I jam the receipt in my pocket and start the washer. I’m trying to figure out where, when, and how to confront Jalal when I hear a scream that sets my feet running before I comprehend what’s happening. When I’m halfway down the back stairs, I realize Adam’s wailing outside. By the time I enter the kitchen, Jalal is already rushing toward Kristen who’s carrying Adam in through the play yard door. All I can see is blood.
Both of them are crying. “I’m sorry,” she says. “He fell off the slide before I could get to him.”
Jalal takes Adam from her, searching for the source of bleeding.
“Here,” I say to Jalal, pulling my shirt sleeve over my hand and pressing it against the gaping cut at Adam’s hairline. It’s not even a half-inch long but pumping blood. I’m freaked and shaking so hard I can barely hold my hand still, but I remember you need to apply pressure. I also need to calm him. “Shhh. Mama’s here. It’s okay.” He and Kristen both cry a little softer.
“I’m sorry,” Kristen says again.
“He will be all right,” Jalal says. “Where is Mia Grace?”
“Oh my god!” Kristen runs back outside to get her from her swing.
“He needs stitches,” Jalal says, laying Adam in my arms. He grabs an ice pack from the freezer and wraps it in a clean kitchen towel. As he places the pack under my hand, Kristen returns carrying Mia Grace. “Stay with her,” he says. “We have to take Adam to the emergency room.” He gathers our jackets and an afghan to wrap around Adam. As he passes Kristen, he reaches out and gives her a quick hug. “You are not to blame. These things happen.”
Amazed that Jalal is so calm while I’m a mess, I offer her a weak smile of support and follow him to the garage. I don’t realize I’m wearing only socks until I register the cold of the cement floor, but there’s no time to go back inside for shoes. My child is bleeding.
No matter how much money you have or what kind of insurance, the wait in the emergency room can be long in a non-life-threatening situation. Jalal, who finally loses it when we get to the hospital, huffs and puffs and threatens to blow the place down if they don’t take care of Adam immediately, but since the bleeding has stopped and he’s smiling at everyone, the staff calls Jalal’s bluff.
The three of us are a sight; all of us bloody, and me shoeless. Jalal and I take turns washing up as best we can, so now we’re sitting here with half-damp clothing too. I wonder if I’ll be able to get the blood out in the wash—oh crap, the receipt. I reach in my pocket and feel it, waiting, but this is not the time or place for a confrontation.
Really, though, I already know I’m not going to ask him about it. He’ll just lie. Jalal knows me so well. Because I want so badly to have a family, a stable home, I’ve shown him I’ll believe anything he says. He tells me that midnight call was to Hank, and I believe him. He tells me he’s going down to City Hall about the coyotes, and I believe him. He tells me he’s not flirting back with Diane—no!—I don’t really believe that. But if I force him to tell me the truth, then I have to deal with that. And sometimes the truth hurts too much.
It’s rained for a week and Adam hates being shut up in the house. This morning he begged us to let him play outside, so we’re standing here cold, wet, and irritable, but we smile every time he looks our way. Jalal looks at his watch, “Five more minutes, Adam.”
“Jalal … what would you do if I left with the kids?”
His head snaps in my direction. “Why are you asking a question like that?”
“Hypothetically. Would you just forget them?”
“How could you even think that? It would kill me to be separated from them. Why are we talking about this?”
“I was thinking about my father.”
“I am not your father.”
“No.”
“Your father left your mother.”
“Yeah, I know, Jalal. I was there.”
“But you framed your question as you leaving me.”
I sigh. “I was thinking about my parents, not us. I’m going in to make a huge pot of coffee. I’ll put the kettle on for your tea.”
When Jalal comes inside, he stops on the tiled entry to strip off Adam’s wet jacket and shoes. Adam whines that he’s cold. “Too bad,” snaps Jalal. “You wanted to play out in the rain.”
I grab an afghan off the couch and wrap it around Adam. “Here, snuggle in this and you’ll get warm and toasty. Let’s turn on Diego.” I set him in the chair next to the fireplace and angle it toward the TV. The kettle screeches. Jalal’s still standing by the door. As I head toward the stove, I flash him a look that says he’s blown the father of the year award.
