by Alisha Rai
“Well, you don’t have to. Trust your sister. She’s an adult, and so is Nicholas. They’ll either work this out or they won’t.”
He made an agreeable noise, simply so they wouldn’t have to discuss this anymore.
“She’ll be surprised you’re still here. Frankly, I know I am. I’ve been waiting to hear you left.”
“How did you find out I was here?”
She waved that aside. “I have eyes and ears all over this town. If I hadn’t known you’d bolt, I’d have come running the second I heard you were at the café.” Her lips held a nostalgic quiver. Like his father, Maile had grown up working in her parents’ café. Also like his father, she’d had no culinary skills or interest in actually running the place. “I’m glad you’re helping Sadia. She’s a good girl. She could use a hand.”
She might not have meant for the words to be harsh, but Jackson drew back physically. “I couldn’t come before. I was—” Running. Avoiding any entanglements, keeping his few friends away from his weakest parts. “I didn’t think I was needed.”
“I didn’t mean for that to be a scold, Jackson.” A trembling hand smoothed over his cheek.
A great yearning opened inside him, and he had to beat back the urge to grab his aunt close. The tantalizing lure of being needed, of having someone to take care of.
He looked into her dark eyes. “I don’t know what I’m doing here,” he heard himself say.
Maile’s brow wrinkled. “It seems fairly self-explanatory to me. You love Livvy and Sadia.”
His rejection was immediate. “I don’t love Sadia. I’m just helping her.”
“Could you leave, if she hired help tomorrow?” Her smile was faint but victorious at his silence. “Love is like an addiction sometimes, isn’t it? You get a taste, and you want more. Livvy, Sadia . . . they’re good people to be addicted to.”
He gave a jerky shake of his head. “Loving people means getting hurt.”
“Sometimes. Loving people, reconnecting with the ones you’ve lost touch with, confronting your memories . . . that can all be painful. What’s the alternative? To be alone?”
Yes.
He clenched his jaw tight.
She sighed when he didn’t respond. “You could stay here while Livvy’s gone. I could make up her bedroom for you.”
“No.” Staying with Sadia was difficult, especially after that kiss. Staying with his mother would be impossible. “I have a place.”
She deflated, but then perked up again. “Will you come in for dinner?”
He was shaking his head before she could finish. “No. I’m okay.”
“Have you seen—”
“Yes.”
She pressed her lips together. As odd a pair as they made, Tani and Maile had always been dear friends. “She has so many regrets, your mother.”
“I’d rather not talk about it.” His words were gentle, but firm.
Firm enough that Maile nodded, though she looked displeased. “Do you want to sit here for a minute with me? We can talk some more?”
He wished he was the kind of person who could say yes, but his capacity to talk was rapidly dwindling. Once upon a time, Maile would have understood his silences, but maybe she wouldn’t now. Maybe she would hurt him. Best not to find out. “I have to get going.”
“I’ll see you around, though? While you’re here?” Her eyes were so beseeching, he felt like a jerk for making her beg.
“Yes. I’ll come see you. At least before I leave.”
Her lips wobbled upward in a smile. “Okay. I love you, Jackson.”
“I—” No, he couldn’t deny that he loved this woman. Not to her face. It would be cruel. “I love you, too, Aunt Maile.” The words weren’t as difficult to say as he’d thought, and he tasted the truth in them. The way her eyes lit up caused a little firework to go off in his chest. He placed his hand over his heart. It didn’t feel gray or frozen. It felt . . . light. Scary.
Good.
Chapter 10
Sadia was already running twenty minutes behind schedule when her tire blew. The noise scared the stuffing out of her, and she swerved, coming to a stop at the side of the road, her rim making a scraping noise as it dragged along the road.
“What was that?” Kareem cried out.
She took a second to catch her breath and take stock of the situation. “A tire,” she managed, trying to appear collected for her son. “We have a flat tire. No big deal. Sit tight while I change it.”
