The Candid Life of Meena Dave(16)

“Why?”

Uma sighed. “I don’t have time right now, but she’s in charge, and if you’re doing anything with the place like renovating, you’ll need her permission.”

Meena made fists with her hands, squeezed, then released to handle the rising frustration as Uma opened the front door and headed out. The short woman was huddled in a brown jacket, a bulky shoulder bag tapping against her thigh as she rushed down the outside steps. Meena closed the front door before heading back into her apartment.

She gave in, reached up, and released the bun. Her long, thick hair fell around her. She picked out a few strands along her right shoulder and began to wrap them around each other. It was a bad habit, as the miniature braids created hard-to-untangle knots. She’d done it as a kid whenever she was studying something complicated like chemistry or when she was nervous or needed to think. Whenever her mom would catch Meena doing this, she would gently take Meena’s hands from her hair and give her something else to hold, like a glass of water or a pencil.

But Hannah wasn’t here, hadn’t been for a long time, and sometimes Meena needed to give in. The furniture, books, lamps, boxes, trinkets, paintings, vases, candles seemed as if they were closing in on her. There was only enough space to stand and navigate through the clutter. She didn’t have time for this. She had a flight booked for Sunday afternoon, and a day and a half wasn’t enough to make even the smallest difference.

She leaned against the fireplace mantel and stared at the piles of books on the desk against the back windows. Then there were the notes. There had to be more than the few she’d found. Little missives from the dead with possible clues to Meena’s own history. If she shoved everything in boxes, she might not find them all.

Meena let go of her hair. The question wasn’t about renting or selling or even getting back to her life. What she needed to figure out was if she wanted to know anything more than that she and Neha were connected in some way. It should be enough. It was in the past, which could never be changed.

And yet.





CHAPTER NINE


Taken down by a ceramic hedgehog. Throughout her career, Meena Dave had aimed her lens at charging bulls in Barcelona. She’d hoisted herself up to the summit of Denali, followed a group of extreme kayakers in Costa Rica. From the Mawlid al-Nabi in Cairo to the disappearing glaciers on Kilimanjaro, from Tasmania to Transylvania, she’d survived with minor scratches.

A week in this apartment and she’d forgotten to take care. The searing pain through her wrist was a reminder to never let her guard down, but the sliver of paper she’d spotted on the bright-green figurine on the very top of the bookcase had tempted her. She was agile enough, or so she thought, to climb up the built-in shelves with toes and fingertips. She hadn’t counted on her foot slipping as she grabbed the tail.

“Meena, are you OK?” Sam knocked on the door. “I heard a crash. Your door’s locked.”

The pain in her wrist morphed into a throbbing ache. Meena lay in the scant floor space between the blue chair and the built-ins. Green ceramic pieces lay around her. “I’m fine.”

“I have a spare key,” Sam said. “Hang on.”

Of course he did. She’d noticed that Sam usually kept his door ajar, and the aunties only gave a short knock before going into his place.

Meena folded her left wrist against her body. Her skin bruised as it swelled. Pain radiated from the tips of her fingers to the top of her shoulder. Still she lay and stared at the ceiling. The crystal chandelier was too modern, too elegant for this room.

Son of a biscuit. Meena sat up and clutched her wrist. She had a flight in four hours. She needed ice and some aspirin. She looked around at the shattered pieces, careful not to add cuts to her other hand as she plucked out the piece of paper, her original goal. Using the floor to assist her, she unrolled it and hoped to see the familiar and precise penmanship.

Hedgehogs share an ancestry with shrews. Not the Shakespeare version, but the mammal. I’ve never seen one outside of pictures. Their spines are prickly but not poisonous. They roll up into themselves when faced with the unknown. I can relate.

Well, this note was unhelpful and clearly not worth the damage she’d done to her wrist.

“Meena, I’m coming in.” Sam saw her on the far side of the room. “Oh no, what happened?”

“Hedgehog.”

“Did you hit your head?”

Meena tucked the note into the back pocket of her jeans. “No, tried to reach for something and slipped.”

“Let’s take a look.” Sam squatted down.

“I’m fine.”

“Your hand looks like it’s swelling up,” he said.

“I can see that.” She sighed and tried to stand, placing her good hand on the floor for balance. She attempted different positions, unable to find support to get to her feet. Meena shifted again, a groan escaping as pain jostled her arm. She sat in frustration. “I just need an ice pack of some kind.”

“You need to go to the ER,” Sam advised. “It could be broken.”

“Don’t have time.” Meena placed her good hand on a chair and hoisted herself up. “I have a flight in a few hours.”

Sam stood with her. He was in gray sweatpants and a black long-sleeved jersey with an image of a robot from WALL-E on it. “Let me drive you to get it checked out first. Tufts ER is close.”