But then, remembering how dismissively Tara had spoken to Henderson—shoo, she’d said to the old man, as if he was a crow at a picnic—Tehmina felt her temper spike again. She would not have Tara stop by this house and dirty it with her spewings. What if Cookie had been home and witnessed this ugliness? Already the boy asked daily about how and where Josh and Jerome were. And Tehmina had to swallow the lump in her throat and lie that the boys were doing fine.
She felt a strong urge to find out how the brothers were faring. Also, a desire to get Tara’s half sister to intervene, to make clear to Tara that she could not disrupt Tehmina’s life each time her anger got the better of her.
Walking into the living room she flipped open Sorab’s phone book to the As. Surely Antonio was not as angry with her as he was the day he called Sorab? In any case, her own indignation at Tara’s recent behavior could match the man’s temper. Still, her fingers hesitated over the phone for a split second before she forced them to dial Antonio’s number. Please let the wife answer the phone, she prayed.
The phone had rung only once before she heard a gruff male voice. “’Yallo?” Antonio said.
Tehmina gulped. “Antonio?” she said. “This is Tehmi—Tammy. Sorab’s mother. Is…is Mrs. Antonio there?” Too late she realized she didn’t remember his wife’s name.
She heard a sharp intake of breath and then a long silence. Had the man hung up on her? “Antonio?” she said again.
“Jussa minute,” she heard him say. He sat the phone down with a clank. “Marita,” she heard him yell. “Phone for you. It’s Sorab’s mother.”
“Helloo?” The voice over the phone was buttery and smooth. It reminded Tehmina of the white, sugared cream she used to eat over the hard, crusty bread at the old Irani restaurants. “Can I help you?”
Tehmina realized she had been holding her breath. Now she spoke on the exhale. “Hello, Mrs. Antonio?” What was Antonio’s surname? Why hadn’t Sorab written it in the book? “I was—this is Tehmina Sethna. I don’t know if you remember me? Anyway, I was just calling to find out how Josh and Jerome were doing.”
“Oh, hello, darling. Of course I remember you. And I’m so ashamed. I’ve been meaning to call you for days. But you know how it is with the holidays and all. And having two little boys at home—I tell you, I’ve never felt my age as much as this past week. But did you get the card from Jerome, darling?”
Marita’s voice was so silken, so honeylike, that Tehmina thought she was mocking her. What is wrong with this family? First, Marita’s sister screams at me from my doorstep, then her husband is barely civil. And now she talks to me as if I’m a six-year-old child. Just say it, she wanted to say to her. If you’re angry at me, too, just let me know.
“Anyways, darling, you should’ve heard the dressing-down I gave my husband soon as I learned that he’d called your poor son,” Marita continued. “On Christmas Day, too, God help him. You mark my words, I’m gonna drag Antonio to your home to apologize to your son soon as the holidays are over. See if I don’t. In the meantime, darling, you tell your son how very sorry I am, won’t you?”
Despite herself, Tehmina could feel her body uncurl. It was beginning to dawn on her that Marita was apologizing to her. “That’s okay,” she said weakly. “Antonio was right. I had no right to interfere—”
“No right!” The silken voice had a thread of denim in it now. “Oh, honey, don’t say that. Don’t you ever say that. Oh, darling, I just wish someone had interfered a long time ago. Could’ve saved those poor boys so much grief. And who knows, maybe helped that troubled sister of mine along the ways. That woman needs help so bad, honey. Always was a little disturbed, even as a child. We were born to the same mother, you know. But different fathers. My mamma and pappa and I came to the States from Sicily when I was a child of seven. But I still remember the home country, Tammy. One never forgets one’s home, right? Oh, such a land, it is. Sicily. Full of music and sunshine and passion. And that’s how my father was also, God bless his soul. A peasant by trade but a gentleman by character. Full of laughter and music. So unlike the American devil that my poor mamma married years after my pappa died. By then I was out of the house and happily married, thank God. So I hardly knew my half sister, see? And poor Mama, she bore what that animal did to her so silently. But that Tara was a wild urchin, even as a child. More like her father than like my gentle mother. I didn’t know what was happening in that house, I swear to you, Tammy. If I’d have known—”
“Mrs. Antonio,” Tehmina interrupted. She was learning far more about this family than she wished to. “I only called to say—”
“Oh call me Marita, honey. Everybody calls—”
“Marita. Tara was over at my house today.” She heard a gasp at the other end of the phone line. “She was in a very angry mood, I can tell you. In fact—”
“Why, that dirty liar,” Marita said. “We were the ones who went to bail her out. And the first words I said to her were, You better not go bothering those nice people in the house next door. Because I knew she’d try some trick, see? And we warned her to leave you be. And she looks me dead in the eye and promises. Lying like a rug to my face. Oh, my dear, I am so—what’s the word—mortified. I’m so sorry. Oh, wait’ll I tell Antonio. He’ll drag her out of our house by her nose, for sure.”
