“You chose,” Meena said. “I did not. Still, we both lost something. I’m not staying here to make you face it, relive it. I’m staying for me. All I can hope is that you find a way to come to terms with your choice and this circumstance.”
There was nothing left to say. Grief made her tired. With head high and chin up, Meena walked back to her apartment, happy when Wally followed her in. She looked back to see Sam talk to Sabina, put his arm around her, give her comfort.
Meena marveled at his empathy and didn’t resent him for it. There was no hatred or anger left in Meena’s heart for Sabina. The woman had been forced to face her past just as Meena had. There was no blame. Sabina had made the best decision for herself at seventeen, as it had been her right to do, and there was nothing wrong with not wanting to rescind that decision because Meena had shown up on her doorstep. None of this was fair to either of them, but if they could find a way to coexist, to have an occasional cup of chai, that would be enough.
She poured water in a short bowl for Wally and stroked his fur as he lapped it up. He turned his wet face and nuzzled her neck, then jumped on her. She lay on the floor in the kitchen and played with the fur ball who’d grown from a puppy into forty-five pounds of dog. Laughter echoed in her home and Meena reveled in it.
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
Meena checked her face in the small mirror she’d hung next to the door before heading out. Her hair was loosely tied back, and she’d added a cropped faux leather jacket she’d found on the sale rack at Anthropologie to her long dress. The tiny red flowers on the black silk were as playful as the handkerchief hem. She’d also added her usual black boots. Nerves danced in her stomach, but she wanted to do this.
Sam met her in the hall. “Ready.”
She took a deep breath and nodded.
He took her hand as they headed to the alley where he parked his car. As they drove west, away from the city and suburbs, the landscape changed. It was sparser, greener as the weather warmed.
“Thanks for coming with me,” Meena said.
“I’m glad you asked me.” Sam took his eyes off the road for a second to give her a smile.
“You are a badass, going ten above the speed limit.”
“That’s how we fucking saints roll.”
Some of the tension eased with laughter, only to return as she saw the sign for Northampton. She’d programmed her childhood home’s address into the GPS, and the phone noted they were ten minutes away. As they passed the center of town, she recognized some storefronts and streets, and the large historical building of the music academy. Within minutes they were away from downtown, and the GPS called out for Sam to make a left. They crossed over the Mill River via a one-lane bridge and made their way to Meadow Road. They pulled up in front of a place that used to be her home.
Meena stepped out of the car and stared at the white house with a wraparound porch. “Our house was blue. The windows had these little white shutters. We didn’t have a porch, but there was a small deck in the back, off the kitchen.”
Sam stood next to her as they leaned against the car.
Meena pointed down the street. “The school bus stop was all the way down there, and I remember walking home from it after school. In the winter sometimes it would already be dark by the time I got off the bus. We knew all the neighbors. It’s so strange. This could be any street, anywhere. I recognize some of the neighboring houses, but with my house not here, it’s not my street. I know that doesn’t make sense.”
“It does,” Sam agreed. “There’s no anchor for your memory.”
“Exactly.”
“Do you know where they’re buried?”
“Saint Mary Cemetery,” Meena said. “There weren’t that many remains, but what they found, they put in a joint box. I had to figure all of that out. I had some help, but . . .”
“You did it.”
She nodded.
“Do you want to visit them?”
Meena opened the car door. “I do.”
It took a few questions to the office staff to find her parents’ plot. It was the first time she’d been back since the funeral. There was a pink stone with white writing. JAMESON AND HANNAH DAVE. Meena ran her hands over the rough and smooth stone. “I remember it being so big. Imposing.” She sat on the ground next to it, the cool grass crunching beneath her. “I should have brought flowers.”
“Next time.” Sam sat on the other side of the stone. His jeans stretched at the knees.
Meena’s eyes welled up. “I should have come back, visited them. I should have thought about them instead of trying to forget.” Her voice broke. “They must be so disappointed in me.”
“From what you’ve told me, you did what you believed they would have wanted,” Sam said.
“Get on with it—my mother’s favorite saying.” Meena smiled.
“That’s what you did,” Sam said. “You didn’t get over it or them; you kept going. They would be proud of you.”
Her throat tight, she stopped fighting the feelings, released them. Meena rested her head on the stone. In a soft whisper she told them about her life, that she’d struggled but was happy, that she’d found home again. Then she stood and stroked the stone one more time. “Next time I’ll bring flowers.”
On an impulse she leaned down and touched her lips to the top of the headstone. She hoped her parents would feel her love for them the way she had when her dad gave her head a peck with a side of hot chocolate and cookies.
She reached out and took Sam’s hand. “Thank you. That’s all. Just thank you.”
He squeezed her hand. “I think you should treat me to a late lunch.”
She laughed. “Always trying to get me to ask you out.”
“And yet you haven’t asked.”
“Come on.” Meena tugged him back to the car. “There’s a brewery in Brattleboro, across the state border, I read about.”
Over lunch Meena told him about her next assignment, her first for the Boston Globe. She was looking forward to it, a local piece, one for which she didn’t have to travel any farther than the T would take her. She would be back in time for dinner.
“I have a surprise for you,” Meena said.