No Time To Blink

by Dina Silver

  Chapter Eighteen CATHERINE Beirut, 1971 By the time Ann Marie was six months old, my desperation hit a new low. After Gabriel first took my passport, I lost it. My hands and limbs were trembling so much that I had to lie on the kitchen floor so I wouldn’t pass out and hurt myself by tumbling onto the table and chairs. He’d come home that day like a flash of light and turned our relationship from partners and lovers to captor and hostage. As soon as I was able to stand and see straight, I rang Brigitte again. She had just left my apartment, leaving a trail of sage advice that was intended to bring me peace. No such luck. “I can’t understand you,” she said. “Give me ten minutes.” She came back over and found me cradling my child, tears streaming down my face, lip quivering. “He locked up my passport!” She covered her mouth. “He wouldn’t even speak to me. Came home seconds after you were gone. He left work to come here and put my passport in the safe.” “Do you know the combination?” “No!

  Chapter Nineteen CATHERINE Beirut, 1971 Back in the apartment with the ticket in my hand like a small grenade, I stood thinking of where to hide it. Under the mattress seemed too predictable. Anywhere in the kitchen too risky. Same with any of the dresser drawers. There was hardly a place that Gabriel would not accidentally rummage through. Suddenly, it occurred to me. I walked into Ann Marie’s room. It was a small space, painted a pale but cheerful shade of yellow with a crib, changing table, and matching chest of drawers. The three-piece set was a gift from Gabriel’s sister, Serine, and her husband, Michael. In the closet were her clothes and linens and boxes of diapers. I reached inside one of the boxes, pulled out a diaper, and sat on the floor cross-legged. The ticket was almost the exact length of the tiny diaper and folded up perfectly inside it. He hadn’t changed one diaper in six months, so there was little concern he’d start anytime soon. Especially with the new me being so a

  Chapter Twenty ANN MARIE Chicago, 2008 “I knew something was wrong with you. Please tell me what’s going on.” “I’m having a hard time getting my words out,” Mom says, now back downstairs and sitting at the kitchen table with my cousin Rory and me. “I feel like it takes me forever to say what I’m thinking or answer a question.” She pauses. “Bring me a piece of paper and a pen.” I open the junk drawer next to the fridge and come back with a lined yellow notepad and a ballpoint pen. “Watch this.” My mom takes the pen and begins to write a list of names. Mine, Rory’s, her own, and my three boys, and then a few short phrases like hello and how are you. Her handwriting looks immediately skewed, with each word swinging upward at the end. She looks up from the paper. “I’m taking you to the doctor,” I say without hesitation. “We’ll talk about it when you and Jen get back from your trip.” I shake my head. “I already told her we’re not going.” She shudders. “When did you tell her that?” “The minu

  Chapter Twenty-One CATHERINE Beirut, 1971 There was little I could do to hide my excitement on December 21, the day before I was due to fly back to Connecticut. A place that I hadn’t been in more than a year. A year in which I’d moved to Chicago, gotten pregnant, moved to Lebanon, given birth, and become terrified my husband would confine me again at a moment’s notice. Brigitte brought me lunch that day, and her eldest daughter came over with Reema to watch Ann Marie for me. There was laughter between us. Brigitte was once again preparing for Christmas dinner with family and neighbors—as she had been the year before when we’d first met—and she and I had spent the week wrapping presents and decorating the stairwell and our respective balconies with lights and wreaths. Walid had driven me and Gabriel and the baby to get a tree a couple of weeks ago, and it stood in our family room in a large corner between the couch and the balcony doors. There were gifts underneath for Ann Marie and mys

  Chapter Twenty-Two CATHERINE Greenwich, 1972 Even though I’d convinced myself that I never should have left home in the first place, I came to realize that everything happens for a reason, and that reason was Ann Marie. She was the light of my life. In fact, I didn’t even know my life was void of radiance until I had her back with me in the States. It was like my family—my parents and sisters—had been incomplete without her; she brought that much clarity and joy to each of us. Mom cleared out the two guest rooms in the back of the house so we’d have our own private area. I went to see Leonard Hannah, the editor of the Greenwich Times, and begged to have my job back, the one I’d never started. He gladly allowed me to work there and urged me to write about my time in Lebanon, so that’s how I began my column. Paging through my journals and writing about the foods and the culture and the people of Beirut. “I won’t be able to write about Beirut forever,” I told Leonard. “Make it a series of

