2010<\/strong><\/h6>\nMyrna Ebenezer had a sprawling house south of Lakeshore Boulevard at Clarkson. She lived there with her dog. She was looking for a tenant for her basement apartment. I was looking to move out of the basement apartment of Rajinder\u2019s aunt, where I had moved after Gunjan ordered me out of her home. I had hoped that Gunjan would take me back, but two years later when that seemed remote, it was time for me to move on.<\/p>\n
Myrna wanted reasonable rent, something I could afford. I rented a U-Haul van on a Saturday morning, and moved out of Rajinder\u2019s aunt\u2019s basement. The agent who helped me find the apartment had given me the keys. I had gone to inspect it a week before I moved in. The basement had three rooms, one of which had been turned into a kitchen; another room had been turned into a bedroom. The living room had a television set; the washroom was next to the main door, and it was as large as a room because it also had a washing machine and a dryer.<\/p>\n
The agent told me Myrna would do laundry on the weekends and would temporarily need to access the basement washing machine because hers was broken. That was a huge problem. I would have to keep the washroom clean. Even after so many years in Canada, I had resolutely refused to get used to the washroom cleaning chore. I preferred to do so once in three months or so, when it became unavoidable. But now, I would probably have to do it more frequently. I pulled my bags in and sat on the couch to catch my breath. From two bags when I had come to Canada, my \u201cstuff\u201d as Arty called it, had burgeoned into four large and small bags. I would still have to buy a lot of \u201cstuff\u201d \u2013 such as a worktable, a lamp for the room and for the table, a fan, maybe a few curtains.<\/p>\n
The dog on the floor above me sensed my presence and let out a tentative bark. I arranged my clothes and books in shelves, and by late afternoon, was ready to receive the landlady for a home inspection that the agent had scheduled. Myrna was heavyset and tall woman. Her eyes were droopy, and her beak-shaped nose seemed too large for her face. Her hair was short and grey. She wore white shirt that was loose, and loose black trousers, and regular black shoes. She shook my hand firmly and smiled. I assumed she was in her early 60s.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou are here, finally,\u201d she said, smiling and breathing with some difficulty. \u201cYou will like it here. It is peaceful.\u201d
\nI smiled.
\n\u201cI will have the cheques now,\u201d she said, abruptly.
\nI gave her the cheques for the first and last month\u2019s rent, for a year\u2019s lease, to be renewed annually.<\/p>\n
![\"\"](\"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue25\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/16\/2019\/03\/leave-image-1.png\")
<\/p>\n
It was late afternoon and had become balmy. I decided to take a stroll and explore the neighbourhood. Myrna was outside, watering her plants in the front lawn. Her dog, a beagle, came scampering to me, sniffing my trousers, and gingerly wagging its tail.<\/p>\n
\u201cThis is Sir Ebenezer. I call him Sir E. He is a lovable idiot,\u201d she said, pointing to the beagle. \u201cAre you going somewhere? Do you need something?\u201d
\n\u201cI thought of just looking around the neighbourhood, and getting myself something to eat,\u201d I said.
\n\u201cYou don\u2019t cook?\u201d she asked.
\n\u201cRice and lentils, mostly.\u201d
\n\u201cWhat about your meals?\u201d
\n\u201cI plan get something from the food court near my workplace on my way home.\u201d
\n\u201cWhy don\u2019t I cook supper for you? But I am a vegan, so my food is simple, but healthy.\u201d
\n\u201cYes, please, that would be nice.\u201d I jumped at the offer. This was a major convenience and not a big change in my diet. \u201cHow much will you charge?\u201d
\n\u201cIt will be cheaper than your food court. We can start today. We will have dinner together at 7:00 in the evening.\u201d<\/p>\n
I nodded and smiled.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou don\u2019t talk much, do you? Tell me something about you,\u201d she said, as she directed me to sit on a lawn chair. \u201cI will get some tea for us. I hope you like tea.\u201d
\n\u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n
Myrna was nervous and naturally feeling awkward conversing with me \u2013 still a stranger. She quickly brought a teapot and poured hot water into two cups, dropped teabags in them and then handed one to me.<\/p>\n
\u201cI don\u2019t take milk or sugar with my tea. You may add if you want. Now tell me about you.\u201d
\n\u201cThere is nothing much to tell. I was born and raised in Bombay. I am in Canada for 15 years. My wife and I have separated, a couple of years back. I am on my own, trying to start a new life.\u201d
\n\u201cYes, Nathan told me.\u201d
\n\u201cWho is Nathan?\u201d
\n\u201cThe real estate agent.\u201d
\n\u201cOh, and how does he know?\u201d
\n\u201cThey know everything,\u201d she said and laughed.<\/p>\n
Her presence, inexplicably, made me feel at ease. I told her about Dadi and Neeta, about Maa and her condition, about Gunjan, Arty and Frank.<\/p>\n
\u201cHow did your grandmother take your separation?\u201d she asked.
