The Brevity of Roses

by Linda Cassidy Lewis

  “Seven years.”

  He laid his hand on the page, covering Stephen’s image. “You do not look as I pictured you.”

  “How did you picture me?”

  “More Ivy League, I think. You were a hippie! That never occurred to me.” He turned back a few pages and pointed to a photo. “This is you as a baby?”

  She nodded.

  “You were bald as bread.”

  Meredith reached up and tousled his hair. “I suppose you’ve always had these curls.”

  “Jealous?”

  “I would like to see your family photos,” she said.

  “I will ask my mother for some,” he said. “But you did not answer my question.”

  “What question was that?”

  “I asked what your husband was like, but you only showed me photos of him.”

  “Oh.” She looked down at the album as though she needed a visual reminder of who Stephen was. “He was very intelligent, serious about his work. Intense sometimes—but he had a lighter side too.” She bit her lip. Jalal had put her on the defensive. “You know, thirteen years seems both a lifetime and no time at all.”

  Without comment, Jalal leafed through the pages, looking closely at several photos before he closed the book and handed it to her. He stood and returned to the CD rack, where he pointed to various artists’ names as he read them off—“Pearl Jam, Soundgarden, Nirvana, even Tori Amos and Alanis Morissette. You have some angry music here, Meredith. Is that how you express your feelings about him?”

  “My feelings about who?”

  “Your husband.”

  She leapt to her feet, nearly losing her balance. “I am not angry with my husband!” Jalal said nothing more; he only looked at her, so calmly, so knowingly. She stormed from the room. For once, he didn’t follow her.

  Meredith headed for her garden bench, shunning the table and chairs Jalal had moved—insinuated—into her space, like he had wormed his way into her life. Who does he think he is? A therapist? A psychic? God? What right did he have to push her, force her, to a place she didn’t want to go? She worked hard to ignore the constant anger that simmered deep within her. Yet, at times when she feared her rage would boil over, she played songs from the very CDs Jalal had named. Played them full blast in her car as she drove the open roads outside town and up into the mountains, silently screaming, pushing the gas pedal as far as she dared.

  When she breathed out the last of her fury, she rose and crossed the garden to her Margaret Merrill floribunda. It was her most fragrant rose, white with a hint of blush at the base. Pure, sweet, honest—all attributes she lacked. As deceptive as she had been with him, Jalal’s conclusion seemed logical. He had rightly detected her anger, but wrongly deduced Stephen as its cause.

  Stephen had been her foundation, her strength. Then why are your bad memories of him resurfacing? Because … well … because of the contrast, that was all. Stephen and Jalal were complete opposites, and the difference so jarred her that at moments she had questioned how she could even be attracted to both men. It wasn’t only sex that attracted her to Jalal. It was more crucial than that—he related to her in a way Stephen never had.

  Like a quake, Jalal’s ardent compassion cracked the foundation of her life, forcing long-buried memories and feelings to rise to the surface. She was beginning to smell the stench. His presence frightened her as much as it delighted her, and yet, she willed him to stay. Eventually, Jalal would discover the rot within her, but if she played it right, she could delay the inevitable for a little while longer.

  She left the garden. As she knew he would be, Jalal was in the kitchen, standing at the stove, preparing tea. She came up behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist. “I don’t want to fight with you,” she said.

  Their teatime was short. Their lovemaking was not.

  “Turn left at the next street,” said Meredith. “Judith’s house is off to the right about half-way up. Look for a white gate.”

  “One more time,” said Jalal, “Judith’s husband is named Gary; Donna’s husband is Leo; and Carol is not married, but she will be with Vic.”

  “Yes, now relax. This is just a friendly get-together.”

  Judith greeted them at the door and then glued herself to Jalal’s arm. As she smiled up at him, she spoke to Meredith. “You’ve had him to yourself long enough, dear. Now it’s my turn.” She pulled Jalal away. As they passed Vic, she ordered him to bring Meredith a drink.

