No Time To Blink

by Dina Silver

  “Wait! Please wait!” I scooped her up into my arms and found the nanny and Gabriel’s attorney in the next room. The woman was visibly shaken, but I knew she could understand me. “Thank you,” I began. “Thank you for caring for her and loving her and whatever you have done to keep my daughter healthy and safe.”

  There were tears in her eyes. She leaned close to kiss my daughter on the forehead. Ann Marie reached out to the nanny with both arms as I held her in mine, and the woman spoke to her in Arabic. Ann Marie clung to me once she understood.

  Back at the Khalids, we had a bit of a rough start. There were times she was smiling and diverted with ice cream and toys, but in between she would have moments of crying and confusion. There was little I could do to help other than hold her when she would allow it. Occasionally when she was playing, she would ask for Mama, and I would just point to myself, hoping she would eventually associate me with the word, and she did.

  I stayed calm and remained steadfast, and the only times I became unnerved was when she would ask for her dada. She would look at me, and I would just smile and say, “Mama loves you.” I gave her some of the presents that were still unopened from her first birthday. A tea set, a colorful xylophone, and a See ’N Say with farm animals. Children are resilient, yes, but mostly when they are loved and safe and confident of those two things. Once she was back in my arms, I knew she felt uprooted and some initial uncertainty, but I could sense that she knew me. A mother knows, and I was certain of it.

  I finally had my baby back, and nothing else mattered.

  Once Ann Marie was with me, Charley called to check in and make sure everything went as planned.

  “If I live to be one hundred, I will never find the words to thank you for what you’ve done for me,” I said to him.

  “It’s been my pleasure, and I can promise you I did not work alone. I can’t tell you how relieved we all are to hear that mother and daughter have been reunited.”

  “Thank you again.”

  He took a deep breath. “Your journey is not over, I’m afraid.”

  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 hoping she’ll be comfortable. Besides that, everything is crazy as always.

  Again, thank you for asking. It really means a lot to both of us.

  —AM

  The next e-mail is from Amanda at Stewart Fishman’s office and has some encouraging news.

  Todd has agreed to a property settlement in lieu of alimony, so he will waive his interest in the house, but he’ll still be responsible for child support. You will obtain full title to the property, which of course means you’ll be solely responsible for taxes, insurance, mortgage, et cetera. Our next step is to schedule what’s called a prove-up date, where both sides have to prove that our settlement is agreeable to the court. Once we do that, and the court finds that the agreement is not unconscionable, we’ll be finished. Usually takes a week or two. Since you are not the one who filed for divorce, you have the option to be present or not. Todd will be required to be there, since he’s the filer, but if all goes well, you should be divorced that day.

  —Amanda

  I reply that I have no interest in attending the hearing, and to let me know when I can get on with my life as an unmarried woman. Taking on the house myself is a daunting task, but I’m thrilled that Mom and I and the boys will have this home for the foreseeable future.

  Snoopy is moping around and running to the front hall whenever he hears a car drive by. I walk over and give him a pat on the head. “She’s coming home today, bud. Now go and sit with the boys. They go back to school in a week.”

  He wags his tail and jogs off to be with the kids in the family room, as if he understands me. Then, just as I get back to the kitchen, I hear a key in the front door, which sends the dog back up the hall like a boomerang.

  “Shh, quiet!” I say to halt his barking, but he won’t stop, and I find Todd is cowering in the doorway after letting himself inside.

  “What the fuck, Ann Marie? Get this thing out of my face!”

  I cross my arms, and Snoopy continues to bark. “I thought you agreed to knocking first?”

  “Get this dog away from me!”

  “Shh,” I say, trying to quiet Snoopy and grab hold of his collar. “Sit, sit, shh. Good boy.” Snoopy stares at Todd as if he were a wounded squirrel perched on a low-hanging branch. “He’s a good judge of character. What can I say?”

  “I don’t want this dog around the boys.”

  “Too bad. It’s my mom’s dog, and he’s not going anywhere.” I’m done appeasing him. “Do you need something?”

  Todd regains his composure and reaches for something in his pocket. “I have a check for you.” He hands it to me.

  “What’s this?” I ask after unfolding it and seeing the amount.

  “It’s the child support.”

  “It’s half the child support.”

  Todd rolls his neck. “It’s all I have this month.”

  The thought of having to call my attorney, file a complaint, and let him know that Todd is not complying with the judgment makes me sick to my stomach. Dealing with chasing this money around and around and adding more attorney fees to try and get it is the absolute very last thing I need to deal with right now, and Todd knows that. My head is throbbing with rage as he continues to do whatever the hell he pleases with zero regard for the law and his boys.

  “I’ll be sure and tell the judge that,” I say.

  He takes his middle finger and thrusts it in the air, and for a moment I actually feel sorry for the other woman who’s walking the earth carrying his child. Before I can say anything else, he turns and starts to walk away.