“Listen,” Tehmina said desperately. “I’m not trying to cause any more friction in your family. After all—” with a bitter laugh—“I think I’ve caused enough problems. But I tell you, I can’t have Tara threatening my family. I have a little grandson. I’m afraid of what…” She shuddered, unable to finish her thoughts.
Marita clicked her tongue. “You got nothing to be afraid of, Tammy. I promise you that. It was my stupid mistake to have Tara move into our house. Badgered my husband until he gave in. He told me that that no-good sister of mine was nothing but trouble, but did I listen? No, I was thinking of those poor boys living in a shelter or with that monster boyfriend of hers. But after this, I wash my hands of her. S’long as we have the boys, I don’t care where she goes or what she does.”
“But do you have the boys? Won’t Tara get them back soon?”
The silken voice now had a coil of steel running through it. “We’re gonna have to convince that old judge, won’t we, honey? I’m not giving up those boys without a fight, I’ll tell you that. I told Tara that she’s got to go into rehab, get a job and an apartment, get her life in order before she can think of getting those boys back. And upon my word, my tightwad husband will hire the best lawyer if we have to. But I’m keeping those boys, honey, until all this hardness melts out of their hearts.”
Tehmina felt something melt in her own heart at those words. So Marita had noticed it, too, the toughness that the boys wore like skin. Thank God. She suddenly felt much lighter, almost buoyant.
“I’d love to see Joshy and Jerome one of these days,” she said. “That is, if they’re not too angry with me.”
She heard the concern and puzzlement in Marita’s voice. “Angry? For what? Listen, honey, if it weren’t for you, they’d still be living with that crazy mother of theirs, getting beat up and yelled at and being half starved. You should see them at my house, darling. Not that I’m bragging on myself, but in just a few days, I swear both children have gained weight. We’ve been stuffing them with good, homemade food. None of that junk food they were raised on. And just this morning, Jerome put his arms around me after breakfast and said, ‘I love you.’ In all the years I’ve known these boys, I’ve barely seen the older one smile, let alone say anything like that.” She paused. “Tell you what, Tammy. Why don’t you come out to see us for lunch sometime next week? On Wednesday, maybe?”
“I can’t,” Tehmina said miserably. “That is, I don’t drive.”
“Oh. Well, no reason we can’t come see you. I know the boys would like that. Except, wait. If Tara is still next door—let me talk to Antonio, honey, about how soon he wants her out of there. And anyway, better for the boys not to see their
old neighborhood, don’t you think?”
“What if I got a friend to drive me to Richwood mall? Do you ever go there?”
“Richwood? Oh, sure. That was my old stomping ground, when we lived in Rosemont Heights. The boys’ll like that also. Maybe we could eat at the food court. That old Italian joint still there? Mamma Santa’s?”
“I’m not sure. But let me ask my friend if she can take me there on Tuesday. Will it be okay if I phone you on Sunday, Mrs. Antonio?”
“Marita. Of course it’s okay. Will be nice to see you again, sweetheart. The boys have been talking about you nonstop since they got here.”
“About me?”
“Yeah. About how nice you are and stuff. And Joshy in particular goes on and on about some cheese sandwich you made him. I’ve tried five different ways but guess it doesn’t come close. That’s another thing you’re gonna have to do when we meet, darling. Give me your cheese sandwich recipe.”
