by Dina Silver
He took a breath and patted me on the knee. “You will get home.”
“What if I mess up at the airport? What if I’m questioned?”
He shook his head. “You will have all the papers you need, and there will be no reason for that to happen. If it does, Wassef will be there with you, as another passenger, and he will step in if needed, but he will not be boarding the plane.”
“What about Ann Marie? The first time we left here, she needed documentation and permission from her father.”
“She’ll be an American citizen who is traveling abroad this time. You both will.” He paused. “I can assure you there will be no details left undiscovered. We are working to make certain you won’t have any problems. Now, are you sure you won’t join us for dinner?”
I stood and gave him a hug. “No, thank you for everything, though. We’re going to stay here.”
And stay we did. Another three months passed with little news and even less contact from Charley or my father. It became a full-on waiting game, and there were days I thought she and I would never leave. I’d stare at the blank walls and the dust-covered windows, wondering when I should just throw in the towel and find a proper home that didn’t smell like raw meat and exhaust fumes. I did my best to teach her English and speak to her in French as well. We didn’t venture out very much other than the grocery down the block and the butcher below, and even then I made it a point to keep to myself.
One morning Ann Marie woke me very early, babbling in two languages, and she seemed a little stir-crazy. We both were. The streets were quieter than normal at that hour, so I thought I’d put her in the stroller and get some fresh air. We bundled up and walked a few blocks to a neighborhood bakery that opened when the sun rose. My daughter delighted at the scent of fresh bread and pastry, and we sat in the shop’s front window and shared a Manakeesh with lemon and olive oil as I sipped a mug of Turkish coffee.
Just as I was cleaning up our table, three policemen stormed through the front door and walked to the back of the bakery. I dropped what was in my hand, ran back to our table, grabbed Ann Marie’s arm with one hand and the stroller with the other, and hurried out the front door as a large military tank pulled up. I could see people looking down on us from balconies wearing robes and pajamas. Some were screaming in Arabic, others were silent, and some were yelling at the driver of the tank. I dragged my daughter by the hand and led her clumsily down the sidewalk. After a few feet, she tripped over herself and fell to the pavement. I scooped her up into my arms, held her against my hip, and ran, leaving the stroller behind until we reached our building.
The butcher, George, was just opening his doors as we arrived.
“Is everything all right?” he asked, reading my face.
“No, no, it isn’t!” I took a deep breath, and he ushered us inside with great care, lifting Ann Marie off her feet and into a chair.
It took a moment for my heart rate to normalize. “I’m fine,” I assured him. “Thank you. We just had a scare at the bakery down the street.”
He glanced out the door but couldn’t see from where we were standing. “What happened?”
I shook my head. “I really don’t know. Some police came in and went to the back, and I just got out as quickly as I could.” I paused to catch my breath. “It very well could’ve been nothing, but I just can’t take any chances these days.” I made eye contact with him. “I mean . . . no one can.”
“Everyone is on edge.” He placed a hand on my shoulder. “I’m sure you did the right thing.” He glanced down at Ann Marie’s hand, which was covered in blood.
“Oh my!” I said when I followed his gaze. “Honey, you scraped your knee right through your pant leg. Let’s go get you cleaned up.”
“Let me help,” George said, and Ann Marie began to cry when she realized there was blood involved. She and I stood in his store as I tried to calm her, and he went to fetch a napkin behind the meat counter, ducking to avoid three spiral strips of bright yellow tape covered in dead flies.
“It’s not even that bad, honey. We’re going to make it all better, remember?” I assured her.
Her bottom lip jutted out, and she continued to cry until he picked her up and placed her on the front counter.
“How about some gum?” He pulled a pack of Trident off the rack.
“Oh, she’s not allowed to have chewing gum yet,” I began. “But thank . . .”
Ann Marie leaned forward and snagged the pack from his grasp. “All better,” she said.
George and I both laughed, but as soon as he began to get chummy with me, I was eager to leave. “Don’t make too many friends,” Danny had warned me, in case people started to get curious about an American woman with a daughter who didn’t speak her language. I wasn’t allowed to contact Walid or any of my past acquaintances, and Brigitte had proved she wanted nothing to do with us. There was a constant worry that Gabriel was still plotting something, and no one would’ve put anything past him.
“Make sure we are the only people who know where you are,” Danny had said. “You don’t need to be telling strangers your address anyway.”
“So, is everything else all right for you both?” George asked innocently enough. It was obvious I wasn’t a student, and the number of single American women that would choose to live in Beirut—at a time when you could smell war in the air and even many Lebanese citizens were fleeing—was minimal at best. I may have been the only one.
“Yes, I . . . I mean we are just fine. My husband is away very often on business. He’s a research assistant at AUB.” I lifted my daughter off the counter. “Do you have the time?”
He checked his watch. “Just after seven thirty.”
“Thank you so much for your help,” I said and walked out to the back stairwell that led to our second-floor apartment.
I untied the scarf from Ann Marie’s head and helped her out of her jacket. “I think that’s enough excitement for one week,” I said to her. “How about a nice glass of warm milk?”
