An Illusion of Trust (Sequel to The Brevity of Roses) (37 page)

"No," I whisper back. I need to talk to my husband.

After we watch Brandon drive my car away, Jalal leads me back into the house. He grabs me around the waist and sits me on the back of the couch so we're eye level. For a moment, he stares into my eyes and I let him. Then he glances at the door. "The day you stopped out there and spoke to me, the day you said I 'looked so peaceful'? I was trying to decide how to die. Life without Meredith was too hard. I wanted to give up. I wanted to do the ultimate runaway." He leans his forehead against mine and his voice softens. "And then I saw you. I was like a ship, lost in the fog but had maybe, just maybe, spied a lighthouse beam. I was so far out it took me a long time to reach shore, but when I did, there you were. My lighthouse. My light."

Tears trace the contours of his face and dampen his beard. I pull his head down to my shoulder. "Shhh," I whisper, stroking his curls. "It's all right."

"I need you, Renee. I need you. Please, never leave me. Please …"

"Shhh. I won't. I will never leave you. It's you and me forever." I wait for him to get control. When his ragged breathing returns to normal, I know we're there.

He squeezes me tighter. "I—"

"Love you, too" I say. "How's that for response time?"

Laughing and wiping his eyes, he lifts his head to look at me. "I am sorry I caused—"

"You be sorry for your part and I'll be sorry for mine, okay?" He nods. "Boy, that makes us one sorry couple," I say.

He tries to laugh again, but his heart isn't in it.

This is when I would normally say or do something to lead into sex—my routine escape from emotional pain. I'm not doing that this time. I can't keep running. I can't allow him to run. We're 'responsible adults' now. I slide down to the seat of the couch and pat the space next to me. "Let's talk."

We stretch out together and begin.

"I am sorry for being so selfish, Renee. Even knowing how fragile your self-esteem is, I let my ego take over. I know I hurt you. I fear I can never make that up to you."

"I should have told you—"

"How could I have moved you into that house without realizing—"

"I thought I was strong enough."

"You have to believe that I love you," he says. "The real you. I never wanted you to be another Meredith. I loved Meredith, but I love you more. And I need you. This is no excuse for anything I did, but I lost my way when you lost yourself. Come back to me. You are everything I want—my ideal wife. Do you understand?"

I nod against his chest because I can't speak. He pulls up his shirt tail and wipes my eyes then holds it to my nose and says, "Blow."

We laugh together.

For a few minutes, we lie so quietly our breathing syncs. "Jalal?"

"Mm-hmm?"

"How are we going to make sure this doesn't happen again?"

He clears his throat. "Not to excuse my weakness of character, but miscommunication fueled this. I have had several conversations with Brandon and Steve. They filled me in on some things you never told me. I understand better, now, how hard it is for you to tell me what you feel, to let me see your weakness, your insecurity. We have to work on that. We have to talk to each other more like we did in the beginning. No secrets. No more of that read my mind shit. All right?"

"Yes."

"I know it has to take time, but I will earn back your trust."

"Okay."

"You have to stop
expecting
me to hurt you."

"I never—" He presses a finger against my lips until I give up my protest. He's right. I've been expecting him to hurt, disappoint, betray, and leave me since the day I met him. That's all I knew of men. That's all I knew of love. "I won't do that anymore."

"All right. But whenever you think I need to be reminded what a weak fool I am, feel free to employ the old one-two."

"Don't believe I won't."

"I wish you had."

I try to hold back the tears, but the pain in his voice and in my heart combine like an underground force pushing up a geyser. Seconds later, Jalal gives in too. My god, what we almost lost. We have a lot of healing to do. When the deluge is over, we lie in silence again for a while. I replay my conversation with Steve.

"Are you going to tell me how it went with your father?" he asks.

"It freaks me out when you do that. How did you know what I was thinking?"

"Answer the question."

"It was odd. I'd rehearsed that scenario so many times, but it wasn't anything like I'd imagined. I don't know, maybe I was broken down by the intensive therapy you put me through all week."

"I put you through?"

"What did you think, you could surround me with all these people telling me how to fix myself and it wouldn't have an effect?"

"Whatever works." He trails a finger down my arm, as though he can still stretch out a strand of my long hair. "It did work, right?"

"I don't know. I've been crazy for so long …"

"You have never been crazy."

I touch his chest. "Did I bruise you? Why didn't you stop me?"

"I loved that you were fighting back. I preferred that to you not speaking to me."

"Do you want me to go back to that psychiatrist?"

"Do you need to?"

"Maybe I do."

"All right. And if you think we should go together, too—marriage counseling, or something—I am game."

"I'm sorry I haven't tried harder to fit into your life."

He tilts my chin up, so he can look in my eyes. "
You
are my life."

"But you have obligations, social obligations, and as your wife—"

"What 'social obligations' do you suppose a college professor has?"

"No matter what your profession, you're still you."

"True. But who am I? I inherited Meredith's social circle. Only Judith and Hank became true friends. A few others are more than acquaintances, but most are only that. I have no 'obligation' to them. Certainly no obligation that outweighs your happiness. Who I am, is the son of an immigrant business man and, as a wise woman once told me, 'a half-assed poet.' Now I will be a teacher. But most of all, I want to be a good husband and father."

