The Candid Life of Meena Dave(18)

According to Dr. Yan, her wrist needed eight weeks before the cast was removed. She would have to deal with it. She’d sent messages to all the editors she’d had meetings with to ask to reschedule one more time. This time she wasn’t rushing it. She’d wait until mid-November, take the time to clear the place out, list it for rental, and then rebook her flight to New York.

Deciding to forgo tea, Meena grabbed her camera bag and laid out her equipment on the coffee table. Fidgeting with her gear helped calm her mind, distracted her from wandering thoughts. She dropped her 70–200-millimeter zoom lens and let out a little screech. It cost more than a couple of months of rent. She picked up the lens, gingerly examined it from all angles, and gave a small thanks that it seemed OK. The only way she’d know for sure was by attaching it and shooting.

She laid the lens down and smoothed her fingers over it to assess it for unseen damage. She’d used it in Africa for a story on elephant conservation. Picking up the camera, Meena decided to attach a flash. It popped out and hit the corner of the table.

“Peanut shells.” Meena caught the flash and put it next to the 70–200. If there was damage, she didn’t want to know. Frustration rose even as she tried to squelch it. This cast was her enemy. So was being confined in this apartment. The walks in the neighborhood around the building were no longer interesting. Enough of the pretty streets and ornate doors. The piles of multicolored leaves were drying up. The city air was suffocating. She wanted to be in Pakistan at the K2 base camp or on the Trans-Siberian Railway. She wanted her arm free from restriction.

The knock on her door added to the agony. She wasn’t in the mood for food or ice. She didn’t want anyone to see her with her hair wild, her face unwashed, still in her tank top and yoga pants.

Meena answered the door. “Sam.”

“You look disappointed,” Sam said. “Expecting someone else?”

Meena shook her head. “Is there something you need?”

“What happened?” He pointed to her tank top.

“Water stain.”

Then he pointed to her hair. “And?”

She ran her hand over the giant frizzy nest. She knew it was a mess and didn’t need him to point it out.

“Well, you see.” She held up the arm with the thick dark-blue cast. “I have to deal with this, which makes it tough to deal with this.” She pointed to her hair. “It’s not as if I’m enjoying the tangles or the fact that I have to constantly shove it back because it’s always in my way. And this?” She pointed to her shirt. “All I wanted is a cup of tea, but this thick piece of plaster knocked it over.” She walked away from the door. Sam followed. “And this tank is on the third wear because the nearest laundromat is four blocks away and the idea of dragging my clothes there is a little too much right now. Any more comments about how I look?”

She flopped down on the sofa, her face warm from letting loose on an undeserving Sam. She just needed to show people she was calm and capable. She rarely let anyone see what she was feeling. She wasn’t someone who whined at the smallest setback.

Sam wandered around the living room. “Is this all the stuff you use for work?”

“Yeah,” Meena said, appreciating that he hadn’t acknowledged her outburst. “A few lenses, a couple of strobes, camera bodies, batteries, and a few other things.”

“My equipment wouldn’t fit in a backpack,” Sam said. “It’s tough to design full-scale, in-depth special effects for movies without multiple large monitors.”

“How’s the gateway-to-the-galaxies monster coming along?”

“You remembered.” Sam grinned.

“I have a good memory.”

“I eat almonds.”

“Huh?”

“I tend to forget stuff I don’t need to know. Uma told me I should eat almonds to improve my memory. Five per day.”

“And you do it.”

“Yup,” Sam said. “Like vitamins.”

“You’re nice,” she said.

He laughed. “Not really. It’s an easy thing to do, and I like them.”

He had a gentle way about him, never in a rush, never bossy. He reminded her of Malcolm, a man she’d photographed on the northernmost inhabited island in Scotland. He’d been building a house for over a decade. He’d told Meena that he wasn’t concerned with finishing the project; it was about the build itself.

Meena itched to pick up her camera and take pictures of Sam as he sat on the other side of the sofa. His face held no tension. He hadn’t even mentioned why he’d knocked on her door.

“Can I show you something?” he asked.

Meena nodded.

“Come with me.”

He led her toward the small hallway dividing the bedroom and bathroom. He pressed against what Meena had assumed was a decorative wall and slid it open to reveal a closet.

Meena groaned. Inside was a shiny stainless-steel stacked washer and dryer. On the door was a small shelf holding detergent and fabric softener.

“Now you can wash this tank that’s on its third wear,” Sam said. “It might be for the best.”

She laughed. “Are you saying I smell?”

“Not you. But the shirt, yeah.”

She appreciated his honesty. “You’re right. Thank you for showing me.”