He waited patiently as the nurses bathed and swaddled the baby while Sarine was still being tended to by one of the doctors. Finally, a smiling nurse walked over to him and placed his son in his arms. He had never felt anything so light and delicate in his hands. And then he remembered the afternoon in Beirut years ago when he took Tamar’s hands in his and asked her never to let another boy walk with her. He scowled with annoyance. He had envisioned this moment for so long, and it seemed to be thwarted by memories of Tamar. Gingerly, he cradled his son and allowed this new fragile being into his life.
For months, friends and relatives joked with Faris and Sarine about how little they would be sleeping once she had the baby. But nothing could prepare him for the torment of sleeplessness or Sarine’s obsession with breastfeeding Farid—he had suggested they change the last letter of his name. Sarine’s idea seemed a bit narcissistic for his taste. Some nights he would wake up to the sound of Sarine’s crying and Farid’s howling in bed. “He won’t latch on,” she would sniffle through her tears. She was steadfast about not feeding the baby formula. Any help he offered seemed feeble and pointless.
“Maybe he’s not hungry,” he said once.
“How can he not be hungry?” she yelled, and Farid’s whimpering quickly escalated to a fit of screaming. “The doctors told me he has to eat every two hours. It’s been almost three! He’s not going to grow.”
“So just give him formula then,” Faris said.
“I won’t give him formula. I don’t know what they put in that stuff,” she said.
“Well, then I don’t know what to tell you,” he said, and then grabbed his pillow and headed to the sofa.
He lay on his back willing himself to go to sleep. Sunlight was slowly creeping through the curtains and cast a soft glow into the room. He thought of Tamar again. He envied her the freedom that he no longer had. It was not his son’s presence that made Faris irritated and withdrawn, but rather Sarine’s dogged insistence on things that he found trivial. The breastfeeding obsession was nothing new. She had three different books that she had either bought or her friends had lent her, and had been reading them as if she were studying for an important exam. There was also the matter of how infrequently the baby seemed to sleep. Faris would overhear her on the phone, rehashing the scenario with every mother she knew. The baby’s naps were too short. The baby thought nighttime was daytime. The baby had gas. If he heard her utter the words “circadian rhythm” one more time, he was determined to tear the phone away from her and slam it against the wall. If that didn’t add to the intolerable tension he was already suffering, his mother-in-law was staying with them indefinitely. His father-in-law would come by after work and they would all eat dinner together.
On their first outing with the baby they decided to drive to their old neighborhood to visit Faris’s mother, who had only seen the baby twice. Her dementia had worsened and she was now living with Faris’s aunt, who was taking care of her. He was saddened in knowing that his mother would not fully comprehend the significance of having a grandchild in her life, and what saddened him more was the possibility that if there were to be a second one, her condition would have worsened.
Sarine had insisted on driving and Faris sat in the back holding Farid. He looked down now and again, quietly admiring the cuteness of Farid’s stubby chin and wide searching eyes. He gazed through the window as Sarine turned onto another block. There was a woman on the sidewalk wearing a gray winter coat that barely covered her pregnant stomach. He watched as she stopped to retie the belt of her coat, which immediately came undone. Her hair was chin-length and despite her physical condition her legs were remarkably thin and shapely. He continued watching her through the rearview mirror and then gasped.
“What?” Sarine turned around scanning the backseat crazily and slammed on the brakes. “What happened? Is he okay?” Cars swerved past her, honking their horns angrily.
If only he had looked away from the reflection of the rearview mirror. He could not even bring himself to answer her.
“Faris!” She followed his gaze and spotted the woman who was walking now, but half a block behind.
“Do you know her?” she asked.
“Who?” he asked weakly, knowing it was useless to conjure up an explanation. He was not composed enough to explain anything, and his hands were shaking.
“You’re going to drop him,” she said. “Hold him properly.”
“Can you please drive?” he asked, trying not to sound nervous. “I think the motion of the car was putting him to sleep.” He knew he was being manipulative and he was disgusted with himself. She had been desperately trying to put the baby to sleep for hours that morning, but he had seemed agitated and grumpy.
As Sarine drove, Faris looked dully out the window. The car was eerily quiet.
“So what happened?” she asked.
He had hoped she would leave it alone.
“It was the woman on the street, wasn’t it?” she asked.
“I didn’t even see the woman. I thought I saw a car about to run through a stop sign,” he said.
Sarine didn’t respond, and Faris didn’t have the energy to maintain any semblance of composure. He needed time to think. He hoped that Sarine hadn’t recognized Tamar. Her chin-length hair and sizable stomach had made her unrecognizable even to him. There had to be a way to find her and talk to her. He looked down at his son, who was now in a deep sleep, and wondered if he was to be a father again. It would be much sooner than he could have ever expected.
Tamar heard the slam of the car door and Levon’s truck pulling out of the garage. Quietly, she slipped out of bed and began dressing herself in the bathroom. She hoped her mother-in-law would stay asleep and she would be able to leave the house without her knowing. Fully dressed with her socks on, she tiptoed through the kitchen toward the back door where she had left her boots. After slipping them on, she pulled the door closed behind her and started walking toward the shopping complex where Faris would be waiting for her.
