by Jan Coffey
This past spring, Zari knew instantly that I was her daughter. For the past three days, I’ve been pointing out Tiam to Elizabeth at every opportunity. I’ve shown her pictures, hoping a similar recognition would dawn on her. There are plenty of similarities between them. Knowing what I know, I see the resemblances every time I look at them. Shouldn’t a mother recognize her own daughter?
As we approach my stop, I join the crowd around the tram exit and step off when the doors open. I climb the hill, following the winding streets, and make it in less than ten minutes. I know where I’m going, and I’m anxious to get there.
Meeting here versus some coffee shop near my hotel was my suggestion. I love this place. The first time Tiam and I came to the mosque, I had waited near the fountain by the ornate tomb of Suleyman the Magnificent while she went inside for the Friday Jummah prayer. The magnolias were in bloom, and their sweet fragrance filled the air. I was filled with a sense of peace that I hadn’t felt for a long time.
After the prayer service was over, Tiam collected me and we climbed a narrow stone stairway to a wide gallery overlooking the bright, airy expanse of prayer space. Above us, the golden dome of the Suleymaniye soared heavenward. We sat on the thick red carpet, surrounded by brilliance and simple splendor, and talked for hours.
As I hurry along now, warm from the climb, I turn my face to the light breeze. Broad granite walkways enclose the green lawns around the mosque. I pass by buildings that house schools, a hospital, a library, and a soup kitchen. They’re all part of the mosque complex. From its earliest days, Suleymaniye was not only a place of worship. It also served as a charitable institution, a center that fed thousands of the city’s poor every day—Muslims, Christians, and Jews alike. The history of the place helps explain the aura of warmth and welcome that surrounds it.
It’s still early in the morning, but the grassy area is already crowded with tourists and pilgrims. By the wall facing the shimmering waters of the nearby Golden Horn and the Bosphorus, I spot Tiam. The mask I’ve noticed she’s been wearing the past few days hangs limp around her neck. She’s struggling to walk and has to pause every few steps to catch her breath.
She sees me too, and the way her face lights up touches me. Raw emotions I’ve been keeping a tight lid on break free. Tears are rolling down my face by the time we are in each other’s arms.
“I’ve missed you.”
Her voice is thick with feeling. “The baby. My God, Christina. I’m so sorry.”
I called her from the hospital after Autumn was born. We spent hours on FaceTime and laughed at how my daughter would open her eyes and stare at the screen whenever Tiam whispered her name. I sent more than a dozen pictures for Zari to see, and called her that night when Tiam was home. Our mother became emotional and cried happily while I spoke to her. I promised to call back again when we were released from the hospital.
My next call, only a few days later, shared the devastating news. After Zari heard about her granddaughter’s death, Tiam told me she knelt sobbing on the floor, her face raised to the sky and her fist striking her chest. The last time I had called Tiam from the US, she said Zari is still grieving our loss.
Tiam’s face and mine are pressed together, and I feel our tears mingling. Neither of us is in any hurry to let go of the other.
“I wanted to do this in the terminal and every time I’ve seen you.” My voice cracks. “I want you in my arms and in my life.”
“I actually planned on walking up to you at the airport and hugging you and letting Elizabeth figure things out on her own. That was why I showed up when you arrived.” She pulls away and takes my hand, leading me to a stone bench. “But this week has been very hard.”
Tiam looks paler, thinner than when I saw her in June. She’s also wheezing. I can hear the congestion with every breath she takes.
“What’s wrong? You’re having more trouble.”
“Change of seasons. Allergies. Anything can set me off.”
As we sit, a ferry at the pier far below us sounds its horn. I glance over the wall at the blue-gray domes that form a cascade down the hill, toward the waters that have provided Istanbul with its lifeblood for two millennia. Across the Golden Horn, buildings cover the hills to the east, and they sparkle now in the morning light.
