The best thing for Jessica to do had been to put that night on the sidewalk behind her, and Oma’s boxes and Christine’s call for help had been the perfect diversions.
She’d had her cry. She hadn’t exactly lied to Danny about everything. The incident on the sidewalk probably wasn’t really a big deal. The images and the heartbeats wouldn’t just disappear like embers in the wind, but no one had gotten significantly hurt, and she would never run into those guys again. It was a onetime thing—an anomaly. And she’d been right not to overburden Danny with the whole story or make him feel as though he needed to help her. Danny was a busy man. It was time she got busy, too.
Since crashing to the floor of the shed, Jessica had allowed herself little time for thinking or remembering. She had sliced open boxes and catalogued hand-hammered horseshoe nails, tiny leather dolls with crudely painted faces, two full sets of china, old photo albums she didn’t have time to inspect, and a sizable but not yet complete pile of Oma’s accumulated belongings, each with a lavender note and a story. She hadn’t gotten through all the boxes, but the newly cleared space cleared her head.
She had been chief fire-putter-outer for tonight’s literacy fundraiser, lining up a new venue and regenerating the attendee list the old-fashioned way—by making countless phone calls. Between all of that, finishing the trunk, and attending to a to-do list that wouldn’t stop growing, she hadn’t even been able to make it to book club. She also hadn’t had time to contact Amina, whose one phone message asking Jessica to give her a call had come just yesterday, so Jessica had convinced herself that she wasn’t yet delinquent in responding.
She would get in touch with Amina soon. But today, she would attend the gala, renewed and reinvigorated. With her volunteer duties complete, she would be able to relax and have fun with her date. It would be a fine reward for having been so busy and productive. She’d been so busy that she’d hardly had time to talk with Danny... at least that was what she told herself.
DANNY handed the keys to the valet then opened the passenger door. Jessica emerged in a burgundy floor-length gown, with simple strappy heels showing off her fresh pedicure. The dress accentuated her best features. Thin straps crossed her well-toned upper back. The loose drape below her narrow waist hid her less-toned parts as well as the bruise that had matured into a shadowy yellow. A bandage over her trunk-metal cut marred the elegance.
Standing to join her tuxedo-clad date, Jessica adjusted her dress to make sure everything was in the right place then reflexively smoothed her hair.
Danny touched the bandage softly. “I should have helped you with the trunk.” Then he lit up. “You look beautiful.”
She pushed aside a twinge of guilt. “And you look like you did the day we got married.”
Danny cocked an eyebrow. “Yeah, I think so, too.”
Maybe he doesn’t deserve so much reverence. But he did look amazing. His rugged face and mussed hair, matched with his casual bearing, made him at once iconic and approachable, just as they had when she’d first seen him at that DC movie theater back when she was a young associate. But that was a long time ago.
Her preoccupation with the gala, the boxes, the spreadsheet, and the trunk had given her cover for her lingering reticence to engage. She didn’t think he had noticed the distance that she had both created and suffered so acutely, but tonight offered an opportunity for them to reconnect and get back to normal.
The hotel lobby was busy. A handful of other late-arriving gala attendees in black tie hovered around the check-in table, and hotel guests dressed more comfortably spilled out of the hotel bar. The Literacy Initiative had been lucky to land this venue on such short notice, and things appeared to be moving along swimmingly.
Danny zeroed in on the place cards at the check-in table. “Here we are. Mr. and Mrs. Daniel Donnelly. Table eight. We’d better go. We’re pretty late. Sorry about that. I just haven’t been able to break away from work the way I used to. I bet we missed the silent auction.”
In fact, the silent auction room was empty, and black-and-white–garbed employees were hastily cleaning up the abandoned wine glasses and half-eaten hors d’oeuvres from the cocktail hour. Danny placed his hand on Jessica’s lower back and guided her through the large wooden doors leading into the banquet hall.
