“Was Jack ever violent toward her?” asked Smith.
“Not that she ever said. He was mostly mean with his mouth,” Mr. Nickey answered.
“Has Carmen ever had run-ins with other folks?” Wesley wondered.
“After high school she did. She grew herself some gumption and started defending herself. Plus, she was a late bloomer, but a late rose is still a rose and that gave her lots of confidence,” Mr. Nickey told them.
“Do you have any reason to believe she is still holding a grudge?” asked Smith.
“In her thirties, who holds a grudge from childhood that long?” Mr. Nickey replied.
“Sir, in my experience there is no end to the years a grudge could be held. I ask because Jack’s house was fire bombed and he and his wife seem to think it was your daughter who did it,” Wesley answered.
“I doubt that!” said Mr. Nickey. “I imagine a fellow as mean as he was years ago probably hasn’t changed that much. You should see who else he has been getting fly about the mouth with before you point at my daughter. I bet she hasn’t even seen him since they graduated from high school,” he insisted.
“I understand sir; we all like to think the best of our children. I guess we will leave you to the rest of your day,” Smith said.
“Thank you for your time sir and again, we apologize about laying on the bell like that,” Detective Wesley said.
“You are pardoned, just remember if you come back to ask more questions. I’ve got a hitch in my giddy up, so it will take me a minute to get to the door,” Mr. Nickey said as he hopped up and hobbled on inside his home.
After a final wave through his window and watching the detectives leave, Mr. Nickey called his daughter.
Chapter Fifty
November in Muscat is a great time of year. The average low is about seventy degrees and the high averages somewhere in the mid-eighties. The sun shines brightly and there is only a very limited chance of rain.
Shannon and Abdulla were enjoying the weather and each other, immensely. The tennis lessons continued and now she could play the game, not well though. She teased him often that he had tricked her into running. She wasn’t winning but she didn’t take it to heart because Abdulla still hadn’t beaten her in dominoes or Scrabble. The games were friendly and on occasion they had participated in a few of the game nights hosted by other teachers.
Shannon was an unofficial member of the family. Abdulla’s mother, Khadija, was teaching her how to prepare Machboos and some of his other favorite foods. Shannon had taught his mother how to make chicken fried steak and sun tea.
Abdulla’s visa application was submitted and approved by the consular office. Shannon had been surprised to learn of the number of hurdles that had to be cleared for him to visit. The visa application was the current topic of conversation during their evening walk.
“So, have you heard back from the Consular’s office?” Shan asked.
“I know the application was approved after my interview,” Abdulla started only to be interrupted.
“Wait, you had to submit to an interview?” Shan asked, incredulous.
“You know I have to overcome the presumption that I am an intending immigrant,” Abdulla explained.
“They assume everyone applying for a visitor’s visa is planning to stay forever?” she asked.
“Yes, they have had millions over the years enter the country with a visitor or student visa and just never leave, so now it is difficult to get one if your passport wasn’t issued by one of the waiver countries. There are only 38 of those,” he said.
“I had no idea. When I travel I haven’t had to be interviewed. Most countries allow me to apply online or upon arrival,” Shannon said.
“That’s because you have an American passport,” he said.
“Wow. I knew I could travel to more places than a lot of passport holders from other countries, but had no idea getting a visa was so time consuming and expensive,” she said.
“I wasn’t worried about being denied; I was more concerned about how quickly we could get it done, these things can take a lot of time,” Abdulla said.
“True,” Shan agreed.
“I was wondering, what is the situation with Jack?” Abdulla abruptly changed the subject.
“You know, my mom has kept me updated these past weeks on the whole situation,” Shan stated.
“Basically, Jack is blessed above measure; he hasn’t had any infections at all, which is rare. He only required three small pinch grafts for the areas on his back with third degree burns. He is moving around very slowly, but he still must not rest on his back. His wife emailed me that he has started to complain and she’s glad because for a long time all he did was groan. The pain is less intense but still managed with pretty heavy medicine,” Shan explained.
