by Jan Coffey
“Did she say where she was going?”
“No, ma’am.”
Elizabeth hung up. Useless. Sipping her drink, she considered whether Christina was bold enough to go see Patricia on her own.
The bad news was that the answer was yes.
Her pregnancy had done something to her. It had changed her. Maybe it had to do with hormones, but Christina was a different person from the one she used to be.
The good news was that something had changed her mind, and she hadn’t gone through with paying that woman a visit.
33
Zari
Zari never wanted to come back to this hotel. When she left it the last time, thirty years ago, she was rushing a sick child to the hospital. Today, she was hurrying to find Elizabeth and convince her to see that child, now grown, who lay in the ICU, struggling to stay alive.
She’s mine. Mine. You can’t take my daughter away from me. I won’t let you.
The words she’d wanted to say all those years ago played back in her mind. She was mourning the loss of her Tiam. At the same time, she’d been ready to fight. Her daughter had been stolen away. Zari’s vulnerability as an illegal immigrant had been used by Elizabeth to take a child that didn’t belong to her.
Zari had no voice, no rights, no one to support her claim. But she’d been willing to fight—to physically fight—to do anything. She was a beast unleashed. But by the time she got here, Elizabeth was gone. She’d kidnapped Tiam. The anger Zari felt all those years ago was back again. The desperation she felt burned her. The sensation that a piece of her heart was torn away, cut out with brute force made her want to cry out in pain even now.
She paused on the steps, taking deep breaths, forcing herself to remember why she was here. What she had to do.
She’d come here because of Elizabeth’s biological daughter, the beautiful soul she’d cherished every day since.
Zari remined herself that she was truly blessed, for now Tiam and Christina were both her children. One of them she raised. The other she lost and then found again.
Raw and painful emotions flared again in her chest as she recalled her conversation with Emine, before she’d left the hospital this afternoon.
“The level of oxygen in her blood is extremely low. Her legs and her stomach are swollen. What she’s going through right now isn’t another flare-up. The doctors think her organs are in danger of shutting down. That’s why they’re moving her into ICU.”
“But she’s been there before.”
“This time is different.”
Every time Tiam was admitted, the doctors warned her it could be the last time. Over the years, the old established treatments stopped working. New experimental ones weren’t readily available in Istanbul. They told her a lung transplant might help. But the waiting list was long. And even if one became available, there was no guarantee that Tiam’s body would accept the new organ.
Zari would not allow herself to think in terms of days or weeks or months. The medical profession relied on statistics. Based on their graphs and reports, her daughter had already lived well beyond the life expectancy of CF patients. But the men of science knew nothing of Allah’s will. Or her faith. Or Tiam’s fortitude.
Zari kept the torch of hope lit. She’d never allowed it to be extinguished. But this time, it was flickering like never before. She believed Emine’s words.
Elizabeth would not remain in Istanbul for long, and there was no telling when she would be back. But it was Tiam’s wish to meet her birth mother, just once, before she disappeared from their lives. And Zari would go to the end of the world to grant her wish, no matter how it tore at her heart.
Reaching the landing of the stairwell, she straightened her hijab. She smoothed the front of her coat. The thought of having to face the woman who’d wronged Zari and both of her daughters filled her with anguish. But once again, she reminded herself why she was here.
As Zari stepped out onto the hallway, she was surprised to come face-to-face with a security guard. Life had come full circle.
“Otelde mi kalıyorsun?” he demanded. Are you staying at the hotel?
Years of living in this city had given her confidence. She was now in this country legally. She had papers, a good job, and a community of friends. She wasn’t a twenty-one-year-old mother, wild-eyed and fearful of being deported.
At the same time she wasn’t blind to the ongoing hostility toward her people. She could read it in this security guard’s face. Someone who looked and dressed like her wouldn’t stay in this hotel.
“Kalmıyorum.” Zari quickly told the guard that she wasn’t staying here. She showed him her pharmacy badge and let him see the inhalers and medications at the bottom of her bag. They were Tiam’s emergency supplies; she always carried them with her. But today, they were supposed to look like a delivery. “Eczanede çalışıyorum.”
“Misafir kim?”
“Elizabeth Hall.” She told him the room number she’d been given by her daughter.
On the way here, Zari had tried Christina’s cell phone again. But she could only reach her voicemail. Now she worried about her too. Where was she?
The guard scrutinized her badge again and finally motioned for her to go ahead.
There was no guarantee that Elizabeth was in her room. Asking the front desk about a guest’s whereabouts would be met with suspicion; she’d be ejected from the hotel, or worse. And she strongly suspected Elizabeth would have her arrested if she approached her in public.
She stopped at the door. Her heart was drumming wildly in her chest. She wiped her sweating palms on her thighs and then raised her fist to knock.
Thirty years melted away. Christina, gasping for air, was draped over her shoulder. Zari was once again the frightened and angry young mother. Back in Ankara, when she’d realized her baby had been stolen, coming to this hotel in Istanbul was the only thing she could do.
