Meena rarely shopped. She didn’t need anything more than a few pairs of jeans, versatile yoga pants, T-shirts, sweaters, a multipurpose black dress for formal things or business meetings, and a coat. A pair of sneakers and her sturdy boots got her through most of the terrain she covered. If she needed something different, she got it from wherever she was, like a headscarf in a Muslim country or all-weather gloves in Kyiv. She would sell things back or give them away as she went.
Most of what she owned was what she needed for work. Two cameras, favorite Canon lenses, the Canon fixed 35 millimeter and fixed 50 millimeter, along with her laptop and charger, camera batteries, memory cards, off-camera flash cord, and various cables and external hard drives, and the other pieces of equipment she had to buy when an assignment called for it.
Meena paused in front of Sephora. Her one indulgence was makeup. She had a small pouch of lipsticks, liners, mascara, and moisturizers. She always had gloss in her jacket pocket. It made her feel better, brighter, when she had a pop of color on her lips.
Her mother had been the same. Hannah Dave had never left her bedroom without being fully made up. From the soft waves of her auburn hair to the dab of Chanel No. 5 behind her ears, she was always ready for company.
It’s the sign of a woman who takes care of herself. For Hannah, the time she spent getting ready was only for herself, an hour to focus on the external parts of her, from moist skin to brushed eyebrows. The scent of Pond’s Cold Cream put Meena right back into that bedroom.
The wind whipped her loose hair into her face, and she brushed it away as she headed back toward the Engineer’s House. Meena’s mind wandered back to Neha. Without photos or anything more on the internet, Meena had spent a bit of time imagining what Neha looked like. She pictured a stout woman with frizzy hair. There hadn’t been any makeup in the apartment, only a serviceable moisturizer, soap, and a two-in-one shampoo/conditioner. She could have been tall based on the length of the pants in the closet, and broad shouldered.
A cursory search of the apartment gave only a few clues to the woman. Colorful sweaters in her closet, plain pants and skirts. The pantry full of canned and boxed goods, the fridge bare, though one of the aunties had likely cleaned it out. Furniture packed so closely it left little open space, but the apartment wasn’t cluttered or messy.
“Wally, wait.”
Meena braced as the puppy came barreling toward her, shifting her weight to both feet. She squatted as the dog threw himself into her. Excited and happy. She gave him rubs, scratches, and coos. “Hi, Wally. Hi.”
She glanced up as Sam stood over them. “Why is it that he’s always trying to escape?”
“Because I’m the one that tells him no, makes him get off the couch, stops him from chewing on things that aren’t his toys.”
“Aww.” Meena scratched him. “But he’s such a good boy.”
“For other people,” Sam said. “It’s a con.”
“I don’t believe that for a second.” She stood as Wally became distracted by a squirrel in a tree and began to yip at it.
“You’re not going to be able to catch the squirrel, Wallster.” Sam bent down and clipped the leash onto Wally’s harness.
“Why was he loose?” Meena asked.
“Because he saw you and ran out of the yard,” Sam muttered.
“Ah.”
She warmed at the idea that the puppy had wanted to see her. She’d always wanted a dog when she was young, had even asked Santa for one. But her lifestyle could never allow her to have a dog. She didn’t even have consistent people in her life. Just Zoe, whom she saw twice a year. She knew people, of course. She had a professional network, past mentors, local contacts. She socialized with them when she saw them, but they didn’t really know her.
“Were you coming or going?”