I worry about her. It pains me to think of how she suffers with this terrible disease. She told me that she is on a list for a lung transplant, but the list is long. Perhaps too long. Still, she has great spirit, my Tiam. She is a true fighter.
“Tell me about the driver last night,” she says. “You sounded upset on the message you left.”
I describe him as well as I can. Today, the incident doesn’t seem as scary as last night.
“There may be a million men in Istanbul who fit that description.” She shakes her head. “But I know so many people through my job and through the hospital where I get treatment. Also, there are the two volunteer groups I’m involved with now, trying to help Syrian refugee children in Istanbul.”
I am you. And you are me. That’s true, but Tiam is also the far better me. I know of the educational projects she’s involved with. I’ve donated online to the nonprofits. But money isn’t enough.
“The only thing I can think of is that some of the men involved with the program, and the relatives of those children, become very possessive of the teachers. They think because we’re women we need protection.”
The explanation makes sense. I wasn’t harmed. He did drop me off at the airport.
“What did you say when he asked how you knew me?”
“I told him you and I were social media friends and that we were hoping to connect when I came to Istanbul.” I couldn’t say any of this to Kyle last night.
“He must have seen us together, or he wouldn’t have asked the question.”
“I almost spoke to you at the restaurant yesterday, but then there was Elizabeth’s commotion.”
Tiam looks around her, and I suspect she’s searching to see if someone is watching us now.
The morning sun reflects brightly off the high granite walls of the mosque, and it draws my eye.
“Suleyman ordered that his imperial mosque should be built on the highest hill in the city,” Tiam says. “He wanted to show that he was greater than the Roman emperor who built Hagia Sophia.”
“I think he succeeded.”
We’re both aware of the people walking past us. To any casual onlooker, we’re just two friends sitting together. But there are no eyes on us that I can tell.
The downside of what happened last night—leaving the hotel in a strange car in a city that is still new to me—is the residual fear.
“Oh, I have something for you.” Tiam searches in her bag and produces a piece of paper. “Remember our conversation in June? We talked about Elizabeth’s friends in Ankara around the time I was born.”
I finally know who I am. I know that my mother and father are Zari and Yahya Rahman. But Tiam—the real Christina—knows only half of her history. I’ve told her that Elizabeth will not be any help in identifying the father, but we decided that perhaps there is another way of finding out the truth.
“Did Zari think of anyone?”
“Yes, she remembers a woman named Patricia Nicholls. She was a good friend of Elizabeth around the time I was born. They were in each other’s lives. Always together. She lived in the same apartment complex and worked at the American Embassy.”
Patricia Nicholls. That name hasn’t come up in any of the information I got through Jax’s emails. But I haven’t read everything in those folders, either. If she was close to Elizabeth, I can’t help but wonder whether she was involved in the same criminal activities. I haven’t shared with Tiam anything that I’ve learned. I decided it’s best to keep all of that to myself for now. I’m afraid if she knows to what extent Elizabeth was involved with the attacks on the Kurdish people, she won’t want to meet her birth mother.
“The woman is now retired and living as an expat in I
stanbul. She even has a vacation house in Bodrum on the Aegean coast.”
I glance out at the city’s rooftops down the hill. “It’s curious that we’re here in Istanbul and Elizabeth has made no mention of her. You’d think she’d want to pay her old friend a visit.”
“Perhaps they haven’t been in contact in the years that you’ve lived in California.”
I look at the name, phone number, and address on the paper. “I’ve never heard of her.”
“Maybe she knows the man Elizabeth was with when she became pregnant with me.”
I understand Tiam’s need for answers. I’ve been there. I flew halfway across the world to find out who I was.
This is one thing I can do for her. She can’t call Patricia Nicholls, but I can. Or at least, I can open the door.
“I’ll let you know if something turns up on this.” I add the information to my contacts. “But just as important, when are you going to talk to Elizabeth? Please don’t let this chance get away from you.”
“I’ll do it. Soon.”
