“How did she die?” Zoe asked.
“No idea,” Meena said. “I asked the lawyer, but she was the buttoned-up type. It was mostly Sign here, here, and here. She wouldn’t even tell me anything about Neha. Like, Here’s what you need to know, let us make sure you are who you are, and there’s the exit.”
“Sounds like an episode of The Living and the Dead,” Zoe said.
“You watch too much television.”
“You don’t watch enough. What’s the place like?”
Meena stared at the light fixture on the ceiling. “It’s old. Not run-down, but historic, with crown molding, and the ceiling light fixture has a plaster carving surrounding it. It’s library shabby chic mixed with country kitsch.”
“Sounds fantastic.”
“There are no photos of her.”
“I know it’s not something you talk about, ever,” Zoe said. “But could she be . . . connected to your biological family?” Zoe was the only person in Meena’s life who knew she had been adopted as a baby.
“It would make sense,” Meena agreed. “My dad always told me that mine was a private, closed adoption. They didn’t know anything about the mother, not even her ethnicity or where she lived.” The past was best left there. Occasionally she’d toyed with the idea of getting a genetic test to know her biological history, just so she’d have a point of reference. She traveled the world but didn’t know where she belonged. She hadn’t taken that step. She’d had loving parents. She didn’t want to betray the people who had chosen her. She didn’t need to search for something if finding it could take away from the family she’d once had.
“I get that you don’t want to know . . .” Zoe gentled her voice.
“I had two incredible parents,” Meena explained. “We were a perfect family.”
“Right,” Zoe said. “What are you going to do?”
“I’m taking a week to sort it out. It’s going to be a while before I can sell.”
“You can sublet it.”
For the first time that day, Meena had a plan. “You’re absolutely right. I can rent it out until someone wants to buy it.” And if no one in the building made an offer, she’d have an additional source of income. “It’s the perfect solution.”
“You’re welcome,” Zoe said. “Now I’m off to bed. Pre-Christmas dinner. Write it down in your diary.”
“It’s already in there.” Meena tapped her head. It was a running joke that Meena didn’t use her planner. She had an online calendar that managed her life. The physical ones Zoe gifted her every year sat unused.
Meena got up from the couch and walked around the room thoughtfully. Her parents had never talked about the adoption. When Meena was old enough to notice that she didn’t at all resemble them, with their fair skin and light hair, she’d asked the obvious question. They’d told Meena that she’d been a blessing from God and that blood did not make family, love did, and there was plenty between them. Later, when Meena wanted to know more, both Hannah and Jameson Dave had hesitated to discuss how she’d come to them. Eventually Meena had accepted that it didn’t matter. Her questions only caused them pain, so she stopped asking. It was enough to know she was the only child of middle-class parents. She had been baptized into the Catholic Church. Their community was hers.
When she was on assignment in places with other brown-skinned people, she tried to see if she could sense a familiarity, if she could fit among them. But the only place that had ever felt like home was the predominantly white hippie enclave of Northampton.
Hannah and Jameson Dave had taken her in. Loved her. And for sixteen years she’d been given the gift of family. That was more than some others got. She’d made peace with it. The past was behind her. The present was where she had control, and she preferred to stay in it. When they died, she’d stopped thinking about it altogether. She didn’t want to taint their love by looking for anything beyond the family they’d been to each other.
Meena let out a long breath and allowed herself to process the truth that had been at the back of her mind all day. Neha had left her this place for a reason. Meena had to figure out if she wanted to know what that was.
CHAPTER THREE
Meena grabbed her wallet and keys and headed out. It was a brisk morning, and she was starving. As soon as she opened the door, a familiar black-and-white fur ball raced through her legs and into her apartment.
Meena’s eyes narrowed as she chased him to the other side of the sofa. “I know you.” At the sound of her voice, he charged for her. She held out her hand. “Stop.” The puppy slid along the hardwood floor and came to a clumsy halt. His chin flopped over her boots.
“I believe we’ve met?” She squatted and held out her hand for a sniff. When he nudged her, she gave him a little rub. He turned his small head to invite more scratches.
She laughed at his pleasure. His fur was soft, and she felt the warmth of his body as he rolled over and exposed his tummy.
“Wally.”
Meena looked up. “Seems like he keeps running away from you.”
Sam came into the apartment. “More like he wants belly rubs.”
Wally popped up, ran to his owner, and chewed on the hem of Sam’s jeans.
Sam reached down and tugged his pants out of Wally’s grip. “It’s you. Yoga-in-the-street person.”
“You don’t seem surprised to see me.” Meena tilted her head.
“The key Wally was chewing on is pretty distinctive.”
Meena remembered the engraved E on the bar of the large old-timey key. “What are you doing here, Sam Vora?”
“I live across the hall.”
“Nice wreath skills.” Meena pointed to the door.
Sam looked toward it. “Oh, that’s not me. It’s the aunties. Tanvi does the decorating. Are you moving in?”
Meena stood. “More like staying here, temporarily.”
“Why?”
“You’re very suspicious.”
“I’m making friendly conversation.” Sam grinned. “It’s the aunties you need to worry about. They’re going to have a lot of questions.”
Meena wondered if he was referring to the woman she’d met the day before.