A storm was blowing. The lines of trees across the road were shaking their shaggy heads. It was a storm accompanied by thunder squall that occurs a few times every year during or slightly before Baishakh.The owner of the tea stall across the road was struggling with the shutter of his shop to close it against the violent gusts. People were running helter-skelter to find cover from the impending storm and rains.Another gust of violent wind blew away Preeti’s pallu as she caught it instinctively. The wind was like an invisible naughty lover trying to violate her modesty. As she covered her chest, drawing back the slick strip of silk, she could notice two circular damp stains on her blouse.She could also feel slight throbbing pain as well. The doctor had prescribed some pills to stop spontaneous effusion. Preeti had stopped taking them for quite some time. The pain was nothing compared to the pain of sadness that captured her heart and soul.This pain was a constant reminder of what she. Daddy had to have called the legendary Kansas City fixer, probably while he was still on the way to my office. Bulldog Bannerman, although I barely knew him back then, got things done. Quickly, quietly, efficiently.Ms. Whitefield said, “Same for you, Winter, not one word to anyone but me.”I guessed, correctly as it turned out, that the city was concerned about a major lawsuit for failing to protect Sabbath. Understandable.The mayor at the time, Tom Lynch, owed his election, and some of his major policy successes, to Bulldog. The administration wasn’t trying to muzzle Sabbath and me. At this early stage, they merely wanted to limit the rumors, speculation, accusations that might emanate from this particular hospital room. The city, the police department, and perhaps even the individual higher-ups had liability exposure. The more they contained the gossip, especially from Sabbath and me, the better for all concerned.By calling for me from the hospital, Sabbath had made me part of her.
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