The Brevity of Roses (31 page)

Today, his mother, sisters, and sisters-in-law would prepare another mountain of food, which they would serve nearly non-stop as family and friends again filled the house and yards. The day would not exactly duplicate yesterday. Later this afternoon, they would all pack into as many vehicles as it took to transport them to Gas Works Park. His family never missed the Fourth of July fireworks.

What would Renee do tonight? A chill traced his spine despite the heat of the shower.
She might not be alone.
Between her two jobs, she had probably met every man in town by now. What if another man in her life was the real reason she refused to come to Seattle with him? He turned off the shower and grabbed a towel. Dripping water all the way, he stepped back into the bedroom and grabbed his phone. He let it ring until Renee’s voice message started before ending the call. On one level, he registered the sounds of more family arriving downstairs, but he stood immobile, staring at nothing. His thoughts were in Bahia de Sueños.

Shadi and Ziba, interrupting the conversation, shooed their husbands away from the table and took their vacated chairs.

“What has happened to you in the last few months?” asked Ziba.

Jalal arched a brow.

“You look happier,” said Shadi, “we were just talking with Goli about it. When you came up for Maman’s birthday, you looked very … strained. We were worried about you.”

He looked across the yard to where Goli handed off a platter of kebab to one of her daughters before heading their way. At the table, she looked at Shadi. “Did you ask him?”

“Ask me what?”

Goli dropped into the chair opposite Jalal and leaned across the table, her voice conspiratorial. “Is there a new woman in your life?”

“No!”

The three women looked at each other.

“Why do you say it like that?” asked Goli. “Like we accused you of doing something wrong?”

“He’s lying,” said Shadi. “Why didn’t you bring the mystery woman with you, Jalal?”

Azadeh!
She stood on the other side of the yard with her back to him. He glared at her anyway. “Despite what Azadeh
thinks
, she is wrong.”

“Azadeh?” said Ziba.

“Aza has met this woman?” asked Goli.

“Does it
ever
matter what I say to you women?” When another look passed between his sisters, he jumped to his feet. “I will not have this ridiculous conversation with you!” He fled into the crowd that was his family.

Within minutes, Azadeh was at his side. She smacked his shoulder. “I never mentioned Renee to them,” she said. “Not even after you called and said you’d be a day late because you were going back for her. And—if you hadn’t noticed—I haven’t even asked you what happened to that plan.”

He narrowed his eyes and glanced sideways at her. “You didn’t tell anyone? Not even Maman?”

“
Especially
not Maman, you idiot.”

“Shit!”

“Yeah.”

They stood side by side, neither speaking for a moment.

“So?” asked Azadeh.

“I screwed up.”

“Fatally?”

“I hope not. I really hope not.”

She reached over and took his hand. “Then I’ll hope with you,” she said.

The banquet of food and drink and conversation continued until it was time to head for the park, and most of the time Jalal was caught up in it, but for a moment here and there, he thought about Renee and whether she thought of him. Behind that, paced the worry she was thinking of someone else.

It was nearly midnight. Jalal's parents were standing at the front door exchanging kisses and hugs with lingering family, but he slipped upstairs to make the phone call. He held his breath while he counted the rings, and then had to gulp air before he could speak. “Renee?”

“Hello, Jalal.”

“I was not sure you would speak to me.” Though she made a sound in response, he had no clue how to interpret it.

“How did you get my number?”

“I memorized it when I entered mine in your phone.” Again, she made a sound, a different intonation, but just as indecipherable. “So … is everything all right?” It would be nice if she helped him out a little. What did she want him to say? Or maybe that was the point, she wanted him to say nothing. Anxiously, he waited out her silence.

“Everything’s fine,” she said. “When are you coming back?”

He disguised his sigh of relief as a cough. “I am leaving tomorrow after breakfast, which will last two hours, knowing my mother, and I have never been able to make the drive straight through, so I will be stopping somewhere overnight, but I should arrive home by noon on Sunday.”

Renee muttered softly for a moment, and then she said, “Forty-two.”

“Forty-two? I do not understand—”

“There were forty-two words in that sentence. That might be a record for you.”

Jalal had unpacked, started a load of laundry, and now sat on the porch writing in his journal while he waited for Renee. Rain started to fall as she pulled in his driveway. She ran to the steps, a plastic-wrapped plate held to her chest. “I baked you some cookies,” she told him.

“Thank you. Just in time for tea.” He held open the door and followed her into the kitchen.

“How was the visit with your family?”

He filled the kettle and put it on the burner before answering. “It was good.” Then, thinking of his father's admission, he added, “Therapeutic.”

“Did you solve your nephew’s problem?”

“Actually, no; my father did.” Jalal measured out tea and spices, and brought out the cups, spoons, and sugar.

“You look rested,” she said.

He laughed. “I am. And I probably gained ten pounds. There is nothing my mother enjoys more than feeding people. I wish you would have gone with me, to meet my family.”

“Don’t!”

Jalal felt a zing of shock at the tone in her voice, and his balance shifted as though he stood on the beach in the swash zone. With a slow, careful motion, he rotated to face her.

“Don’t pretend we have that relationship,” she said.

He wrestled against her words. They were fine now. She had said so. The kettle screeched and he busied himself filling the teapot before he looked at her again. “I am sorry, Renee. I thought—”

“We can’t have that,” she said, “until I’m sure it’s just the two of us, until I know I’m not just a substitute.”

