An Illusion of Trust (Sequel to The Brevity of Roses) (22 page)

"After Christmas, then."

"That's close to Mia Grace's birthday."

"Woman, I am trying to bring some romance back into our lives."

"I appreciate that." I stand and hip-bump the table away from him so I can sit on his lap. "Let's make a date for February." I kiss him, and then we keep kissing.

When we take a breath, he says, "Could we plan a few dates before then?"

"How about tonight?"

His voice is husky in my ear. "My side of the bed or yours?" He slips his hand between my thighs, making me gasp when his fingers find what they're seeking.

"Let's not wait that—"

"Shower?"

"Mind reader." I jump off his lap. Jalal heads for the stairs and I follow, calling to Kristen, "Getting in the shower. Watch the kids, please."

As I'm combing out my hair, Jalal says, "If I go down the front stairs to my office, Kristen will think that's where I've been all along."

"You're cute when you're embarrassed."

"And you are too casual about sex around her."

"Oh my, Queen Victoria. Should we hide all the table legs too?"

"You are insufferable." He takes the comb from me and works out the last tangle and then keeps combing. I used to wear my hair loose for him, but with caring for the kids, it's much easier to manage clipped up or braided. "One of my earliest memories is watching Maman comb my sisters long hair until it shined like an obsidian waterfall … well, Azadeh's, Shadi's and Ziba's did. Goli's looked more like a rusty bush. Sometimes Maman would braid ribbons or flowers into their hair, and even Goli's looked pretty."

"You've been thinking about your childhood?"

His eyes meet mine in the mirror. "About childhood in general, actually." He gathers my hair and drapes it over my shoulder so I can braid it. "About how you think you know what your life will be when you grow up, and then it ends up nothing like that."

"How did you picture your adult life?"

"For one thing," he turns and leans back against the sink counter beside me, "until I was twelve, I assumed I would always live in Shiraz. At various ages, I dreamed of being a magician, an astronaut, a rock star, and in-between I thought I'd become a great writer."

"And you have."

He looks in my eyes for a moment, and then caresses my cheek. "No, sweet love, I have not. I am, as you once dubbed me, 'a half-assed poet.'"

"You know I didn't mean—"

He places a finger on my lips and shakes his head. "I am all right with it. Writing serves a purpose but not the primary one in my life. Not anymore."

"Oh, Jalal." I wrap my arms around him and lay my ear against his chest. Is my ear as good as my hand? Can I hear sincerity through his heartbeat? "You've been blocked before. You'll be writing again soon."

"Let me finish. Writing is no longer the focus of my life because I am a husband and a father. A family man. Something I never dreamed I would be, but now I cannot imagine any other life being more fulfilling."

His heartbeat tells me nothing.

Kristen has taken the kids out to the yard. Jalal went to his office. I make another pot of coffee and take him a fresh cup with the rest of his abandoned pie. He's reading email. "No word on Brandon yet," he says. "Nathan wants to know if you are sure we gave his full legal name."

"Brandon Perry Cooper. That's the only name I ever knew, the one on his school records."

"Thanks for the pie. Where is Kristen?"

"She's out back with the kids. I'm going out there now to relieve her."

"I will join you as soon as I reply to Nathan's email."

I return to the kitchen, fill my mug, and grab a piece of cold toast. I step outside before I notice Aza sitting on the bench against the house. She scoots over to make room for me.

"Watch, Mama," Adam calls.

He goes down the slide on his stomach and I give him a thumbs up. "I'll come play with you in a minute. Let me talk to Aunt Aza first." As I walk to the bench, I fill my mouth with toast to give me a few seconds longer to figure out what to say. I'm not sorry for what I said to Diane last night, but I feel the need to apologize to Aza for something.

Aza speaks first. "I'm sorry Diane upset you last night."

I wash down the lump of bread with coffee, but I'm too surprised to respond, and she continues.

"I'm sure she'll apologize the next time she sees you."

