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Neha grinned. “Yes, Mom.”
He grinned back. “Good girl. Get home safe.”
As Neha adjusted the seat and the mirrors, Jay tapped against the window. “Will you be safe paying with your card?”
“I wouldn’t know. Trish advised against it. I had drawn as much as I could from both my cards before we left. So far, I’m good paying cash.”
It was nice of Jay to think of her safety. But it sucked big time that now she had to think of being on the run again. He had just spoiled
CHAPTER EIGHT
Neha enjoyed having the house to herself. Jay’s schedule—one twenty-eight-hour shift every third day—worked just fine for her. She liked him being around, more than she cared to admit to herself, but that day alone was heavenly for her. All day, she was free to stay in her PJs and slouch on the sofa, with the brand-new laptop on her knees. She had come to the decision not to return to Georgia. And though she liked it in Colorado, there were so many places she could go to start all over. She never had been to Hawaii, and New York sounded thrilling, too. Whatever way she looked at this, it always ended up with staying with Jay or leaving him. Or maybe, leaving him, but not too far away, so that… Neha tried to reign in her thoughts. Bar exam—that was safe to think about. She was taking notes on the how, when, and where, when the doorbell rang. Not wanting to be seen through the window, she simply slid down on the couch. She kept silent, but something must have given her away. The doorbell rang again. And again. Then the banging started. Scared, Neha scrambled up and hurried to the door, assuming there was an emergency.
A lady stood outside, most probably in her seventies. She had gray hair and wore all gray clothes: the floral blouse, the cardigan, the pants, the shoes. The glasses were rimless. Her attire was so meek, as if she meant to be invisible. Her attitude was not. “Who are you?” she demanded to know.
Taken aback by this rude greeting, but not wanting to make an enemy of someone who Jay might care about, Neha answered, “My name is Neha Gupta.”
“Is that your car in the driveway?”
“Yes, it is.” Neha craned her head. Had she parked recklessly? She couldn’t find fault in the way the car stood in Jay’s driveway.
The stranger scoffed. Neha summoned all the patience in herself and asked, “Who are you, ma’am?”
“Mrs. Brennerman,” the stranger said in a stern voice, and waved in the general direction of the property next door. “I’m Mr. Das’ neighbor.”
“And what is it you wanted?”
“Oh, I had just come over to commend him on the color of his new car. But it’s yours.” She gave Neha a once-over that found her lacking. She pursed her lips disapprovingly.
Neha was done being passably polite. “You kicked up a ruckus just because you like a car color?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I don’t think Mr. Das would applaud you for banging on his door like a maniac, only to make conversation.”
“I only come over when his car is in his driveway.”
“One out of every two days the car is in, he will be in bed.”
“Surely not in broad daylight!”
“Most definitely in broad daylight. Patients at the hospital prefer him to sleep on his own time.”
Mrs. Brennerman scoffed again. Neha had enough. Carefully, she chose her words to not formally insult the neighbor.
“So, please, don’t make a scene if nobody opens the door on the first ring unless there is a fire or something. Whenever he doesn’t open the door for you, although his car is in the driveway, please assume he has had a hard shift and needs to sleep it off.”
“Is he in?”
“No, he’s at the hospital.”
“So I didn’t wake him. Good.”
Neha waved a hand up and down her PJ-clad body. “Does it look like I was up?” She closed the door in Mrs. Brennerman’s face. So much for not making enemies with the neighbor.
She resumed her spot on the couch again, and a minute later she was so engrossed in her research she’d already forgotten about ncounter. She remembered, once Jay came home the next morning. He grinned broadly. “So you met Mrs. Brennerman?”
“Yeah.” Neha winced. “That conversation did not go well.”