Two days earlier her mother-in-law had answered the phone and then called her over. It was a woman on the other end of the line. “I’m sorry to bother you,” she said. “But if you can meet Faris in the supermarket parking lot on Monday he will be there waiting for you. It will have to be early. At 7:30. If you can’t, you can’t. I’m sorry to bother you,” she said again and hung up the phone. She would find out later that it was Faris’s aunt who had called. How his aunt had managed to find her, she didn’t know.
She saw him parked in the middle of the shopping complex, a silver car, and opened the door. It was warm inside. She placed her hands in front of the heat vents to warm up.
“I hate that you had to walk,” he said. “I would have picked you up, but that would have been crazy.”
“And meeting you in this parking lot at this hour in the freezing cold isn’t crazy?” she said. Out of habit, she tried crossing her legs and remembered that she couldn’t. There were many things about pregnancy that she couldn’t quite adjust to.
“Who was that who called?” she asked. “I almost thought it was Sarine.”
Faris looked startled. “Sarine? Why would she call you?”
“Wasn’t that her last week? I was walking and some woman slammed on the brakes in the middle of the street and almost got herself hit by two cars. I was walking and saw it happen.”
“I went to visit my aunt last week,” he said, ignoring her question. “And I asked her if she knew how to find you. Don’t worry, she won’t say anything to anyone.”
Tamar had forgotten the close-knit neighborhood they both came from. “Is that how you found out I was pregnant? Is that why you wanted to see me?”
For the first time since they had last seen each other, Faris allowed himself to look at her completely. Her hair had been cut into a stylish bob and she seemed to carry all of her pregnancy in her stomach. Her face was still smooth, lovely and untouched. He hated comparing her to Sarine, but couldn’t help noting the marked difference. Sarine
had acne and her face had become fuller from the weight gain almost immediately.
“Is it mine?” He had been bracing himself for the truth and had tried predicting his reaction no matter what the answer.
“I don’t know.”
He hadn’t prepared himself for it. “How do you not know …?” He realized the answer before he could finish speaking. He looked at her almost accusingly.
“What did you expect me to do?” She smiled in that same twisted way as she had when she had walked out of his car after they made love. “Did you think I was going to save myself for you?”
“I guess not,” he said, realizing how naïve he had been. “Isn’t there a way of finding out?”
“Yes, but we won’t,” she said. “I think this is one of those things where you have to let go and not wonder.”
“You’re not wondering?” He wanted to know how she could carry a living being inside of her and keep herself from thinking about who else it belonged to.
“I am. And it’s exhausting,” she said. “You’ll find that when you don’t know the answer to something you eventually have to forget about it.”
“We’re not the same in that way,” he said. “Because I’m always going to think about it.”
After a moment of silence he asked, “Have you thought of a name yet?”
“That’s a strange question,” she said. “What difference does it make?”
“In case the baby is mine,” he said. “I’d like to know his or her name.”
Tamar looked at Faris. It was almost painful to absorb his handsomeness. His eyelashes were almost as thick as hers, and his nose and mouth shaped so artfully that he resembled a sculpture. It wouldn’t matter if she had a boy or a girl, because if he was the father surely the child’s features would be unwavering in beauty.
“If it’s a boy I have to name it Bedros, after my father-in-law. If it’s a girl I’m going to name her Araxi.” At first she gave no explanation as to why. “It’s a strong name,” she said. “If I have a girl I want her to be strong and fearless. Not like me—a coward.”
“That’s not true,” he said. He wanted to take her hand.
“I have to go,” she said. “My mother-in-law is going to be awake soon and wonder where I went off to. She keeps her mouth shut most of the time, but those eyes of hers—always watching.”
She turned to lift the door lock. “I love you,” she heard. She could not bring herself to look at him.
“I love you,” she said, facing the window and then walked out.
Her breath had formed a light fog against the windowpane. Faris watched Tamar walk away, her image blurred by the haze of her words.
Araxi and Cecile
“It’s better we moved on,” Cecile said.
“Who are you trying to convince?” Araxi gazed out the window, unwilling to say more, resenting herself for being a passenger once again. They had been driving since the early afternoon and it was nighttime.
Their friends at the house had thrown the girls a party the evening before. Now all she could remember was a blur of faces and the conversation she had overheard between Cecile and Kyle. In the morning she had woken up and started packing, hoping Kyle would try to change her mind. Instead, he had stood by the screen door and watched her make two trips to the car, where Cecile was already packed and waiting for her.
“Just like this, huh?” he had asked when she went to say good-bye.
She had wanted to scream. She wanted to know why or how he could wait until the very last minute to open his mouth, to convey any sign of protest.
“Yeah,” she had said. “Why not?” She had stared at him coldly, challenging him to say something.
“Okay, then,” he had said. He went to hug her and then patted her lightly on the back as if they had shared an awkward acquaintanceship that he cared little about.
“I thought we could get as far as California by the day after tomorrow,” Cecile said, “and then see where we want to stay.”
