“I have a date tonight,” I announced. “So I won’t be eating with you guys. Sorry. I’d have given you more notice if I’d known.”
“A date?” Rachel yanked off her shoe and massaged the arch of her foot. She looked up at me with something resembling either pain or amazement. “You mean, a real live romantically inclined get-together with a real live human being type of date?”
“Why’re you giving her a hard time?” Mike wrapped a beefy arm around my shoulder and gave me a gentle shake. “My girl Grace here probably has plenty of dates. Men probably trip over each other to ask her out.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to. It’s just that for the past four months, all Grace has talked about is Nathan and how much she misses him. So forgive me for being a little surprised.” She yanked off the other shoe and went to work on that foot.
“Nathan?” Mike looked at me. I was mildly irritated at Rachel for bringing up what I’d told her in private. “Who’s Nathan?”
“It’s an inquisition,” I exclaimed. “Mom and Dad, I didn’t recognize you. Anyway, he’s just my old boyfriend, but we broke up before I left San Francisco, so no big deal.”
“Just your old boyfriend?” Rachel cocked her head as though taking a fresh look at me and seeing things she’d never seen before.
There was a knock on the door.
“That’s probably him,” I said and then hurriedly added, “his name is Karim.”
Karim was indeed on the other side of the door, holding a bouquet of red carnations. I’d assumed our date was casual, but Karim had changed into slacks and a button-down dress shirt. His hair was slick, combed back from his face. Although it was almost dark outside, he had sunglasses perched on top of his head. He looked magnificent, and I felt a little sorry for Mike, the only other male in the room, but almost any man would have suffered in comparison.
“So, you’re Karim,” Mike said extending a hand which Karim shook. “You take care of my girl, okay? Make sure you have Cinderella home by midnight, Prince Charming.” He turned to me and winked.
“Yes, Dad,” I laughed and Karim joined in once he caught on to the joke.
Mike looked him up and down. “Damn, you’re good looking,” he said, apparently having no issues with self-esteem. Everyone laughed, and Rachel finally stopped gawking and introduced herself.
Having assured me before we left that the jeans I was wearing were perfect, I soon saw the reason why. Cinderella’s pumpkin for the night was a two-seated scooter, and although I had to close my eyes and hold my breath on multiple occasions, it allowed me to wrap my arms tightly around his waist. His body felt much harder than Nathan’s. Leaner. He smelled like some sort of masculine fragrance. Nathan eschewed any artificial scent beyond deodorant and soap, and I’d never been a big fan of it myself, but for some reason it further added to Karim’s appeal. Zipping through the streets of Barcelona on that unusually warm night was an aphrodisiac like no other. We finally pulled up in front of a clean but bare-bones Moroccan restaurant which Karim said was very good. We talked for hours over a meal that I subconsciously registered as delicious but barely paid attention to. When Karim looked at his watch, I braced for the evening to be over.
“It’s late,” he said. “Almost midnight. I should get you back to your apartment.”
“You know he didn’t mean that, don’t you?” And when Karim lifted a quizzical eyebrow, I elaborated. “Mike was just kidding when he said I had to be back by midnight.”
“Yes, I know. But, sadly, I have to be at work in five hours.”
I felt like an idiot. Of course I hadn’t considered that someone who made deliveries to local markets would begin their workday well before most other people.
“I’m sorry. Duh, I’m dumb. Why don’t I get a taxi so you don’t have to go out of your way?”
But he wouldn’t hear of it, so we zipped through the streets, retracing our route until we were back in front of Mike’s apartment.
“I had a great time,” I said. “And I can tell your English is already improving. So, anytime you want to practice . . .”