“She’s only here another week.”
Tiam takes an inhaler out of her bag and administers a dose. Her cheeks are flushed.
“Why don’t you join us for dinner tonight?” I suggest. “Come as my guest, as my friend. We don’t have to explain anything. I’ll make sure Elizabeth is there. I should have thought of this before. You don’t have to say anything to her if you don’t want to. No big scene, but at least you’ll get to talk to her. What do you think?”
“I have to go to work this morning, and this afternoon I have a treatment at the clinic. I can see how I feel afterwards.”
I’m relieved that she’s considering it. This game of cat and mouse is painful to watch. I want Elizabeth to know, to realize her real daughter is alive. I believe Tiam needs to let go of the weight she’s been dragging around too, and say what’s on her mind.
“Can I come with you for your treatment?”
“To the clinic?” She looks surprised.
“I’d like to. Unless Zari is already going to be there.”
“I don’t let her. Not for the treatments. She gets too nervous. Seeing her stressed upsets me.” Tiam stands up. “By the way, just as you asked, I haven’t told her you’re in Istanbul.”
“Thank you.” My plan is to go see her after the Externus sale is finalized. After Elizabeth is gone. Next week, Tiam will take me back to the house to surprise her.
Tiam texts me the address for the clinic. “I’m warning you. One errant tear, one sad look, one mention of the words I’m sorry, and out you go. You’re only allowed to come with me for my treatment if you smile.”
“I’ll smile.” I place a kiss on each of her cheeks and hug her.
She starts along the walk with a wave. I watch her pass by a grouping of magnolias. I hadn’t noticed them when I came in, but they’re now crowned with golden yellow leaves. In a month, those branches will be covered with the fuzz-covered buds of next year’s flowers.
Tiam disappears through an archway by the mosque, and I brush away my tears. Today, she’s paler, weaker, struggling more than she did even yesterday. But I’m here. Whatever it takes, whatever she needs, regardless of the cost, I’m here to make sure she gets it. And I won’t let her give up the fight.
I don’t want to lose her.
22
Elizabeth
Elizabeth glanced around the early lunch crowd. More than half of the tables on the patio of the hotel’s courtyard restaurant were occupied, mostly by women. Thirty years ago, large expat communities made up of Brits and French people and Italians and Iranians made Turkey their home. It was cheap, comfortable, and civilized. From the languages she could hear being spoken around her, she guessed the same mix of people were still around.
She motioned to the waiter to bring more tea. Kyle was supposed to arrive in the middle of the night. Still, it irked her that it was already eleven thirty, and she had yet to see them down here. Christina should have let her know about the schedule of the meetings, but she hadn’t shared anything yet. She was too distracted by digging into ancient history.
Elizabeth wanted the sale of Externus to go smoothly. The three of them were supposed to meet this afternoon with one of the interested companies here in the hotel. What room, what time, and what she needed to bring or say were all a mystery, however.
She was savvy with money and financing. Put a balance sheet or an accounting ledger in front of her, and she could make the dollar signs light up. But Externus was a gaming company, and she knew no more about the intricacies of gaming than she did about brain surgery. She took care of the finances of Externus, and Jax was the expert on the computing side. He knew everything about the products and the industry, so he took lead on most things. He ran the meetings and made the decisions. She’d pushed him to sell, and once he agreed, it was up to him to see it through. She was simply supposed to be the financial presenter and the decoration on his arm. But Jax had died.
She hated the feeling of not knowing everything about her business. Knowledge was power, and she hated not being in control. Too late. Once Christina joined Externus, Elizabeth hung on to the vague hope that she could rely on her daughter as an advocate on her side. But Jax and Christina became a tag team. Quickly, she recognized it was the two of them, conspiring with one another, and usually against her. The investigating Jax had done into her background was just the latest of his treacherous double-dealing. It was low, even for him.
She wondered if her daughter had shown the files to Kyle.