“You didn’t tell me his wife emailed you,” Abdulla said.
“I just heard from her a couple days ago,” she said.
“Remember, when I told you I emailed him to thank him for warning me about Carmen?His wife actually read it to him because she had to log into his email to take care of some business and redirect some emails to her account while he is convalescing. She responded on his behalf. She said she saw the date and time stamp and knew if the time difference between here and there were not so large he might have seen my warning before the fire. They were sleeping when I sent it,” Shan continued.
“Has anyone heard from Carmen?” Abdulla asked.
“Jack’s parents hired a private investigator and it turns out Jack went to school with Carmen. She looks very different from the way she looked as a kid. It turns out, Jack was a bit of a bully as a kid and she was one of his targets,” Shan said.
“A bully?” asked Abdulla. “Did he ever bully you?”
“No, but I didn’t meet him until college and he was more mature or maybe he had just outgrown the asshole stage kids sometimes go through,” Shan said.
Continuing, “Carmen has gone quiet. She is on leave from her job, according to the detectives. We aren’t entirely sure where she is, right now. For all we know she could be on the run with someone else’s identification.”
“So, what is the status of the arson case?” Abdulla asked.
“Interesting you should ask, it is still an active case, but they don’t have any evidence it was Carmen, so until they can prove it was her, it looks like she is going to get away with it,” Shan said.
“So, basically, she steals your identity and tries to kill four people and she isn’t going to jail?” Abdulla said with frustration very evident in his tone.
“You know, real life isn’t like a Law & Order episode,” Shan said. “Criminals get away with it just as often as they get caught. When they do get caught, it is because someone told. That is the reality. All we can hope is that she is moving on to a more peaceful place. At the very least, we hope she will leave us the hell alone!”
The injustice of this bothered Abdulla. He loved that Shan seemed to be at peace with it, but he wondered how Jack felt. After all, it had been his wife and children in a burning house. He was the one laid up weeks later with permanent scarring and months of rehab ahead of him. Somehow, Abdulla doubted Jack was feeling as magnanimous as Shan. Sensing the darkening of Abdulla’s mood, Shan offered up something she knew he loved.
“Guess what tomorrow is?” she asked.
“You tell me. I am no good at guessing,” he said.
“Hair washing day,” she said.
Abdulla looked at her with a raised eyebrow. “Do I get to help?”
“You sure do, if you want to,” she said.
The last time Abdulla had spent the day with Shan washing her hair he had fallen in love with the process and repeatedly asked her when the next was going to be. It had been an erotic and eye opening experience.
He had loved her hair from the first time he saw her and when she taught him how to wash it, he reveled in his freedom to touch it. They had been together long enough that she allowed him the famili
arity. When they were together in private, he often wrapped her hair around his fingers. When they slept, he had both hands in her hair.
“I thought you said your hair care routine is personal,” he said.
“It is. When I wash my hair I am also releasing things that may be holding me back emotionally, I always feel lighter afterward” Shan said.
“Having hands in my head is a healing experience, that is why I am particular about who I allow to touch it, especially washing, conditioning and twisting,” she said.
“That process requires me to trust you,” here Abdulla tried to interrupt, but Shan continued, “and I trust you. Sometimes though, a woman just needs some alone time for her personal rituals. My hair is one of my personal rituals, like steaming is for you,” Shan finished.
“I understand, no problem, but I get to help today, right?” Abdulla asked.
“I said tomorrow was wash day, you can’t wait a day?” she asked.
“Why wait?” Abdulla inquired.
“For one thing, it is late afternoon, we need the sun to dry it,” Shan said.
“Ah, that is right. I remember you sitting in the sun to dry your hair,” Abdulla said.
Abdulla had a clear picture in his mind of her sitting on a travel chair with the sun crowning her head and the smell of fruit in the air. They had pointed out cloud pictures and told stories while they waited on her hair to dry. It had been relaxing.
