An Illusion of Trust (Sequel to The Brevity of Roses)

by Lewis, Linda Cassidy

  “Renee,” Jalal says, “what are you daydreaming about?”

  “Nothing,” I say, absently. Then I look up and see Adam out of the pool, standing beside Jalal. Oh, God; he could have drowned! I’m beside Adam in seconds, wrapping him in a towel, or trying to. I’m shaking so hard I can barely hold on to it. But I’m not crying. Jalal shifts the baby to his shoulder and stands.

  “Excuse us, ladies. We need to put these two down for their naps.”

  I lose it as soon as the door closes behind us. “Oh, God. I took my eyes off him. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Jalal reaches for me and pulls me close.

  “Shhh. Take a deep breath.” He waits until my shaking has almost stopped and then he says, “Look at me. Adam went directly to the steps and got out. He had on his water wings. He knows not to go past—or even near—the rope floats. And there were four adults within twenty feet of him. This was not even close to a tragedy. All right?”

  I nod, but I’m not all right. It’s not all right that I let my mind wander when I was supposed to be watching my toddler in the pool. That’s never all right.

  “I stuck,” says Adam, who’s been trapped between our legs this whole time. Jalal laughs and lets me go, so I can step back and set Adam free. I can’t even smile.

  On this beautiful June evening, we’ve just finished a quiet dinner on Judith’s patio when Hank and Jalal begin discussing the stock market. Judith motions for me to follow her into the house. “I don’t want to discuss making money,” she says. “I just want to have plenty of it.”

  “Have you always had plenty?”

  A surprised “Good lord,” bursts through Judith’s laugh. “I will never get used to your candor. I love that about you. And yes, I’ve always had enough … and most of the time I’ve had plenty.”

  “I’m not comfortable with it,” I say. “Having money, I mean.”

  “Why on earth not?”

  “I don’t trust it. It’s just something Jalal assumes will always be there. I can’t do that.”

  Judith lays a hand on my arm. “Lately, it seems you worry about everything. And there’s no cause for any of it that I can see. I think you should talk to your doctor about post-partum depression, Renee.”

  “Judith, I am not—”

  “I’ve watched you. You’re animated with the children and Jalal and … and everyone, I guess, but when you think no one is watching, you go blank. You’re only acting like everything is fine.”

  “No. I’m just tired. Mia Grace is only five months old, and she’s not sleeping through the night, and—”

  “And with Jalal and Azadeh there—day and night—to watch the children, you can’t possibly nap.”

  “You don’t understand.”

  “No, I don’t. Do you?” She waits for a response I can’t give. “Exactly. That’s why you need to talk to someone.”

  I turn away. “I’m just tired.”

  “You’re depressed,” Judith says, but she lets go of my arm. “I have some French silk pie, want some?”

  “Of course.”

  “Start the coffee, will you?”

  Judith knowing when to drop a subject is one of the things I like about her. I don’t know how to put what’s wrong with me into words. Or maybe I do. I wasn’t lying when I said I’m tired, but it’s not from lack of sleep. I’m tired from the effort of pretending I’m someone else. I can’t fill Meredith’s shoes. I don’t even like those shoes. They’re not my style. Wow, how ungrateful does that sound? I have more reasons to be happy than I’ve ever had—than I ever dreamed I’d have. Suck it up, Renee, and get on with life.

  I take the beans from the cupboard and measure them into the coffeemaker. As they’re grinding, I watch Jalal and Hank through the kitchen window. Jalal leans close to Hank and gestures as he speaks. Hank, nodding, keeps his eyes on his hands folded on the table before him. What are they up to?

  Judith sets the pie on the counter. “Do you suppose the men will interrupt their discussion for this?” she asks, but before I can answer she opens the patio door and asks them directly.

  Hank gives an enthusiastic yes, but—unbelievably—I’d swear Jalal was about to decline. A shadow crosses his face, but a second later he leans back in his chair and smiles when he nods to Judith.

