Meena’s face burned at her mistake. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed.”
“It’s fine,” Sam said. “I mean, you’re beautiful and I’m not repulsive. We’re both single.”
“We don’t have to talk about it.”
“But I want to.” Sam gave her a quick wink. “In great depth. Tell me more about why you don’t date.”
She laughed and her taut muscles relaxed. It surprised Meena how quickly he could put her at ease. “I have been craving something that isn’t Chinese or pizza.”
He stood. “Perfect. There’s a place not too far from here. A local favorite. It’s got a big menu and a great beer list.”
“Sounds good. Dinner, not a date,” she clarified.
“Dinner,” Sam said. “I’ll leave it to you to pick the day. That should give you enough time to do laundry.”
“I do not smell.”
Sam pinched his nose with his thumb and index finger as he left her apartment.
Automatically Meena locked the door behind him. She stood at the closed door for a while. What would it be like to trust people enough to leave the door to your home unlocked? That was for people who were cared for, had family. Meena took care of herself. She tapped the wooden door and backed away. She didn’t touch the lock. She couldn’t do it.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
It took a week to get accustomed to the cast, but Meena hadn’t made a dent in clearing out the place. She’d managed to pack up the small trinkets that were all over the apartment. Dust catchers in odd shapes and all types of materials. She’d taken her time going through the pieces and seeing if they contained any hidden clues.
She’d found only two. One was a small pink napkin with the chorus of Madonna’s “Like a Virgin,” the other a grocery store receipt, the back of which held a short quote from The Scarlet Letter: “She had not known the weight, until she felt the freedom.” Meena had added them to her small collection.
She closed the second box she’d filled and looked around. There were still more things on tables and mantels. It would take a miracle to clear this place out in the next three weeks. She was grateful for the knock at the door, a much-needed distraction from poking around in Neha’s life.
“Sabina,” Meena answered the door.
Sabina walked in as if it were her right. Dressed in dark pants and a flowing white silk shirt, the woman looked elegant next to Meena in a dusty T-shirt and jeans.
“How are you feeling?” Sabina asked. “What are you doing?”
“Clearing some of these things out.”
“Are you sure you’re not overdoing it?”
Meena shook her head. Sabina wasn’t as friendly as Tanvi or as direct as Uma. She came off as cold.
“I’m managing fine,” Meena said.
“Here, sit.” Sabina led her to the kitchen table. “Have you eaten?”
Leftover Chinese for breakfast. “Yes.”
Sabina began to clear off the takeout containers and wipe down the table.
“You don’t have to do that,” Meena said.
“You need help. And I’m not injured.”
Meena couldn’t figure the woman out. On one hand she was distant, almost aloof, and on the other she’d brought Meena food, added sugar to Meena’s chai, and wiped down the kitchen counters.
“I spoke with Clifton Warney,” Sabina said.
Meena sat up. “How do you know about him?”