  Two sips into her first cocktail, and already bored with Vic, Meredith shifted her position so she could watch Jalal. He stood stiffly beside Judith, looking anywhere but at her. Vic either didn’t notice or didn’t care that he had only half her attention.

  “I’m on the City Council, now,” said Vic.

  “Yes, I heard.”

  Judith’s laugh carried across the room.

  “The budget is in serious need of an overhaul.”

  “Is it?”

  “Yes, it is,” said Vic, “and I have some interesting ideas on how to balance it for next year.”

  “I’m sure you do.” Donna and Carol now joined Jalal and Judith. Carol pressed in close to Jalal on his other side, so Judith sidled forward to stand nearly facing him. Meredith thrust her half-empty glass toward Vic. “Would you please refresh my drink?”

  “Of course, my dear.”

  When Vic scurried off, she tried to catch Jalal’s eye. It was not a good sign that his smile appeared frozen. When he finally looked her way, his eyes pled for rescue. Meredith hurried to his side. He grabbed her, wrapping an arm around her waist, clutching her to him as though daring anyone to part them again.

  “Go away, Meredith,” said Judith, “you’re spoiling our fun.” She reached for Jalal’s arm to pull him away, but the housekeeper thwarted her plan by signaling that dinner was ready.

  Jalal was no less tense during dinner. As though he couldn't get comfortable, he started squirming soon after they took their seats, then, finally, scooted his chair back an inch or two farther from the table. She leaned close and whispered, “Are you all right?” He only stared straight ahead.

  They had just finished the salad, when Gary directed a question to Jalal. When he didn’t respond, all eyes turned to Jalal, and Meredith gave him a nudge. “Gary asked you something.”

  “I hear you were in finance. Where did you work before moving here?” Gary repeated.

  “New York City,” said Jalal.

  Gary smirked. “So, are you on the run from an embezzlement charge or did some jealous husband chase you out of town?”

  “Gary!” said Judith as though shocked, but she laughed along with the others.

  Jalal didn’t answer, though no one but Meredith seemed to notice. The main course arrived and the conversation moved on to another topic. She only half-listened. Jalal focused on his plate, though he ate little, and once, when she touched his thigh, he jumped and nearly overturned his wine glass. After the dinner plates were cleared away, Leo spoke to Jalal, but she tuned in only when he responded.

  “I am not in the business any longer,” he said.

  “Oh?” said Leo. “Or maybe you just don’t want to share your knowledge with an old Jew like me.”

  Again, the six of them laughed, though Donna, at least, had the sense to look embarrassed. Again, Jalal said nothing. Meredith, having missed Leo’s question, was a bit confused, but she no longer needed to look at Jalal to know she had made a mistake accepting the invitation to this dinner party. She should have known better. She nibbled at her dessert and sipped her coffee, though both seemed tasteless.

  At a signal from Jalal, she declined the offer of after dinner drinks and they left. The first three minutes of the drive home they didn’t speak. She cast uneasy glances at Jalal, noting his gritted teeth and his eyes glaring straight ahead. Maybe she could deflect his coming accusations by playing innocent. “I know you’re angry, Jalal, but I’m not sure why.”

  His only response was a half-laugh, as if he were not surpri
sed she could be so clueless. She let it go for a few more blocks. The weather had changed while they were at dinner and now, against the darkness, she watched raindrops trace paths down her side window. Soon, he would rage against her stupidity, her poor judgment. Finally, she could stand the tension no longer. When they were two blocks from her house, she opted to get it over with. “Please tell me what I did wrong.”

  She felt, more than saw, him glance over at her. He sighed forcefully, as though he had been holding his breath since they left the party.

  “It was not you,” he said. “You did nothing wrong.”

  She felt a mixture of relief and confusion. “Then what are you angry about?”

  Jalal punched the gate button on the remote, and swung into her driveway. As he pulled up before the front door, he answered her question. “Other than the fact we wasted over two hours with a group of empty-headed, sex-obsessed women and their pretentious, racist husbands, you mean?”

  “Those women are my friends—”

  “Are they, Meredith? Are they really?”