Elizabeth wanted to put the past behind her. All of it. Her career with the CIA. Her marriage to Jax. This moronic gaming company. She wanted to put Turkey behind her too. She didn’t care for these nasty feelings of guilt that had been gnawing at her since they arrived. She wanted to take her money and run, fast and far. She already knew her next two stops after leaving Istanbul. A couple of weeks at the Post Ranch Inn in Big Sur to rejuvenate her, and then a trip to White Desert in Antarctica.
Still, for all his naïve idealism, Jax had proved to be a great partner. At least, his company was. Elizabeth had worked hard all her life. When this was over, she’d be finally able to relax, to travel in style with no need to stop anytime soon.
The chatter of feminine voices on the patio hushed, and Elizabeth knew the cause without even looking up. Kyle was making his way through the glass double doors onto the patio, and two dozen sets of women’s eyes were fixed on him.
She couldn’t blame them. Her own pulse fluttered as he approached her table.
“Good morning, Elizabeth. Or is it afternoon?”
“Not yet.”
He leaned over to kiss her on the cheek. She turned her face slightly, and his lips brushed against hers instead. She got a whiff of his cologne—spicy and masculine—and fought the urge to lean in and inhale more of it.
“How was your flight?”
“Long.” He motioned for a waiter.
And he didn’t have enough sleep. Deep lines fanned out from the corners of his eyes. A clenched jaw muscle flickered.
“caffè Americano…and leave the menu,” Kyle ordered. “You have tea. Do you want anything to eat?”
Elizabeth declined and watched him glance back toward the door. He was waiting for Christina, she decided.
“When and where are we meeting today?”
“We have nothing until Friday.”
Today was Wednesday. “Friday? What about the Russians?”
“We were supposed to meet with their reps this afternoon, and then with all three companies on Friday. But the Russians postponed.”
“Is anything wrong?”
“No, it’s better this way. If Jax were alive, it’d be a different story. He’d meet with each of the principals individually, try to sweeten the deal. But with him gone, there’s no point and they recognize it.”
His coffee was delivered, and he told the server to come back for his order.
As Kyle took a sip, Elizabeth gl
anced appreciatively at him. He had that handsome Nordic look that just got better with age.
“We have the Divan Meeting Room reserved all day on Friday,” he continued. “We’ll have a meet and greet at ten. At eleven, Christina and I will do our presentations, and after lunch, we’ll do a Q&A. You should be ready if there are any questions about the numbers, but I don’t foresee it. The buyers were sent the relevant data on products and projected revenue, and I’ve been in contact with the decision makers. All three companies plan to make an offer. We’ll finish accepting the closed bids at four. You’ll announce your decision Monday morning. And that’s it.”
“Thank you. I feel better knowing the schedule.” She was annoyed when he shot a glance toward the door to the lobby again. “Friday is Christina’s birthday.”
“I don’t think it’s in our best interest to postpone the meeting.”
“No, of course not. But we can do something for her tomorrow night.”
“Whatever you want.”
Whatever I want. Elizabeth watched Kyle turn his focus on the menu. His eyelashes were long and flecked with gold. He was truly a gorgeous specimen of the human male, even in his present tired condition. The constant looks of the women at nearby tables hadn’t escaped her attention. She relished the thought that they might be wondering if she and Kyle were together.
The year before she married Jax—five years before Christina threw herself at Kyle and they moved in together—Elizabeth ran into him in the wine bar at the airport in San Francisco. She’d met him twice before. He was in sales, a rising star in the same company where she and Jax worked.
“Where are you going?” she’d asked him over her glass.
“Back to LA. How about you?”
“Calistoga Ranch, Napa Valley. A girlfriend has a time-share and invited me to go, but at the last minute she cancelled.”
“That’s too bad.”
Every time she’d seen him, Kyle had been flirting with someone. Why not, she decided. “I have the place to myself for the weekend. You want to join me?”