She heard me but just continued to marvel at the gum.
The phone rang as I was turning the burner on. I hadn’t even taken my own coat off. “Hello?” I said.
There was a short moment of silence before I heard Danny’s voice. “It’s time.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
CATHERINE
Beirut, 1974
I stretched the phone cord over to the stove and turned off the flame under the pot of milk as my heart began to whirl. Ann Marie was sitting on the floor in front of the couch, ripping tiny pieces of foil off the chewing gum. “Just tell me what I need to do,” I said.
“In thirty minutes, there will be a knock at your door. Ask who it is before opening it, and if she says it’s a floral delivery, open the door.”
I swallowed.
“Take the envelope and flowers from her, and close your door,” he continued. “Inside the package, you’ll find your new passport. You are to memorize whatever it says. I have not seen it, so I can’t give you any help at this time. Make sure you know your name, your child’s name, both of your birthdays, the date the passport was issued, and of course, your country of origin.” He cleared his throat. “There should be a section for your spouse, if you have one, and I don’t know what it will say, but it’s optional, so I’m hoping there are just three Xs in that space.”
“What if someone asks me if I’m married?”
“You say, ‘Of course, and he’s in Boston on business.’ You are on your way to be reunited with him.”
“What if they ask why I’m here in Beirut?”
“You were here on vacation and visiting a friend who attends the university.”
“What is that friend’s name?”
“They won’t have time to check.”
I rub my neck and pace as I listen to him.
“There will be a stamped date of entry as well, when you first arrived here, and it should be only a couple of weeks ago. Make sure you know that date as well.”
“OK, thank you. I will be ready.”
“Once you’re in possession of the passport, you’ll have two hours to get to the airport. You will have to get yourself there in a taxi or service car. No one you’ve had any contact with in Beirut can drive you there. Not even Yasmine or myself. Especially not Yasmine or myself.”
The reason we left the Khalids’ home to begin with was because Fitz and my father were worried that it would be a target for Gabriel once he knew we were staying there. That Gabriel might try to harm all three of us and report Danny to the authorities on false charges. No one wanted any unnecessary attention during that time.
“Thank you, Danny.”
“You are most welcome, my darling. Now get on that plane, and introduce your daughter to some good ol’ American cheesecake. I hear they even serve it at the airports there!”
I let out a nervous laugh. “That and a slice of apple pie.”
“Be very careful today, but be confident. You don’t want to grab anyone’s attention by being jumpy. They are trained to look for uneasiness. Be confident,” he repeated.
We ended the call, and I got the packed carry-on bag out of our only closet. I rinsed a couple of dishes and placed them back on the shelves, and then I waited for the mystery woman to arrive. I’d chewed off almost all the fingernails on my right hand when there was a knock at the door, thirty-two minutes after Danny had called.
Ann Marie looked at me when she heard it.
“It’s OK,” I whispered and stood. “Who is it?” I asked discreetly, not wanting the upstairs neighbor to hear if he were home, and reached for the knob.
“Afternoon, Miss, I have flowers for you.” It was a man’s voice.
For a moment, my breathing stopped completely. My hand trembled as I retracted it from the knob, and then I nearly fainted when the phone rang behind me. I stepped backward, away from the door, as if it might explode.
“Mama,” Ann Marie said, sensing my uneasiness.
“J-just a minute,” I said aloud and answered the phone. “Yes?” My eyes remained fixated on the door.
“It’s Danny—” he began to say when I interrupted.
“There’s a man at the door!” I whispered loudly into the mouthpiece. “You said a woman was going to come here and deliver flowers.”
“Yes, that is why I’m calling. I was given some incorrect information. Place the phone down, go to the door, and ask him who the flowers are for. If he says Donna, then open the door. I will hold.”
“And what if he doesn’t say Donna?” I looked over at Ann Marie and felt like we were two helpless kittens with a coyote on the other side of the door. There was nothing I could’ve done to protect her if that man wanted to harm us.
“You need to trust me.”
“If he does not say Donna, I’m going to have a heart attack at the ripe age of twenty-five.” I placed the phone on the counter and did as I was told.
I cleared my throat. “Who are the flowers for?”
“Donna,” the man said.
I made the sign of the cross and opened the door. I nearly fell backward when I saw George, the butcher, holding a bouquet of flowers.
The shock nearly winded me. “George? What are you doing here?” It was impossible to know what was going on, but there was little time to waste.
He held out the flowers and an envelope. “These are for you.”
“Can you wait here a moment?” I left the door open and went to the phone. I caught Ann Marie waving at him as I walked by her. “It’s the butcher from downstairs, and he said Donna.”
“Good, then get to work.” Danny hung up.
I hurried back to George and took the things from him. Seeing him standing there filled me with unbelievable confusion. I shook my head. “Have you been involved the whole time?”
He nodded. “I have.”
“I don’t know exactly what you’ve done for us, but thank you.”
“It’s no trouble at all,” he said, then disappeared down the steps.