  I let go of Snoopy’s collar and yell, “SPIDER!”

  “It wasn’t nearly as gory as I’d hoped.” I recount the scene for my mom when I get to the hospital later that day. “I think Snoopy actually wanted to love on Todd, but Todd didn’t stick around long enough to find out.”

  Mom smiles and gives me a thumbs-up.

  “He came to drop off half the child support.” I roll my eyes. “Maybe he thinks I should tell the boys they each get half a chicken nugget for dinner.”

  Mom looks distressed now.

  “I’m kidding! It’s fine. We’ll be just fine.” The words come quickly, if only I believed them myself. “Please don’t worry about us. Everything will work out.”

  She holds a hand up, trying to form a response. So I give her a pad of paper and a pen. “Do you want to try writing?”

  She nods, and I sit waiting for her to put her words on paper, something she’s able to do about an eighth of the time. She holds up the pad when she’s through. Have you read any more?

  I look at her. “The journals?”

  She nods.

  “I want to go through them with you. And I’ve just been so busy back at home. I managed to clean and organize and get a lot done while you were in here on vacation.” I wink.

  She places her hands over her heart, pleading with me.

>   “I promise you, we’ll read them together. Every single word. Just give it some time.” I pause. “I know you’ve opened the floodgates, and you’re worried I will have questions, but all I need right now is for you to get better. Please respect that.”

  She nods.

  “Dr. Marcus asked about you.”

  She looks at me wide-eyed.

  “I got an e-mail from him today, and yes, I responded, and yes, he’s madly in love with me.”

  She twitches, which is now her version of laughing.

  A nurse walks in with her discharge papers and a few more vials of pills. My kitchen counter already looks like the back room of a pharmacy, so these will fit right in. I sign the paperwork and roll Mom out to the parking garage in a wheelchair, making her look even worse than she probably feels, but the truth is that I don’t know exactly how she feels. We’re each trying to hide things from each other. She’s trying to hide her pain and suffering and self-pity, and I’m trying to hide my fear and devastation, but I have a terrible poker face. We’re really two people just trying to love and protect each other. Three, if you count the dog.

  When we get home, Snoopy runs to her, and I have to hold his collar to keep all four paws on the ground. All she has to do is lift her arm in one sweeping move, and he goes down. In only a very short time, he’s learned to respond to her silent commands, sitting and lying down with just a wave of her hand.

  I get her settled on the couch in the family room. “I wish you wouldn’t insist on wearing heels,” I say as I place a blanket over her lap. “They’re not very safe, and they’re certainly not necessary in the house.”

  She brushes me off with a wave and then holds three fingers in the air, her sign for the boys.

  “Luke and Jimmy are over at Edith Stern’s house, and Ryan is at the Engels’. I thought you might want to come home to some peace and quiet.”

  She shakes her head.

  “They’ll be home soon enough. Don’t you worry.”

  She points to her purse, and I bring it to her. “I’m going to let Snoopy out since we’ve been gone most of the day. Come on, bud!” I say, and he follows me to the patio doors and then bounds through the snow, sniffing out the perfect spot to urinate.

  I wait for him and wipe off his paws with a dish towel when he comes back inside. I check my laptop, and there are seven new e-mails from my attorney in the past two hours, but I’ve had enough for today so I shut my computer. I open the fridge and stare at the contents, waiting for a genie to pop out and tell me what to make for dinner. “Our dinner choices are spaghetti with peas, grilled cheese, or breakfast,” I yell to her and then shut the door. She’s waving me over when I look across the island, and there is a piece of paper in her hand.

  “What’s up?” I search her eyes for an answer. There’s something to be said for the intimacy of communicating without words.

  She hands me a check for $2,000, rendering me speechless, too.

  She pushes my hand.

  “What on earth is this for?”

  Mom smiles and places her purse on the coffee table.

  “Mom, you’re going to need this money. We are going to need this money for your hospital bills and medication. Have you seen how many vials of pills are over there? We still have a long road ahead of us.”

  She purses her lips and pushes my hand again, forcing the money on me, and then she grabs a pad of paper. It takes her about ten minutes to write four words. For more chicken nuggets, it says.

  I smile and burst into tears. Not because I need the money—which I desperately do—but because I take it as a sign that she’s giving up. I need her to be strong and believe in her own recovery, not start giving her money away.

  “Thank you.” We embrace. “I certainly hope QVC doesn’t have to suffer for this.”

  She shakes her head no.

  I let out a small laugh and wipe my cheeks. “No, I don’t suppose they will.”

  That night before bed, I refresh my e-mail for the thousandth time and bask in the glow of the screen as a response from Dr. Scott appears.

  Hello again,

  I wish you would’ve e-mailed me when she was first admitted. I could have checked in on her for you, but I’m glad to hear she’s back in your care. Send me an e-mail in the morning with an update. In the meantime, I hope you know that I meant what I said. I’m here for you, so please don’t hesitate to reach out. And I know what you’re thinking, so I’m going to go ahead and answer it . . . No, I don’t say that to everyone. Have a good night.