  Chapter Twenty-Three CATHERINE Greenwich, 1972 My desk was littered with loose pages from my photo album and rolls of Kodak film waiting to be developed. I was trying to put together a book of pictures for Ann Marie’s first birthday. A tin of hand cream sat next to a glass tumbler with flat Coca-Cola from three days ago. In the center of it all was Gabriel’s Western Union telegram. I will arrive on Thursday, March 30, to prepare documents for divorce in America. Please allow me to see Ann Marie and say a proper goodbye. It is all I ask. I lifted the thin piece of paper, read it again, and placed it facedown on my desk. He was arriving that day, and I needed to muster all the strength I had to be strong for my mother and my family and my little girl. I closed my eyes for a moment to calm my nerves. The day could not have ended fast enough. “Jessie!” I called for her. “When you have a second, could you please bring Ann Marie up here?” “Of course,” I heard her say from the hall. “Thank yo

  Chapter Twenty-Four ANN MARIE Chicago, 2008 Mom is diagnosed with a malignant glioma. We got the results about three days ago, and today we’re back at the hospital, waiting on Dr. Elena Crane, who will see Mom through the treatment process. Dr. Marcus and I have exchanged a few e-mails, and he said he’d stop in and see us if he was around. My mother has our china pattern picked out already. “I’m sure the handsome doctor wants a still-married mom of three boys who now lives with her ailing mother.” I wink. Mom puts her hands in the prayer position, and we both laugh. We’re escorted to a patient room, where we wait for another twenty minutes, flipping through old copies of Redbook. “I will never understand why doctors can’t be on time,” I say as the door opens. “Hi, ladies. Good to see you both,” Dr. Crane says. “How have you been feeling?” she asks my mom. “I’ve been better.” The doctor smiles. “Of course. Well, we know that the tumor is inoperable, but we’re going to do our best to tre

  Chapter Twenty-Five CATHERINE Greenwich, 1972 The air rushed out of my lungs, and despite the pandemonium in my childhood home, time stood still for me. Colleen and Margaret were standing nearby, catching their breath. “We ran all up and down the streets and then to the gate, but there was no sign of him,” I heard Colleen say quietly to my father. “The guard said he saw him drive out.” Belle Haven required that guests check in, but the exit gate opened for anyone to leave. Talcum powder still tickled my nostrils, and the tiny blue dress with embroidered whales was balled up in my lap. It was a gift from Laura, and I’d chosen it especially for today because blue was Gabriel’s favorite color. The glass of ice water Jessie had brought to me after I’d collapsed was still beside the couch, untouched and sweating all over Mother’s antique end table. I remember thinking she’d be angry I hadn’t used a coaster. Father was on the phone with Serine. I heard him say he’d phoned the police. If ther

  Chapter Twenty-Six CATHERINE Greenwich, 1972 My father was never without a drink and a cigarette that day. Lunch passed without any mention. My sisters were in and out of the pantry, whining softly to Jessie about their hunger pangs when she wasn’t by my side. Mother eventually sent them all to the club. I remember looking down at my watch, praying the hands would stop and the day would not end until Ann Marie was back in my arms. “How cruel of him to behave in this way,” I heard my mother say to her sister. My aunt Hazel followed with some nasty words about Gabriel. “I’m going to go looking for them.”
I stood. It was nearly 6:00 p.m., and I’d had enough of my parents’ insistence that I stay at the house and remain calm. Mother walked toward Jessie and me. “The Cunninghams will be here in an hour for dinner,” she said to Jessie. Jessie’s mouth dropped open. “Are we still entertaining tonight, ma’am?” Jessie asked. Mother looked incredulous. “Well, of course, we are. I’ve not called and

  Chapter Twenty-Seven ANN MARIE Chicago, 2008 Christmas is a week away, and it’s evident that my mother feels like she’s dying. She’s asked me to grab the boxes of journals from my garage and is insisting we go through them. “You refused to discuss my father and my past for decades, and now I’m supposed to sit and reminisce? You realize the doctor hasn’t started your countdown clock,” I remind her and remain hopeful. So desperately hopeful. She swallows. Her throat is always dry. “You’re going to argue with your mother who has cancer?” The words come slowly. I smile. “Please stop. I don’t care about any of it. I love you and just want to focus on you. You can barely talk as it is. Let’s not waste your breath on this right now,” I say, yet I’m eager for more clarity. There is a part of me that feels I deserve to know everything, and part of me that is scared of the discovery. But after reading about their time as newlyweds, I’ve been able to find comfort in the fact that my parents were

