Jennie’s words turned her inside out. Renee bolted for the door. On fire from head to toe, all she could think to do was run.
Seventeen
THE PHONE RANG AS RENEE dressed for work the next morning.
“Hi,” said Azadeh. “I’m back in Coelho, now.”
Renee sank down on her bed. “When did you leave Jalal’s?”
“About forty-five minutes ago.”
“How was he?” She sucked in a breath and held it, waiting for the answer.
“He was writing when I woke up,” said Azadeh. “I think he wrote all night.”
“That’s good … well, unless …”
“No, it is good,” Azadeh told her. “He’d finished a poem and was working on a short story.”
“Did he let you read the poem?”
“Of course. It’s about you.”
“Oh.” How was she supposed to feel about that? No doubt, the subject of the poem pissed off Azadeh, and she had expressed her opinion to Jalal, told him he needed to focus his interests elsewhere.
“Did you read the journal?” asked Azadeh.
Here we go. “Yes. I read it.”
“Well?”
“I know what you wanted me to get from it, Azadeh.” The smell of something delicious cooking at Vincenza drifted through her open window, reminding Renee she hadn’t eaten. She headed for the kitchen.
“I wanted you to know how deeply Jalal can love someone,” said Azadeh.
“How deeply he loved Meredith, you mean.” She opened the refrigerator.
“Well … no. I hoped you would see why you’re the only person he’s let get this close to him since her death.”
“Because I have no connection to her?” She was not about to let Azadeh force her to condemn herself.
“Actually, it’s more that you’re nothing like her.”
The breath Renee had just inhaled froze in her lungs, but thawed a second later when her anger at Azadeh’s harshness flared. She slammed the refrigerator door. “Why the hell do you feel the need to tell me this?”
“What?”
Azadeh sounded genuinely confused, but Renee wasn’t fooled. She wouldn’t fall for Azadeh’s lets-be-friends act again. “I got the message. I’m not good enough for Jalal. Understood. Okay?”
“No. That’s not okay.” Azadeh sighed. “Let me explain. Meredith inspired Jalal to write, which is what he always wanted to do. She brought him back to Baba. She was a wonderful person and we all loved her, but she was … I don’t know … too much like Jalal. You know?” She sighed again. “I think if he’d suggested they shave their heads, live in a hut on the Equator, and try to contact aliens, she would have gone along with it.”
Renee smiled in spite of herself.
“But now,” said Azadeh, “he needs someone more… down to earth, and he’s attracted to that in you.”
“I’m not the person you think I am.” Renee felt dizzy from this emotional merry-go-round. Every time she got it stopped, got back in control, someone hit the switch that sent it whirling again.
“I’m not sure how to say this, but—and please don’t be angry with Jalal—he tells me everything. I know about your childhood.”
Renee sucked in a breath, angry that Jalal had exposed her, and then she blew it out, relieved. “Then you know I have problems of my own,” she said, “I’m pretty messed up, actually.”
“Renee, you were strong enough to take care of yourself. To survive. You’ve become a good person with her head on straight and her priorities in order. That’s what Jalal sees in you.”
“But, I—”
“Just don’t give up on him before you give it a chance, all right?”
“I don’t know …”
“Try. Please.” She was silent for a few seconds, apparently waiting for a response Renee couldn’t give. “And if it doesn’t work out with Jalal,” she said, finally, “don’t forget I have a sixteen-year-old who’s hot for you.”
They ended the call laughing together. It seemed she had agreed to speak to Jalal, to listen to both Jennie’s and Azadeh’s advice. Her boundaries had turned fluid. Desires flowed in and out until she no longer knew which were hers. Whose did she follow? Less than two months ago, she vowed to live for a while without a man in her life. Now, every day, some invisible cord bound her tighter to Jalal.
Renee stood with her cell phone in her hand, staring at Jalal’s name in her contacts list. It was only right to call and check on him. He answered on the second ring. “I hope it was okay to call,” she said.
“Always.”
Her heart stirred. She closed her eyes and imagined his lips forming that one perfect word. “How are you feeling this morning?”
“Believe it or not,” he said, “I am a little drowsy.”
“Go to sleep.”
“I would rather talk to you.”
“Sorry, I only have a minute. I have to get to Jennie’s.” He said nothing, and in that silence, the panic of loss nudged her. “I could come by later,” she said quickly, “if you like.”
“I would love.”
She matched the smile in his voice. “I’ll see you this afternoon then.”
“Renee?”
A sudden dread, fear she had misinterpreted his intent, stole her smile and slowed her response. “Yes?”
“I … thank you.”
“No problem,” she said and leaned back against the refrigerator, weak with relief. With those few words, they set their beach scene aside. For now. Maybe forever.
Jennie was in the kitchen when Renee got to the restaurant. She walked in and headed straight to put her purse away. When she turned around, Jennie stood with her hands on hips and her mouth open.
“What are you doing here?” Jennie asked.
“I work here, remember?”
“Who’s with Jalal?”
“No one, but he’s fine,” said Renee, tying on her apron. “I talked to him twenty minutes ago. I’ll go over there after my shift.”