I hope that's never. "She went too far by touching him like that."

"She didn't mean it the way you took it. It's just … well, you know the story she told about the cruise ship? I've heard that a dozen times. Somehow, she works it into the conversation whenever she meets someone new. It makes her feel important. That's how it is with Jalal. He's
somebody
and knowing him makes her feel more like she's somebody too."

"You're saying she's a phony."

"Not exactly. I mean, I don't think she lies, maybe exaggerates a little. I don't think she has many people in her life."

"Is that why you're her friend?"

"Well … she can be fun."

Poor Aza, she's too nice. "Why hasn't Diane ever married?" Aza doesn't answer right away. It's obvious, from the way her features draw up, she's trying to decide something.

"Diane misled you on that one," she says finally. "She's divorced. You met him."

I shake my head, certain I don't know any man connected to Diane. Then it hits me. "Scott? The guy who flirted more with Jalal than she did?" Aza nods. "But isn't he …?"

"Gay, yes. So you see, she and I do have something in common."

"Indeed." We sit quietly for a moment. Jalal comes out of the house to play with the kids, so I keep talking. "Why are you quitting school?"

"I told you why."

"I get that you want to spend more time with Paul, but I thought you enjoyed your writing classes."

She shakes her head. "I really don't have the talent for it."

"Diane seemed to think you just need to give it time. Why don't you ask Jalal's opinion?"

She laughs. "I'm capable of judging for myself. Besides, now that I have Paul, writing doesn't matter to me."

"Jalal said pretty much the same thing to me this morning. About his writing, I mean. So now it doesn't make sense to me that he'd care about lecturing Diane's poetry writing class." Aza only looks at me. Again, her face reveals indecision.

"Don't you think it's natural our priorities change as we age? She nods toward Kristen and smiles. "Can you imagine forever feeling your life is over because you woke up with a zit on your chin?

"Are you saying this change is something Jalal's been moving toward for a while?" She nods. "Then why did he agree to talk to Diane's class?" She stares ahead as though she didn't hear my question. "Aza?"

She shrugs. "Jalal is a poet at heart. He didn't say he's never writing again."

O
ur paths cross because she's still Aza's shadow, but Diane's never said a word to me about Jalal's party, which means she's not a bit sorry about her behavior. And now she's spending the morning with Jalal. I'm waiting to hear about his lecture at the college. He left the house nervous and intense, which is not only unusual for him, it doesn't make sense. He's given talks like this dozens of times. I've planned a special lunch for him, with one of his favorite wines to lift his spirits in case the class didn't go well.

He calls just as I'm sitting the kids down at the table.

"Diane invited me and Aza out to lunch, as a thank you, I guess. Would you like to join us?"

I dig my nails into my palm and focus on the kids as I fight the urge to scream or cry or both. Then I force myself to smile before I speak so I won't sound upset. "I'm here alone with the kids, feeding them before they go down for their naps." He knows our routine, of course. This is just a courtesy call. "Gotta go. Have fun." I regret my reaction as soon as I click off. He sounded relieved and happy. I shouldn't have ruined that.

"Uh-oh," Mia Grace says.

I sigh at the sight of noodles slithering off her tray. "You and I are both making messes today, baby girl."

I calmly clean up the soup, dish out another helping, and lunch continues. Self-control is one of the hardest things I've had to learn as a mother. I'm no longer free to react to bad situations the way I normally would. No cussing, ranting, weeping fits in front of them, not that spilled soup is a cause for one. Your husband preferring the company of someone else is. But I keep smiling as Adam rattles on about blue Morpho butterflies and Mia Grace plays peek-a-boo, and soon it's time for bed.

Though we're in the kitchen, we go down the hall to the front staircase. Miss Independent loves this one because it's open and she can hold onto the balusters and walk herself up. "Go pee and get in bed," I tell Adam when we enter the nursery. "I'll come tuck you in as soon as I change Mia Grace's diaper." She's dropped her naptime nursing. As soon as I stand her in the crib, she plunks herself down and closes her eyes. She'll fall asleep within a minute.

