The Brevity of Roses (16 page)

She lifted her chin and took a calming breath. “I don’t see the point,” she said, “Just consider me your wife.”

“And will you consider me your husband?”

Her mouth opened before she realized she couldn’t trust her answer to that question. She closed her mouth and pressed her lips together to stop their trembling.

Jalal stood only inches from her. He said nothing more. He didn’t touch her. He only looked so deeply into her eyes she had to turn away, leaving her uncertain the discussion was over until she heard the gate clang shut behind him. The pruners shook as she lifted them toward the shrub. For a minute, or two, or more, she chopped away at the ugliness before the first scalding drops slid past her lashes. Her hand dropped to her side as though the release of tears had somehow dissolved the bone and muscle in her arm. She stood there. Not seeing. Not feeling. Only thinking.
Jalal is reasonable
.
He understands me
. This would all blow over.

No. She had gone too far this time.

She crumpled to the damp ground and sat there, motionless, while silent tears traced the contours of her face. Now, as though in protective mode, her brain dammed up her thoughts, allowing them to trickle through one word at a time.
Paradise. Lost. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe
. She sat as if she were only a statue in her garden. A butterfly couple waltzed around her. The citrus-scented breeze rippled the birch leaves above her. The sound of a Lexus starting up in her driveway shattered her heart.

When Meredith finally entered the house, she carried the hope that Jalal’s second absence would be temporary, like his first, but as she looked around, the truth stole that away from her. This time, Jalal had taken all his things. He had even gone through the laundry hamper and packed up his dirty clothes. He had done his best to erase himself from her life. Jalal was truly gone.

Yet, he haunted her. When she sat alone in the kitchen, the scent of his spices wafted around her. When she walked down the hall, her heels echoed his voice from the living room. While she worked in her garden, his beautiful herb pots accused her. When she woke in the night, for just a moment, she felt his weight beside her. Here, a dried pouf of blue where his can of shaving gel had sat. There, a word he jotted on the scratch pad on the desk—
Halcyon
. Everywhere traces of him remained, if only she looked close enough.

And she did.

Once, she had believed the only way to keep Jalal in her life was to show herself as strong, independent, aloof. No hard task. She had lived under that pretense most of her life. The epitome of poise, she had become almost a mirror image of her mother. But that critical voice in her head wasn’t her mother’s. It was her own. And now, she would force herself, once again, to be that stone cold Meredith to keep Jalal away. He was better off without her.

Her presence had kept him from his work. Though he wrote something in a journal nearly every day, he never secluded himself for a serious writing session the way she would have. He often seemed lost in thought and distracted, annoyed even, if she interrupted him, but she knew his writing was not going well. The last time she asked him about it, he sulked the rest of the day, so it was good he had left. Maybe he would be able to write.

But every moment of the day, she wanted him back. She despised this weakness, this hollowness that manifested in a physical urge to curl in upon herself. To shrink smaller and smaller. To disappear. She ached for him.

She was all wrong for him. Why didn’t he realize that? She was too old. What must people have thought, seeing them together? Had they laughed at her, like those young women had on the day she met Jalal? She had never noticed; she was that smitten. That’s all it was, she saw now—infatuation. He had flattered her, made her feel young again. She had fallen in love like a silly teenager, and she was just as selfish. She would have kept him for herself, deprived him of the life he should have, with a young wife and children.

And what about her life? She had allowed Jalal to turn it upside down. In the last ten months, she had alienated friends, bowed out of committees she had served on for years, and neglected correspondence with former colleagues. She had put her life on hold while she chased butterflies through meadows in some fantasy world.

It was time to let him go.

Meredith checked the answering machine when she came in from the garden. She hesitated before pushing the playback button, bracing herself for either joy or disappointment. The first message was from Carol, as head of the garden club, to remind her of the next meeting. The second was a telemarketer. As the last message began, she recognized Azadeh’s concerned voice.

“Meredith? I’ve tried to reach Jalal on his cell phone for a week. He doesn’t answer. We thought he would call us right away with the formal announcement. Anyway, congratulations on your engagement. Please, tell him to call me. Hope to see you both soon.”

It was more than she could bear. She sank to the floor.

Azadeh’s message replayed in her mind all through a sleepless night. By morning, she had decided to rent a car and drive to Bahía de Sueños. She skirted the village and drove down the highway beyond his house before she pulled off and parked near the far entrance to the beach access road. From her vantage point, she could see the side of his house and his car in the driveway. She watched for almost an hour and then, there he was. He left his yard, crossed the road, and descended to the beach. Meredith got out of the car and hurried to a spot where, if she stood on tiptoe, she could see the shoreline.