Once he was gone, I closed the door and looked at the passport.
Donna Carlyle
Born: March 10, 1949
Birthplace: Boston, Massachusetts
Minors: Mary Carlyle
Born: June 6, 1971
Birthplace: Boston, Massachusetts
Country of Origin: United States
Issue Date: October 21, 1970
Expiration Date: October 21, 1980
Spouse: X X X
Date of Entry: April 22, 1974
Not wanting to waste one more minute in that apartment, I grabbed my purse, the carry-on, a small duffel bag with some of Ann Marie’s toys—making sure we had nothing to declare—and headed out the door.
We stood on the street corner for only about five minutes before a taxi pulled up. The driver got out to help me, placing our things in the trunk, and after I buckled Ann Marie into the back seat, I turned to see George watching us from the front window of his shop. I paused and lifted my hand. “Thank you,” I mouthed.
He nodded and gave me a thumbs-up.
Roughly eleven months later was the start of the Lebanese Civil War. It ended fifteen years later in 1990, resulting in an estimated 120,000 fatalities and an exodus of almost one million people from Lebanon.
Chapter Forty
ANN MARIE
Chicago, 2009
I want to be able to say my mom isn’t going down without a fight, but that’s not quite the case. I’m finding her chemo pills all over the house, which I’ve chastised her about constantly, but she claims she doesn’t want any more poison in her body. She continues to order spirituality books on Amazon and jewelry on QVC, but she refuses to take her medication. Every time I look at her sitting on my couch in her heels and baubles, I liken it to the scene in Titanic where the aristocrats were sipping brandy and refusing to wear their life vests as the ship went down.
The hardest part about my journey with her is that she can’t tell me how she’s feeling. Her tumor has cut the current that sends the thoughts in her head out through her mouth, and it’s incredibly frustrating for both of us. Her sisters and cousins are e-mailing me and calling daily, begging to come see her, but she keeps refusing company. Finally, my aunts Margaret and Colleen booked tickets once they heard my father had been allowed to come, and they’re due to arrive in a few weeks. Once I told her they were coming hell or high water, Mom’s been working on forcing out a few words. Ironically, the only one she can easily say is great. It’s become her mantra and a testament to her unflappable spirit.
How are you, Mom? Great!
How about a glass of water? Great!
Would you like to watch a SpongeBob marathon with Jimmy? Great!
Is it OK if Snoopy poops in your tub? Great!
Between the boys and me, it’s our new favorite pastime, trying to come up with the most outrageous questions for her to answer: Great!
“After I drop the boys at school and Luke at Mrs. Stern’s, I have to head downtown to see Stewart Fishman and the gang. Despite evidence to the contrary, it looks as though pigs can fly, and I might actually get some closure on the divorce today,” I tell her. “Fingers crossed. He says he has some papers for me to sign before he heads to court.”
Mom places her hands in the prayer position. “Great.” She nods.
“I would love for you come with me. Stewart promised me a free hour if I show up with you in person.”
She shakes her head.
“Come on, he knows you can’t talk. It will be fun. You’re dressed and ready to go. Let’s put these home-shopping purchases to good use.”
My mom is a proud woman and forces an awkward smile, something else the tumor is sabotaging.
“I’ll tell him you send your love.”
“Traffic was miserable, and now I have only an hour before I have to get back on the highway and head home,” I say to Stewart as he walks into the conference room.
He takes a seat at the head of the table and se
ts down a mug of coffee. “I was very sorry to get the e-mail about your mom.”
I fold my hands in my lap. “I was sorry to have to send it.”
“How’s she doing?”
“Great!” I say, and he looks at me like I’m nuts. “I’m kidding.” I rub my eyes. “It’s literally the only word she can say, and I couldn’t help myself.”
“What’s the only word?”
“‘Great.’ Her brain won’t allow anything else to pass through her vocal cords.”
He shakes his head and makes that face that people make. Especially those who knew her in her prime. Furrowed brow, pursed lips, and sad eyes.
“She sends her love,” I add. “And I’ve learned a little bit about what happened to me when I was young. I didn’t know when we first met . . . which I think was obvious.”
He nods. “Yes.”
“Thank you for lying and trying to make it seem like you’d made a mistake, but you’re a horrible actor, and I knew there was more to the story.”
“I was surprised you didn’t know anything, but it wasn’t my story to tell. Also, there’s a little thing called attorney-client privilege barring me from discussing details of her case with you or anyone else.” He takes a deep breath, and his expression goes from sad to serious. “You and I were brought together for a reason.”
“I see that now.”
“I wasn’t able to help your mother as quickly and effectively as I wanted to, and now I can make it up to her by helping you.”
I smile. “Let’s see that redemption reflected in the bill.”
Thomas is spraying Windex on his computer screen when I walk out of the conference room and into the reception area. “You’re looking at a free woman,” I say.
He stops what he’s doing to applaud me.
“Thank you.”
“It’s about time,” he says. “I’m going to miss you around here.”
“I bet you say that to all the girls.”