“Can I watch?” He unsnapped the buckle that kept him in his booster seat.
“Sure.” Her parents had started showing all their daughters how to do basic maintenance stuff when they weren’t much older than Kareem.
Only ten minutes later, she had to throw the towel in. Whoever had tightened the lug nuts the last time she’d taken the car into the shop had done too good of a job. She’d pulled and pushed at the things, and they were absolutely not budging anytime soon.
She got back in the car and forced a smile for her son, who was standing behind her seat. Her phone was ringing with an alarm reminder for Kareem’s piano lesson and she shut it off, glancing at the watch. Half an hour behind schedule now. “No big deal. We might need a hand.” She’d let their auto membership expire to cut down on the expense, but one of her sisters could probably come.
She sent a group text to her sisters, and one by one got three responses. Zara was almost two hours away, Ayesha wouldn’t be able to leave her study group for another few hours, and Noor was on call. Jia didn’t respond.
Her phone beeped another warning. If she didn’t leave right now, there was no way Kareem would make his piano lesson.
She swiped a hand over her forehead, disheartened to realize she was sweating. Her breath was coming faster, too.
No, no, no. Don’t let Kareem see this.
She’d only ever had a handful of panic attacks. One had been when Jackson had been arrested and it had looked like he might really go to trial. Paul had sat next to her then, stroking her hair and crooning to her. She’d felt so ashamed the next day, to make him worry about her when it was his brother sitting in a jail.
The others had all come after Paul had died, but usually late at night or early in the morning. She closed her eyes and breathed in deep, and exhaled. She did it again, in a desperate effort to stave off the attack.
“Mom?”
Without looking, she handed her phone over her shoulder. Maybe Rohan or Al were home and they could come help her. But she needed to focus on not having an attack, and not on using the device that might beep another reminder of how late she was getting. “Can you please call one of your uncles, sweetheart?”
Jackson had just pulled into the driveway when Sadia called him. He picked it up as it was about to go to voicemail. “Hello?”
There was a beat, and then Kareem’s childish voice. “Hi. We have a flat tire. Can you come help us?”
He frowned. “You have a flat tire? Where’s your mom, Kareem?”
“She’s here, she asked me to call you. I know how to use a phone.”
“Seems like you do.” And that was odd, that Sadia had asked Kareem to call. “Is she okay?”
Kareem’s voice grew teeny. “Are you okay, Mom?” Then he was back. “She says yeah. She’s just breathing like she’s doing yoga.”
What? Jackson’s adrenaline spiked. “Listen, Kareem, there’s a way you can send me your exact location. Can you open the app that has a map on it? There’s a pin—” His phone buzzed.
“Did you get it?” Kareem asked.
Were all kids this technologically adept these days or was Kareem a genius? “Yeah, I did. Thanks.” Luckily, they were only ten minutes away from him.
He made it to Sadia in half that time and immediately spotted her little crossover SUV on the side of the road. He got out and circled the car, coming up the passenger side.
When he opened the door, he knew something was up with Sadia. Kareem was standing behind her, his hand on her shoulder,
his little face pinched. Her eyes were closed and she was almost white, she was so pale. Her breathing was shallow, and sweat had broken out on her brow. “Sadia.” He placed his hand over hers.
Her fingers twitched and her eyes opened. He was floored to see the wetness there. “What are you doing here?” she gasped.
“I called him,” the little boy piped up. “You told me to.”
Her lips curled in, but she didn’t dispute this.
“I think Mom’s sick,” Kareem whispered loudly to Jackson.
“Kareem, why don’t you look through the photos on my phone?” Jackson handed the boy his phone. “There are pictures of places I’ve been.”
The kid snatched it out of his hand. “Cool.” He hopped back in his booster seat.
Hoping Kareem wouldn’t hear too much, Jackson squeezed Sadia’s fingers. “Sadia, I’m calling an ambulance.”
“No,” she whispered, and a tear fell down her cheek. “Please don’t.”
“Something’s wrong with you.”