We looked at each other, and I imagined all kinds of things I could say to him. But I didn’t want to talk anymore, so I leaned over impulsively and kissed him on the mouth. Still straddling the scooter, he hooked one hand behind my waist and pulled me close. I had a thirst for Karim at that moment that felt unquenchable. The heady scent of his cologne made me woozy. He moved his hand up my spine, catching the back of my neck and bunching my hair in his hand. Then he pulled me closer until our lips met and our tongues dove for each other. When his hand found my breast, I knew I wouldn’t be the one to stop. Seconds later, still astride the scooter, he pulled away and looked up at me.
“I have always thought that sleep is much overrated,” he said. “You?”
“Definitely overrated,” I said. “Who needs it?”
“Hop on?” he asked more than suggested. And when I did, he paused only long enough for me to refasten my helmet before buzzing away.
That night began a series of nights, each more lustful than the last. From the moment he knocked on my door, I never doubted I’d end up in Karim’s bed. He was only the second person I’d been sexually intimate with. Only the third I’d ever kissed. Nathan and I had approached each other slowly and cautiously, dancing around each other before making our move to intimacy, but with Karim it was immediate and absolute. Two weeks later, I’d moved in with him and was working part-time at the English language school.
Karim was never less than completely honest about his ultimate goal of returning to the woman he would marry, and in case I needed reminding, he spoke of it often. It more than stung, it occasionally made me feel physically ill. But I’d gone in naively believing things might change, and I clung to that. Spain was here and was real. Morocco was close, but on a different continent altogether. I was here. I was real.
“Grace,” he said to me one night, our bodies naked under a thin sheet that left him exposed from the waist up. The night was warm enough to leave the window open, allowing in street noises and the flashing light of the restaurant across the street. My fingertips traced the muscles of his chest, raising its tiny hairs on end. “It’s a Christian name, no?”
“Yes. I guess so, but it doesn’t have to be.”
“I believe it has religious significance,” he said. “Do you know the significance?”
“The way my parents taught me, grace is God’s blessing and help, regardless of whether we sin. But some people use it just to mean . . . like graceful. Or the prayer we say before we eat.”
“It’s a beautiful name.” He stroked the side of my cheek with the back of his long elegant hand. He tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “For a beautiful woman. Are you a Christian, Grace?”
We really didn’t know a thing about each other beyond the topography of our naked bodies and the light, easy truths that strangers pass back and forth.
“I don’t know. No, I guess I’m not. Well, technically I am because I was baptized.” I’d had to answer this question for myself my senior year of high school. Once I’d done that, I had no appetite to revisit the path that had taken me to that place.
“So, technically you are Christian? Are you allowed to believe in your Christian God only technically?”
This was a good thing, right? Taking our relationship to the next level beyond just combining our flesh. Karim wanting to find out what made me Grace. Who I was, beginning with the most basic of all tenets. Constructing me in his mind from the inside out.
“I don’t believe, okay? Maybe I’m spiritual, but what’s out there is unknowable. How can anyone believe when the world is the way it is?”
“I do,” Karim said. “Even though there’s much I don’t know or understand.”
“Then I’m happy for you,” I said. “But I don’t.” I rolled over on my back to avoid his e
yes. Discussing religion in bed was out of the realm of my limited experience, and it raised all sorts of warning flags instilled in me since birth. But Karim was a fully integrated man who didn’t compartmentalize his life the way I did.
“How would your family feel if you brought me to your village?” I decided to turn the tables. It was a relationship-killing question, I knew that. But we didn’t really have a relationship according to Karim.
He propped himself up on his elbow to peer into my eyes, our post-coital hide-and-seek. His brows knit with concern.
“They would be very unhappy,” he said. “But you already knew this, didn’t you?”
Of course I did.
“Why? Because I’m not Muslim?”
“Well naturally, there’s Zayna because they love her like their own daughter. But the other too. Your parents would be the same if you brought me home.”
“No, they wouldn’t,” I lied.
It was the first time he’d said the name of his fiancée, and it hurt to think of her as a real person with a beautiful name. A girl that Karim’s parents loved like a daughter. I was only the girl who shared his bed. The girl they knew nothing about. The thought of ideas keeping us apart—religious beliefs or lack of them—that much I could handle.