At first, when I hear the murmur from Adam's room I assume he's pretending to read, but it's not his voice I hear as I open the door, it's Jalal's. For a minute, I stand in the doorway and listen to him read to Adam, and then I slip away to the kitchen. I appreciate that he chose to come home, but now instead of a supportive wife, I look like a petty, jealous one. I'm never going to get this marriage thing right.

I've just finished cleaning up the kids' mess when he comes downstairs. "I'm sorry," I say. "I ruined your celebration. Your lecture was a success, I assume."

"It went well, yes. And the students asked some good questions. I really enjoyed it." He glances around the kitchen. "So?"

"What?"

"Did you not make me lunch?"

"How did you … mind reading."

He laughs. "I do not read your mind. I know you. And your disappointment was obvious over the phone. I can add two plus two."

"Well then, I guess that MBA isn't a total waste." I open the fridge and take out the salad and sliced, roast chicken. The table is still set in my favorite place in the house. I hand him the wine to open and add bread and butter to the serving tray. "We're eating in the sunroom. It's more cheerful than this kitchen."

"Did you expect I would need cheering up?"

"You seemed so nervous this morning, I didn't really know what to expect." I take the opened bottle from him and motion for him to carry the tray.

"I was uneasy because it was a new situation. My audience is usually older."

"Okay," I say, though I don't understand what difference age makes. "Are you going to do it again?"

"Diane's class? No."

"Did she and Aza go on to the restaurant?"

"I suppose."

We talk about other things, mostly the kids, while we eat.

"That was delicious," he says and lays his napkin on his plate. "Where did you find the salad recipe?"

"I made it up. I saw these beautiful ripe pears at the farmer's market, and I'd already bought the gorgonzola, and you like arugula, so …"

"Gorgeous, smart, and she cooks too. I am a lucky man." He raises his glass in a toast.

"Smart?"

He arches a brow. "Have you been faking it?"

"By comparison, I'm—"

"Who are you comparing yourself to?"

"Everyone you know."

He sits back in his chair. "Agreed, most of the people I know are educated, but never confuse education with intelligence." The wind picks up, ruffling through the birches, making the sunlight dance around the room. Jalal pauses and cocks his head, listening. He smiles. "Now I know why you like to come in here when you want to be alone." He sets his glass on the table and stands, motioning for me to get up too. He takes two pillows from the couch and tosses them in the middle of the floor. "Come."

We lie on our backs, holding hands and gazing at the sky through the glass roof. The swish of leaves imitates the surf. He takes my hand. "We are lying on the beach," he whispers.

Despite Jalal's declaration that writing is not his top priority, he's been spending a lot more time in his office. He's not just writing, though, because I hear him talking on his phone. With Lorena still doing the heavy housework, Kristen in school, and Aza frequently traveling with Paul, I feel swallowed up by this big old house. I can only take the zoo so many times in one week, so some mornings, after we have breakfast with Jalal, I pack the kids in the Jeep and head to Bahía de Sueños. This is one of those mornings.

"We're almost there." My announcement spurs Adam to restart today's language lesson for Mia Grace. He takes his job seriously, doing his best to teach her his words for everything. He began our drive trying to get her to say Granny and Dardo, and he's frustrated that Nee and Do is the best she can manage. But I've noticed he never corrects her when she calls Jalal only Ba or Baba. Maybe he claims Baba Daddy for his exclusive use. Last week, he had a meltdown when he realized her name for him is Dam. He couldn't understand why we wouldn't make her obey his order for a time out. Kids are a laugh fest.

I park in my old space out back and we enter Jennie's restaurant through the kitchen. "Three of my favorite people," Eduardo calls out. He dries his hands, picks up Adam, and gives me and Mia Grace kisses on the cheek. "Ice cream, right?" he says to Adam.