  Jalal shows no sign that anything troubles him when we all sit down to coffee and dessert a few minutes later. In fact, he launches into the story of how Jennie won his confidence by plying him with her excellent pies. The three of them are debating meringue versus cream when a phone call from Azadeh interrupts. I study Jalal’s face as he listens and before he says a word, I’m on my feet. “We have to go,” I tell Judith and Hank.

  “We’re on our way,” Jalal says into the phone a second later. He pockets his phone and says, “The baby has a fever.”

  I’m almost to the car when he catches up with me. “Aza said a slight fever,” he says, “probably just the beginning of a cold.”

  “I shouldn’t have left her,” I say.

  “This is no big deal.” He slips the key in the ignition. “You deserved a couple of hours for yourself.”

  “Good mothers put their children first.”

  Jalal sits silent for a moment. From the corner of my eye, I see him looking at me. I motion for him to get the car moving, and he starts the engine, but before he puts it in gear he says, “You are a good mother, Renee. Why are you so down on yourself?”

  “I’m sorry I made you come home,” Aza says when we walk in. “Now I think it’s only teething.” She hands the baby to me. “Look at her lower gum.”

  I pull down Mia Grace’s lip. It’s true; her gum is red and swollen. I offer her the breast to calm her fussing. “I’m still not sure we shouldn’t call the doctor.”

  “I believe we had this same scare when Adam first teethed,” Jalal says. “Remember?”

  I scream, startling Mia Grace, who begins to cry.

  “She bit down?” Azadeh asks.

  I nod and gingerly let the baby reattach. “I guess it is the teething.” I sway in place to sooth her. “How long has Adam been asleep?”

  “Since two minutes past seven,” Aza says. “He was out before I read halfway through Snuggle Puppy.”

  “Thanks for watching them, Aza. I’m going to go kiss Adam and then get her to sleep.”

  “I need to get a book downstairs,” Jalal says, “and then I’ll be in.”

  Before I turn toward Adam’s room, I catch the glance between Jalal and Aza. I’ve learned to interpret some of the signals between them. That was the one that says I need to talk to you. Let them talk. This time, Aza was the one who over-reacted.

  We’re sitting up in bed. Jalal read while I nursed Mia Grace, who is now asleep but hasn’t relinquished the comfort of the breast. “Can you hold her for a minute?” I slide the tip of my finger between my nipple and her tongue to break the suction. “I have to pee.”

  When I come back into the bedroom, Jalal is alone in the bed. Before I can even open my mouth, he points to the alcove and says, “I put her in the crib.”

  “Jalal—”

  “She is only ten feet away. Come here; I want to talk to you.”

  Uncertain I want to hear what he has to say, I stop at the foot of the bed. His brows ripple in humored question and he pats the mattress where I’d sat with the baby. Okay, I’ll sit, but I’m not listening to another speech about my overprotectiveness.

  As soon as I sit, Jalal slides down on his side, pulling me flat beside him. He clears a stray lock of hair from my lashes. “I love you,” he says. “Do you believe that?”

  “Is there any reason I shouldn’t?”

  “What kind of answer is that?”

  “I believe you.”

  “And?”

  “I love you too.”

  “I have to say, your enthusiasm does not exactly boost my ego.”

  “Boo hoo. You have enough ego for both of us.”

  “The problem is, sweet love, I do not. I would glad
ly give you some of my confidence, but you resist me all the way.”

  He lifts one of my hands and presses the palm flat against his chest. He does this when he’s being particularly sincere, as if my fingertips can detect that from his heartbeat. Maybe it’s a Persian thing. I never remember to ask at a more appropriate time.

  “Why will you not believe you are a wonderful mother?” he asks.

  Oh no. Not discussing this. I glance at the baby. “If we’re quiet,” I say, “we could do something more fun than talk.” I try to slide my hand down his belly, but he grabs it.

  “I thought you agreed to drop the evasion tactics when we need to discuss these things.”

  “I just don’t feel like having a serious conversation tonight.” I try to press closer to him, but he holds me back.

  “Do you neglect the children?” he asks.

  I sigh, a big sigh, a dramatic one to make my point. “No.”

  “Is this home unsafe?”

  “You know it’s not.”

  “Are you an alcoholic?”

