Scattered Ashes

by Dona Sarkar

  “Maybe I won’t.”

  “You will.” She squeezed my shoulder again. “It’s okay for you to want to. You have a lot to say to him.”

  I was silent after that because most likely, yes, I would talk to him. I was here to say good-bye. Most likely we would never see each other again, and I needed that amazing thing my therapy group had harped on for so long: closure.

  “What happened at the homecoming dance?”

  “Lots of people attended, so we should have some really great proceeds for our fund.”

  The newly founded Families of War Fund that Lana had started with several members of the school board was one of the most successful fund-raising efforts Kirkland had ever seen. The dance alone had already raised over a hundred thousand dollars in donations, and there didn’t seem to be a dip in sight as local millionaires continued to make donations.

  There were plans for the usual bake sales and car washes, but also free tutoring for kids who were too distraught to make it to school and special scholarships from local businesses for kids who didn’t think they could go to college. Lana had spent the weekend drawing up a business plan and nominating members for the fund’s board. I knew that Erica, as well as the other members of my therapy group, were getting letters delivered to their homes, offering help from the fund. I had done my part to make up for leaving my therapy group.

  “The fund is not what I’m talking about.”

  “Then?”

  “Word’s gotten around about the drama. I heard about it at my book club.”

  “The Jason thing?”

  “And everything else. Erica and her boyfriend.”

  “I actually had a pretty good time going alone,” I admitted. “I danced a lot and caught up on the gossip. There was no pressure, no nervousness, and no issues. I could arrive when I wanted, talk to who I wanted, and leave when I wanted.”

  Lana kept her arm firmly attached around my shoulders. “You’re going to be just fine. Trust me.”

  The familiar stab of pain was back. I thought that by now every time I thought of him and that desperate look in his eyes it would hurt less.

  It didn’t.

  “Mom, why did you and Dad fight so much?” I asked abruptly as a few men in tailored suits entered the courthouse, letting in a swish of cold air though still no snow had fallen on the ground.

  Her look was of surprise. I thought it was about the question.

  “You haven’t called me Mom since you were a little girl.”

  I thought about that. She was right, but it felt okay to do so today. She was sitting with me at a courthouse, supporting me in something she didn’t believe in. She wished I would forget about Zayed and focus on college applications and our fund. But she was here, holding my hand. This was something a mother would do.

  “I always felt like we were more than that.” I tried to be tactful.

  “You mean you never saw me as a mother.”

  I didn’t say anything, not wanting to hurt her feelings. Things were going well today, and I didn’t want to cause a scene in a court of law.

  “It’s okay. Your father didn’t either. It was one of the reasons.” Lana had a faraway look in her eyes as she gazed at the closed door of the courtroom.

  “What were the others?” I finally asked, genuinely wanting to know this time.

  “When we got married, no one thought it would last, so we worked extra hard to make sure it did. I think, over the years, your dad felt like I wasn’t happy anymore.”

  “Were you?”

  “More than anything.” She wrapped her arms around her waist and smiled almost to herself. “Up until I met him, I didn’t feel like I meant anything in the world. I didn’t know my place. When we started seeing each other, I realized I meant everything to him. All he wanted in the world was to be with me and make me happy.”

  She sounded like a love-struck teenager, and I realized how hard the past few years must’ve been for her. His pulling away, going away for months at a time, and then never coming back.

  “Why did he think you weren’t happy?”

  “He let insecurities and what other people said and thought get to him. People, my parents, my friends kept saying that being married to an Army man wasn’t what I signed up for and I was disappointed in my life. And he started to believe that.”

  “But you weren’t? Not ever?”

  “I have not had one moment of regret about marrying your father, Mars,” she said to me. “Even if we weren’t always together, even if I stayed up so many nights worrying about him being overseas, the moments we shared together and the daughter we have is more than I ever thought my life would be. I tried my best to prove that to him, and I hope he knew that at the end. My only wish is that I’d told him more often how happy he made me every day for the past twenty years.”

  So many regrets. So many missed opportunities. I leaned my head against her shoulder. “I love you, Mom.”

  “I love you too, baby.”

  “I feel like he and I never said good-bye.”

  “You don’t need to.”

  I waited as she put her arms around me and pulled my chin into her shoulder.

  “Do you know he was so proud of you?”

  “No way. He thought I was stupid and immature and selfish, remember? He was so angry with me for wanting to go to Paris for the semester.”

  She laughed. “He never thought that. He always thought he wasn’t enough of a father to you. He always felt guilty for leaving you alone so often and letting you figure out so many things on your own.”

  “No, he didn’t.”

  “He was so proud of the independent woman you were becoming in his absence. He told me the night before he left this last time that you were starting to stand up to him, to show him the error in his ways, and that you were not afraid anymore of making decisions. He told me you were going to be more of a hero than he ever would be. He was going to tell you to go to Paris.”

  I sat, mostly shocked, but also disbelieving. All this time, I’d thought . . .