Karim was a man to Nathan’s boy, although only one year older. Karim had been on his own since the age of seventeen, when he left home and moved to a foreign country to help support his family. Nathan had dreams of being a doctor, but they came easily, financed by his parents. He accepted their money while pretending to be poor. Success or failure for Karim depended on his own initiative and ingenuity. Save up his money to buy his own delivery truck. Eventually hire someone to drive for him so he could move back to Morocco and marry Zayna. Start a family. Save up to buy another truck and hire another driver. Karim’s dreams were achievable only if he didn’t falter. And he had only himself to fall back on.
I had manipulated Nathan, ignored him, punished him for my own insecurities—and yet he refused to leave me. He refused to withdraw his love and, for that, I hadn’t respected him. I was the one to leave, long after it was apparent our relationship was doomed. Karim wouldn’t have stood for that, even if I had tried, which I didn’t. He was strong and resolute. He was gentle and understanding. But his patience had limits because he was a man who had to survive.
I pondered the meaning of grace—the one I had just shared with Karim. God could be sinned against, under-appreciated, and yet my parents told me His love was steadfast. He would never abandon one of His creations or withhold His blessings. But I didn’t believe that. I believed it was up to me to find the good in my life, if there was any to be found—the way I had found Karim. The way I had once found and accepted Nathan into my life.
Luke continued to send letters updating me on Linda and my parents. I, in turn, regaled him with the humorous adventures of teaching English in a foreign country, leaving out the part about Karim. Then, one day, Mike received a call from Luke at his home. Mike covered by telling him I was still at work and arranged a time later that night when Luke could call back. Karim drove me to Mike’s apartment where I anxiously waited for the phone to ring.
When it did come, the connection wasn’t too bad, but hearing his voice for the first time in nearly six months, Luke sounded like an impersonation of himself. Of course, I always imagined him talking to me, and my parents’ words too—I could hear their voices in my head. But those voices were my creation, saying the things that I imagined. Now here was Luke, calling from Sacramento, California. And he had something on his mind that was more than gossip. I prayed for it to be news of his newborn child.
“Gracie,” he said without beating around the bush. “Dad’s really bad off. They’re medevacing him back to the States.”
“What’s wrong?” I asked, and I must have gone ghostly pale. Karim moved to my side and took my hand. Rachel and Mike, who were sitting on the sofa, looked meaningfully in my direction.
“He’s very sick. It happened kind of suddenly even though . . . you know, he hasn’t been doing great for a while. But this time it must be really bad. They’re flying to Miami. Can you meet them there? I can’t leave Linda—the baby’s coming any day . . . any hour.”
“Why Miami?” I stupidly asked.
“No idea,” Luke said. I could hear Matty in the background, loudly demanding something in toddler-talk. “Shhh. Go see Mommy,” Luke shifted to the tone adults use with little kids, and then back to me, “It’s something to do with the air ambulance company—where they can fly into. Anyway, can you go? I have the flight info and the name and directions to the hospital. I’ve already wired money for your ticket to the American Express office in Barcelona. I need you to do this, Grace, okay?”
“Of course,” I said. “I’ll get the first flight out.”
“Be strong,” he warned.
There was no getting out until the next day and even that required super human effort on my part, with Karim, Mike, and Rachel pitching in. That night, I lay in bed with Karim. Our lovemaking was tender, tinged with regret. The lustful hunger I’d felt since the moment I laid eyes on him was already waning. We talked about how long I’d stay in Miami. When I’d come back, although that wasn’t immediately knowable. Karim told me how much he’d miss me and how he’d come to depend on seeing me at the end of each day. Looked forward to it hour by hour.
I already knew I would never come back.
That same night I told Karim everything. Everything I’d never told another soul. Even Carly and Maggie’s knowledge of my life stopped after high school, which was where Nathan’s picked up. And Rachel knew only what happened after Nathan left off. Everyone knew a little piece of me, but nobody knew the whole. Now, finally someone did.