The main hall was packed. Seats were filled with a collection of the area’s education advocates, many of whom were regulars at events like this, keeping the coffers of small local charities full for another year. Binnacle had been a sustaining sponsor since the first gala six years before.
Danny and Jessica found table eight and grabbed the two empty chairs, greeting the Binnacle representatives already seated.
Jessica introduced herself to the man sitting to her left. Although they were seated at the Binnacle table, she didn’t recognize the thirtysomething man in the rental tux.
It was inevitable that on first meeting, the man would ask, “So, what do you do?”
What do I do? Hmm. Let’s see. I make sure all of the bills are paid, our retirement and college savings are properly invested, the house is clean, and the kids are at school on time. I have served in every capacity and on every committee at my kids’ schools, and I ran this event for five years. You know those family scrapbooks that everyone else starts but never finishes? I have a cupboard full of them. I attend every single one of my kids’ games and performances. I... Fuck it.
“I used to be a lawyer.”
“Really? What kind?”
“Securities compliance.” And it’s completely irrelevant to my life anymore. Do you want to talk about scrapbooks? “I do some pro bono work now, but I’m not really practicing.” She shrugged. “I guess I mostly do mom stuff these days.”
Danny leaned over, gently resting a strong hand on Jessica’s exposed shoulder. “Hey, Damien, good to see you here. I’m afraid Jessica is being too modest. She does a lot of volunteer work. In fact, she volunteered as a reading tutor with this group several years ago and then started and ran this gala every year until this year.
“On top of that,” Danny continued, “she’s the reason Binnacle Cyber Solutions exists today. I never could have pulled together such a great team and developed our products if she hadn’t been carrying so much weight in those early years. All these years, really.”
He gazed into her eyes and squeezed her shoulder. “And over the past couple of weeks, I’ve hardly even seen her. She’s been so busy helping with this event, taking care of her grandmother’s estate, and who knows what else, all on top of her other responsibilities. I feel lucky to get to spend the evening with her.”
He really did love her. And he hadn’t noticed the distance, only that she’d been busy.
Danny turned away in response to a question coming from his right, his hand trailing off her shoulder with a promise for more later in the night.
Jessica changed topics and asked about Damien’s role at Binnacle. He was a new addition to a skunkworks development team at Binnacle. Jessica wasn’t sure what that meant, but it sounded intriguing.
When she asked for a more detailed explanation, Damien winked and said, “Something for catching bad guys.” He recounted the list of Silicon Valley start-ups where he’d worked back home in California and how he’d been involved in their growth.
Jessica drifted while continuing to nod and look intently at the developer. Maybe she’d led with law rather than household management because she was embarrassed. Or maybe she’d figured it would suck for poor Damien to feel as though he had to be in a mommy conversation with the boss’s wife. Either way, that feeling of being small inched its way back into her consciousness.
Damien laughed, bringing Jessica back to the moment. She would laugh, too, then figure out what the joke had been.
DANNY’S ARMS WRAPPED firmly around Jessica’s waist as he kissed her on the back of her neck. “Good morning, hon.”
Jessica tilted her head back onto his shoulder as she set the platter of pancakes back on the counter. “Good morni
ng. Fun night.”
“Great night. Why didn’t you sleep in? You were sound asleep when I left for my run.” He kissed her on the top of her head and let go, turning toward the refrigerator.
“I don’t know what I was thinking, promising the kids pancakes this morning.” She felt as though she’d been ignoring everyone lately, and pancakes had seemed like a good make-up gift. Though that was before a late night of drinking, dancing, and forgetting.
“You’re a pushover. Always have been, Jess.” He picked up the newspaper from the table and made himself comfortable on the couch.
The creak of the stairs meant Jessica had finished making breakfast just in time.
Mikey burst through the doorway ahead of his sister. “I smell bacon. Did you make bacon? I want bacon!”
The contagious joy filled Jessica’s heart. “Of course I made bacon.” She filled a plate and handed it to Mikey. “Be sure to eat some fruit, too. I don’t want to be rolling you to the pharmacy to get cholesterol medicine when you’re thirteen.”
