The Candid Life of Meena Dave(2)

“What if I don’t want it?” Not that Meena was reckless. An apartment in the historic area of Back Bay wasn’t something she could turn down when she supported herself as a freelance photojournalist.

“Do you not?” The lawyer knew Meena’s hesitation was a bluff.

Meena resisted the urge to sigh. “I don’t actually have to live there.” Her life wasn’t suited to permanence. “I have a flight out in a few hours.”

Sandhya looked at Meena as if none of this was her problem. “The keys are in this envelope along with the building passcode. The utilities, including Wi-Fi, have been paid for until April, then you can decide what you want to do next.”

Meena picked up the pen. “Needs must.” She murmured her mother’s favorite phrase and signed where the plastic tabs indicated.

Sandhya gathered the papers, gave Meena the duplicates, and stood to signal the end of the meeting.

“What if no one in the building offers to buy?”

“Then you keep it until they do,” Sandhya said. “The apartment is in a condominium, so you will be responsible for maintenance, utilities, and expenses even if you don’t live there.”

Meena shoved her copies of the paperwork into a large yellow envelope along with the keys and the index card and nodded to the lawyer before lifting her heavy backpack onto one shoulder. She walked out of the building into the bustling area of Downtown Crossing and headed toward Boston Common. While the city was familiar from childhood school trips, she still needed the map on her phone to guide her to the address.

It was barely ten in the morning, and Back Bay was about a twenty-minute walk. She would check it out, assess the condition of the place, and figure out her next steps. If she couldn’t do anything with it for six months, she’d let it sit. Staying here wasn’t an option. She was in between assignments, which meant scheduling editor meetings in New York to line up more gigs. More importantly, this state was her past, and Meena didn’t look back. Ever.

She didn’t know Neha Patel, but people didn’t leave strangers gifts this large. There was a connection here, and she’d be foolish not to consider the likeliest reason for the apartment falling into her hands. Hannah Dave had been Meena’s mother in every sense but the biological. This inheritance, the weight of it, with specific conditions, felt as if someone were easing their guilt in the afterlife.



She was close, maybe a block or two away, when chaos in the form of a tiny puppy upended it all. One minute she was staring at her phone, envelope in hand. The next she was tangled up in a loose leash, and she lost her balance thanks to her heavy backpack and fell to her knees. She winced as she heard her phone hit the concrete. Then the little monster got a hold of her envelope and shook it around in its mouth hard enough for the keys to pop out. Which distracted the fur ball enough to replace the envelope with the key ring as its new chew toy. She reached for it as a brisk gust of October wind sent the envelope flying away from her.

She raced over and stopped the rolling paper with one booted foot, slid it toward her, and lunged left for the leash to keep the puppy from running off with her keys. She teetered in an unnatural warrior pose. “Oh no you don’t.”

The fur ball tilted its head as if curious about her awkward position with one foot on the envelope and her other leg and arm stretched out to keep the dog in place.

“Wally, stop,” a man shouted as he ran toward Meena and the pup. He eyed her awkward stance. “Impressive.”

“Yoga.”

“Namaste.”

“That’s not OK.” People often assumed her identity simply because of her brown skin.

“I’m Indian,” he said, grinning. “I’m allowed.”

Meena handed him the leash and picked up the papers. She found her phone and begged, “Don’t be dead.”

“Talking to inanimate objects could be a sign of injury,” he said. “Are you sure you’re not hurt?”

Meena let out a frustrated breath. “Doctor?”

“Special effects engineer.” He grinned as he picked up the puppy. “What do you have here, Wally?”

“My keys.”

He tugged them from between Wally’s teeth and stared at them. Meena noticed curiosity on his face. She reached over and took them from him, then wiped them down on her cargo jacket.

“Do you need directions?”

“I’m fine.” She’d been on her own since she was sixteen. Help wasn’t necessary.

“On behalf of Wally,” he said, “I apologize. I let go for one second and he ran off. He’s a work in progress. I hope.”

There was frustration mixed with adoration in his voice as he put the puppy down on the ground but kept a firm grasp on the leash.

Meena didn’t want to return his smile but had to admit that he was effortlessly friendly. An inch or two taller than her five-foot-eight height, he was dressed for fall in an REI parka over jeans. His black hair ruffled in the breeze. Meena would bet he used his dimples to charm himself into and out of whatever he wanted.

Wally ran around her and tangled up his leash in between her legs. Meena lost her balance and grabbed the man’s shoulder. He wrapped his free hand around her and held her steady. “Wally, stop. Heel. Sit.” With his hand still holding her, he unclipped the leash and grabbed the puppy up in his other arm. “We need to work on manners.”