He apologizes to Adam and follows me to the kitchen. “Considering some of your moods lately, you have no right to jump on me.”
“I do when you’re out of line with my kids.”
“So now they are just your kids?” he says. “And you might take off with them?”
“Lighten up. I told you I was thinking about my father and—”
“I would prefer you not compare me to your father. Especially not with the way you feel about him.”
“What’s that mean, the way I feel about him?”
“Your brother feels differently.”
“And you think I should feel the same way?”
“Brandon has forgiven—”
“Brandon wasn’t rejected twice. In fact, Brandon had nothing to forgive because Steve never rejected him at all.”
“I am not saying the guy deserves your undying devotion. Clearly, he had serious problems to leave your mother and you like that, but obviously he has changed. Maybe you should re-evaluate—”
“God. I can’t believe you’re saying that to me. Steve had a second chance and look how that turned out.”
“Have you ever considered what it must have been like for him? He was a forty-year-old man with an angry, streetwise girl suddenly shoved into his life. A stranger. Can you, for one minute, understand how he might have been a little freaked out by that?”
For a second, I’m ready to rage back at him, and then the punch I’ve been expecting hits full force. He’s not talking about my father. He’s talking about himself. That’s how he feels about me.
“Actually,” I say, “I have thought about that … a lot.” I switch off the coffeemaker. “I’m going up to get Mia Grace from Aza.”
“Renee …”
He reaches for me when I pass him, but I avoid his touch. I open the door to the laundry room and change my mind. “You get Mia Grace,” I tell him. “I’m going for a drive.” I grab my purse and jacket and check on Adam. His eyes are half-closed, so I just blow him a kiss.
“Where are you going?” Jalal asks.
“Out.” When I try to pass him, he steps forward and blocks my way to the door. “Move.”
“How long will you be gone?”
I refuse to look at him. “Not long.”
“Judith and Hank’s party begins at six.”
“Go without me.”
“This is their tenth wedding anniversary, Renee. You have to be there.”
“I’m not in the mood. Now get out of my way.” I endure the weight of his glare as I keep my eyes focused on the door frame to his left.
Finally, he sighs and steps aside. “Please, drive carefully. The streets are wet.”
Because of Meredith’s accident, I try not to drive in the rain any more than I have to, and it would be kind of me to stay and not worry him, but I have to get out of here. “I will.”
I head toward the Jeep before I remember it belongs to Kristen now. As I predicted, Jalal took me car shopping before Thanksgiving. I’m not the owner of a black SUV, though. We compromised on a luxury crossover, in a grown-up dark cherry pearl. I miss my Jeep, but I’m not complaining about the extra room or features of this one. It even cools the driver’s seat, which is a luxury I’d pay anything for on a Coelho summer day. And why am I thinking about cars when I need to figure out what to do about a husband who, even if he can’t admit
it, is sorry he married me?
After I drive around town for a while, I reach for my phone to call Jennie. Crap. I left it on the counter at home. I head toward Bahía anyway. But when I get there, I don’t go to the restaurant or Jennie’s house. I just want the comfort of the ocean and my porch swing. I want to be home. As soon as I pass through the gates at the top of our road, I see another FOR SALE sign. Are those owners choosing to move or are they being uprooted? Why did I not recognize that difference a year ago? I pass our house to check on the cliff house at the end of the road. I see the SOLD sign before I reach it. One leaves and another arrives. Nothing stays the same.
Here, the sky is clear, though the sun hangs low above the horizon. The garden seems neglected, but when I look closer, it’s obvious nothing is dead or even struggling. The gardening service is doing its job. The plants are just lonely. Oh geez. What a crazy thought. It’s just the angle and tint of the light, shadowing the plants and turning the green to bronze, that makes the garden look weird. I’ve seen it change like this a thousand times at sunset.