“But I told you—”

“And we’ve already established that you lie.” She picked up his journal off the counter and shook it at him. “You told me you were writing poetry, when all you wrote about was her. My name isn’t even in—”

His hand shot out and ripped the book from her grasp. “How
dare
you,” he said. “You had no right.
None
.”

“Jalal—”

“
Shut
.
Up
.”

He hurled the journal against the wall and stormed out of the house. Half-blinded by rain and rage, he staggered across the road and down the steps to the beach where he began to pace. His breath came in big, fiery gulps. He caught movement out of the corner of his eye and spun toward it. Renee was climbing down the steps. In desperation, though he knew every inch of this beach, he looked around for another way back up to the road. It was high tide; seacliff rose to either side of him.

He screamed at her. “Go away! Leave me alone.”

She stopped only when she came within a few feet of him. “Talk to me, Jalal.”

His eyes blazed. “My god, you are relentless. You have the audacity to invade my privacy like that and then expect me to—”

“I didn’t read your journal,” she said quietly. “I just made a guess.”

He shook so hard, he had difficulty staying on his feet. “But if … if I had written about you … you would have read it? You would have read feelings I could not express to you yet?” He turned away, dismissing her. “Get away from me!”

“No,” she said. “We need to talk about Meredith.”

“
Incredible
.” He stumbled toward the steps.

She blocked his path and shoved hard against his chest with both hands. “
No
. No more running away, Jalal. It’s time for you to grieve.”

He fell back a step, his eyes darting wildly. “Are you insane?” He was panting now. “I have
grieved
for two years.”

“No you haven’t,” she said. “You’ve been
holding
on
for two years—resurrecting her ‘a thousand times a day’.”

He shook his head. “You have no idea—”

“How
dare
you!” she screamed. “How dare you say that to
me
? I
do
know. I know
exactly
what it’s like to lose someone you love that much.” In the midst of her fury, her voice broke. “I
felt
my loss. I drowned in it. I endured it. I
dealt
with it.” She took a shuddery breath and then her voice grew tender. “You never did. You’ve never really accepted that she’s gone. Meredith is dead. But you’re alive. Please be alive.” She stretched her arms out to him. “
Please
, Jalal.”

In the wake of a sudden calm, he stood paralyzed. For one clear moment, he marveled at the way Renee’s tears mingled with the raindrops running down her face. Then, he saw nothing but darkness. His clenched hands began to shake and the movement traveled upward until his whole body trembled. The full force of his grief erupted in a roar. Once released, he could not rein it in. He had denied the pain too long. His cries rose again and again until his voice gave out and he collapsed to his knees in the wet sand.

Renee knelt beside him, reaching out for him. At first, Jalal wrestled against her touch, then he clung to her. He gave way to tears and then to great heaving sobs. She held fast. After a while, shivering from wind and rain and emotion, he let Renee lead him up the steps and across the road. He offered no resistance as she took him into the house and led him to the bedroom. She peeled off his wet clothes and gently laid him down. Already half-asleep by the time she covered him with a blanket, he murmured, “Stay with me.”

Renee sat on the floor beside the bed and brushed his hair from his eyes. She held his hand. “Sleep,” she said.

Jalal ignored the doorbell, thinking it might be one of Meredith’s friends, but when the pounding started, it occurred to him it might be Meredith dashing in from the rain. He rushed to fling open the door. His smile vanished. Two uniformed men stood before him.

The older one spoke. “Jalal Vaziri?”

“Yes.”

“Your wife is Meredith?”

“Yes.”

“Could we step inside, sir?”

“No.”

“Sir, we’d like to come inside.”

“No!”

“Mr. Vaziri, there’s been an accident.”

Jalal backed up. He shook his head once and then could not stop.

“I’m sorry, but your wife didn’t survive.”

He hated this man. Despised him. Jalal screamed out in rage, “
You
should be dead!”

Suddenly, it was Meredith in the police uniform, and she spoke. “I
am
dead, Jalal.”

With a jerk, Jalal forced himself awake.

How long had he been asleep? The clock read 3:27 and daylight flooded the room. Yet this could not be the same afternoon. Had he been out for twenty-four hours? His body told him that was entirely possible; his mouth was a desert and his bladder held an ocean. He dragged himself out of bed and into the bathroom.

When he returned to the bedroom, he intended to go on through to the kitchen, but he sank down on the edge of the bed. He had drunk his fill of water straight from the tap. He should eat something. He should call Renee. Instead, he sat there too exhausted to do either. In the end, he surrendered his head to the pillow again.

When he woke the next time, he could tell by the shrouded light in the room the fog had rolled in thick. He looked at the clock; it read 7:49. Something drew his eyes to the closed bedroom door. He listened for a sound. Nothing. His stomach growled, but more pressing than food, was his desire for a shower.

For a moment, he stood still, letting the hot water run over him. When he felt himself drifting off, he ran it cold, to shock him back awake. That door had been open! He was certain now; his bedroom door had stood open when he woke earlier. Of course. Renee was still here and must have closed it. Something crept through the background of his mind as he hurriedly washed and shampooed. Was it another dream he had been having right before he woke? He shook the water from his hair, and toweled off. Despite a two—three?—day beard, he skipped a shave, brushed his teeth and dressed. Renee awaited.