\n\u201cI haven\u2019t told her, and I don\u2019t think my ex has told her brother either.\u201d
\n\u201cHmm\u2026that is\u2026\u201d
\n\u201cStrange\u2026I know. I don\u2019t want my grandmother to be worried, and I guess Gunjan may be contemplating reconciliation\u2026\u201d
\n\u201cNo, not after two years. Women don\u2019t take that long to decide; she has definitely moved on,\u201d Myrna said, vigorously nodding.
\n\u201cBut we aren\u2019t divorced yet.\u201d<\/p>\n
She arched her eyebrows and looked mystified. \u201cI don\u2019t quite get it; it has been two years. You should end this now.\u201d
\nI looked at her and nodded. She leaned forward from her chair and gently patted me on my arm.<\/p>\n
We sat at the opposite ends of the dining table for supper every evening. Myrna was a great cook, turning simple everyday stuff taste like gourmet recipes. We didn\u2019t talk much. She was non-interfering type but seemed perennially uncertain about herself, and in need of constant attention and approval. Over the next few weeks, we developed a bond that was a mixture of friendship, respect, affection, and mutual admiration, but Myrna always maintained a distance; I attributed it to her shyness.
\nAfter about two weeks of dining together, she took me on a tour of her house. The upper floor had three rooms, one of which had been converted into a study. There was a large abstract canvass painting in the middle of the wall unit. There was an easel and a work-in-progress painting of a bowl of fruits.<\/p>\n
\u201cI am learning to paint; always wanted but never had the time. Now that I am semi-retired, I am doing all the things that I couldn\u2019t do earlier.\u201d<\/p>\n
I nodded.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou will have to learn to talk.\u201d she asked.
\nI looked at her and smiled. \u201cYou have a beautiful home.\u201d
\n\u201cYes. It took Aaron years to make a house into a home, then, he had a stroke and died.\u201d
\n\u201cOh\u2026\u201d I looked at her. This sudden revelation was a disconcerting. I didn\u2019t know how to react.
\n\u201cI am sorry. How stupid and thoughtless of me to burden you with my misfortune,\u201d she said quickly when she saw my pained expression.<\/p>\n
She put a reassuring hand on my shoulder and led me downstairs back to the dining table.<\/p>\n
\u201cThis is Aaron,\u201d she said, as she handed me a framed photo from the mantlepiece behind the dining table. The photo was old, from the 1970s or even earlier.
\n\u201cYou husband was a handsome man,\u201d I said.
\n\u201cYes, he was handsome, and no, we were not married.\u201d<\/p>\n
I nodded and smiled. I refrained from asking the obvious question \u2013 why she had stayed single for so long. Maybe when she gets to know me better, she will tell me about it.<\/p>\n
From her I learnt that Aaron had died four years ago. They had been together for over two decades. Aaron had been married earlier and had a daughter \u2013 Deborah, or Deb \u2013 from the first marriage. His wife had Judith died young and Aaron had raised Deb by himself. Then, when she had moved out, pursuing her career, he had joined the Clarkson community centre as a volunteer to work with newcomers. Myrna had always been active at the community centre.<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd that is how we met and agreed to have a life together when we were no longer young.\u201d<\/p>\n
Myrna often asked me about Gunjan, and she especially wanted to know more about my relationship with Arty.
\n\u201cIt wasn\u2019t any different than between any teenage daughter and father.\u201d<\/p>\n
Myrna didn\u2019t respond immediately, but after a long pause said, \u201cOften teenage girls feel pressured in such a relationship where a stepfather is involved.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBut I have known Arty for more than a decade,\u201d I said, and then to emphasize my point, said, \u201cShe confided in me first about her lesbian relationship before she told her parents.\u201d<\/p>\n
I sensed that Myrna wasn\u2019t willing to accept that my relationship with Arty was \u2013 and could be \u2013 normal. I found that to disturbing, but I didn\u2019t know how to respond to her, mainly because she indicated her incredulity nonverbally.