  She flung open her door and got out of the car, darting up the walk to beat him into the house. Too late, she remembered she hadn’t brought her keys, and had to stand aside to let him unlock the door. He stopped in the entryway, and she squeezed past him, heading for the stairs.

  “Hold on!” he said. “I thought you wanted to talk about this.”

  She faced him. “I don’t care to hear you insulting my friends.”

  “What does that word mean to you?’

  “What word?”

  “Friends. Because, except that you all have breasts and vaginas, you are nothing like them! Nothing!”

  “There’s no need to be crude, Jalal.”

  “Crude! I am being crude?” He shook his head in disbelief. “You do realize your dear friend Judith shoved her cleavage in my face at every opportunity tonight. And the woman seated across from us at the table … Carol? … had her bare toes up the leg of my slacks more than she had them in her own shoes! I felt more like I had been invited to be dinner than eat it.”

  “You misinterpreted … they didn’t mean …” Her protest was pointless. He had told the truth. She just didn’t want to believe it. She closed her mouth with a sigh, and Jalal continued.

  “And you could not possibly have misunderstood that Donna’s husband thought he was baiting me when he kept referring to himself as an old Jew?”

  “All right, yes, and that was wrong, but—”

  “Wrong? That was racist, Meredith!”

  “Well … maybe Leo meant it to be a joke.”

  “I see. Like the joke Judith’s husband made about me getting run out of New York?”

  “Gary’s a buffoon, Jalal. No one takes him seriously.”

  He looked toward the ceiling and swallowed hard. For a moment she had the horrifying thought he was about to cry. He closed his eyes. “All right,” he said, “you have contempt for their spouses, but I cannot understand how you consider those women to be your friends in the first place.”

  He had called her stupid after all. She raised her chin, defiant. “Maybe you don’t know me as well as you think you do.”

  Jalal opened his eyes, looking at her in his way that made her feel he knew all her secrets, and her haughty spirit stepped back, confused. “Maybe,” he said, “and if that is so, I do not think I want to know you.”

  She stood silent, too stunned to cry.

  “But I hope the truth is that you do not know yourself, Meredith.”

  At that, her mind became a whirlpool of pleading, fury, and fear, yet she remained mute.

  Jalal threw his keys on the hall table. “I am going to sleep,” he said and left her standing alone at the bottom of the stairs.

  The next day, the nineteenth day after they met, Jalal left her.

  Meredith came home from the salon around noon to find the house had become a cold, silent void in her absence. His clothes, his journal— he was gone. Though she spent the rest of the day wrapped in a woolen throw, warmth eluded her. She wandered the house, staring out the windows, but seeing nothing. Jalal had been quiet at breakfast, but she expected that. Stephen had always frozen her out for a while after they argued. Apparently, Jalal’s silence had been the clue, the indication he was about to leave. If she had followed him up to bed after their argument, would he still be there? Why had she sided with her friends? How could she have been so insensitive to his anger, his hurt?

  Lying alone that night, she changed her mind and doubted the argument was Jalal’s reason for leaving. She suspected he had simply grown restless. After all, he had warned her he would leave.

  And you agreed to it, her mother’s voice reminded her.

  Yes. Oh, yes. She was a fool. She was the jester queen who thought she was living a fairy tale, only to have Prince Charming run off to some other woman’s castle. He hadn’t even had the decency to tell her, but slithered out while her back was turned. Still, he had warned her. Prepared her. If she were honest with herself, she had known all along Jalal had another woman—or women. Why wouldn’t he? Even so, what if that wasn’t the reason he left at all. What if he had seen through her cool aloof act to the cold, sucking void below. What man wanted that?

  At the first pale of dawn, reason prevailed. Meredith resolved to return to reality and her old routine. Long ago, she had adjusted to a solitary life. Besides, how could she have ever thought they had anything in common? To be honest, Jalal was somewhat immature. And he definitely had issues. She would do well to consider her time with Jalal as a sort of vacation—something delightful, but temporary.

  Let him go.

  She kept her counsel throughout the day, but as sunset neared, and a second night alone loomed, the silence became unbearable, her thoughts increasingly morose. Jalal had stretched the borders of her life. It would take some time before they shrank to fit her again.