"You
are
a good father."

"Pow! That was a One." He slaps my hip and sits up. "We need tea. Oh. I forgot to ask, what did you do with the painting in the bedroom?"

"I couldn't stand to look at it."

"I agree, but where is it?"

"Why? Was it valuable?"

"Uh … somewhat."

"Ooops."

"Renee …"

"Oh, go on and make your tea. The painting's in the garage. You know I hate to waste money."

"That I do know about you," he says, "everything else I have come to doubt." He climbs over me and stands.

"Wait," I say. "I have a secret I've been keeping from you."

His head turns slowly toward me, his expression frozen.

"I have something of Meredith's."

He sits back down and waits while I go to the bedroom.

I take the journal from its hiding spot on the top shelf of the closet, behind my shoeboxes. When I hand it to him, he stares at the cover. I sit down beside him. "Aza found it hidden in her garden shed and gave it to me the night … the night after you collapsed on the beach," I tell him. He doesn't open it, so I keep talking. "Meredith started writing it after she met you, but it ends before she married you." He's still only staring at the book. "I thought you should have it."

He nods.

I don't know what else to say. Why is he just sitting here? Oh. Crap. "You're mad at me for reading it?"

"No."

I lean forward a little farther so I can see his eyes. They're closed, but his lashes are dry. He's lost in his memories of her. Why did I do such a stupid thing? I've ruined what we just began again.

He hands the journal back to me and stands.

"I'm sorry," I tell him.

"For what?"

"For upsetting you."

He cups his hand under my chin and leans down to kiss me. "I am not upset. The journal does not belong to me. I do have one question, though. Did what you read in there help you decide to marry me?"

"Yes."

He smiles. "Good. Now … the first tea of our new beginning."

After we clean up the tea things, Jalal says, "The sun will set soon. Do you want to watch?" I step out onto the porch and he follows a minute later with our jackets in his hand. "Come. I want to walk with you." The sky glows a brilliant orange and purple and magenta. "I have to confess another secret," he says, then adds quickly, "not a bad one."

"Okay."

"You know the business calls from Hank?"

"Yes."

"They were real, but it was my business, not his. Our business, yours and mine. You know how this town is, how gossip travels, so I had to have him do the leg work, the negotiations."

"You had secret business here? What, did you buy up the rest of the town?"

"No, just a part of it."

We've reached the end of the path, so I turn. He turns me back around. "What are you doing?" I ask.

"I said … I bought a part of it."

"I know. I heard you."

He smiles and looks into my eyes. "I bought it for you. Happy anniversary."

I'm still puzzled, so he turns my face to the left. We're standing at the cliff house. The SOLD sign is right in front of me. "Oh my god. You didn't. You did. Oh my god." I step over the chain stretched across the drive and run toward the house. He catches up and spins me back to face him. "Can't we go in?" I ask.

"Yes. In a minute. Are you sure you want to live here?"

"Jalal, you know I've always loved this house."

"Yes, but what if it were your only house?"

"What are you asking?"

"I have an offer on the Coelho house, and I need to know that you are sure you never want to live there again."

"Oh. You have to sell it because you bought this one?"

"Well—"

"No. You can't do it. That house means too much to you. Meredith's garden and—"

He smiles. "The garden will be well taken care of."

"But strangers—"

"The offer is from Paul. He wants to buy it for Aza."

"
Yes
." I hug him, laughing. "Yes. Sell it to them. They're perfect for it." I pull him toward our new house. "How many rooms does it have? Does it have an office for you? Oh. What about the drive to your school next year?" I laugh. "I should let you answer, huh?"

"In reverse order: the drive is only a few minutes further from here than from Coelho. And yes, this house has an office." He steps in front of me and gestures with sweeps of his arm as he gives the realtor spiel. "This magnificent home sits on a lot that blends natural and planned landscaping. On the main level, we have a huge, glass-walled great room, featuring a 180° ocean view and secured terrace. And I assure you the kitchen area, though a gourmet's dream, is an intimate size. On the lower level, we have a family room that opens to a walled patio and gated pool, an office, a laundry, and three-car garage. Finally, we have a master suite and four bedrooms on the upper level. One of which is perfect for a nursery."

"Will we need that, do you think?"

"Indeed," he says. "In fact, we might need it nine months from now."

"I love you Mr. Vaziri."

"Not as much as I love you, Mrs. Vaziri."

We kiss until I can't feel the cold anymore. His fingers find my hair and he pulls back to look into my eyes. "This will grow," he says.

"Yes, it will." I slip his hand inside my jacket and lay it over my heart. He takes my hand and places it on his own because we're talking about more than my hair.

In this contemporary tale of love, loss, and redemption, a desperate man discovers his salvation lies in an unlikely source.

Jalal Vaziri has looks, money, women—and a habit of running from reality. When he abandons Wall Street and reinvents himself as a poet in a California beach house, he's convinced he's only running from a father who hates him, a career mistake, and endless partying. A fresh start is all he needs. Then an intriguing woman enters his life, and he believes all his dreams are coming true. But too soon those dreams dissolve into nightmare. Jalal flees again. He's nearing the point of no return when another woman blocks his retreat and challenges him to finally face the truth about what he's trying to outrun.