  I pulled out my cell phone. “Do you know I still call him?” I had never admitted that to anyone, not even Zayed.

  “I do too. Every day.” Mom slowly took the phone from my hand. “What number is the speed dial set to?”

  “One.”

  She pressed a few buttons.

  “When you press one, it will call me. You can call me anytime, and I will always answer. I’ll change my phone’s speed dial to call you. Deal?”

  I didn’t know if I would call, but it was enough to know I could.

  We sat in silence, and I pondered how she and I had been going through the same thing all these months. Calling my father, even though deep down we both knew he was gone. Just thinking that he could hear us was all we needed to get through the moments of darkness.

  “They’re coming out.” My mother stood up and reached for my hand. “It’s going to be okay.”

  Bree came out first and headed straight for us. “You guys didn’t need to stay. I could have called.”

  “What happened?”

  “Zayed is free to go. His testimony and the details he gave are enough to hold that group.”

  “What will happen to him?” I asked, looking over Bree’s shoulder.

  I didn’t hear the answer, but I heard Mom making a concerned “hmm” noise. I was too busy watching Zayed come out of the courtroom. He looked tired, like he hadn’t slept in days, dark circles under his eyes. His blue shirt’s collar was uncharacteristically wrinkled. I felt like I hadn’t seen him in lifetimes and wanted nothing more than to go to him. I knew that would be the worst thing I could do. That would mean I forgave him for what he had let happen to other families, families like mine, where mothers and daughters stood alone and were afraid of what they would all have to face now.

  I couldn’t do this. I thought I could. I thought I could be strong and say good-bye like an adult and wish him well, but seeing him again was too much. Every moment of that las
t day on the roof came rushing back. The despondence in his eyes as he begged me to understand. How could I understand the death of innocent people?

  “Should I come with you?” my mother asked, looking from me to Zayed, observing my hesitation.

  I shook my head. “I’m ready to go home now.”

  “Okay. Bree, thank you. We’ll call you later.”

  “Take care, ladies. I’ll be coming by to check on you.” Bree waved good-bye to us as we started to walk away.

  “Mars, wait,” the familiar voice called. “Please wait.”

  I turned around. He stood only a foot away. I could see the velvety gray of his eyes, his rumpled collar exposing his neck, his hair unkempt.

  He was beautiful. Still so beautiful to me, despite who he was.

  “Please. Just one minute.”

  I wanted to go to him. It was such a strong physical pull he still had over me. The same one that had kept me on the roof with him, the one that had encouraged me to forgive him after he’d stood me up that rainy afternoon. I needed to break it, once and for all. I needed for him to know that he could no longer have any control over me.

  My mother squeezed my hand tightly, unwilling to let go.

  “It’s okay,” I whispered to her.

  I allowed Zayed to lead me a few feet away, within earshot of Bree and Mom.

  I could see Mom watching me, Bree standing next to her, with a hand on her shoulder. I knew she wanted to come over and interrupt and take me away before something else happened. Dad’s role. She had officially stepped into his shoes, and it was not strange anymore.

  I would pretend to hear what Zayed had to say, and then I would tell him what I needed to say. And then I would be free of him.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “You’ve said that already,” I said, not looking at him. I was so afraid that if I did, I would fall into his arms and hold him and tell him I would never again let him go.

  “I thought I was dreaming when I saw you here,” he made a noise that sounded like a laugh.

  “I came to make sure the right thing happened,” I said, realizing my tone was colder than I’d thought it would be possible for me to fake.

  “You came to make sure I was okay.”

  I stood silently, not bothering to deny it. He knew when I was lying.

  “I’ve missed seeing you.”

  “Are we done here?” I pulled my purse onto my shoulder and wrapped my arms tightly around myself. I needed to say what I had to say and then leave. Now. This was much harder than I’d imagined.

  “Have you read my journals?”

  “No reason to.” I shook my head, not telling him I’d taken them all out of the box and willed myself into putting them back in. Despite my best intentions, I wanted to know. I knew I would read them. I wouldn’t be able to resist.

  “There’s something that you should know then. Please take this.” He held out a sealed envelope. “Please. It says everything I don’t have the words for.”

  Some force possessed me to reach out and take the letter from him. I then stared at the floor, wishing he would stop talking and at the same time wishing he would never stop so I never had to leave.

  “I’ve never experienced this feeling before, Mars. I’ve only read about it in all my books and all my poems, but never have known it firsthand,” he rushed on as if he would run out of courage. “If it does exist, what I’m feeling for you is surely it, because Mars, I cannot imagine that I will have to go on without you. I cannot imagine a life worth living without you. I love you so much.”

  I wanted to tell him that I continued to love him. I wanted to tell him I’d known it for quite some time, and I ended up tracing the words on any surface I could find countless times during the day. I wanted to tell him that when I slept it was only him I dreamt about anymore, and I hated waking up because I knew he wouldn’t be there by my side. I wanted to tell him that I wanted to forgive him and be with him, but I didn’t know how.