  “Jalal …”

  “You are not your mother, Renee.”

  I roll over quickly to get out of bed, but Jalal is faster. He grabs me around the waist and pulls me back to him. I’ve already lost the battle to hold back tears. Though Jalal seeks to sooth me with tender strokes and whispers—“let it out, sweet love”—his effort only makes me sob harder. Every day, I feel myself break into smaller pieces. What will happen when I can’t hold them together anymore?

  Full daylight is streaming into the bedroom by the time the ache in my breasts wakes me. Why didn’t Mia Grace wake me for a feeding? I don’t have to look to know she’s not in our bed, and one glance tells me the crib in our room is empty. “Oh, God.” It wasn’t teething. She’s too sick to be hungry; that’s why she didn’t wake me. I dash to Adam’s room, also empty, and on through to the nursery. The sight of the pajamas I put her to bed in, bunched on the changing table, give me no comfort. I grab them and check for vomit or diarrhea. Nothing. “What the hell?”

  I take the back stairs down to the kitchen. Jalal sits at the table with Adam in his booster seat beside him and Mia Grace on his lap. He looks up and smiles at me. “Hey, sleepyhead.”

  Adam shakes his head. “Mama say bad word.”

  Jalal points to the monitor speaker. “I forgot to turn it off. He immediately repeated your h-e-l-l.”

  Of course he did; it was a new word. “Yes, Adam, Mama said a bad word. I’m sorry.”

  “Okay, Mama.”

  I lean against the door frame for a minute. My breasts hurt, and I’m a little shaky from the adrenaline rush. Without help, Jalal dressed the kids and made them breakfast, so I could sleep. He’s a good father. He’s a good husband. I’m a nut job. Please don’t let me screw this up like I have everything else in my life. I take a deep breath and let it out slowly as I cross the room to kiss all three of my babies.

  Adam holds his spoon out to me. “Eat?”

  “Not right now, little man.”

  “Baba Daddy say vuk.”

  “Oh, really.”

  Jalal holds up one finger, but he avoids my eye.

  “Well, Adam you have my permission to give Daddy a time out if he says vuk again.”

  Adam giggles and points at Jalal, “Time out, misser.”

  Jalal pretends to bite his finger, which makes Adam laugh again. Mia Grace joins in, putting her fingers up to Jalal’s mouth, so he can bite her too. I’m so in love with them all. How lucky I am to have this beautiful family.

  “Looks like you have it all under control this morning, Daddy. Did you give her a bottle?”

  Jalal holds up one of Adam’s outgrown tippy cups. “She drank from this.”

  “Mee-Grays big girl,” Adam says, proudly.

  “What did she drink?”

  “Your milk, of course, from the stash in the freezer.”

  A protest flies to my lips, but I let it go. One cup is not weaning. “Is she too full to nurse?”

  “Sorry,” he says and turns the cup upside down, “she emptied it.”

  “Then I guess I’m going back upstairs to pump and then shower, so I should be ready to eat my omelet in about thirty minutes. I mean, since you’re on breakfast duty and all.”

  “You are welcome,” he calls after me.

  I reverse a few steps and poke my head back into the kitchen. “I’ll thank you later, Mr. Vaziri.”

  Adam is fascinated with the elephants at the zoo, and today, like most days, he begs to visit them after his morning nap. Azadeh and Kristen volunteer to take both the kids, and I, like a normal mother would, agree to let them. I trust Aza. I’m not going to worry about letting them out of my sight. I’m not. I trust Aza.

  The quiet house looms around me as soon as they drive out of sight. I don’t think I can stand it for the next couple of hours. Jalal puts his arm around my shoulder and walks me back into the house. “What shall we do now?” he asks. The look he gives me leaves no doubt he’s referring to the promise I made him this morning.

  It’s not until I’m leading him up to our bed that I wonder whether he engineered the zoo trip. I get my answer when he helps me undress but only kicks off his sandals. Delay tactics. He’s planned what I call his soul treatment. Sex with Jalal is always great. I mean … My God great. I’d been with plenty of guys before Jalal. I knew the physical part of sex, but what I didn’t know—what I didn’t even know I didn’t know—was the spiritual part.

