The Candid Life of Meena Dave(27)

She’d deal with the apartment in April.

She took the strap off her neck to roll the stiffness out.

A blond with big curls and glasses approached her and took a seat on a square wooden barstool. He was cute in a boyish way, like Sam, though they looked nothing alike. This one was in his late twenties and built for battering down opponents in a sporting arena, with thick thighs and a broad chest. She watched the flex of his forearm as he raised a pint to his lips.

He winked at her. “I’m Odkell.”

She gave him a friendly smile. An evening’s distraction was just what she needed to put the last month in the rearview. This was how she lived her life. Fun nights that ended with her knowing that there was little chance of seeing the other person again.

“Meena.”

“Pretty name,” Odkell said. “I like the look of you.”

“I’m not certain about the look of you.”

He laughed in a baritone. “I find that vodka helps.”

“That’s not a strong selling point.” She was done taking photos for the night and ordered a martini from the bartender.

He shifted to face her. “My face is not enough? You demand more. Fine. I play football. Not for the national team, but I know a few of the players. This is a small island.”

“I’m not a sports person.”

He took her hands in his. “I’m a, um, klár.” He tapped his head.

“Smart?”

“Yes.” He smiled wide, showing off his crooked teeth. “You know Icelandic?”

“No, only a few words, phrases I picked up while preparing for this trip.” Another word came to Meena, from Neha’s notes. “Window weather.”

“Gluggaveeur,” Odkell translated. “It’s a very common phrase. The tourists like it. Where did you hear it?”

She paused. “I read it somewhere.” In a note written to me by a woman who is probably my birth mother.

He rubbed the palm of her hand with his fingers. “What happened to your arm?”

“A silly injury.” She took her hand from his.

“I see I have lost my chance before I tried. Want to get drunk instead?” Odkell raised his glass. “I promise I am safe.”

Meena laughed. “I’m not a big drinker.”

“Ah, in Iceland it is our national pastime.” Odkell finished off his drink. “I will teach you.”

Meena watched as he held up two fingers and ordered Reyka vodka. She’d have a drink or two, but she wasn’t going to get drunk with him. Though her instincts told her she would be safe, it wasn’t her style. She was responsible for herself, and she didn’t take that responsibility lightly. She laughed and raised her vodka. “Skol.”

He tapped his glass to hers and shot it in two gulps. “How long will you stay?”

“I leave tomorrow,” Meena said.

“Back home?”

The word shot through her. A sharp memory of the front door being left ajar for her on Halloween night made her body tense. Her heart ached from that small gesture by people she had gotten to know. People who had been kind to her even when Meena hadn’t been receptive.

“Did I say something wrong?”

“No.” Meena shook her head. “Just a memory.”

He gave her a broad grin. “You haven’t lived if you are not trying to forget.”

She gave him a soft smile.

“My grandfather says it,” Odkell said. “It’s our family motto. We believe in making mistakes and having regrets. As long as it hurts no one.”

“But it’s OK if you hurt yourself?”

He shrugged. “Why not? It is your experience. If you die, it is a good way to go.”

“You’re not afraid?”

“Of pain? No. I am a good healer,” Odkell answered. “I have scars as my memories. To fear is to torture yourself.” Odkell put his hand on hers and squeezed. “Drink more. I can see that sadness is coming for you. I will tell you a joke and make it go away.” He took her hand in both of his. “What do you do if you get lost in an Icelandic forest?”

Her forehead bunched up.

“Stand up.”

She tilted her head.

“Because we have very short trees.” He laughed at his own joke.

Meena patted his hands. “You can add hilarious to your list of considerations.”

“I will,” Odkell said. “It was lovely to meet you, Meena. And don’t be afraid, já? You will survive it.”

“Or there’s always Reyka.”

He lifted another full glass and drank deep. She patted his shoulder, grabbed her backpack, and walked out into the dark, frigid night. Luckily her hotel was only a few minutes’ walk. The icy air filled her chest. It was clean, pure. There was no scent of chimney smoke, no tall Victorian buildings. Meena looked up at the night sky. It seemed closer here. She raised her gloved hand to it to trace the stars. The counselor at the foster residence used to tell her that he believed people became stardust when they left the earth. She’d silently fought against his new-age philosophy. Even though Hannah and Jameson Dave lived in the arty town of Northampton, they were too pragmatic for crystals and Reiki.

The stars twinkled above her. Meena stood in the middle of the quiet street and searched. Whether it was because of the vodka, the crisp chill, or something else, she let the memories in. There on a street with a very long name, the love she’d had for her parents, from them, enveloped Meena.