“No.” She sat down on the step beside him, as she had that first night, but this time, he did not move away. “I had not started to wr—” He frowned. “The tide is in.”
She shot him a sideways glance. “And you said that, why?”
He gestured toward the pathway across the road. “You came up from the beach, but you could not have walked all the way from town along it.”
“I didn’t,” she said. “My car’s parked up by the gate.”
“Oh, right, the code.” He flipped to the back of his journal, tore off a piece of the page, and wrote down the numbers. As he handed Renee the paper, the first raindrops dotted the flagstones leading into the yard. “So, how long were you down on the beach?”
“A while.” She waved her hand as though both his question and her answer were unimportant. “What were you going to write about?”
“I had not decided yet. Why were you down on—”
“I lost my nerve, okay? I came to see you, but then I wasn’t sure you would want to see me, so I ducked down the stairs.”
“And then, with the tide in, you had no other way to climb back up.” He grinned.
“Stupid, huh?”
“Not at all. I’m glad I was out here when you came up.”
She looked at him. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
A breeze spattered rain across the steps below their feet.
“Does the collection you’re working on have a theme?” she asked. “I mean, The Brevity of Roses was about her, right?”
“You can use her name. Meredith. And the nature of love was the theme.”
Renee nodded. “So, what’s the theme for your next book?”
“We shall see.” They sat in silence for a minute or two. The sky darkened and the wind picked up. Jalal now became uncomfortably aware of the mere inches of space between them. He sat transfixed as two raindrops merged on the smooth bare skin of her knee and edged over the slope to trickle down into the soft hollow beneath. Alarmed at the sudden mental image of his hand rising and letting a finger follow that trail, he shook his head and cleared his throat. “Sorry. Did you say something?”
“No.” She stood up. “But I think this ‘shower’ is about to turn into something more. I’d better get back to my car.”
Jalal jumped to his feet. “Would you like to step inside until the storm blows over?” Without waiting for an answer, he opened the door and stood aside, motioning for her to enter. He held his breath as she passed him. Renee stopped just inside the door, and he had to ease around her. He was careful not to touch. What am I doing?
“Geez, you have a lot of books,” she said and then dropped down on the near end of the sofa. “Do you give out library cards?”
Jalal turned on a lamp, driving out the gloom. He perched on the sofa arm at the opposite end. “You are welcome to borrow any book you like,” he said and smiled at her.
“That’s killer, you know.”
He frowned and shook his head. “You have lost me.”
“Your smile,” she said. “It’s killer.”
He stood up. “I am sorry. I should have offered you something—a Coke?”
“A beer would be nice, if you have any,” she said and followed him into the kitchen.
He took two bottles out of the refrigerator and grabbed a bag of chips. When they had settled at the table, he resumed the conversation. “Why are you here? In the village, I mean. Why did you move here?”
Renee shrugged. “Change of scenery. You know, the first time I saw you wasn’t that afternoon I walked by here.”
His eyes narrowed. “Oh?”
“Now, don’t freak out on me again. I didn’t know who you were. Honest. The first day I got here, I saw you coming out of the post office. And then the next night you came into Jennie’s just as I was leaving.”
He took a long drink. “I have no memory of that.”
“Thanks a lot!”
He grimaced. “Sorry. I was not paying attention, I guess. But those were only passing encounters. Why would you remember seeing me?”
Renee paused with her bottle halfway to her lips. With a quizzical look, she searched his face, then shook her head and smiled. “I guess that would be because you’re gorgeous.”
Embarrassed into silence, Jalal watched as Renee drank, then wiped her upper lip dry with a fingertip. It occurred to him he should have offered her a glass and he was about to correct his error, when she spoke.
“I figured you might be gay,” she said.
His brows rose equal to the distance his jaw dropped. “Why would you think that?”
“Well … you’d be surprised how many of the best-looking guys are.”
“I see. So, you saw me as a gay Muslim. At least you are creative in your stereotyping.”
She laughed. “You want to know what I really thought the first time I saw you?”
“I fear to imagine.”
“I thought you were probably a model. Or maybe an actor.”
“I assure you I have never acted.” Shit! Wrong answer.
“Then you were a model?”
He shrugged.
“Wow. Show me some photos.”
Suddenly, the beer label fascinated him. He could not tear his eyes away. “I burned them long ago.”
“Why would you burn— Oh. My. God.”
He waited, but she said no more. Finally, he dared to look at her. She sat wide-eyed and grinning.
“You posed nude,” she said.
Jalal closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. “Only once. But not for the reason you are thinking—they were artistic shots for my portfolio.”
“Riiight.”
He opened his eyes. “Okay … so I was young, rebellious, and heavily under the influence at the time.”
“I bet.”
He winced, shaking his head. “I cannot believe I told you. That has been my dirty little secret for sixteen years.”
“You never told …”
“No. Not even her.”
“Well, then,” she said, “I never heard it.”
He blew out a breath. “Thank you.”
“No problem.”
Jalal drained his beer and pushed his chair away from the table. “Would you like another?”