Tehmina laughed. “I’ll phone you on Sunday.”
“Good. We’ll meet Tuesday, God willing and the creek don’t rise. Happy New Year to you and yours, my dear.”
Tehmina got off the phone and walked across the living room to sit in the recliner. She looked around the room. A patch of sunlight fell in a square on the gray carpet. But she was distracted, lost in her thoughts. The boys were talking about her. About her cheese sandwich, God bless them. She would ask Eva to take her to the mall next week. There, she would see Joshy and Jerome again. The boys she would meet at the mall would be plump as kittens, would no longer have that hunted expression they usually wore. Hopefully, Joshy’s bruises would have healed by then. Hopefully, Jerome would smile at her. Maybe he’d even whisper an I love you to her.
You’re being silly, she scolded herself. But she couldn’t keep the smile from her lips. Happy New Year, Marita had said. And now, for the first time, Tehmina allowed herself the possibility that it might be a happy new year, after all.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Oi, deekra, I hope it’s okay but I’ve invited a few of my friends to tonight’s party,” Tehmina said.
Sorab looked startled. But then he flung his arms around his mother and grinned. “Your friends? Who is it, a new boyfriend?”
Susan smacked Sorab lightly on his arm. “Hush, baby. Who have you invited, Mamma?” Her face was curious but open, with none of the guardedness from just a few days ago.
“Just Eva and her husband. Though God knows if Solomon will come. I told Eva we’ll leave the garage door open for him, in case he has an urge to tinker with some cars.” Tehmina grinned at her own wickedness. “And oh—I know it’s short notice, but I’m thinking of also inviting Luke.”
“The newspaper guy?” Sorab groaned. “Gosh, Mamma. Has this celebrity stuff gone to your head or what? You think every party should now have a newspaper reporter present?”
“I just feel sorry for him, deekra. He has no family in the area. His parents live in North Carolina and he’s only been in Ohio for six months.”
Sorab laughed. “Trust my mother to know the guy’s whole biography,” he said to Susan. “He interviewed you for what, twenty minutes? Sounds like you ended up interviewing him.”
“And why would he be alone on New Year’s Eve?” Susan added. “Doesn’t he have a girlfriend or something?”
“That I don’t know.” Then, seeing both their faces, “Well, if you think it’s a bad idea, I don’t have to invite him. Anyway, I’m sure he has other plans. Maybe I can ask him over for tea sometime next week.”
Sorab turned to Susan. “Do you remember the time Mamma invited the cashier at Giant Eagle for dinner? All because the woman eyed the coconut milk cans she’d bought and asked her how to make curry?”
They all laughed. “But this is what we love about you, our darling Christmas miracle,” Sorab continued in an exaggerated tone. “So, invite your lost-puppy-dog reporter if you have to. As long as you make it clear to him that he’s not here as a snoop.”
“He’s not a snoop,” Tehmina began indignantly, and Sorab burst out laughing. “Mamma. Dear God, Mamma. You should see the expression on your face. Do you always have to be the guardian of the underdogs?”
Before Tehmina could reply, they heard Cookie at the top of the stairs. “Dad, I’m not late, just slow today, okay?” the boy yelled. “Wait for me.”
“You better get down here if you don’t want to be late for your playdate, little fella,” Sorab yelled. “And you can’t go until you get some breakfast in you.”
Cookie came grumbling down the stairs. He held his shoes in one hand and his sock in the other. The other sock was on his foot. “I don’t want any stupid breakfast,” he said. “And stop calling me little fella. I’m not little anymore.”
“So what should I call you? Big fella?”
“Just call me Cookie, the way Mom does.”
“Okay, little fella. Cookie, it is.”
Cookie rushed to his father with an indignant squeal and pretended to beat him on his chest. “Okay, okay, that’s enough.” Sorab laughed, grabbing the boy’s thin wrists. “Now sit down and eat your breakfast.”
“Tim’s mom is taking us to the science museum today,” Cookie said with his mouth full.
“Cookie! Swallow before you talk, please,” Susan said.