Araxi turned to her almost sneering. “Where we’ll stay? Do you think Big John has some fucking cousin who has a house same as his? That we can just crash there? This was a stupid fucking idea and I’m an idiot for letting you drag me out of there.”
Cecile let out a breath and stared ahead. “I can drive us all the way if you’re not up for it,” she said.
“I don’t care,” Araxi said. “Do whatever you want. You always do anyway.”
The little sense of autonomy she had was now as small and insignificant as her short-lived existence in Santa Fe.
“I’m going to drive through the night if that’s okay with you,” Cecile said.
“I said I don’t care,” Araxi said. “I see you’re in a real big rush to get us to California. So let’s get there.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Although Araxi’s back was turned, she felt Cecile’s eyes on her briefly. She relished the panic in her friend’s voice.
“Nothing,” she said simply. “Just drive.”
When she woke up, the car was sitting in a parking lot and Cecile wasn’t in the car. In the past she would have panicked and walked out to try to find her. Instead, she opened her duffel bag and started rummaging for a toothbrush. On top of her belongings was a small gray cloth-bound book that looked familiar, but wasn’t hers. One of the pages was dog-eared. She opened it and saw that it was a poem by Matthew Arnold entitled “Longing.”
Come to me in my dreams, and then
By day I shall be well again.
For then the night will more than pay
The hopeless longing of the day.
Come, as thou cam’st a thousand times,
A messenger from radiant climes,
And smile on thy new world, and be
As kind to others as to me.
Or, as thou never cam’st in sooth,
Come now, and let me dream it truth.
And part my hair, and kiss my brow,
say My love! why sufferest thou?
Come to me in my dreams, and then
By day I shall be well again.
For then the night will more than pay
The hopeless longing of the day.
Kyle. She felt as if she had suddenly been kissed. It was his book. He had meant for her to read it after she left.
The car door opened and Cecile leaned in, putting two cups of coffee in the cup holders. “What’s up with you?” she asked.
“Nothing. Why?” She had caught the beaming smile on Araxi’s face.
“You’re smiling like a fool. What’s up?”
“Nothing. I just thought of something funny,” she said, happy to have her own secret now.
When Cecile pulled back onto the highway, Araxi realized they were already in Arizona. They squinted under the piercing light of the sunrise. The highway turned into a long narrow road and the land around them was flat and brown. Again, silence filled the car and neither of them bothered turning on the radio.
“Oh shit,” Cecile said. She glanced in the rearview mirror. There was a police car behind them.
“It’s probably not for us,” Araxi said, trying to control the gripping terror that was suddenly causing her hands to shake.
“It is,” Cecile said. Just as she spoke the police car lights started to twirl and they heard the very distinct voice of the officer telling them to pull over.
“Jesus Christ,” Cecile said as they both watched the man walk over to their car.
“Can I see your license and registration please?”
“Sure,” Cecile said. “I just have to look for it.”
Araxi stared straight ahead feeling the perspiration dripping down the back of her neck.
“Do you have it?” the officer asked. He leaned in while Cecile sat in the back seat emptying out her purse and two duffel bags.
“We’ve just been driving for so long that I don’t know where anything is,” Cecile said.
“Ladies,” he said finally. “This isn’t looking good.�
��
They followed the officer to the Flagstaff police station and were asked to wait on a bench outside of his office while the officer ran the license plates through a computer.
“Goddamit,” Cecile said. “I can’t believe this shit.” Her knee was bouncing up and down as if it had a life of its own.
“Relax,” Araxi said. “It’s over now.”
“What does that mean?”
“You didn’t bother with your license or getting the car registered, did you?” Araxi asked, her voice calm and smooth.
“I just want the car back so we can keep going,” Cecile said, ignoring her question.
Araxi had the compulsion to tell her that they had been pulled over because of her. That she had killed Tom Jones and they had finally found her. Once the officer had asked them to follow him to the station, a calm had come over her. She had accepted the inevitability of her arrest and everything that she had imagined would follow.
“Girls. Inside,” the officer said, motioning to them with two fingers.
It felt like they were being called into the principal’s office. The two sat in front of him as he glanced at the computer screen and then back at them.
“The license plates for this vehicle aren’t even registered,” he said finally. “And how old are you two?”
“We both turned seventeen this year,” Araxi said, feeling Cecile’s glare.
“You know I can’t give this car back to you,” he said. “It’s going to be impounded. I can release it to you once you bring an adult with a driver’s license to claim it. For the first month we keep it, and then there is a fee for every day it stays in the lot.”
“So we really can’t have it back?” Cecile asked, her voice childish and barely audible.
“Listen,” he said. “You’re lucky I’m not calling your parents right now and having them come and get you. Do you have anyone you can call?” he asked.
“Yes,” Cecile said.
“You’re free to go,” he said.
They both stood up, but Araxi faltered and grabbed onto the chair to steady herself. The relief she felt was tremendous and an inexplicable nausea gripped her stomach as she walked out of the precinct. The two walked several blocks and found a park. They sat on the bench and quietly sifted through their belongings to make sure they had taken everything out of the car.
The Legacy of Lost Things Page 12