  —Scott

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  CATHERINE

  Beirut, 1974

  Ann Marie and I moved out of the Khalids’ house after the Christmas holiday and into our own apartment. It was near the grounds of the university campus and only blocks from where Gabriel and I used to live. I was still legally forbidden from leaving with my daughter because, as an American citizen, I didn’t have the right to take a Lebanese child out of the country. My Lebanese attorney, working with Fitz and Charley and Stewart Fishman—who was personally working on getting me a new passport—had managed to ban Gabriel from having any access to her because of his past behavior and his refusal to obey the initial court order. We’d heard he fled to Cyprus or Cairo but didn’t know for sure.

  Our new home was a tiny, furnished one-bedroom apartment with a butcher-type retail shop on the first floor that served food to go and had a few convenience items. Not a full grocery but things like milk, candy, cigarettes, and such. I would take Ann Marie down there once in a while and walk through the store, pointing out items and trying to teach her how to say them in English. The man behind the counter was a lovely man named George, maybe in his early sixties. He would smile and wave to her when we’d stop in, but I was told to keep my distance from people, so I never really stopped to chat. He probably thought I was horribly unfriendly.

  Ann Marie and I shared a full-size bed and slept together each night curled up like puppies. The walls of the apartment were bare but clean. The windows had been washed and the curtains pressed before we’d moved in, and there was a balcony where she and I would sit and get some fresh air while eating our breakfast. Under normal circumstances, the place was perfectly livable. Under my circumstances, it felt like a house of cards, ready to collapse along with my nerves at any moment. All I knew was that we’d be living there for an infinite amount of time until everything was ready and in place for our escape. I was told to wait for a call—could be days, could be months—but once it came, I’d better be ready.

  One morning we were in our little kitchenette and I was singing Frank Sinatra tunes to her while making breakfast. She was perched on the counter next to me as I crooned a cappella when I suddenly cut my finger slicing a block of cheese. Ann Marie panicked, screaming with tears running down her puffy cheeks at the sight of blood, so I remained calm.

  “It’s OK,” I said and ran my hand under the water. She watched intently as she caught her breath and saw the blood wash off my skin.

  “Non!” she yelled.

  “It’s OK, my sweet girl. Watch.” I pointed to her eyes. “I’m going to make it better. I will show you.”

  Step by step, I cleaned the wound, dried the cut with a clean towel, and wrapped a bandage on my finger. “All better.” I kissed my own hand and then placed it in front of her lips for her to do the same. She softly kissed the bandage and looked at me.

  I grinned. “All better,” I repeated with a nod, asking her to say it, too, if she could.

  She smiled. “All better.”

  After breakfast, we walked downstairs to the shop. It was an unsettling time to be in Beirut, as there was civil and political unrest among the Christians and Shiites and Palestinians. In the paper, I would read about incidents that had begun to happen all over the city, like kidnappings and murders in otherwise upscale, peaceful communities. There were prominent leaders being targeted and people coming into their homes without provocation and being murdered in fro
nt of their families. And then the streets would be closed down, sometimes for weeks, and there would be sand piles and Jeeps and tanks blocking the flow of traffic. One evening, I heard a bunch of commotion in the street, and I ran to the window. Outside were four to five cars stopped in the middle of the road. Then a bunch of men got out and ran through the building across from mine, looking for someone. Neighbors flocked to their balconies to see what was going on, just praying the target wasn’t someone in their households.

  About two weeks after we moved in, Yasmine and Danny came by to visit with us. They had been inviting us over, but I’d become so paranoid during that time and wasn’t comfortable straying far from the apartment. Even a trip to the beach held too many dangers, as far as I was concerned, and I didn’t want to miss the call.

  “We’re going to get you out, but it’s going to be very last-minute, so make sure you always have everything ready,” Danny said.

  “If I never see any of these possessions again, it will be too soon.”

  “Well, you can’t board a plane with no luggage. It will seem suspect,” he said. “We are working on getting you new passports. And for your protection, we’ll be issuing you both false identities. You will have little time to memorize everything about them, yours and Ann Marie’s, but make sure you know exactly what they say about who you are and where you’re from.”

  I nodded. “I understand, and we’re ready.” I glanced over at Ann Marie sitting in Yasmine’s lap, paging through a Dr. Seuss book. “I keep a carry-on bag packed at all times, and we just keep wearing the same few outfits over and over. There is not much else here that belongs to us, other than the toys and baby stuff.” I cast my eyes across the room. The walls were beige and bare, save for the front windows with their green-and-blue-striped curtains. A large rust-colored couch sat against the wall with a rectangular wood coffee table in front of that, and a small table with four chairs where we ate. Across from the couch was a little bookshelf where we kept Ann Marie’s toys and books. “Everything is replaceable if we ever get home.”