\nThen, one weekend, Myrna went to meet Deb, who was an academic at the University of Guelph. \u201cYou can stay upstairs if you like, and take care of Sir E,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n
\u201cNo, he is used to being alone all day. I will be in my basement after dinner.\u201d
\n\u201cSharad, I have kept a diary on the dining table. Read it, if you have the time, and tell me what you think,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n
The dog followed me in the house, sniffing at my trousers. I went to the dining table and picked up the diary. It was a Moleskine notebook. Myrna had written it in her child\u2019s handwriting. It flipped the pages. It had poems, short pieces of prose, intricate illustrations that were macabre and bizarre, but mostly poems. These poems had either been written by or for Myrna. For whom or by who? Aaron, maybe? From the little that I had known of Myrna in the last few months, I surmised that she had written these poems for Aaron. But then, after the poems ended, there was a sort of a memoir, the handwriting changed. \u2018Aaron\u2019s Journal\u2019 was written on its first page, in distinct, neat handwriting. I began to read it, cursorily. I wasn\u2019t interested in knowing anything about Aaron.<\/p>\n
My meeting with Myrna\u2019s father and brother was in the evening. I had been preparing for the meeting for a long time. Framing sentences in my mind, answering questions that they would ask me and asking questions that they would answer. When I reached the condominium, Ebenezer was waiting for me beside the pool. I gingerly walked to the table and introduced myself. We shook hands and I sat down beside him.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat is the purpose of this meeting?\u201d he asked.
\n\u201cI want to talk about Myrna.\u201d
\n\u201cThere is nothing to talk about,\u201d he said without showing any emotion.
\n\u201cWhat could possibly cause such a prolonged estrangement between you.\u201d
\n\u201cDoes she know you are here?\u201d
\n\u201cNo, but I plan to tell her.\u201d
\n\u201cWhy should I talk to a stranger about my family?\u201d
\n\u201cShe is my life.\u201d<\/p>\n
I skipped some pages to hopefully to know why Myrna had wanted me to read this journal.<\/p>\n
\u201cMyrna has been going through hell lately and I believe you are the cause of it,\u201d Carolina Sloan, her psychiatrist said. I was about to apologize, but she cut me short. \u201cDon\u2019t misunderstand me. It is the best thing that has happened to her in a long time. I have never seen her as strong mentally as she is right now.\u201d
\n\u201cI have only tried to make her talk to her father. Nothing more.\u201d
\n\u201cShe doesn\u2019t want to, so stop trying,\u201d Carolina said. \u201cShe wants to talk to you.\u201d
\nThat evening, when we were home together, Myrna sat beside me on the couch. She held my hands. \u201cI don\u2019t want to talk to my father because he sexually abused me when I was young.\u201d<\/p>\n
I was stunned. I wanted to say so much but couldn\u2019t. Shocked, I stopped reading. I wanted to call Myrna, but it was past midnight. The next morning, as I sat sipping coffee, I thought over Aaron\u2019s journal. I finally got Myrna\u2019s cynicism over my relationship with my stepdaughter. I was more relieved than angry; at least now I knew the cause of her strange behaviour. Myrna returned the next afternoon.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy did you want me to read it?\u201d I asked her.
\n\u201cI couldn\u2019t tell you, and I wanted you to know.\u201d
\n\u201cWhat do you mean?\u201d
\n\u201cWell, after what happened, I just couldn\u2019t trust any man and preferred a life alone. Then, after a lifetime of being alone, I met Aaron and a new, happy phase began in my life. After Aaron, I was reconciled to be alone, but then you came.\u201d
\n\u201cHuh\u2026?\u201d
\n\u201cI trust you.\u201d She looked at me earnestly.