He didn’t say anything once I was done. I believed he was shocked to finally know the girl he’d been sleeping with, but his eyes didn’t betray a thing.
“I guess I’m lost,” I said, breaking the ice. I thought about the country of Lost and Adventurous Souls.
“No, Grace,” he said, allowing the softness of his eyes to fall upon me. “You’re just not yet found.”
By the time I cleared customs at the Miami Airport, I was a wretched and anxious mess. With only the possessions I’d been carrying on my back for the past six months, I stood in line for a cab, trying to come to terms with being back in the States and all the memories that entailed. Miami was a blast of hot, wet heat, even though I’d emerged into the moonlit night. The airport was crowded, noisy, smelled like exhaust.
Once I got a cab, I settled into the backseat and gave the address for the motel Luke had reserved for me—chosen because it was within walking distance to the hospital. I planned to check in, shower, and then hurry over to see Mom and Dad, whom I hadn’t seen in nearly three years. I wondered if they’d notice the change in me. I wondered if I’d notice the change in them. Although Dad was faring poorly, I’d seen him that way before. I knew that variant of Dad and didn’t relish meeting him again. I wasn’t sure if the rumbling in my stomach was for dinner, breakfast, or just plain nerves. I did my best to ignore it.
When I arrived at the motel, the check-in clerk gave me my room key and a message from Luke instructing me to call the minute I got to my room. The room was spartan with a shabby dresser and a squeaky bed with an orange duvet, which I assumed was meant to match the tropical fruit colors of the painting on the wall. The unit air-conditioner belched out a stream of too-cold air. Every corner of the room that wasn’t directly in the path of the air was much too warm. The smell was old and musty. The shower grew black patches of mildew in the grout of its old-fashioned tiles—tropical pink. I decided to call Luke before showering.
A woman’s voice picked up on the second ring, identifying herself as Nurse Lincoln in obstetrics.
“I was given this number by my brother, Luke Templeton,” I explained. “My name is Grace
Templeton.”
“Oh yes, Grace,” she said. Did I detect pity in her tone? Had Luke told her about Dad’s scary situation? “Let me see if he can come to the phone. Your sister-in-law is in labor, but I think we still have a little time.”
In labor. Things were coming at me so fast. After about five minutes, Luke picked up. This time the reception was perfect; he sounded as if he could have been in the room. My thumping heart stilled at the reassurance his voice brought.
“Grace,” he said. “I’m so sorry.”
“Why? Don’t be sorry. I’m sorry to bother you when Linda’s in labor. I just wanted to let you know I was here, and there was a message to—”
“Dad’s gone,” Luke interrupted.
And still I didn’t hear or perhaps comprehend what he’d just said.
“Wh—what? Where’d he go?”
Had I come to Miami for nothing? Had he been transported somewhere else at the last minute?
“He’s dead, Grace. He passed. I’m so sorry that you have to face this on your own.” His voice cracked into a sob, but he quickly composed himself. “The baby’s almost here.”
“Where’s Mom?” I knew my time to get the answers I needed was short. The baby wouldn’t wait. Not even for my terrible news. Maybe Mom was in the same motel as me. Maybe she was still at the hospital. “What happened?” I was too stunned to even begin to feel sadness.
“They never made it out of Johannesburg,” he said. “I couldn’t reach you because you were already in the air. I don’t know what happened, but they think it was lymphoma. Or some type of bone marrow cancer. I don’t know. I think Mom will ask for an autopsy. I don’t know what she’ll do. I don’t know if she’s coming back yet. I’m sorry—I just don’t know anything.” His voice started to crack again, and still I was feeling nothing.
“What should I do, Luke?”
“I’m sorry, Grace. I just don’t know what to say. I can help pay for a ticket back to Spain. You can come here and stay with us to see what Mom does next. I . . . I just don’t know what to say.”
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