An Illusion of Trust (Sequel to The Brevity of Roses) (11 page)

"Not until after we married."

"And then what? You sold your share back to her? You signed it over to her?"

"Not exactly." He pulls my glass closer and refills it.

I take a sip and then another, and still he hasn't explained his answer. "Come on, Jalal. You can't leave me hanging like that." He clinks his glass against mine. A toast? "What—" It hits me as soon as that word leaves my lips. "Me?
I'm
Jennie's partner?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"You can't do that without me knowing. I'd have to sign papers."

"You did."

"No, I—" But I did. I signed a stack of papers after we married. I didn't read them all. I trusted Jalal. "That was sneaky. No wonder you shut me out of our finances."

"I never shut you out of anything. Our finances are just not an issue you need to be concerned with. That debate went on for a while, if you remember."

"Yes, and I agreed—just to keep the peace—but you know very well I still want to be involved. I think that's something—" He holds up a hand and I'm about to tell him he can stuff that man of the house has the last say crap when I hear what he heard. Mia Grace is crying.

Breathless, Jennie plops down beside me on the beach blanket. "I am too old … and too fat … to run around … in the sand … with a toddler."

Mia Grace turned from the breast at the sound of Jennie's voice and now, though drowsy, she reaches for her Granny. I hand her off.

"Go play with them," she says, nodding at Adam and Jalal. "I'll stay with this one."

"What were you and Jalal talking about?" I didn't really need to ask. He must have told her what he told me last night. If he'd been trying to convince her to come visit us for a few days, I would have heard her protests from across the beach.

"Oh, nothing much," she says.

Jennie doesn't do evasion well. Her gaze is glued to the baby, and that's obviously deliberate. "Jalal told me I'm your partner in the restaurant." I can tell by the pure surprise in her eyes when she looks up at me the restaurant was not what they discussed.

"I'm so glad he finally told you. It was hell keeping my mouth shut. Of course it's not like you're making any money on the deal."

"So, did he ask you to stay for a few days after the birthday party?" Again her surprise is convincing.

"How could I do that?"

"We could hire someone. Or give more hours to—"

"Why is everyone conspiring to stop me working? That restaurant is my life."

"Well, it shouldn't be. That was okay when you had no one, but now you have Eduardo and us." I have more to say, but the thunder in her eyes shuts me up. While she cools off, I try to figure out what she and Jalal were talking about. I can't stand secrets kept from me. It's disrespectful. I'll find out, one way or another.

"Besides," Jennie says, "you'll have a houseful with Jalal's family."

"I think only his parents are coming down. Maybe with his sister Goli. And his nephews Ryan and Jason are coming up from Cal Poly. We'll have plenty of empty beds."

"Hmmph."

"Did you hear me say Korush will be there?" She smacks my leg in response, which tells me she's considering it.

Adam tackles me when Jalal chases him onto our blanket. "I going with Granny. Mee-Grays too."

"You are?" I look at Jalal and the lift of his brows asks me to agree.

"Hit the pump, Mama," Jennie says. "I'm giving you two a night off."

"It's not milking time. I just fed her."

"We can take a bottle to her later then," Jalal says, "when we go to Vincenza."

I'm desperate for excuses. "You still have the crib for Mia Grace, but where will Adam sleep?"

"Oh, I'll just have Eduardo string him upside down from the rafters, like a bat."

"Bat," Adam repeats.

"Baseball bat," Jalal says and lifts him onto his shoulders and takes off running for the steps up from the beach. Adam's laughter floats back to us like bubbles in a breeze.

Jennie hands Mia Grace back to me and grunts and groans to her feet. "Trust me, Renee."

"You know I do, but this is the first she'll be away from me overnight." I stand.

Jennie picks up the blanket, flapping it to knock off the sand. "This will be good for you, hon."

At least now I know what Jalal talked to her about. He's planned a counseling session for our so-called night off. We'll see if he gets his way.

I'll cry if I watch Jennie's car drive away, so I start walking up the road in the opposite direction. Seconds later, Jalal falls into step and takes my hand. I'm trying to think of anything except the kids. "Do you miss running on the beach?" I ask him.

"I do. Running along the shoreline is much easier on my knees."

"I miss walking here." We lapse into one of our silences that, to me, is like sharing a dream. We moved to Coelho six months ago. Only six. It seems longer. But six whole months. Why have I not settled in there? I must not be trying hard enough. Jalal slows his pace. We've come to the end of the road, where my favorite house sits, not on the edge of the sea cliff but close enough for a dramatic view. He turns to head back, but I don't.