A snatch of music from Renee’s cell phone interrupted her before she could reply. She stood up and glanced at the screen, but did not answer it. “Oh crap. I have to go.” As she passed him, she gave a soft wolf whistle. “See you later … Hunk of the Month.”
When the screen door slammed behind her, Jalal shook his head. But he smiled.
Jalal had lain awake until just before dawn, so now he was back on his night owl schedule. Under the late-afternoon sun, he paced the beach, cooling down. He had sailed through his run, his mind clear, and then at the end of it—no idea why—he thought of Disneyland. Now, as he eased his muscles, he drifted off to the memory of Meredith’s first visit there. Shocked, when he learned she had never gone, he immediately scheduled their trip. They stayed for five days, seeing everything, doing it all at least twice. She loved it, and he had loved sharing the experience with her.
When Renee walked up beside him and spoke, it took a moment to peel his mind loose from the past. “Sorry?”
“I said, you ran late today.”
“I … yes.”
“Do you want me to leave you alone?” she asked.
“No!” Renee’s surprised expression jerked him fully into the moment. His vehemence had taken her question and his reply to a deeper level than either of them intended. He scrambled to backtrack. “Forgive me. I was … deep in thought.” He motioned for her to follow and started across the beach toward the steps. “Come up to the house.”
“You still owe me tea,” she told him.
“Indeed.” As they walked onto his porch, he said, “If you could entertain yourself for a few minutes, I would like to shower.”
“No problem,” she said. “I’ll just browse the library.”
Jalal laughed. “Be my guest.”
The ten-minute shower had washed away more than his sweat and Meredith was not on his mind until he walked back into the living room. Renee sat on the floor, illuminated by sunlight, with a book open on her lap. The sight wrenched something loose in him.
“I hope you don’t mind,” she said, looking up. “I’ve never read your first—” She snapped it closed and scrambled to her feet. “I’m sorry. I can see you do mind.” She turned to put the book on the shelf. “It was rude of me to—”
“You were not rude.” He averted his gaze. “You … you just reminded me of something.”
“Oh. Um … then, is it all right to borrow the book? I promise I’ll bring it right back.”
“Please, consider it a gift. Now, on to the tea.”
Book in hand, she followed him into the kitchen. “You mean tea tea, like in England? Crumpets and all that.”
“This tea is better. And I will serve you cookies. I did not bake them myself, but they are authentic. Very sweet. Persians are not averse to sugar. Sometime, I will show you the custom of sipping tea through a sugar cube.”
“There you go again, trying to impress me by stringing dozens of words together.”
“Impudent child,” he muttered.
Renee read while he brewed, putting aside the book only after he had set a filled cup before her. She sipped. “Hmmm, cinnamon, cloves and … what?”
“Cardamom.”
“I like it. Do you make it this sweet when you do the sugar cube thing?”
“No.”
She took a cookie. “Do you do this every afternoon? Have tea, I mean.”
“Usually.”
“You know,” she said thoughtfully, “I can’t decide if you are a poet because you don’t think in full sentences, or the other way around.”
His brow arched. “It takes skill to condense many thoughts into few words.”
“Indeed,” she said and laid a hand on his book.
“That reminds me, how did you know to buy my second book? I never told you I was a writer.”
“Are you serious?”
He frowned.
“Are you telling me you never noticed your book is prominently displayed in the gift shops here—local celebrity, and all that?”
“Oh, that.” He did his best to forget. “Yes. Well.” He wiped a drop of tea off the table. “The other day I promised you tea and my turn to interrogate. So, my first question is why did you move here?”
She took a drink of tea. “I didn’t intend to. I was on my way to L.A., but my car started acting up and this was the nearest place to get it fixed. Since Keith had to order the part, it took a couple of days, so I looked around and thought, Bay of Dreams, why not?”
“But … what about the reason you were going to Los Angeles?”
Renee shrugged. “There wasn’t any. Really. It was just somewhere to go. To get away.”
He studied her while she broke delicate pieces from a cookie and placed them on her tongue. Finally, he gave her a prompt. “To get away from …”
She waved a hand vaguely. “Oh … nothing.”
He shook his head. “You told me once that you wanted a new start. That sounds like you were moving on from something. Or someone.”
She held out her cup and he refilled it. He waited for her response, but after a minute of silence, he asked, “Was this ‘nothing’ the person who phoned you last night?”
She gave him a blank look.
“Here in my kitchen? Your cell phone? Before you ran out?”
She pressed her lips together, but he saw the smile in her eyes.
“No,” she said. “That was no one—seriously. Hey, were you born rich or did you earn it?”
“I—” His mouth snapped shut and he shot her a look. “Hold on. You assume I am rich.”
She laughed. “Are you denying it? Come on. Wikipedia—”
“We were talking about you, Renee.”
“Not anymore.” She downed the rest of her tea and jumped up. “I need to get going. Thanks for the book.”
Dumbfounded, Jalal stood up, but it took him a few seconds to respond. “Yes … let me know how you like it.”
“Will do.” She headed for the door, then stopped and looked back. “And don’t ever call me a child again.”
Though she smiled, he knew she was serious. “I would not think of it,” he told her.