  Dreading another pointless day, she made plans to drive over to the coast where she could visit art galleries, meditate by the sea, and have lunch somewhere different. Somewhere that wouldn’t remind her of Jalal. Early the next morning, she drove thirty miles to a village called Bahía de Sueños, a place she had escaped to before. Alone. After living so many years near San Francisco, she missed the ocean with its dual nature of calm and chaos. It called to her in voices of both lover and adversary. Always, she felt that if she could sit beside it still enough, long enough, she might solve mysteries. About life. About herself.

  Two minutes after her arrival, while stopped at the only traffic light in that section of the town, she perused the line of shops ahead. The flash of sunlight on an opening door caught her eye. She watched as Jalal stepped out and headed down the sidewalk, away from her. A sense of longing hit her with such force it left her breathless. That longing so frightened her, she turned her car around and drove straight back home.

  The phone began to ring just as she walked into the kitchen. She took two steps toward it, then froze. What if it’s Jalal? What if it isn’t? She hesitated one ring too long. The machine picked up, and Judith said, “Meredith, where the hell are you? We’re all waiting for you here at the charity luncheon!”

  Oh! If only she had remembered the event. She wouldn’t have driven to the coast. She wouldn’t have seen Jalal. She would have been one day closer to moving on. Rather than return Judith’s call and admit she had forgotten, Meredith rushed to change her clothes. She would drive like crazy to the country club and pretend she was only running late. Attending the luncheon would have to be better than spending another afternoon alone. If nothing else, it would force her mind off Jalal for a little while.

  Twenty minutes later, she grabbed a glass of champagne from a passing server, and took her seat at the table.

  “Where’s our honey boy?” asked Judith.

  Meredith ignored Judith’s question and asked one of her own. “Did I miss anything?”

  Donna replied, “Only Goldie, boring everyone with her usual opening drone.”<
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  Judith and Carol sputtered in glee, while Carol motioned with a flick of her eyes toward the next table. When Donna glanced over to where Goldie’s daughter sat, she uttered a hearty, “Oh, shit!” and then she laughed too.

  Their mean-spiritedness stripped them bare, allowing her to see them as Jalal must have. Goldie and Donna had been neighbors and friends for years. How could Donna be so two-faced? She studied the three women she had called friends the last twelve years. How many times had they secretly made her the butt of their cruel jokes? Honey boy? Did Judith’s dress bare every legal inch of her chest because she had expected to see Jalal? Our honey boy? Had the three of them conspired and decided Jalal should be community property?

  Oh, God! What if Jalal had decided she was every bit as shallow and ridiculous as these women? What if he truly no longer wanted her in his life? The possibility sickened her. Without a word, she rose from the table and left the Wanton Women behind.

  After that, she tried hard not to think of Jalal. In Bahía de Sueños. With someone else. She tended her garden, read journals and magazines that had piled up, and caught up on her correspondence. After only a few days, she ran out of ways to occupy her time. As though her previous life had vanished with Jalal, Meredith had forgotten how she survived the days before meeting him. She hadn’t felt this lost and alone for fifteen years, since the day life betrayed her.

  On that day, she and Stephen had arrived at the excavation site after a pre-dawn breakfast. Though it had rained for three days before, the weather was perfect that morning, and they hoped to make up for the time lost. They parted with a kiss at the field office because she had paperwork to finish before joining him at the dig.

  “See you in a few, lovely lady,” he said.

  Not even fifteen minutes passed before Stephen’s assistant rushed back. “There’s been an accident … Stephen and Carl!” he told her.

  Meredith split in two: body and mind, or body and spirit, or heart and soul. One half knew instantly, just knew, the accident was fatal. That half shattered like cold crystal against stone and refused to believe that anything so horrible had happened on that beautiful morning. Had happened to Stephen. Had happened to her. That broken Meredith believed, if only she had not stayed behind, if only she had been by his side, the horrible thing could not have happened. Or even if it had, she would not have been left—alive—without him.