“It’s a panic attack. Please. No ambulance.”
A panic attack. He searched her face, but he could only see the truth. “What do you need me to do?”
Her breath was low and shuddery. “Kareem can’t see. Please, I need to go home. My bedroom.”
He wiped the tear off her cheek. “I’ll get you home, then.”
Jackson changed the tire in record time, and then nudged her over so he could drive. Her breathing had grown more shallow, and her chest rose and fell, her hand covering her heart like she could slow its movements externally.
He knew Sadia was in rough shape when she didn’t protest him helping her inside the home. Indeed, she leaned harder on him, giving him her weight.
Kareem still had Jackson’s phone and trailed after them, swiping through all his pictures. Jackson glanced over his shoulder at the boy. “Why don’t you find a movie for us to watch Kareem?”
“But I have a piano lesson.”
Sadia went rigid in his arms, and Jackson tightened his grip. “We’ll reschedule it.” He wasn’t sure if he was speaking to Sadia or Kareem.
She pointed him to her bedroom upstairs, and he sat her down on the bed and crouched in front of her. Her eyes were glassy, and her hair was coming out of her braid to stick to her neck. He didn’t have much experience with panic attacks, but her symptoms seemed to be coming in waves, growing more severe instead of lessening. He grasped her hands. “Listen to me,” he said quietly. “I need you to inhale and exhale deeply, in and out. Listen to my breath and match it, okay?”
She gave a tight shake of her head. “It’s not working.” She rubbed her hand over her heart. “Kareem is all alone out there and—”
“Kareem is fine in the living room.”
Her tears spilled over her lashes. “I missed his piano lesson.”
“That happens. Like I said, we’ll reschedule it.” He kept his tone as calm and steady as possible. “Do you have any meds for this, Sadia?”
For a second he didn’t think she was going to answer, but then she nodded, lips tight. “I’m sensitive. They knock me out. I can’t—” she gasped, her face scrunching up.
“You can. Where are they?”
She gestured to the bathroom, and he got up, moving quickly to the little room. Her medicine cabinet held the usual things and one prescription pill bottle. He read the label, shook out one little white tablet and came back to Sadia. “Do you need water?”
She stared at him miserably. “I can’t fall asleep while Kareem . . .”
“I have him. I’ll watch him while you sleep. Take it if it’ll help you.”
After a beat, she accepted the pill with a shaking hand, and popped it in her mouth. Her throat worked as she swallowed.
She didn’t protest when he pulled back the covers and she crawled under them. He sat on the edge of the bed and held her hand while she closed her eyes, her face pinched while she breathed in and out. He wondered if she knew she was, actually, matching their breathing.
How long had she been having these attacks? She’d never had them when they were young. She’d never mentioned them in any of the emails she’d sent.
He wasn’t sure how long he sat there, but eventually her breathing became more natural. Her eyelashes fluttered open, and her eyes were dazed now, but at least that panicked anxiety was gone. “Kareem.”
He squeezed her fingers. “I’m going to go watch him now,” he said quietly. “You rest. Wake up when you’re ready.”
She blinked up at him, then her gaze lowered to his hands. “You have the most beautiful hands.”
She was asleep before he could react to that.
He finally allowed himself to breathe out in a rush.
Oh god. He hadn’t felt fear like this in a long, long time. And later, when he had a minute, maybe he would analyze why he’d been so scared, but right now, there was a little boy in the living room who was probably taking Jackson’s phone apart in boredom.
Jackson stared at her for a second longer, then rose. He closed her door only half way, so he could still hear her if she needed him.
He walked into the living room and stopped. Kareem was on the couch, feet up on the coffee table. What did he know about babysitting anyway? He would google how to do this, but the kid had his phone.
Kareem looked up from his perusal of Jackson’s photos. “How come you don’t have a lot of pictures of other people in here?”
Ouch. “I don’t travel with a lot of people.”
“How come?”
“I just don’t.”