When Renee began her visits over a month ago, Jalal feared they would intrude too much on his solitude. Truth was he enjoyed having her there to share his afternoon tea, to chat or even argue with, to laugh with—to just be with someone. Today was sunny and warm. They sat drowsily on his porch, he with his feet propped up, chair tipped back, she sideways on the railing, resting against a column, knees to chest. They spoke in spurts, a comfortable silence falling between.
“So,” she said, “what’s the deal with you and your dad?”
He frowned, certain he must have misheard.
“Your dad, your father, your male parent … why do you hate him?”
He shook his head. “I have no clue what you are on about.”
Renee sighed. “I’m talking about some of the poems in your first collection. The ones you wrote about your father.”
He turned his head away and said nothing.
“Oookay,” she said, “I guess we don’t talk about that.”
“You need to learn the difference between being direct and being rude.” Jalal glared at the ocean. She had no right to ask him such a personal question. His relationship with his— In one motion, his feet and chair legs hit the porch floor and his head whipped around to face her. “I never said those poems were about my father!”
She gazed calmly at him. “You did now.”
His jaw clenched. It still hurt to admit his error. Pride. How many times had he pushed Meredith away because of it? One such memory came back to him now.
They were driving back from another trip to Seattle when Meredith asked, “Jalal, is it possible you’ve misinterpreted your father’s feelings … about your writing, I mean?”
He sighed. “What did he say to you this time?”
“Nothing in particular. He always asks me how your work is going.”
“You mean, he questions whether I still write. He asks you if I have come to my senses yet?”
Meredith shook her head. “Jalal—”
“Listen, I know he charms you. I know you want us all to be one happy family.” He sighed again. “You do not know him like I do.”
“But … it doesn’t seem to me that anyone …” She stopped, took a breath, and started over. “None of your sisters, not even your brothers, seem to know the same father you do.”
He looked at her in disbelief. “Do you think I want my father to hate me? That would be insane. Is that what—” The car was riding Braille. He steered back into his lane and kept his eyes on the road.
“Jalal, all I’m saying—”
He shot a hand in the air, fingers spread, signifying he was through discussing the subject. Then, in his mind’s eye, he saw the gesture as one his father often used and he slapped his hand back on the steering wheel. His mother and sisters had instigated this, but Meredith would let it go—for now. Why could none of them understand?
As it turned out, they had. Now, he forced himself to meet Renee’s gaze. “I wrote those poems a long time ago. It was wrong. I was a fool.”
She nodded. “So things are all right between the two of you now?”
“Yes, they are.”
“Great.” She swung her legs around and hopped off the railing. “I need a Coke. Do you want one?”
“Why not.” Again, he tipped back in his chair. Renee. How could someone so young be so tough? Her willingness to confront him put Azadeh’s to shame. Life is too short, Renee had once reminded him, as though it were a lesson learned. What or who had been her teacher?
He heard the car before he saw any movement out of the corner of hi
s eye. He turned toward the sound and, for the second time, his feet and chair legs hit the floor hard. Only this time he rocketed out of the chair. Azadeh was pulling into his driveway. Oh lord, how would he explain Renee? He crossed the porch to the steps, as Aza and the kids entered the yard.
“Sorry. I know we should have called first,” she said.
“Oh, come on, you know I never mind.” He pulled her into a hug when she stepped up on the porch. “I am always happy to see you.” The screen door opened behind him and, over her shoulder, he saw Ryan’s eyes widen. Jalal turned. “Renee,” he said a little too loudly, “this is my sister Azadeh, and her children Ryan and Kristen.”
Renee stood there with a soda can in each hand, her eyes making the rounds. “Hello,” she said.
Azadeh murmured a surprised greeting in return.
“Renee is a neighbor,” Jalal said and glanced away from the accusation that flashed in Renee’s eyes. He turned back to Azadeh. She still eyed Renee.
Renee handed a can to Ryan as nonchalantly as if he had ordered it. “It was nice to meet you all,” she said. “I was just leaving.” Then she faced Jalal and forced him to meet her eyes. When he did, she thrust the other Coke at him. “See you around the neighborhood.” She stepped past Ryan, and Azadeh and Kristen moved aside to let her through.
“Please, stay,” said Azadeh.
“Thanks, but I really have to go now. Some other time, maybe.”
They all watched Renee walk to her car. Jalal was aware how long her legs looked beneath her skimpy shorts. As soon as Renee started her car, Ryan slapped him on the back.
“Way to go, uncle Jalal!” he said, grinning.
“She is just a neighbor,” snapped Jalal.
“Yeah?” Ryan popped open the can. “Can I come live with you?”
“Ryan!” Azadeh slapped his arm, causing soda to splash out. As he backed away, brushing the drops off his shirt, she sent Jalal a questioning look.
“Can we boogie board now?” asked Kristen.
Minutes later, while Ryan and Kristen braved the surf, Azadeh and Jalal walked along the beach. “Have you talked to Sam lately?” he asked.
“Yes, quite a bit. So far, he’s agreeing to everything. It’s freaking me out.” She laughed. “What exactly did you say to him?”
The Brevity of Roses Page 17