\n
\n
\nIn the following days, I noticed a discernible change in her. The reserved awkwardness had evaporated; she was more forthcoming and trusting, more expressive and demonstrative, more willing \u2013 keen \u2013 to share anecdotes from her life with me. I hesitated in reciprocating, but her charm was infectious, and my defence crumbled. Our sporadic wine sessions turned into regular weekend meetings lasting several hours. There was a new candour, a refreshing openness. I never had a friend like Myrna, ever. On a particularly cold Saturday evening, she opened, and on her own, began talking about what was still a deeply traumatic experience.<\/p>\n
\u201cMy mother came to know much later and both of us immediately moved to my aunt\u2019s home in Toronto. I did the last two years of high school in Toronto and then went to university and then to work and a life on my own. My mother moved to a hospice when I was at the university. She didn\u2019t ever return to live with my father. When she died, I was lost; I wasn\u2019t sure I would ever tell anyone about it; and yet, I wanted it to be out of my system. But I couldn\u2019t make myself talk about it.\u201d
\n\u201cMyrna, didn\u2019t your father ever try to talk to you?\u201d
\n\u201cHe did, only once, after my mother\u2019s death. I told him if he ever tried to contact me again, I would kill him.\u201d<\/p>\n
She paused briefly, grimaced and continued, \u201cI spoke about it first to Aaron after I saw his relationship with his daughter \u2013 a natural bond between a father and a daughter, a relationship based on blind trust and an implicit faith a child has in an elder, and how when that is reciprocated, it blossoms into something extraordinary.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat has triggered this change in you? You seem more open with me,\u201d I said.
\n\u201cI spoke to Deb about you, told her how I had come to rely upon you, trust you. But there was that thing about your stepdaughter. I wasn\u2019t sure why your marriage broke down. From all that you have told me so far, I couldn\u2019t find any reason,\u201d she said.
\n\u201cYes, your distrust has disturbed me all along.\u201d
\n\u201cI still feel there is something you are concealing,\u201d Myrna said.
\n\u201cWell yes, but it is about Gunjan, not Arty. I forced myself on my ex; and that ended our marriage,\u201d said, my voice quavering and rising in exasperation.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
We sat in silence, sipping wine. Then, after a long time, Myrna looked at me.
\n\u201cWhat did Arty say? Did she know?\u201d
\n\u201cYes, Gunjan told Arty, but she didn\u2019t ever misbehave with me. She has always been curt and sometimes obnoxious, even rude, but after I moved out, she has continued to text me, call me, send a card for my birthday, Diwali, the New Year\u2019s\u2026Gunjan doesn\u2019t do that.\u201d
\n\u201cI hired a private detective to check your past,\u201d Myrna said.
\n\u201cYou did what?\u201d the wine almost sputtered out of my mouth and I quickly gulped it. I gaped at her, as my jaw dropped.
\n\u201cI was letting you in my home; I had to take precautions. Nathan \u2013 the real estate agent \u2013 and Deb agreed.\u201d<\/p>\n
I had no idea what to say or to do. Finally, after sitting in a daze for a while, I put down the wine glass and got up to leave. She didn\u2019t stop me. On my way down to the basement, I decided it was time for me to move out, to rent a new place.
\nMyrna knocked on the door the next morning. She walked in, carrying two mugs in one hand and a kettle in the other, the dog rushed inside, and sniffed at my legs.<\/p>\n
\u201cGood morning. Let us have tea together. You left abruptly last night.\u201d She handed me the mug and poured hot tea in it. She seemed flustered, she sat on the only chair in the room, as I walked to the bed. I was groggy and feeling heavy in the head.
\n\u201cLook, I am sorry.\u201d<\/p>\n
I looked at her and took a sip of tea. It instantly cleared my head. \u201cI am curious to know, what did the detective find out?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOh, nothing at all of any consequence.\u201d
\n\u201cYou did find something recently because your attitude changed.\u201d
\n\u201cYes, thanks to a huge coincidence. Deb met your stepdaughter\u2019s partner Ruth. She gave you a glowing reference; told her something about how years back you saved their relationship by arguing with your ex not to force your stepdaughter to go to Kitchener.\u201d<\/p>\n
I was again gaping at her; speechless and clueless. I sipped tea without talking. Then, I told her that I would be moving out.
\n\u201cI know you are upset, and I said I am sorry, and I mean it. I will make it up for you.\u201d
\nI kept quiet. I had to move out. I wanted to ask her but didn\u2019t whether she would have gone through such a vigorous process to ascertain the past of a renter, if that person was white.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Lease 2010 Myrna Ebenezer had a sprawling house south of Lakeshore Boulevard at Clarkson. She lived there with her dog. She was looking for a tenant for her basement apartment. I was looking to move out of the basement apartment of Rajinder\u2019s aunt, where I had moved after Gunjan ordered me out of her home. I had hoped that…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":3316,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"ngg_post_thumbnail":0,"footnotes":""},"categories":[14],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-4628","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-fiction"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue25\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4628","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue25\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue25\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue25\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/3"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue25\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=4628"}],"version-history":[{"count":11,"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue25\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4628\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":4633,"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue25\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4628\/revisions\/4633"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue25\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/3316"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue25\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=4628"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue25\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=4628"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue25\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=4628"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\nI smiled.
