Anjali could not begin to fathom what she was hearing. Event the contractor appeared flabbergasted. His mouth stayed in a half-open position, like a guitar waiting for its strings to be tugged. ―Yes. Leave it , Varun said again. He was speaking to the notion that someone in the room had asked him to clarify his words. What were the chances that an Indian burial ground would be found on the bucolic site where Varun and Anjali had chosen to build their dream home? Why in the world would Varun not want to have the remains carted away, thought Anjali. The last thing they needed were Indian poltergeists meandering around their home while the two of them were trying to renovate their marriage. Anjali, usually deferential to her husband, knew that now was the time to make her position heard. She tried to cajole Varun from the direction he was heading, ―sweetheart, we don‘t want to build on a site with human remains, it would be irreverent to the dead . Immediately, she saw contempt in Varun‘s eyes; it was a subtle reminder of how he often viewed her as superficial and self-absorbed. ―What would be irreverent , said Varun, his voice dripping with condescension, ―would be to desecrate these native graves and move them from their final resting place. Remember the culture. No, Anjali did not ―remember the culture . She could care less about the culture. However, varun, the history professor, was obviously enthralled by the contractor‘s findings. He had an innate way of understanding other cultures and other people that amazed Anjali. He did not have that got with her. But something inside Anjali said this was too much. She believed wholeheartedly in ghosts and could not imagine a life of them haunting her, rattling her cupboards, and shaking her floorboards. Anjali had an unnerving sensation that big problems were ahead.