendid. "Lots of books. That's all, I swear, just floor to ceiling shelves full of books."
Shanti tucked her legs back under her and pouted. She pouted often, because it brought attention to how full her lips were even without the lipstick. "I don't know if I am relieved or disappointed."
"That's exactly how I felt too," Daya said, but she lied.
She had never expected to find mummified victims, Satanic cult objects or fake passports in Mike's room. Nothing this exciting.
Her humble hope was to discover a bit of a mess. A discarded sweater on the floor, a forgotten glass of water, an abandoned book in the bathroom — something out of order, left in haste... whatever. She'd even told herself that she was checking his room out because she wanted to tidy up before the cleaners' visit. Not to snoop on Mike.
Definitely not because solitude hollowed her out on her drive from the airport. I'll just peek inside, she told herself, just to check.
Alas, her cover story got blown the moment she stepped over the threshold.
YOU ARE READING
Winners Don't Have Bad Days (Watty 2020 Winner, Romance)
ChickLitWhen a total stranger knows what eats you, maybe they are your one true love. Even if you don't know it yet. || On Friday the 13th, two twenty-something, Daya and Mike, end up in a mutually beneficial arrangement: she is his caregiver after he break...