  “I’m sorry, but I don’t feel the same way,” I said instead, looking him straight in the eye. “No matter what you do next, you can’t escape where you come from or what your family has done. Good-bye, Zayed. Don’t contact me again. I mean it.”

  CHAPTER 21

  The Faith

  I contemplated throwing the letter away. I told Lana I had burned it in the sink. I told her I didn’t want to hear anything Zayed had to say ever again.

  I hid it under my mattress for half a day before giving up. I sat on the floor and smoothed it out:

  My dearest Mars,

  Theodore has the words which express my feelings today and for always. I love you. I’ll wait for you no matter how long it takes.

  We had such little time

  Compared to other foolish lovers

  I would set my skin on fire

  For the chance to have our most terrible night

  For my best moments without her

  Are still far inferior to my worst moments with her

  She was not my first love

  But she will be my last.

  I know you will never understand and never forgive me, but I am yours, Mars. You are my first love and my last. I vow to have you back in my life.

  Yours in love and friendship.

  Always,

  Zayed Anwar

  I stayed awake all night that night, reading Zayed’s journals at a feverish pitch.

  His entries during his life in Baghdad were light and innocent, talking about what he learned at school and what his mother had cooked for dinner. The entries had stopped suddenly two years ago and resumed only after he moved to Seattle, leaving out the entire part of his life when he’d been converted.

  And then there was me. He wrote about me for one entire journal:

  When I’m with Mars, I feel as if she has been waiting for me her whole life. She has, without realizing, been waiting for someone to love her this way. Unconditionally and forever. I have never known a love like the one I feel for her. I would commit any crime for her, any sacrifice. When we spent the night together, my thoughts were altogether impure. I was ashamed. It would have been a disgrace to compromise her honor.

  So he had wanted something to happen between us. I had a feeling it had something to do with the mysterious “adviser” he met with and I was right.

  I met with Stephen again today. He wants to start meeting thrice weekly as we start closing in on the insurgent group. I asked if he could meet on campus so his role as my academic adviser can be believable in the event we are seen together. Stephen believes al-Talle will strike again soon more publicly, and I will have the opportunity to be used as their plant. I told him about Mars and my breakfast with her family. He made it very obvious that if he found out there was something more than friendship, he would have to report who I was to her parents. This is not how I want Mars to find out. I will hold back on my feelings for her. I don’t know how long that will be possible.

  That’s what he’d been doing when he’d disappeared for two weeks. All those times he’d gotten those phone calls that only rang once.

  She has everything that would make her happy, and yet none of it does. She tells me many things that I suspect she has never thought of telling anyone else. Her father is gone, and I believe she understands that...

  He had known all along that Dad was gone. That day in his apartment when he’d said he’d wait with me. That had been a lie. He’d been humoring me. Mocking me. This angered me all over again.

  She cried in my arms at the airport, and at that moment I wished more than anything that I had the power to reverse time and stand in the way of her father’s convoy the day it happened. She is heartbreaking and powerful without realizing. With a single tear, she brings me to my knees to pray to whoever is watching. Please God, bring her father back. I will do anything if you only bring him back to her.

  I’d had to shut the journal. I didn’t want him thinking about Dad. He had no right to after what his brother had done to innocen
t people much like my father.

  * * *

  My SAT scores had come back, and I’d submitted my application to the University of Washington. A ten out of twelve. I wasn’t surprised; writing the essay had felt like an out-of-body experience. I didn’t experience any elation. I mailed the neat package to the U and got back into bed.

  As I mailed the letter, I realized that I was not doing this for my father anymore. He wasn’t coming back; he didn’t matter in this particular decision. This was for me.

  I was changing, becoming my own person. I could feel it happening more and more as the days went by. Zayed had helped me see that I needed to live for myself. My thoughts continued to turn toward him whenever I was idle.

  I thought so much about his situation, and what he must have gone through during that terrible time in his life. How alone he must have felt. How, like me now, he’d had no one who would understand.

  I analyzed his journals with more depth with each read. I found myself understanding him more each day.

  I realized I didn’t need to go to college or do anything at all, for that matter. I could hide in my house, living with my mother until I was a hundred years old, throwing fund-raisers and raising cats. But that would remind me of Zayed, as I thought about events benefiting children who were victims of war, like naïve Zayed, who had wanted nothing more than to belong and do the right thing. The cats . . . well, I missed little Coconut and her tiny mews. And her owner. I missed him most of all.

  “Get up.”

  I pried an eye open, not knowing how long I’d been drifting. Erica hovered over me, a disembodied head. Fuzzy and confusing.

  “Now. Get up now.”

  “Go away.” I pulled the covers back over my head and waited to be disrupted again. What day was it? Wasn’t it a weekend?

  Nothing.

  Good, she’d given up.

  “Ahh!” I shrieked a few minutes later, feeling cold hands on my feet dragging me off the bed. I landed on the soft carpeting with a thud.