On that horrible day, she had seen a confirmation sheet in Elizabeth’s apartment for a reservation to this same hotel. Zari had to get her Tiam back. The bus trip had been a nightmare, but she’d arrived here, as ready as she could be to confront her foe.
Blindly, she’d climbed the back stairs from the service entrance, only to realize she didn’t know which room was Elizabeth’s. Luckily, she found a cleaning maid, who showed her mercy and checked her log of guests.
“No, she’s not here. Ms. Hall and her baby have already checked out.”
Now, three decades later, worry again clutched at Zari’s throat. She murmured a prayer and focused on her reason for being here. She knocked.
“What is it?”
Elizabeth’s voice was the same, but she could hear the brusqueness in the response. Zari knocked again.
She heard footsteps approach the door, and then there was silence. She tried not to squirm. She guessed the other woman was staring at her through the security hole. She’d changed a great deal over the years. Zari was rounder in the face, the deep lines fanning from the corners of her eyes bore proof of the hardships she’d endured. The style of her hijab had also changed. She now used a silky scarf and tied it with a bit of style, the way Turkish women wore theirs.
“Who are you? What do you want?”
“Your daughter sent me.”
A latch clicked, the door opened, and Elizabeth stood waiting with an expectant frown on her face.
Zari thought of the first time they’d met, and the memory of the two of them, standing inside an open doorway in Ankara, came back to her.
“What did you say your name is?”
“Zari Rahman.”
“And whose beautiful baby is this?” Elizabeth held out her hands.
Without giving it so much as a thought, Zari placed her two-week-old infant in the woman’s arms. “She is my baby.”
“Look at those eyes. Her skin is to die for. And she is an armful.” She bounced Tiam and ignored Zari when she reached out to take back the baby. “What brings you to Ankara?”
�
�My husband, Yahya Rahman, was working here. But they tell me he has disappeared.”
Elizabeth turned away, still holding Tiam, and led her into her apartment. “A difficult situation, I’m sure. Maybe I can help.”
There was something very possessive about the way Elizabeth held the infant, and Zari’s instincts told her to take her child back and run. But she couldn’t. She was desperate. She had no home, no husband, no money, no job.
What choice did she have? Convincing herself of the American woman’s good intentions, Zari answered her questions, accepted her offer of employment, and moved into the apartment with Tiam that same day.
Elizabeth’s sharp tone now cut through the curtain of the past, bringing her abruptly into the present. “Where is Christina?”
Zari studied her. Elizabeth had aged, but the years had been very kind to her. The hardness in her piercing gaze, however, was exactly the same.
Elizabeth repeated her question in Turkish. “Kızım Christina nerede?”
Zari fought the temptation to claw the other woman’s eyes out. Time had not healed the pain. She’d been robbed of a life with her own Tiam. Still, she knew at any sign of hostility Elizabeth would shove her out and slam the door in her face. How many time has the door been slammed in her face over the years as she’d tried to get back her stolen child?
“I was sent here by your real daughter,” Zari answered in English.
The blue eyes widened, and she took a step forward. Zari refused to flinch and stood her ground.
“What the fuck is this about? Who are you?”
“Zari. Zari Rahman. I worked for you for two years in Ankara.”
Recognition registered, and the mask fell away from Elizabeth’s face. Zari caught a glimpse of unexpected vulnerability behind the blue eyes.
“You…what are you doing here?”
“I’ve been living in Istanbul for thirty years.” Each word was heavy with her angst. Each word carried the weight of the suffering Elizabeth had inflicted on her.
People were coming down the hall toward them, and Elizabeth backed into her room and motioned to her to enter. Zari followed and heard the door click shut behind her.
“I can’t believe this. Everything is happening all at once. Christina found Patricia, but you probably know that.” She didn’t wait for a response and went across the room. She poured herself a drink. “Did Mrs. Nicholls tell you I’m here? We can’t let Christina know about…about our arrangement. If you want more money, I’ll arrange for it. Whatever you want. But my Christina can’t find out what we did.”
The dam was broken. Anger clawed its way up into Zari’s throat. “What we did? Our arrangement?”
“Yes, our arrangement.”
“Have you lost your mind? You stole my child, and you ran away.”
“To give her a good life! A much better life than you could have ever given her.”
“That is theft. Kidnapping.” Zari hissed. “I was left to chase after you with the clothes on my back and a sick baby in my arms.”
“That’s not true.” The drink sloshed in the glass as Elizabeth spun to face her. “I left you money. Mrs. Nicholls was to manage everything.”
“I wasn’t even paid the wages you owed me.”
“There had to have been some mistake, though I don’t know how Patricia could have managed to screw that up. She had her instructions. But we can remedy that right now.” She walked toward the desk and reached for her purse.
“Stop. Your money means nothing to me. You left a sick and fragile child behind. Your own daughter!”
“I left enough money to pay for Christina’s hospital bills and…and for her funeral arrangements.”
“Funeral?” Anger flared into cold fury. How could a mother be so heartless as to care for a corpse more than the child when she was alive?
“I left enough to carry you through for quite a while,” Elizabeth continued coolly, as if her arguments were perfectly logical. “And Mrs. Nicholls was to give you an excellent reference so that you could find work again when you were ready.”