\n\u201cI will have the cheques now,\u201d she said, abruptly.
\nI gave her the cheques for the first and last month\u2019s rent, for a year\u2019s lease, to be renewed annually.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n\n\u201cI thought of just looking around the neighbourhood, and getting myself something to eat,\u201d I said.
\n\u201cYou don\u2019t cook?\u201d she asked.
\n\u201cRice and lentils, mostly.\u201d
\n\u201cWhat about your meals?\u201d
\n\u201cI plan get something from the food court near my workplace on my way home.\u201d
\n\u201cWhy don\u2019t I cook supper for you? But I am a vegan, so my food is simple, but healthy.\u201d
\n\u201cYes, please, that would be nice.\u201d I jumped at the offer. This was a major convenience and not a big change in my diet. \u201cHow much will you charge?\u201d
\n\u201cIt will be cheaper than your food court. We can start today. We will have dinner together at 7:00 in the evening.\u201d<\/p>\n
\n\u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n
\n\u201cThere is nothing much to tell. I was born and raised in Bombay. I am in Canada for 15 years. My wife and I have separated, a couple of years back. I am on my own, trying to start a new life.\u201d
\n\u201cYes, Nathan told me.\u201d
\n\u201cWho is Nathan?\u201d
\n\u201cThe real estate agent.\u201d
\n\u201cOh, and how does he know?\u201d
\n\u201cThey know everything,\u201d she said and laughed.<\/p>\n
\n\u201cI haven\u2019t told her, and I don\u2019t think my ex has told her brother either.\u201d
\n\u201cHmm\u2026that is\u2026\u201d
\n\u201cStrange\u2026I know. I don\u2019t want my grandmother to be worried, and I guess Gunjan may be contemplating reconciliation\u2026\u201d
\n\u201cNo, not after two years. Women don\u2019t take that long to decide; she has definitely moved on,\u201d Myrna said, vigorously nodding.
\n\u201cBut we aren\u2019t divorced yet.\u201d<\/p>\n
\nI looked at her and nodded. She leaned forward from her chair and gently patted me on my arm.<\/p>\n
We sat at the opposite ends of the dining table for supper every evening. Myrna was a great cook, turning simple everyday stuff taste like gourmet recipes. We didn\u2019t talk much. She was non-interfering type but seemed perennially uncertain about herself, and in need of constant attention and approval. Over the next few weeks, we developed a bond that was a mixture of friendship, respect, affection, and mutual admiration, but Myrna always maintained a distance; I attributed it to her shyness.\nAfter about two weeks of dining together, she took me on a tour of her house. The upper floor had three rooms, one of which had been converted into a study. There was a large abstract canvass painting in the middle of the wall unit. There was an easel and a work-in-progress painting of a bowl of fruits.<\/p>\n
\nI looked at her and smiled. \u201cYou have a beautiful home.\u201d
\n\u201cYes. It took Aaron years to make a house into a home, then, he had a stroke and died.\u201d
\n\u201cOh\u2026\u201d I looked at her. This sudden revelation was a disconcerting. I didn\u2019t know how to react.
\n\u201cI am sorry. How stupid and thoughtless of me to burden you with my misfortune,\u201d she said quickly when she saw my pained expression.<\/p>\n
\n\u201cYou husband was a handsome man,\u201d I said.
\n\u201cYes, he was handsome, and no, we were not married.\u201d<\/p>\n
Myrna often asked me about Gunjan, and she especially wanted to know more about my relationship with Arty.\n\u201cIt wasn\u2019t any different than between any teenage daughter and father.\u201d<\/p>\n
\nThen, one weekend, Myrna went to meet Deb, who was an academic at the University of Guelph. \u201cYou can stay upstairs if you like, and take care of Sir E,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n
\n\u201cSharad, I have kept a diary on the dining table. Read it, if you have the time, and tell me what you think,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n
My meeting with Myrna\u2019s father and brother was in the evening. I had been preparing for the meeting for a long time. Framing sentences in my mind, answering questions that they would ask me and asking questions that they would answer. When I reached the condominium, Ebenezer was waiting for me beside the pool. I gingerly walked to the table and introduced myself. We shook hands and I sat down beside him.<\/p>\n\n\u201cI want to talk about Myrna.\u201d
\n\u201cThere is nothing to talk about,\u201d he said without showing any emotion.