“Does this mean we have come to the end of our day?” Abdulla asked.
“No, you are welcome to come over to my flat, I have been simmering black eyed peas and diced lamb in my slow cooker since this morning,” Shan said with a sly side-eye. She knew Abdulla had become partial to her cooking, primarily because she introduced him to new dishes.
“Is this more southern cooking?” he asked.
“No, this would fall under fusion soul food, quite often ham is used in black eyed peas, I substituted lamb for you,” she said.
Wrinkling up his face, he asked, “You eat pork?”
Laughing, Shan told him, “No, not in years, it just wasn’t worth the hassle of trying to buy here in the Middle East. It was easy to find in Dubai, but hardly any of my friends ate it and it wasn’t readily available in restaurants, so it sort of fell off my palate.”
“Good, it is a terrible, terrible thing to put in your body,” he said.
“I have made it clear to my mother you will have no pork, she has made it clear to anyone who expects to entertain us during your visit so don’t worry, I won’t be the one to befoul your body,” she said.
“Thank you for thinking of me,” he said.
“Now, let’s get to your place so I can have these black-eyed peas with lamb bits,” he said and then before she could say anything, he touched her shoulder and said, “You’re it!” before running for the car.
Gasping, Shan yelled, “I never should have taught you that game,” and took off after him grumbling about how he was always making her run.
Chapter Fifty-One
Abdulla very much liked the black eyed peas. He was surprised when he realized the peas sat atop rice. He made a mental note to ask Shan to make a to go container for his mother. Between the two of them, Abdulla sometimes felt like a restaurant delivery man. They were always sending a dish for the other to taste. One weekend Shan had spent Friday in the kitchen with his mother making traditional Omani dishes. He had been waved away from the kitchen, but had heard them laughing and chatting a mile a minute.
“I have a plastic tub in the fridge for you to take to your mom,” she said as she was washing the dishes.
“I also have one for you, because last time I sent a dish you ate half of it before taking it to your mom,” Shan said, with narrowed eyes.
“Hey, I was starving and I said I wouldn’t do it again,” he laughed. His eyes were bright with mischief that suggested he absolutely would do it again.
“You want to watch a movie? I can fire up the Netflix because you must be tired of getting beaten in dominoes,” Shan offered.
“Yes, let’s do. Are you going to continue my education in black film?” Abdulla asked.
“Only if you agree to continue my education in Bollywood,” Shan said.
Abdulla was a big fan of Shah Rukh Khan and watched lots of Bollywood action films. The rest of the evening decided, Shan made tea for Abdulla and poured herself a glass of wine before settling down for the movie. They started with “Yes Boss” a 1997 film starring Shah Rukh Khan. Everyone likes a romantic comedy and this oldie but goodie proved to have stood the test of time.
They took a break before starting the second movie so Shan could make her special popcorn with cumin and parmesan cheese. Abdulla liked his sprinkled with zatar as well, so he always had his own bowl. Shan felt zatar belonged on bread, not popcorn.
For movie two, she showed Abdulla “Cooley High.” When the movie characters Stone, Robert and Damon attack Cochise, Shan gets up to leave the room.
Abdulla followed her and asked, “Why did you leave?”
Smiling at him, “I don’t like this part, so I always leave and come back in five minutes,” she said.
Sitting on the bed next to her, “If you don’t like it, I won’t either,” he said.
She thought that was a sweet gesture and rewarded him with a kiss. Abdulla returned the kiss, with interest and rolled her to her back.
“Do you like this part?” he asked, lips hovering above her.
“Yes, this is my favorite part,” she said.
The kiss resumed. Clothes were discarded and the movie forgotten. Shan ran her hands across Abdulla’s shoulders, her nails making little indentations when she squeezed. He was kissing her neck and licking her nipples, causing her breath to catch in her throat. He took one in his mouth and rolled the other between his fingers. He knew how excited this got her and when his nimble fingers slid down her body, her garden was dewy.