I face the ocean to watch daylight’s end. We never watch the sun set in Coelho. No, that’s not true. Jalal watches often. The image of him sitting on the patio, aglow in the reddish light floods my mind. “I’m too busy,” I tell him, so he sits alone. How long does it take? Five minutes? Ten? Look there; only a faint glow of orange remains at the horizon. How can I ever be too busy for those few minutes with him? Let’s be honest. That’s one of the petty ways I punish him for moving me away from here.
The temperature drops as the sky darkens, but I stay on the porch. What am I doing here? Running away again. Punishing Jalal for telling the truth. As much as I hate to admit it, Jalal could be right about my father. It must have been a shock to him when CPS dropped me into his life. Wrapped up in my own anger and fear, I don’t think I gave a thought to how he felt. I might have been a shock to Jalal too, but he wasn’t forced to deal with me. And today he wasn’t trying to tell me he’s sorry he married me. I just made that up in my crazy head.
My bones are cold. I go in the house and make coffee, drinking it as I walk through the rooms. In this kitchen and living room, we are a family. In this nursery, I am a mother. On this bed, Jalal and I are lovers. This is a house. A nice house in a place I love, but not if I’m alone.
Jalal’s right about that too; I don’t try hard enough to make Coelho my home. That’s not only selfish, it’s stupid. Home is not a physical place. Home is where Jalal and the kids are.
“Talk to your husband,” said Shadi. “Talk to Jalal,” said Jennie. And yet, I never really do because I fear that intimacy, that honesty of the soul. Where’s the Renee who forced Jalal to confront the truth about Meredith’s death? Where’s that fierce and fearless Renee? She’s got “this wimp thing going on.” Not acceptable.
I check the clock, and then dump the rest of the coffee and wash the cup and pot. It’s too late to make it to Judith’s for the first round of cocktails, but if I leave now, I’ll definitely be there before the last.
Kristen and the kids are picking up toys in the playroom. She looks up, surprised, when I walk in. “Uncle J’s already left. He said you might be late tonight.”
“Well, I’m here, but I’m leaving again. Is that all right? Can you stay with the kids?”
“Sure. I planned on being here until he got home. Where are you going now?”
“What did Jalal tell you?”
“You know Uncle J, but I figured if you were missing the party, it was because you’re fighting.”
“I was acting stupid. But I do need to go to this party.”
“Good. He looked pretty sad when he left.”
Kristen suggests I take a shower while she gives the kids their baths, so I meet her in the nursery for story time. She reads as I nurse Mia Grace. It’s too early to put them to bed, so Kristen settles with them on the sofa in my room and starts a movie. “They’ll probably fall asleep soon,” I tell her. “Can you move them to their beds, then?”
“No problem,” she says. “You should call a taxi. You’ll be coming home in Uncle J’s car, right?”
I give her a thumb’s up and call, asking to be picked up in twenty minutes.”
What Kristen read as Jalal’s sadness was surely anger, and rightly so. But I’m going to make him proud tonight. I’ll show up looking high-class and ready to schmooze with the best of them. I’ll slam Coelho society like a mosh pit.
Renee is back.
I’m glad Kristen suggested a taxi because by the time I get to Judith’s, every parking spot for blocks is taken. God, how could I have been so self-absorbed to think I could skip this party? Everyone we know in Coelho must be here. At least, with a crowd this big, I can probably slip in unnoticed.
They’ve set up the bar in the foyer, so I enter the party with a glass of wine already in hand. I return a few greetings, all the while scanning for Judith, Hank, or Jalal. I spot Aza and Paul on the far side of the room. As I make my way toward them, a familiar laugh, the one that sets my nerves on edge, stops me. I glance around, directly into Diane’s eyes. Her head is turned in my direction, away from the group she’s in, and now she smiles at me. The laugh was no coincidence. She’s standing next to Jalal. She’s practically glued to him. And her hand rests on his back, between his shoulder blades.
My field of vision narrows to her hand. It moves in a small circle but not just brushing the fabric. She’s pressing it against him, caressing him. And Jalal’s not pulling away. He’s laughing and talking with her by his side, as if that’s the most natural thing in the world.
Diane has taken my place.