  Jalal taught me to feel. He insisted I lie still and feel his breath on my skin, feel the flick of his tongue, feel the trail of his fingertips. To feel—to experience—his touch until my body, humming in tune with all there was and is and will be, abandons all barriers and opens to the power in surrender. That’s Jalal talking. I balked when he got to the surrender part until he explained I needed to surrender to myself, not to him. That made sense. I’m good at walling off feelings. I allow myself little bites, an emotional diet. Only it’s not fat I’m avoiding, it’s hurt.

  He begins with whispery kisses on my closed eyelids.

  We both fell asleep afterward. I woke a few minutes ago when I heard voices downstairs, but thanks to Mr. Vaziri and his fabulous talents, I’m too mellow to get up yet. He’s lying on his stomach. I trace my finger along one of the scratches I made on his back. He opens one eye, then rolls over and rubs his face.

  “I’m sorry about my sob fest last night,” I say. “I know I’m too intense about the kids.”

  “I only wish you could relax and enjoy them more. Maybe you should practice yoga.”

  Like Meredith, he means. “I don’t think that’s for me.” I miss the ocean. I miss our little house too, but I won’t tell him that. How ungrateful would that sound? I can adjust. I will adjust. “I’m working on it. I let them go without me today.”

  “Only because you wanted to get me up here to vuk.” He squeezes my thigh and then gets out of bed, calling over his shoulder as he heads to the bathroom, “Maybe a getaway would help.” When he comes back, he picks up his clothes and continues his thought. “You could go to Bahía for a couple of days—or we can both go. With or without Adam and Mia Grace.” He huffs a laugh. “With.” He finishes dressing, then looks at me. “So?”

  “What?”

  “Bahía?”

  “Yes, we should go. It’s been a while.”

  He cocks his head toward the door, listening. “They are home.”

  “I know.”

  “And you stayed up here?” He gives me a thumbs up. “Excellent. Mia Grace is probably hungry, though. Do you want me to bring her up to you?”

  “I’ll be down as soon as I get dressed.” Jalal is out the door before it occurs to me we’re going to Bahía because he read my mind again.

  Seven

  Jalal barely gets the restaurant door open before Adam runs in crying, “Granny.”

  “My babies!” Jennie sets her serving tray on an empty table and opens her arms. She scoops up Adam, kis
ses him all over his face, and then settles him on one hip. “Now bring my baby girl here.”

  I hand Mia Grace to Jennie and pick up the full tray. Jennie tells me the table number and I serve the customers. It’s like I never left. It feels so good I grab Jennie’s order pad and keep working. She gives me a wink and carries the kids into the kitchen so Adam can see his Dardo. Jalal looks from me to Jennie and back, then shrugs and follows her.

  Don and Eduardo’s old table tugs at my heart when I pass it. They were best friends and spent every day here together for years, playing chess while Eduardo tried to convince Jennie to marry him. Two months after Jennie said yes to Eduardo, Don passed in his sleep. Now, Eduardo spends most of his time here in the kitchen, helping his brother cook. Life keeps a balance sheet. You win one. You lose one.

  When the lunch crowd has dwindled to two tables, I leave Jennie’s new girl to it and join my family in the kitchen. Adam is licking his bowl. I act angry. “Adam James Vaziri, did you just eat ice cream before lunch?”

  I can’t fool him. He grins. “Baba Daddy say yes.”

  Eduardo squeezes an arm around my shoulders. “Hey, pretty girl, we miss you around here.” That chokes me up, but Jalal saves the day by handing me Mia Grace, who pulls at my shirt to let me know she’s hungry. I carry her out back to the picnic table where I spent many breaks when I worked for Jennie.

  Just as I finish feeding the baby, the door opens and Adam climbs up on the bench beside me. Jalal is right behind him. “Lunch will be ready in a minute,” he says.

  “How did you know what I wanted?”

  “Hmmm, maybe because you have eaten about a billion meals here, and ninety-percent of those times you ordered …”

  “Tuna salad on white toast.”

  “Yuck,” Adam says.