  Chapter Twenty-Eight CATHERINE Greenwich, 1972 In the two days that followed Ann Marie’s abduction, I was never left alone, not for five minutes. After my initial breakdown, Mother and Jessie had someone scheduled to be by my side at all times and had my sisters sleeping on my bedroom floor at night. Sometimes in the middle of the night, I’d sneak out of bed and into Ann Marie’s room. I’d take her crib mattress and curl up on it, and Jessie would have to tear me out of there in the morning. Every day there were lawyers and family friends and members of the club coming by the house. Everyone with a new connection, a new source for us to try, and all of whom seemed to move at a snail’s pace. But hope and headway were rare commodities. My husband had boarded a plane with our daughter and flown home, essentially to a country where my family’s substantial influence had little bearing. Even my uncle Fitz, the senator from Connecticut who was being primed to run as a Democratic presidential n

  Chapter Twenty-Nine CATHERINE Greenwich, 1972 I ran into the kitchen. “I need to use the phone,” I said to Colleen, who was sitting on the stool, leaning against the wall with the cord wrapped around her ankle. “I’m on it,” she mouthed. I took my index finger and pressed down on the switch hook. “This is important.” Colleen screamed at me and then stormed out. Jessie walked in when she heard the commotion. “What’s she fussing about?” “Never mind her. I need you to do me a favor.” “Of course.” “I have to run up to my room, but I need to make a very important phone call, so please sit here for a minute and don’t let anyone pick up the line. It’s really important.” I nearly squealed with excitement. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of this earlier. I’ve been in a complete fog.” “Think of what?” Jessie asked. “Just wait here. Please.” I flew up the stairs two at a time and reached for the stack of journals I’d had during my year in Beirut. In the first one on the inside of the cover were so

  Chapter Thirty ANN MARIE Chicago, 2008 I’ve read a few pages in Mom’s journals about the first couple of months she spent living in Lebanon, and some about less favorable times. It’s time I confront her for more details. She’s been on a string of good days where her speech is concerned, and last night she was able to read a book to the boys. “Is Nana going to be OK?” Ryan asks me as I’m scrambling eggs for everyone the next morning, and his words land like a punch to the gut. “Oh, honey, of course she is,” I answer without hesitation. “Because she said she doesn’t know how much longer she’ll be around to read to us.” I close my eyes for a long pause, and then open them and resume scrambling. “She probably said that because she’s losing her voice.” “I’m sorry that she is sick and losing her voice.” “Me too, sweetie.” “I’d be really sad if that happened to you.” I place the whisk down on the countertop next to the stove and open my arms. “Come here and give me a big hug.” Ryan walks over

  Chapter Thirty-One CATHERINE January 1973 Charley Stillwater and I sat on the runway at Logan International Airport in Boston for an hour while they deiced the plane. We’d had two cigarettes each before the flight even took off. Roughly ten months after I’d lost my daughter, I was finally on my way to getting her back. We landed in Beirut at midnight. Pain blossomed in my chest as I stepped out of the airport, remembering the only other time I’d arrived there. There were no words to describe how chillingly familiar the place felt. A car drove us to the InterContinental Phoenicia hotel, past Rue Clémenceau, where our . . . Gabriel’s apartment was. I pleaded with Charley to stop there. “We can’t go like thieves in the night,” he said. “I know you don’t think I understand your urgency, but I do. And I can assure you that we’ll make things worse for ourselves and your daughter if we don’t follow the law to the letter.” “I still have a key. I know almost every family in that building. Pleas

  Chapter Thirty-Two CATHERINE Beirut, 1973 Desperation will cause people to take risks they would never take under normal circumstances, and that is exactly what happened after my first week in the Khalids’ home. I grew tired of waiting, tired of avoiding Yasmine, tired of her condescending looks and comments, tired of being told to be patient and do the right thing when my child needed me. When I had been in Greenwich, I would lie awake at night feeling helpless, wishing I had the power to do something. Now that I was back in Beirut, I did. At 1:00 a.m., I dressed in dark clothing and walked out the front door. Ras Beirut was an upscale part of the city on the edge of the waterfront. The area consisted mostly of residential apartment buildings with a few impressive old homes like the Khalids’, called qasr’s, nestled in the middle of the city for those who could afford them. There was a tall gated fence around the perimeter, and I was relieved to find it unlocked. The streets were lit,