“Well then, your shift just ended.”
“He’s asleep by now.”
“Sit there and wait for him to wake up.”
Renee ignored her and pushed through the swinging doors. For the next three and a half hours, she was grateful to be too busy to think much, but every time Jennie caught her eye, she gave her a frown and a headshake. With only two customers left seated by twenty minutes to three, Renee gave in.
“Thank God,” said Jennie and shooed her away.
Renee stopped at home to shower and change. She stared at her reflection as she combed out her hair. This was it. If Jalal had made enough room in his life for her, they would try to fit together the pieces of their relationship. An agreement had been reached, a decision made, but she couldn’t quite remember the details or even whether she had made it.
She found Jalal with his feet propped on the porch railing, engrossed in writing. He didn’t acknowledge her presence until she sat down in a chair beside him and then, he only gave her a quick smile during a pause between sentences and gestured for her to give him a minute. Content just to sit together with him, to get her bearings, she settled in to watch the waves while he wrote. A hummingbird at the feeder caught her eye and she watched to see if it appeared to be getting anything to drink. Jalal probably hadn’t kept up with the feeder any more than he had his garden—Meredith’s garden. Why hadn’t he hired a service? Clearly, he could use some help. The white rose had few blooms, and looked like it could use fertilizer or something. Oh. The relief of sudden understanding felt like she'd set down a heavy load. She hadn’t forced Jalal off some emotional cliff; he’d fallen before she met him. She’d only offered him a hand up. Somebody had to.
Jalal closed his journal. “How was work today?”
She turned toward him and her eyes scanned his face as though seeing him for the first time. Jalal was her responsibility. There was no longer any question of her running off to L.A. or even back to Sacramento. He needed her. She had cast her lot
with him and they would move forward together, for better or worse. For once, she would try not to expect the latter.
“Renee?”
“Yes?” She had spoken automatically, but now she focused. “Oh. Work was fine. The usual.”
“Good.”
“Did you take a nap?” she asked.
“I did. Two solid hours.” He grinned. “A new daytime record.”
She ached to touch him, brush that curl away from his eye, but she feared the gesture might break the easy sweetness of the moment. Might break him. Treading neutral territory was best. “Did you hear about the wedding?” she asked.
“Whose wedding?”
“Jennie and Eduardo’s.”
Jalal threw his head back and laughed. The sound flowed over her like pure oxygen, and she fought the urge to pounce on him, to seal her mouth over his and breathe it in.
“He finally did it! That is great news,” he said. “I am happy for both of them.”
“You’re not surprised?”
“Not at all.”
“I had no idea there was anything between them.” He shot her a puzzled look, and she felt suddenly naïve, as though there was some double meaning she hadn’t caught. “I think it’s great though,” she said quickly.
Jalal sobered. “Do you think he is too old for her?”
Renee took his hand in hers and looked into his eyes. “No. He is not,” she said. “Is she too young for him?”
“I think she is far more wise and mature than he is.”
She gave him a saucy wink. “You got that right.”
He laughed again and squeezed her hand.
“You’re writing.”
“I am,” he said. “A story.” He laid the journal in her lap.
She glanced down at it, then back up to him, but made no move to open it. “You want me to read this?”
“The story is about you.”
The book lay far heavier on her than its weight deserved. “I don’t think I should.”
Without a word, he took it from her and sat staring at it for a moment, pulling at his lower lip. Finally, he cleared his throat and confessed. “I opened one of your notebooks, once.”
“You read it?”
“Only a line or two.” He shifted his position, so he faced her. “You write to your mother.”
“It’s therapy.”
Jalal raised his eyebrows, not as if to question her answer, but as a bid for understanding. “Like your writing about Meredith,” she said.
He nodded. “My effort did not work. Does yours?”
She shook her head.
“So,” he said, “what do we try now?”
“Maybe we should talk to each other.”
He sat quietly for a moment, eyes averted, then raised them to gaze so deeply into hers she felt more naked than she had that day in his bed. “Hello,” he said, “my name is Jalal and my life is in your hands.”
“Oh my god.” She smacked his arm, laughing. “You smart ass. Maybe we should go straight to sex therapy instead.”
“Indeed.” He was on his feet in a flash, pulling her toward the door.
Two hours later, Renee woke surprised she had fallen asleep. For a minute, she lay in bed smelling something delicious cooking. Chicken, maybe. With cumin. She pulled on her clothes and headed to the kitchen. She eased in next to Jalal, standing at the stove.
“Why did you let me sleep?”
“Why would I not?” He scooped up the herbs he had chopped and added them to the pot. “You looked so peaceful. Like a ch—”
“Watch it.”
“Like an angel, then.”
“Don’t let the looks fool you.” She gave him a sharp hip bump. “How long before that’s ready? And what is it?”
“It is just a soup, but I went out for fresh bread from Karrick’s.” He checked the butter dish.
“Is it almost ready?”
He gave her a quick kiss before moving away toward the refrigerator. “You must be hungry.”