Zari forced herself to speak clearly. “The only thing I received from her was the news that you had left with my Tiam. And that she’d have me arrested if I told anyone about what you had done.”
“You were an impulsive woman. Too emotional and hot headed. It was her job to stop you from doing anything stupid.”
“Stupid? Loving my child and wanting to go and find her is stupid? To stop a thief from stealing my life and blood is stupid? But you, leaving your sick baby with a servant, a refugee, someone with no friends or connections is not? Doctors, medicine, hospital stays. Who was to take care of her?”
“What do you mean, the only thing you received? I don’t understand this. I trusted Patricia to take care of my daughter’s expenses to the end of her life…and after.”
“And I put my trust in Allah. He saw to it that she would survive.”
“Christina was very sick. She was dying. The doctors told me she wouldn’t live to the end of the month.”
“Well, she did live.” Zari paused, allowing her words to sink in. “I renamed her Tiam…after the child you stole from me.”
Elizabeth’s hand shook as she put her drink down on a table. “With no help from Mrs. Nicholls?”
“With no help from you or your friend.”
“What did you do?”
“I came to Istanbul to find you, but you were gone. It was only by the grace of Allah and good doctors and some kind and generous people that Tiam received the care she needed.”
“But the hospital bills? How did you pay them?”
How pathetic that everything was about money. The crimes that she’d committed. The lives she’d destroyed. “I used everything that I’d saved. Then I got a job.”
Elizabeth stared, taking in her words.
“I’ll repay you. I’ll repay you for everything you did. But how was she?” There was a catch in her voice. “Did she live to take her first step? Did she learn to string together words?”
“She took her first step walking toward me. Her favorite word was maman.” Zari blinked back the tears welling up in her eyes as she remembered every milestone. And she mourned every milestone of her own child that she’d missed. “I raised the daughter you left behind as my own. I cared for her and loved her. I saw to it that she never suffered the horror of knowing that she had been abandoned, unwanted by her own mother.”
“I’m sorry. I believed what they told me. I had no idea. I…” Elizabeth sat down on the nearest chair and buried her face in her hands.
Zari waited, remembering the day Christina showed up at her door. To find a child that she thought she’d lost made the ground swell and move beneath her feet. To hold her was to find a piece of heaven on earth.
Deep in her heart, she pitied Elizabeth and wondered at the twisted life that must have made her the person she was.
“For how long did you have her?” Elizabeth’s face was wet with tears when she finally looked up. “How much longer did my baby live?”
“How much longer?” Zari repeated. “She is alive still. And she wants to see you.”
Part X
If you will speak the truth unmixed with lies,
Unmixed with false prevaricating words,
And faithfully point me toward the caves
Of the White Demon and his warrior chiefs—
And where Kavus is imprisoned—your reward
Shall be the kingdom of Mazandaran;
For I, myself, will place you on that throne.
But if you play me false—your worthless blood
Shall answer for the foul deception.
—Ferdowsi
34
Elizabeth
Then
Elizabeth had only an hour left to get out of her apartment before Zari returned from her errands.
She went back and forth from the closet and the dresser drawers to the two suitcases open on the bed. All her clothes, everything she h
ad in this apartment in Ankara, were disposable. For the most part, she was only taking what she’d need immediately. Still, she grabbed the leather jacket she’d had custom made for herself last month. A baby blanket was wrapped around antique pottery she’d bought in Cappadocia.
Patricia Nicholls stood in the bedroom doorway, keeping an eye on the toddlers watching TV behind her in the living room.
Elizabeth zipped one of the luggage bags closed. “The rent is paid to the end of next month. Zari can stay here to the last day. After she goes, donate all the furniture.”
“And the hospital bills?” Patricia asked.
“This morning, I deposited what we agreed into your account. There’s more than enough money to pay the final balance. There’s money to cover funeral costs too.”
The older woman crossed her arms over her chest and leaned against the doorjamb, her face turned away.
Elizabeth picked up her jewelry box. “And write a recommendation for Zari. A good one. And give her a generous severance.” She dumped her gold into a padded bag. “When you talk to her, make sure she understands the consequences of making a fuss.”
She looked around the room, trying to think of anything she might have forgotten. When she’d moved for her job in the past, she usually limited herself to one suitcase. But this time, she had a baby with her. And she was going back to the US for good. She zipped up the second suitcase.
“There has to be a better way of doing this,” Patricia said in a tired voice.
“Well, there’s not.”
Elizabeth pushed past her, going to the next room to double check the diaper bag.
“Go outside?” Tiam’s question made Elizabeth pause.
The two girls were next to each other on the floor watching some sing-along video. They were only six months apart in age, but Tiam had been walking and running around for nearly a year. The two-year-old picked her own clothes, fed herself, spoke and understood two languages. She was smart and healthy. A beautiful, happy child. Christina was sitting beside her, supported by pillows to help her remain in an upright position. She was still too weak to walk more than a couple of steps. She never made a peep unless she wanted to have something that Tiam was playing with.