It had been over a week since they had been together, due to him having to travel, so they were both in a bit of a hurry. Shan pushed him to his back and said, “I have missed you,” as she mounted him and started rocking back and forth.
Abdulla dug his heels into the bed and lifted his hips. With his hands around her waist, he sped up the pace. The sounds of his grunts and her moans were abundant. The tight grip of Shan’s inner muscles had Abdulla’s skin covered in goose bumps and his stomach muscles quivering. Hoping to hold on a bit longer, he moved her to hands and knees. The force of his entry from this position made Shan cry out, “Abood! Oh!”
Holding her shoulder with one foot on the bed, he deep stroked Shan to a yelling, quivering, arms stretched out, and face down completion. When he saw her back flatten and heard her yelling into the bed cover, he joined her. Collapsing on the bed next to her, breathing like a marathon runner, Abdulla reached out and smacked her bottom firmly.
“Now that’s how you show me you missed me, woman!” he said.
All Shan could do was hum her agreement. In the post-coital silence, a distinctive beep-beep-beep interrupted their haze of satisfaction.
Shan looked at him and said, “That’s your work email, better check it.”
Grumbling, Abdulla said, “You’re right,” and hauled himself up so he could dig through his pants pocket for the offending phone.
He tapped the screen a couple of times and then with a grin as big as Texas he said, “My visa has been granted. I’m buying my ticket, today.”
With a happy yelp, Shan bounded off the bed and jumped in his arms and wrapped her legs around his hips.
In celebration they squeezed each other followed by a bone melting, libido raising kiss.
Chapter Fifty-Two
The next day, Shan’s hair was freshly washed and Abdulla was massaging her scalp before applying the Knotty Boy peppermint cooling spray. She would tighten it herself with the tropical tightening gel.
The flight to DFW had been booked the previous night. They were Skyping with Katy and making plans.
“I still can’t believe she lets you touch her hair, Abdulla,” Katy said. “I guess I better take you seriously!”
Laughing, Abdulla said, “Miss Katy, she knows I love her hair and I am very happy I get to help sometimes.”
“Yes, only sometimes, Mama,” Shan chimed in before getting back on topic.
“Now, Mama, I’m going to bring some stuff from here because I want Abood to be able to have his preferred tea while visiting,” she said.
“Have you invited everyone to the fish fry the first weekend we get back?” Shan asked.
“Of course, I have and you know your family so it’s going to be a fish fry and barbeque. The weather has been good, so your uncle insists on a barbeque. He said Abdulla can’t come to Texas and go home without having tried brisket,” Katy told her.
“Ooo, Uncle is making brisket? I can’t wait!” Shan said.
“What is brisket?” asked Abdulla.
“It is a huge hunk of meat that is slow cooked and will make your tongue and tummy very happy; it can’t be explained, it has to be tried,” Shan said.
“I haven’t been disappointed by anything you have fed me yet,” he said.
“Um, what about grits?” she teased.
“I didn’t say they were bad, I just didn’t care for the texture,” he rebutted.
“On another note, Jack’s parents would like to stop by briefly to say hello, but will understand if you think it is too awkward,” Katy said.
“In light of your recent communication with Jack and his wife, the felt like this would be a good time to see you,” Katy continued into the silence.
“What do you think Abdulla? Will it be awkward for you to meet my former in-laws?” Shan asked.
“I don’t think it is about me,” Abdulla said. “Do you want to see them?”
“Actually, it would be nice. We had a good relationship and they were devastated when Jack and I broke up. I just didn’t have anything left over at the time to manage their heartache with my own,” she said.
Then, to her mother, “Sure, tell them to come on by and have a plate. I haven’t seen them in a month of Sundays. I would be happy for them to meet Abdulla,” Shan agreed.
Adored in Oman (Book 2 in Teach Me, Love Me Series): Interracial Romance Page 16