The boy swallowed. “It’s the dinosaur exhibit. Tim’s already seen it once. And his mom said we could have lunch at the museum. I loooove the hot chocolate there,” he added, smacking his lips. “Yum, yum, yum.”
Tehmina smiled. Cookie reminded her of a blade of grass blowing in the wind—slender, active, stretching toward the sun. This is peace, she thought, this sharing of a meal with my family. Even though she knew she would be alone the rest of the day—both children were working on New Year’s Eve, although Susan had promised to come home early to help her prepare for the party tonight—for once, the thought didn’t depress her. She felt as if she was recovering from the flu—the sluggish, tired feeling that she had felt in the months after Rustom’s death was finally leaving her bones. She had been feeling better ever since the conversation with Marita yesterday. This morning, she felt alive, strong, hopeful. Yes, that was it—that was the new feeling that was making her skin tingle, making her blood rush faster, making her muscles feel smooth and strong. It was hope. She had lost that feeling for so long that she had been convinced that some part of her was as dead as Rustom was dead and would never come back to life again.
“Who are you calling dead, woman?” she heard Rustom say, and she jumped. He had never before spoken to her when there were other people around them. She looked around the dining room furtively, but luckily, Rustom was nowhere to be seen. She glanced at Sorab to see if he’d heard anything, but he was reading the paper as he ate his cereal.
Still, the promise of another conversation with her husband, the sense that he was waiting for the others to leave the house, made her impatient. She busied herself loading the dishwasher while Sorab and Susan gathered their work things and got ready. As always, she stood outside the door and waved them good-bye.
“Bye, Granna,” Cookie yelled. “Love you lots.”
“Mamma, go in the house,” Sorab said. “You’ll catch a cold.”
“I’ll try to be home as soon as I can, okay, Mom?” Susan called. “Don’t tire yourself out. Leave some of the work for me.”
Then they were gone, Susan in her blue Corolla and Sorab and Cookie in Sorab’s black Saab.
Tehmina went inside the house. “Rustom?” she said softly. “Janu?”
No reply. Feeling a little foolish, she went into the dining room looking for Rustom. If only the mayor of Rosemont Heights knew that her hero was a woman who talked to her husband’s ghost, she thought with a giggle.
There was no sign of him. Maybe she had imagined his voice earlier. She fought the feeling of disappointment, told herself it was time to get busy. There was so much to do to prepare for tonight. Just frying the lamb kebabs alone would take hours. Not to mentio
n making the chutneys for the bhelpuri and samosas they were going to serve as appetizers. Also, she had promised Susan that she would pick up Cookie’s books and toys from the living-room floor and put them back into his room. In fact, maybe she’d tidy up the house first and then start with the cooking.
She went into the living room and the first thing she noticed was the open book on the coffee table. She didn’t remember seeing that book last night. As she drew closer and read the title, her heart started beating fast and the tears came involuntarily to her eyes. It was Rustom’s old, dog-eared copy of The Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyám, which now belonged to Sorab. She had felt as if she was parting with her right arm when she presented the book to her son last fall. A lifetime of memories, a million images of Rustom thumbing through the slim volume, lay within the yellowing pages of the book. But she knew that it was proper that Sorab inherit his father’s book. It was his legacy, his right to own the book whose lyrical poetry and generous philosophy had meant so much to his father. Still, her hands had shaken when she had removed the book from her suitcase and given it to her son.
Now, eyeing the book on the coffee table, her hands shook again. The book had not been here last night when they’d finished watching the DVD and gone to bed. She was sure of that. And the chances of Sorab having brought it down to read this morning were slim. The boy was lucky if he got to read the newspaper before he left for work, let alone a book. Which meant that it was Rustom who had…now she was sure that she’d heard his voice earlier this morning at breakfast.
Steadying her hands, she picked up the Khayyám. Was it her imagination or did the book really feel warm, as if someone had touched it recently? Her eyes fell on the open page. It was one of Rustom’s favorite verses:
Ah, fill the Cup:—what boots it to repeat
How Time is slipping underneath our Feet:
Unborn TOMORROW, and dead YESTERDAY,
Why fret about them if TODAY be sweet!
If Today Be Sweet Page 26