The Candid Life of Meena Dave(78)

“Wally! No. Stop.” She tugged him away from the ottoman, and a large piece of the fabric came off. Attached to it was a thick card, which flipped open to reveal familiar writing.

What is it about your destiny that you cannot stay where you’re put?

The news came from Margaret Beaufort. I do not chitchat with my colleagues. That’s not our environment at Merriam-Webster. Margaret is one of the few who chatter around the kitchenette. Once she spoke of a family who asked for prayers during Mass. They wanted God to bless them with a child. It was your fate to go to them.

When I handed you to Margaret, that was the end. Margaret has informed me of your tragedy. And there is nothing I’m willing to do.

I am a selfish person. If I were a better person, a kinder, generous woman . . . alas, I’m not. I cannot offer you my home, even though you have lost yours. The only thing I can do is leave you mine when I’m gone. It’s your legacy, after all.

“What happened here?” Sam came through the door. “Wally, did you tear up the ottoman?”

Meena looked up at Sam. “He found a note.” She patted the dog, who was curled up on the couch next to her. “He ripped open the bottom of that ottoman. By the time I noticed, he had a piece of notebook paper in his mouth.” Meena handed it to him and bit the inside of her cheek. Her leg bounced to contain her roiling emotions. Neha had known where she was, could have found her, told Meena who she was, done something, anything. Instead she’d been left in that cold institutional home in a shared room with three others.

Two years. Lost. Grieving. Scared. Alone. Always alone. And this selfish, manipulative woman could have made it better. “She didn’t have to offer me a place to stay. Even a temporary one.” Her voice broke, so she bit the inside of her lip. Neha could have let Meena know she hadn’t been left alone in the world, that there was a safety tether in the form of a past. Neha could have given her a foundation, roots. Tears she could no longer hold back rolled down her cheeks. She’d been adrift suddenly. In shock, she hadn’t known how to manage a life that had shifted from daily hugs to no contact. From a home filled with music and noise, aromas of plain food, to one with silence and communal buffets.

Sam sat down next to her, put his hand on her knee. “You OK?”

She forced herself to stop the bouncing under his hand. If she spoke, anger would spew out at him, and he didn’t deserve it. She didn’t know what it would mean to loose the reins of her fury.

“Meena,” Sam said, “let’s go for a walk. We can skip pub trivia and just walk.”

Meena shook her head. “I can’t.” She didn’t want to hurt him, but at this minute, if he stayed next to her, was kind to her, she would break. She didn’t want that. She needed to hold on to the rage for as long as possible because beyond it was a pain so big, Meena was convinced it would consume her. “You should go, though. Ava is expecting you.” It was all she could manage.

“She’ll be fine. I’m staying with you.”

That would destroy her. “I don’t know if I can handle you being so nice to me,” she said, her voice sharp so she could hide her weakness. “I’m so angry.”

“It’s OK.”

She stood and moved around the living room. “It’s not. None of this is OK.” She put her knuckles in her mouth, bit down to stop the flood.

He stood and took her in his arms. Meena didn’t curl into him, but she didn’t pull away. “It’s better to be on my own. Rely only on myself.”

“Not better,” Sam said. “It’s safer. But if you don’t take risks . . .”

She cut him off. Pulled away. “Every day is a risk, Sam. Every day for the last eighteen years. I was left in a group home with others like me, and no, it wasn’t the television or movie kind where we bonded and became our own family, nor were we abused or neglected. It was shelter. We left for school, came back, did homework, ate, and repeated it over again the next day, every day. Alone. Always alone. I had to figure out how to stop drowning in my tears. How to find a way to live without the only people who loved me, live without pictures or favorite clothes. Do you know what’s left after an explosion? Debris and ashes. Not exactly something you can clutch at night to help you fall asleep. I had to figure it all out, from college applications and scholarships to how to freaking pay taxes once I got a job.” Meena picked up the note. “Neha knew that. She knew and she left me there. Couldn’t even figure out how to be human enough to come see me, talk to me, let me know that I had a connection to someone that was still alive.” She wiped her face, the tears she’d held back running down her cheeks.

“I love your independence, but that’s not all it is.” His words were soft and gentle. “It’s your shield, armor you’ve built over time because you had to navigate how to live by yourself. You don’t need it anymore. You’re not alone. You have someone.”

Meena looked at him. “A woman who never wanted me and doesn’t want to acknowledge me.”

“I was talking about me.” He stepped closer to her.

She closed her eyes. She was too raw and too fragile. If he wrapped her up in his arms, she would never want to let go, and that wasn’t something she could risk. Eventually it would end because things always ended, and she needed to stay strong enough to be able to leave before he left her. “I can’t do this, Sam.”