Jalal stretched, warming up for a run. She sprinted down to the beach road and found a place on the pathway where she could crouch down, but still have a view of him. How could she have been clever enough to drive a rental car, so he wouldn’t recognize hers, but hadn’t thought to pull her hair back, wear a hat, or disguise herself somehow? She wished she were invisible, so she could walk right up to him and look in his eyes. Then, she would know. Then, she could be sure he would be all right without her. She wanted to call Azadeh and say,
Forgive me. I’ve humiliated Jalal. I’ve hurt him. Please, help him. I can’t. This is for the best. I can’t…

Jalal had run almost out of view. In the distance, he dwindled to a mere spot then appeared to wink out. Like a flame. The light of her life. Snuffed out.

She arrived home at a quarter past two. At three o’clock, the phone rang. She answered out of habit, not bothering to look at the Caller ID first.

“Hello, Meredith.”

At the sound of his voice, she left her body. She became ether and light. She was dream.

“Meredith?”

“Yes,” she breathed.

“I saw you this morning.”

She crashed and was real again. Heavy, sodden, dead.

“I want to come home,” said Jalal.

“No,” she said. “No.”

Silence.

“It’s best this way, Jalal.”

After a moment, she hung up the phone.

Meredith walked into Pain sur la Table determined to eat whatever humble pie the Wanton Women dished out. Judith would not accept her apology over the phone, insisting she needed to face them all and explain herself. So, here she was. And so were they, on time, she was surprised to see. No. Even more shocking—and ominous—they must have arrived early because, judging by their raucous laughter, they were well into the wine. They were anxious to have great fun at her expense. Judith spied her and motioned her to hurry, but before Meredith could respond, someone behind her called her name.

She turned and recognized one of the young women who had witnessed her watching Jalal that first day here in this restaurant. “Hello, Amanda.”

“I know I’m imposing, but I have to tell you…” Amanda moved closer, lowering her voice. “We have mutual friends … you know? And, well … I heard that you and Jalal have split up.”

Meredith eyed her coldly. “And you’d like his phone number, I suppose.”

Amanda’s eyes widened and she shook her head. “No! No, not at all. I was very sad to hear about it.”

It was Meredith's turn to look surprised. “I’m afraid I don’t understand,” she said. “You and your friends had a good laugh at me the day I met him.”

“Laugh?
No
. We weren’t laughing at you. We thought it was exciting. It was the most romantic thing we’d ever seen. We almost applauded when you two left together!”

Meredith was too bewildered to speak.

“We watch for you two around town. It’s obvious he adores you. Oh! I mean …” Amanda clamped a hand over her mouth. She took a step back. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I bothered you. I’m really sorry.”

Amanda fled before Meredith could respond. After a moment, she turned to look at the table where the Wanton Women sat staring at her. Judith looked impatient, annoyed. Carol and Donna gazed impassively at her, as if she could be just anyone. None of these women really knew her—or even cared to. None of them wanted to know her as the girl who wrote poetry and dared to wear a violet kaftan. Yet, Jalal had. He had slipped under her skin and, somehow, shaped her into her true self.

Good lord, what have I done?

What form of insanity, what cruelty, had made her push him away? In no sense of reason did she believe Jalal would have
owned
her. He had set her free, for God’s sake. That wonderful man had surprised her, challenged her, brought her back to life, and she loved him for it. She loved herself. She loved him. She had let her fears blind her. Fear of aging, fear of what people thought of her, fear that the minute she let her guard down and dared to believe she deserved to be loved, it would all be taken away. And yet, without Jalal, what did she have?

She had nothing.

Judith, Donna, and Carol still sat staring at her, their faces a mixture of puzzlement and annoyance. Taking a deep breath, Meredith waved and mouthed a good-bye. Then she turned, walked out the restaurant door, and wound her way through the parking lot toward her car. “Please, God,” she prayed. “
Please
.”

She was shaking when she pulled up to Jalal’s house. She had rehearsed what she would say on the drive over, but when he opened the door, she forgot it all. Meredith said only three words before the tears came. “I need you.”

It was enough. It was the beginning.

Eight

POSITIVE AFFIRMATION is a crock. That brilliant bit of wisdom had crawled around in the back of Jalal’s mind since he left the motel in Redding that morning. A constant barrage of talk radio had kept it at bay, until he finally grew bored and switched it off just before he navigated the I-5/505 interchange. The voice of his inner guru had spoken in the abrupt silence.

No one could fault his effort at positivity. He had driven all the way up to Seattle for Maman’s birthday and spent five days assuring his family he was fine. His health was fine. His work was fine. Everything was
fine
. He laughed and joked and ate and drank. Do you not see? The old Jalal is back. Jalal is fine.

None of that was true.