The Candid Life of Meena Dave(43)

He stayed quiet. She liked that he didn’t push. It was his superpower, really, because it made her want to talk, reveal things she rarely did. “I don’t know if I’m the type to stay in one place. I keep busy, keep moving. If I’m not doing . . .” She didn’t know how to finish that thought. “I’m just wired to stay on the move, I guess.”

“Have you tried self-help books?”

She laughed. “No. I had my fair share of therapy after I lost my parents.”

“They say therapy is a lifelong endeavor,” Sam said.

She’d been raised to believe that she was responsible for solving her own problems. Even Neha had said that after thirty, you shouldn’t blame anyone. She’d fixed herself. “If I were a less nomadic person, maybe.”

“Already planning your next trip?” Sam asked. “Don’t you want to see the wildflowers bloom or at least see Sabina’s reaction?”

“That would be fun,” Meena said. “But I won’t be around much after the holidays. I might be gone for months.”

“Guess I’ll have to record Sabina’s reaction.”

“I’d love that.”

“You don’t like her.”

“I don’t like that it all has to be her way.”

“Problem with authority?”

“Who made her boss of this building?”

“History, legacy, and a lot of paperwork,” Sam said.

Meena sat down next to him and crossed her arms to create some warmth in the cold.

After a few minutes of comfortable silence, Sam took Wally’s leash from her and unclipped it from the collar. Wally lay on the cool grass by Sam’s feet.

“You might consider adding a few bricks around your wildflower bed, so the lawn mower doesn’t destroy your vision.”

“Yeah, that’s a good idea.”

“Mahoney’s Garden Center,” Sam offered up. “The best nursery in Boston. The Brighton one is close. You can probably get your seeds from there.”

She tucked her hands into her jacket pockets again. “Thanks for the tip.”

“If you want,” Sam said, “I can drive you.”

“I appreciate it. But I can manage now that the cast is off.”

“Right. You don’t need any help.” He gave her a small smile. “I need to get Wally inside.”

That was abrupt. She didn’t know what she’d said. She didn’t need help, not with small things like going to a gardening store. “I hope he feels better.” She moved over to her patch of land, finished jotting down the measurements, and went inside to look up the garden center Sam had mentioned. She picked up the postcard she’d found in the dictionary. Bravery is in small acts.



Meena rolled her empty suitcase into the coat closet. She’d unpacked and put things away in drawers.

She brushed her hand through the clothes that hung in Neha’s closet. The woman’s style was one of comfort over trend, with bold colors, patterns, and prints. Even her coats were bright. The rain jacket in royal blue, the winter coat in lemon yellow, the spring jackets in red. The shoes were the only plain things Neha owned. Serviceable, in black, brown, and sneaker form.

So far Meena had cleared out a few drawers in Neha’s bedroom. Neha didn’t need them anymore. She’d packed their contents in large bags for donation and stuffed what couldn’t be donated in trash bags to take to the bins in the basement. The aunties’ husbands took turns putting the garbage out on Wednesday nights for pickup early Thursday morning. She’d never spent time anywhere long enough to know the day-to-day way of things.

Meena made herself a cup of instant coffee and strolled around the apartment. So much stuff. Furniture with things crammed in each drawer and cabinet. A quilting basket on the floor next to the big chairs that faced the fireplace. Candles. Lamps that were more decorative than useful.

She noticed a drawer at the bottom of the bookcase next to the fireplace. It was slim, and if you looked quickly, it could appear as if it were the base slat instead of storage. She crouched down to see if the little knob on it would let her pull it open. It took a few tugs before the drawer slid out. Inside was an old photo album. Meena carried it to the couch. She put her mug down on the coffee table and held the album in her lap.

The pages made a scrunching sound as she forced them open. The plastic film over the photos was permanently stuck to each picture. The photos on the first page were all black and white. Men in suits and ties stood in front of the building. There were twelve men, likely previous residents. Meena looked to see if there was a resemblance, a face she could recognize. Maybe one of them was her grandfather.

The next page held an assortment of baby pictures. They were slightly brownish, like many photos taken in the 1980s. The snapshots showed children and adults on various group outings. New York City. Niagara Falls. Disney World. A group of teenage girls in front of the Engineer’s House: the aunties. There was an older girl, possibly college age. Meena looked closer. Could it be Neha? She pulled out the photo with some effort to see if there was anything written on the back. Nothing.

Meena flipped through the rest of the photos, studied them, and started to recognize the aunties and the person Meena assumed to be Neha. There were wedding photos of couples Meena didn’t know. Aunties’ baby showers. Early Halloween costumes. She looked at them again: when Neha was even there, she was off to the side. By choice? Or was that how Neha felt—a part of the group but not quite? Maybe Meena was reading too much into it and it was simply that Neha had been the photographer.