“Yes, but I also have to get to work. I’m on at seven.”
He put a stick of butter in the microwave and punched in ten seconds on defrost. “Can you call in sick?”
“I could, but waiting this late, I might lose my job.”
“But what if you were hit with a migraine right this minute?”
“Then I’d call in.”
“So?”
“That’s irresponsible.”
“The fate of the world does not depend on you waiting tables at that bar.” He unwrapped the butter and centered it in the dish.
“Jalal, do you really want to argue over this?”
“No.” He sighed. “I want only to enjoy a quiet dinner with you. It will be ready in a few minutes.”
When Renee got to Jalal’s house the next morning, she found him working in the garden. “What are you doing to that rose bush?”
“I am putting it out of its misery.”
“It couldn’t be saved?”
He stopped digging and wiped a sleeved arm across his forehead. “It has struggled for years. This climate is too damp and cool for a rose like this.”
“I’m sorry.”
He stared at the bush for a moment and then looked at her. “It is just a plant.” He bent and yanked the roots free and laid the shrub on the ground. “Here, take these pruners and start cutting up these canes while I get the greenwaste can.”
“By canes do you mean these branches?”
Smiling, he shook his head. “Evidently, you are not a gardener. Yes, cut the branches, please.”
After they finished with the rose, Renee pulled weeds while he cut back a few overgrown plants and uprooted others. When he turned on the hose to wash the dirt back into the hole where the rose had grown, she held her hands into the stream to wash them off. A second before he did it, she sensed he was going to drench her. She wrestled for control of the hose until she soaked him and they collapsed to the ground, laughing. A moment later, Jalal’s face went blank. She followed his gaze to where the white rose had been, and by the time she turned back to him, he sat with his head bent low, his hands covering his face. Meredith’s rose had been more than just a plant.
Without a word, she dragged the hose to the side of the house, rolled it up, and put the gardening tools away. Standing behind his house, she dialed Jennie’s number and spoke softly. “Jennie? I’m here with Jalal. He’s a little shaky. Do you think you can manage without me today?”
“You bet I can, even if I have to put these two old coots to work. It’d give me a laugh to see them prancing around in aprons. You just take care of that man, okay?”
By the time Renee got back around front, Jalal had moved to the steps. His eyes were red, but dry. She sat down beside him. “I think we should have grilled lamb for dinner.”
He frowned. “I thought you were going to cook for me tonight?”
“I am. What? You think lamb is too complicated for me?”
His eyes narrowed. “How do you prepare it?”
“I cut the meat in cubes, marinate, and then broil. And I serve a side of browned-butter orzo and a mixed greens salad.”
“Are you sure you can handle that?”
“Geez, you’re full of yourself, you know? I’ve cooked this meal many times. I knew this Greek guy once, he taught me how.”
“A Greek, huh?”
“I was twelve … and he was gay.”
“I see. Then, according to your stereotype, he must have been quite handsome.” He gazed at her seriously for a second before his grin broke through.
“As a matter of fact,” she said, “he was.” She grabbed a handful of his curls, pulled his mouth to hers, and kissed him. “But not as handsome as you.” She shoved him away and stood. “Now, I’m going home to change into dry clothes and do the shopping. You just relax and get ready for a meal fit for a king … which makes it way too good for a half-assed poet.” She ran for her car, before he could retaliate.
When she returned
to his house, Jalal was slicing strawberries and the kitchen smelled of warm vanilla. Renee set the grocery bags on the counter. “What are you doing? I told you to relax.”
“I enjoy cooking.” He handed her a berry. “I am making dessert for tonight.”
“What are you making?”
“Custard with fresh strawberries drizzled in dark chocolate.”
“Baked or stirred custard?”
He looked up at her, wide-eyed. “Baked custard … in a shortbread crust.”
“A tart, then.”
He smiled. “A tart, yes.”
She started unpacking the food. “I didn’t know if you’d have the right red wine for the marinade, so I bought one, but I figured you were good for the herbs and oil. And you have garlic, right? Do you have a cutting board you use specifically for meat?” He didn’t answer. She looked up to find him leaning back against the counter, watching her. “Why are you staring at me like you’re amazed or something? If you’re done with those berries, mince some garlic for me.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
They worked in silence for a few minutes before the oven timer sounded. “Jennie did not need you to work today?” he asked as he opened the oven door.
“She gave me the day off. Are you finished with that garlic?”
He set the tart on a rack to cool, then carried his cutting board to the table where she worked. Renee had mixed herbs into a bowl and was adding olive oil. He scraped the garlic into it and watched as she added wine.
“Whoa,” he said, “are you sure about using that much?”
She stopped pouring and stared at him until he raised his hands in surrender and retreated. In silence, he continued his observation. After she cubed the lamb and coated it with the marinade, they cleaned up the kitchen. They drank the rest of the wine from the bottle as they worked. Finally, Jalal toweled off his hands and refrigerated the tart. “Now what?”
“Well … Mr. Hunk, what say we go wreck the bed?”
Jalal laughed. “What say, indeed.”
The Brevity of Roses Page 25