His mouth already full of pancake and bacon, Mikey’s response was incomprehensible.
Cricket grabbed a plate from the makeshift breakfast buffet. “Did you guys have fun last night? When did you get home? I heard Gracie barking.”
“Late,” Jessica said. “It was fun.”
Mikey had reloaded his plate with seconds by the time Conor walked silently into the kitchen.
“Morning, Conor.” Jessica started to add bacon to a plate for him.
“Not hungry.” Conor filled a glass with orange juice and walked back out.
Jessica sought insight from Mikey and Cricket. “What’s with him?”
Two sets of shrugging shoulders answered her.
She shot a look at Danny and got a third set of shrugging shoulders in response.
Catching up with at least two of the kids made the early trip to the kitchen worth it, though. She would deal with Conor later and enjoy the Sunday-morning chatter from her unjaded children.
Cricket had a boyfriend. And based on the whack she inflicted on Mikey when he disclosed that fact through a mouthful of pancake, she hadn’t wanted anyone to know. Tellingly, she blushed sweetly before saying she wasn’t going to talk about it then changed the subject to swim-team gossip and her promotion from the B to the A relay team.
Mikey pulled out a copy of a field trip consent form that Jessica had apparently failed to complete and send back to school. It had been a tough last week, so she wasn’t surprised she’d missed something, though it was unlike her.
“Sorry, honey. Leave it here, and I’ll take care of it.”
After the kids left, Jessica curled up on the couch next to Danny, who pulled her close. Taking on the asylum case might not have been the right thing for Jessica to do, but it had helped her see with new eyes what she already had at home. This, what she had right now, Conor’s attitude notwithstanding, was just as it should be, and that should be her priority, her focus.
She had let obligations to others interfere with what was important before, years ago. She couldn’t let that happen again.
She flicked on the morning news. Hundreds of desperate souls piled on rubber rafts filled the screen. She flicked it back off. She wouldn’t watch the news anymore, but she did have a phone call to return.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
AMINA
Bathanjaan didn’t open until noon on Sundays, so it was missing the usual Spanish and Arabic chatter rising above the clanks and sizzles of the dinner rush, the fragrant smells of spices from home, and the electric tension of trying to keep up with orders. It didn’t feel like a commercial kitchen on a Sunday morning, though it didn’t feel like an office, either.
Sunday morning was Amina’s favorite time to go to her office, which was really not much more than a desk shielded from the industrial dishwasher by two tall metal file cabinets and a sheet of plywood painted white.
She paper-clipped the week’s receipts together and stacked them on her desk after updating QuickBooks then moved on to the time cards. Her job, which tended to be mostly bookkeeping, differed from the duties she’d had before she fled Aleppo, where she’d audited financial records and provided summary analyses. But once she’d adjusted to the world of American restaurants and their tax, business, and financial implications, she had added duties over time. She’d taken over accounts payable, sales, and use tax remission, and earlier in the year, she had coordinated all documentation for the tax preparer.
It hadn’t taken long in her position to learn that after rent, salaries, taxes, and all the other overhead expenses, little remained for Fayiz and Sama. The longer she relied on them, the more she wanted to be able to do for them. But at some point, she would have to stop leaning on them. Though the family had not made her feel unwelcome, each additional month, week, and day was an imposition. She was tired of being an imposition and not just on family.
After that night on the street, Amina hadn’t known what to expect from Jessica. The drive with her to her cousin’s house had been silent. Being alone in her room that night had been silent, too, but in a different way. A cloak of emptiness wrapped the fear close around her, conjuring images from years ago and thousands of miles away, images she had successfully hidden for so long.
She didn’t tell Fayiz or Sama what had happened. She didn’t tell them that three men had approached her and her lawyer, spewing hateful words. Fayiz and Sama had heard those words before; they had been here long enough. She didn’t tell them the men had thrown her up against the wall, pulling at her scarf and her clothes. She didn’t need to worry Sama, not in her state. The incident was nothing compared to what had happened to her own brother and so many back in their home country.