  Chapter Thirty-Three ANN MARIE Chicago, 2008 Just as my mom is at a place in her life where she’s ready to reveal something, she loses her voice. The deterioration has been mind-blowingly rapid, like water flooding a broken dam. She’s now seated at my kitchen island after having a horrible coughing spell. I make her some herbal tea, and she’s resting and checking her e-mails. She closes the laptop and mimes a square shape with her hands. “You want me to get the box?” She nods. I sigh. “Mom, I really don’t think that’s a good idea. First, because you’re in no condition to be reminiscing or explaining anything to me, and second, I think we have enough drama going on here. Maybe it should wait. I don’t want you to get upset.” She shakes her head. “Should I be scared?” I ask. She places her hand on her heart and then makes the box shape again. I retrieve the cardboard box filled with her journals, along with the one from my nightstand, and bring them all to the family room. She joins me in

  Chapter Thirty-Four ANN MARIE Chicago, 2008 I stay awake until midnight so I can reach my father first thing in the morning in Rome, where he now lives. My stomach is in knots. It’s a phone call that I’ve dreaded and anticipated for so many reasons, and now with what I know, I can barely dial the phone. For years, I’d beg my mom to allow me to reach out to him, only to have her shoot down the idea. Eventually, it just became easier to appease her, and ultimately, my memory of him faded with time, along with the will to have him in my life. There were many times that I felt guilty about my part in the lack of a relationship. I felt like I should’ve done more, should’ve invited him to my wedding, should’ve sent him photos of his grandchildren, but he’d never reached out to me, either, and once I had kids of my own, it was more difficult for me to forgive his indifference. But now that I was privy to the truth—or at least some of it—how could I not confront him? He might be the only perso

  Chapter Thirty-Five CATHERINE Beirut, 1973 “You’ve been granted visitation,” Charley Stillwater said to me. It had been four months since I’d arrived back in Beirut. “As yo
u know, we filed papers seeking divorce on the grounds of mental cruelty and asked for full custody of the child. The case is still pending here, even though he signed papers in Connecticut, but the courts are taking that into consideration, and we’ve been granted a temporary win. We’ve spoken with Gabriel’s attorney, and he’s being served with papers today. Gabriel is now legally bound to comply with our demands, and he must let you know Ann Marie’s whereabouts within twenty-four hours. You have been granted visitation,” he repeated. I stood holding the phone in one hand and squeezing Yasmine’s arm with the other, as both our ears rested on the handset. It wasn’t exactly what I’d hoped for, but it was a small victory. She pulled away and clapped. “What does that mean, exactly?” I ask him. “That you’ll be allowed to

  Chapter Thirty-Six CATHERINE Beirut, 1973 Yasmine and I stood outside in front of her house the next morning, waiting for him. He was twenty minutes late. When I’d called him the day before, there was something so gentle and familiar about his tone. Once again, I felt like there might be some hope. I couldn’t help but think how differently his reception had been from Brigitte’s, and I had no other choice but to trust him, if he would let me. “Stop pacing,” Yasmine said. “I’m not pacing; I just want to get on the road already.” Just then a car pulled up, a Volkswagen Beetle, and out came Walid. I rejoiced at the sight of him. He ran over and gave me a hug. “Miss Catherine! It is very good to be seeing you again.” “You have no idea how nice it is to see a friendly face. I’ve missed you.” He blushed. “I have missed you, too.” I took a deep breath. “This is Yasmine Khalid.” Walid bent forward. “A pleasure.” “Catherine has told me such wonderful things about you,” she said. “Do you mind if

  Chapter Thirty-Seven ANN MARIE Chicago, January 2009 We had a scare yesterday on New Year’s Eve, causing Mom to spend two nights in the hospital because she was having difficulty breathing, but the doctor called this morning to say she responded well to treatment and is able to come home. I spent the morning cleaning her sheets, doing laundry, prioritizing which bills to pay, vacuuming dog hair, and taking care of a myriad of other tasks I’ve been neglecting. I walk by the Christmas tree and laugh. Praise Jesus if I get that thing taken down by Easter. I sit down with my laptop and a Lean Cuisine and see an e-mail from Dr. Marcus. I can hardly contain my smile. Hi, Ann Marie. I wanted to check in and see how you and your mom are doing. Please let me know. —Scott I reply: Hi, Dr. Scott. It’s so great to hear from you. Thank you for reaching out. I wish I had better news, but Mom landed herself in the hospital for a couple of days. I’m picking her up this afternoon, though, so we’re hopi