I spin away. Wine splashes over the rim of my glass, but I don’t care. I’m moving, half-blind, back the way I came. I exit into a cold rain. The glass is still in my hand, so I set it on the rim of the planter by the front door and tie my thin, silk shawl around my shoulders. I phone for a taxi, praying I won’t have to wait long. I’m in luck. The driver who dropped me off, arrives in less than five minutes.
Kristen is in our room watching TV. She questions me with her eyes, but when I don’t offer an explanation, she says goodnight and leaves. I run a bath as hot as I can stand and sink down into it. After a moment, I hold my breath and slip beneath the surface. Is this how it feels to be a baby, safe in the womb? My babies. They’ll never feel safe again. I sit up and wipe the water from my eyes.
Jalal stands across the room, staring at me. I ignore him.
“Hank told me he saw you at the party. Why did you leave?”
Jalal’s voice comes to me from a distance. His words have nothing to do with me. I feel no need to respond. This is just a bad dream. I sink back under the water. He speaks again, his voice even more distant now. I run out of air and sit up. This is no dream.
“Talk to me, Renee. What is going on?”
I stare at him, seeing him for the complete stranger he is.
“I think you need to see that doctor again,” he says.
This time, I look into his soul. I stare until he looks away. “And I think you need to sleep in another room.”
Twenty-Two
Sunrise is sneaky. You watch the color of the sky pale oh so slowly from charcoal to pewter to silver, then you blink and, during the microsecond your eyes are closed, it bursts into pink and gold. I should get out of bed. Adam and Mia Grace are awake. Over the monitor, I heard them both ask for me, but I couldn’t move. Jalal hushed them, telling them I was sleeping. I listened to the sounds of him caring for our babies. Then he turned off the monitor and took them down to breakfast. He left me drowning in silence.
He wants me to go back to the psychiatrist. Well you see, doctor, my husband is having an affair, but he wants me to believe it’s all in my head. He thinks the solution is for you to whack me out with drugs, so I won’t make life difficult for him. Ain’t he a peach?
I have ten thousand dollars in my checking account and I co-own a restaurant. I have a car and a beach house—surely he’l
l let me and the kids live there. Jennie can cut back on her hours because I’ll work them while she stays with the kids. It’s a win for everyone.
Except … “‘Divorce cannot be in our vocabulary.’”
A little hand touches my cheek. I open my eyes to Adam standing by the bed.
“Don’t be sad, Mama.”
I blot my face on the sheet and force a smile. “Sometimes Mama’s cry when they’re happy.”
“Are you happy?”
“Yes. Because I love you so much.”
“Mee-Grays too?”
“Oh, yes. Mia Grace too.”
“And Baba Daddy?”
I nod and hug him to me. He doesn’t understand that love is not one-size-fits-all. Love has many meanings, many degrees. I still love Jalal. But how do I love him?
“Let Mama sleep,” Jalal says from the doorway to Adam’s room.
“She waked up.”
I turn my face away and sit up. “It’s all right.”
Mia Grace, in Jalal’s arms, calls to me.
“Just a minute, sweet baby. Adam, go with Daddy while I get dressed.”
They’re in the playroom when I come down. I start to make coffee, but the pot is already full. He made coffee for me, as usual. I fill my mug and cross the floor to the couch. When I sit, Jalal stands.
“I fed them breakfast,” he says.
“Thank you.”
He lifts Mia Grace from her spot on the floor beside Adam and kisses her. Then he does the same to Adam. Without another word he leaves the room. I expect him to head to his office. Instead, the door to the laundry room closes and then, fainter, the door to the garage. Mia Grace tries to climb on my lap. When I reach for her with my left hand, I slosh coffee over the rim of my cup and burn my right hand. I gasp, but I don’t show that it hurts. I hide my pain. I push it down and roll on, the way I’ve always done.
Seconds after I leave the kids to their play and set down at the table with a second cup, Aza knocks on the back door. But when she doesn’t open it, like she usually does, I call for her to come in. “Why so formal?” I ask.
She glances around. “I didn’t want to interrupt anything.”
An Illusion of Trust (Sequel to The Brevity of Roses) Page 23