Kareem scratched the side of his nose. There were grass stains on his hands and something pink had spilled on his shirt. “You don’t talk so much.”
“I don’t.”
“How come?”
Jackson puffed up his cheeks. “I’m shy.”
The boy wriggled. “How—”
“Do you like to cook?”
Kareem shrugged. “I dunno.”
“Why don’t we make something?” And stop asking me painful questions.
“Cookies?”
“Sure.” Cookies he could make in his sleep.
It took Jackson a few minutes of rummaging, but he found everything he needed in Sadia’s kitchen. He had Kareem cracking eggs and prepping the pan and chatting with him shortly.
So much chatting! But oddly enough Jackson didn’t mind. It was good to take a break and create something with his hands while childish babble rumbled around him.
You have the most beautiful hands.
He concentrated on scooping flour.
“Uncle Jackson?”
So weird to hear that uncle in front of his name. He’d had no family for so long. “Huh?”
“You’re Daddy’s brother.”
He folded the wet ingredients into the dry. “Yes.”
“Can you tell me a story about Daddy? Mom does.”
He had to swallow twice to respond. “What kind of story?”
Kareem leaned against the counter. Standing on a stepstool, he was almost tall enough to reach the counter. “Anything.”
Jackson looked down at the bowl. He wondered if the boy knew how much wistfulness had been contained in that single word.
Jackson had been nineteen when his father died. He and the man hadn’t had the most unproblematic relationship, but he grieved for Robert to this day.
Whatever his feelings about Paul, he couldn’t imagine how this little boy had felt. “These cookies were our Grandpa’s favorite.”
“Grandpa John?”
Jackson frowned. How did the boy know about John Chandler? “No. Well, Grandpa John loved them, but it was Grandpa Sam who came up with the recipe. I made the cookies for this charity bake sale at school.” Sadia had been running that fair, and she’d begged him to enter something. Without her urging, he wouldn’t have exactly joined in. The last thing he wanted to do was call attention to himself, and years with his father had made it clear that cooking wasn’t something the c
ool guys did. Business or golf, sure. Not baking.
“Some older kids walked by my booth and knocked the cookies to the ground. Your dad saw them.”
Kareem’s eyes grew wide. “What did he do?”
Jackson faltered. What Paul had done was grab the nearest one by the neck and punch him in the face. But somehow, he was pretty sure even the most lax childrearing expert would say that wasn’t a good thing to tell a kid. “He gave them a lecture about how knocking things down wasn’t nice,” Jackson finished lamely. “And they got in trouble.” Paul had gotten a suspension too, if he remembered clearly. Their mother had been livid, their father filled with barely concealed pride.
Jackson started dropping the cookie dough on the greased sheet. He’d forgotten that story. Paul had intervened with so many bullies for him, the same way he had for Sadia.
It’s almost like you learned something from him.
“My daddy was really brave,” Kareem boasted.
“Hmm.” Jackson opened the oven and put the cookies in, then looked at Kareem. Now what? He didn’t know how long Sadia would be out, and the kid needed entertaining. “What do you want to do now?”
Kareem tucked his hands into his pockets and stared up at him guilelessly. “We can ride your motorcycle.”
Jackson’s lips twitched. The kid was persistent, he’d give him that. “Maybe later.” He’d have to go back at some point and fetch his bike from where it was sitting on the side of the road, but this was a safe enough town he wasn’t too worried. Worst case, it might get impounded by the cops, but he could work that out later. “How about a movie? Or we can cook some more.”
Kareem hopped off the stool. “Movie, but with popcorn.”
“Done.” That was easy enough.
Forty-five minutes of haggling over which movies were appropriate or not for Kareem, hunting down a stuffed bunny in the boy’s room, and putting another batch of cookies in the oven, Jackson sat on the couch and reached into the bowl of popcorn, only to come back with kernels. “Did you eat all of these?”
Kareem licked his buttery fingers, his attention glued on the opening credits of the Disney movie. “Shh.”