She didn’t tell them that her lawyer had stepped ahead of her, toward the men, speaking to them with firm authority. She didn’t tell them that watching Jessica stay calm had helped keep her from panicking. She didn’t tell them that she worried Jessica would want to get out of the case to protect her own safety.
The two had only spoken periodically before the incident, certainly not every day or even every week, but the pause in communication had seemed more significant this time. Amina suspected the lawyer had been unsatisfied with the case from the beginning. She certainly hadn’t hidden her discomfort that first day, though she’d made up for that with her later professionalism and respect. But Amina recognized that taking on a legal case with no pay was one thing. Getting accosted on the street was another. Those men would not have confronted an American woman in that way. It was the hijab; it was the Middle Eastern woman; it was the Muslim.
For Jessica to exit the case would be a disappointment, but Amina would understand. She wouldn’t blame her. She wouldn’t call her cowardly or fraudulent or selfish. She would call her human. She wanted to thank Jessica for all she had done, but she’d been relieved Jessica hadn’t returned the call she’d made a few days before. The chance still existed that they could continue to work together.
Then Jessica called unexpectedly during the quiet time in the prelunch kitchen. The buzz of the phone reverberating on the metal desk caused Amina to jump, sending paper clips frittering off the edge of the desk and into the bag lying open by her feet.
“I’m so sorry, Amina. I’m sorry I didn’t return your call sooner. I’ve been... busy.”
“It’s okay.” Amina could hardly hear her own voice.
“And I’m sorry... I’m sorry for what those guys said and did.”
It was not her place to apologize. Jessica had received as much from the men as Amina had.
Jessica continued, hesitancy catching in her voice. “It’s embarrassing as an American to know there are people here who do that and think that. I’m sorry.”
“There is no need to apologize for them. Please,” Amina said. Please, what? She didn’t know.
“Are you okay?” Jessica asked.
“Yes.” There was no way to explain how hurtful the words and the fear had been to her
.
“Amina, listen—”
Amina found her voice before Jessica could back out of the case, if that was why she had called. “Jessica, can we meet? In person?” Her heart raced, thumping away the seconds it took for Jessica to respond.
“Yes. That’s a good idea.”
They arranged to meet again at the end of the week, and Amina hung up the phone, feeling new light and seeing new light. They hadn’t talked about what had happened, yet she felt as though she had unloaded the dark memory just by connecting with the person who had been through it with her. Or at least she’d exposed it. Other memories seemed ready to come out of the shadows as well.
Amina used the two paper clips that hadn’t fallen into her bag, assembled the week’s paperwork into a folder, and slid that into the bottom left file cabinet drawer.
She would start on her own paperwork now. Her time with that first attorney hadn’t been a complete waste of effort. His office had provided a surprisingly accurate list of what she should prepare to support her asylum claim. It was a shame he had not waited for her to complete it before he’d prepared the false filing, but maybe it had been a blessing since it meant she now had Jessica... might have Jessica.
Amina still had to present a supplemental filing with the USCIS, complete with dates, people, places, and events—all things Jessica had been kind enough to pull out of her gently and slowly but that, ultimately, Amina needed to provide.
The kitchen staff wouldn’t arrive for another hour. She started writing.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Golden sunlight conspired with orange and yellow leaves to beckon Jessica outside. Even if the day had been drizzly and gray, a hike might have been more appealing than the loud, stuffy school bus she found herself boarding at the curb in front of the middle-school building.
Jessica had been a familiar face at the kids’ schools over the years, one of the “usual suspects” when it came to volunteering. She’d headed committees, sent in baked goods, worked at fundraisers, and laminated name tags. She did her good deeds, but she’d always managed to escape being trapped on a school bus filled with sixty loud, unruly children.
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