\n\u201cWhat could possibly cause such a prolonged estrangement between you.\u201d
\n\u201cDoes she know you are here?\u201d
\n\u201cNo, but I plan to tell her.\u201d
\n\u201cWhy should I talk to a stranger about my family?\u201d
\n\u201cShe is my life.\u201d<\/p>\n
\n\u201cI have only tried to make her talk to her father. Nothing more.\u201d
\n\u201cShe doesn\u2019t want to, so stop trying,\u201d Carolina said. \u201cShe wants to talk to you.\u201d
\nThat evening, when we were home together, Myrna sat beside me on the couch. She held my hands. \u201cI don\u2019t want to talk to my father because he sexually abused me when I was young.\u201d<\/p>\n
\n\u201cI couldn\u2019t tell you, and I wanted you to know.\u201d
\n\u201cWhat do you mean?\u201d
\n\u201cWell, after what happened, I just couldn\u2019t trust any man and preferred a life alone. Then, after a lifetime of being alone, I met Aaron and a new, happy phase began in my life. After Aaron, I was reconciled to be alone, but then you came.\u201d
\n\u201cHuh\u2026?\u201d
\n\u201cI trust you.\u201d She looked at me earnestly.
\n
\n
\n
In the following days, I noticed a discernible change in her. The reserved awkwardness had evaporated; she was more forthcoming and trusting, more expressive and demonstrative, more willing \u2013 keen \u2013 to share anecdotes from her life with me. I hesitated in reciprocating, but her charm was infectious, and my defence crumbled. Our sporadic wine sessions turned into regular weekend meetings lasting several hours. There was a new candour, a refreshing openness. I never had a friend like Myrna, ever. On a particularly cold Saturday evening, she opened, and on her own, began talking about what was still a deeply traumatic experience.<\/p>\n\n\u201cMyrna, didn\u2019t your father ever try to talk to you?\u201d
\n\u201cHe did, only once, after my mother\u2019s death. I told him if he ever tried to contact me again, I would kill him.\u201d<\/p>\n
\n\u201cI spoke to Deb about you, told her how I had come to rely upon you, trust you. But there was that thing about your stepdaughter. I wasn\u2019t sure why your marriage broke down. From all that you have told me so far, I couldn\u2019t find any reason,\u201d she said.
\n\u201cYes, your distrust has disturbed me all along.\u201d
\n\u201cI still feel there is something you are concealing,\u201d Myrna said.
\n\u201cWell yes, but it is about Gunjan, not Arty. I forced myself on my ex; and that ended our marriage,\u201d said, my voice quavering and rising in exasperation.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n\n\u201cWhat did Arty say? Did she know?\u201d
\n\u201cYes, Gunjan told Arty, but she didn\u2019t ever misbehave with me. She has always been curt and sometimes obnoxious, even rude, but after I moved out, she has continued to text me, call me, send a card for my birthday, Diwali, the New Year\u2019s\u2026Gunjan doesn\u2019t do that.\u201d
\n\u201cI hired a private detective to check your past,\u201d Myrna said.
\n\u201cYou did what?\u201d the wine almost sputtered out of my mouth and I quickly gulped it. I gaped at her, as my jaw dropped.
\n\u201cI was letting you in my home; I had to take precautions. Nathan \u2013 the real estate agent \u2013 and Deb agreed.\u201d<\/p>\n
\nMyrna knocked on the door the next morning. She walked in, carrying two mugs in one hand and a kettle in the other, the dog rushed inside, and sniffed at my legs.<\/p>\n
\n\u201cLook, I am sorry.\u201d<\/p>\n
\n\u201cYou did find something recently because your attitude changed.\u201d
\n\u201cYes, thanks to a huge coincidence. Deb met your stepdaughter\u2019s partner Ruth. She gave you a glowing reference; told her something about how years back you saved their relationship by arguing with your ex not to force your stepdaughter to go to Kitchener.\u201d<\/p>\n
\n\u201cI know you are upset, and I said I am sorry, and I mean it. I will make it up for you.\u201d
\nI kept quiet. I had to move out. I wanted to ask her but didn\u2019t whether she would have gone through such a vigorous process to ascertain the past of a renter, if that person was white.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"