"Something wrong?" Jalal asks.

I point to the house. "It looks brave, doesn't it? Defiant."

"Does it?"

"And lonely too, like it's always waiting for someone to come home."

"Listen to you, a poet in the making."

A sign—FOR SALE—staked in front of the house makes the waiting real. I didn't know the owners, but I'm sad to think of them leaving it—of how sad I would be to leave. I didn't want to move to Coelho. There. I've admitted it. That's why I haven't settled in. Okay. Now I will. I have to. Done and done. Coelho is home. I turn away and we start walking back.

"I remember walking up this road the first time," I say. "I was trying to decide if my car breaking down was a sign I should stay in Bahía. Then I saw you and
knew
that was a sign."

"A sign of what?"

"That I could be at peace here … like you."

"I was hardly at peace."

"But you looked like you were, sitting so still. Maybe it was a premonition."

We're quiet for a moment, lost again in shared memory.

"You looked hot," we say at the same time and then laugh.

Jalal puts his arm around my shoulders. "So I guess our whole relationship is based on sex."

"Not hardly. We knew each other forty-two days before we slept together."

"You kept count?"

I shrug. Jalal stops us walking and kisses me. He brushes a windswept strand of hair off my brow. He's gazing inward, and instinct says he's contemplating something about Meredith. I didn't intend for this conversation to turn that direction. I'm trying to think how to lighten the mood when he speaks.

"I slept with Meredith an hour after I met her."

"Oh. So she was hotter than me?" I give an exaggerated huff and take off toward the house.

"No.
No
." He's beside me in two strides. "I meant—"

"Your relationship with Meredith
was
based on sex?"

"Not that, either. It was …" Again he stops walking.

Oh crap. He doesn't realize I'm teasing and now he's reliving his life with Meredith, trying to define their relationship.

"Wait a minute," he says and shakes his head, ridding it of distraction. "Meredith has nothing to do with this. We were talking about us."

I smile, relieved to have him back. "We were talking about how hot we are."

"Indeed." He grins.

"Race you to the house," I say.

We rouse ourselves at sunset. I fill a bottle for Mia Grace, and then we shower, dress, and arrive at Jennie's in time to help put the kids to bed. I have just enough milk to nurse the baby to sleep while Jalal holds Adam, Jennie, and Eduardo spellbound with a spirited reading of
Green Eggs and Ham
. It's a riot.

Jalal hates to discuss anything serious over a meal, so I feel assured he won't launch into a lecture on
Fifty Reasons Why Renee Should Chill as a Mother
while we're at Vincenza. His good mood changes when we walk in. "Business is slow for a summer Friday," he says.

As selfish as it sounds, I hope that worry will make him forget the reason he arranged to ship our kids to Jennie's house for the night. After we're seated, Jalal gets up and selects his own wine, corks it, and pours. He takes one sip, excuses himself, and disappears into the kitchen.
Yes
. Lecture canceled, for sure. I'm pouring myself a second celebratory glass when he exits the kitchen—smiling. Damn.

"A sunset concert in the park," he explains. "After that, they are booked up for the rest of the evening."

The food is great, as usual. We talk mostly about the kids. Even though his parents are coming down for Adam's party in three weeks, Jalal feels guilty that we're not flying to Seattle next week to their annual Fourth of July celebration. "I know I promised Maman we would come up for all the family events, but traveling with a baby and a toddler …" He shakes his head and pours the last inch of wine into his glass. I make a mental note to start a list of everything I'll need to pack because I know he's going to spring tickets on me at the last minute.

The restaurant is crowded now and getting noisy, so we order creme brulee to go. We're acting like responsible grown-ups, going home early. That makes me giggle. Or maybe it's the wine.

"Are you too drunk to drive?" I say when we get to the car. He looks at me like I'm insane.

"I drank only a bit more than one glass, Renee."

"How many did I have?"

"If you have to ask, you had too many." He opens my door.

"Uh-oh."

He grabs my arm and pulls me back. "If you are going to be sick, do not get into my car."

I shake my head. "I forgot my purse at the table."

He sighs and motions for me to get in the car. "You left your purse at home. Remember? It clashed with your dress."

I slide into the seat and close my eyes, enjoying the buzz. We don't speak again until he turns onto our road. "This is your fault," I say. "I used to be able to drink."

"Mia Grace will be weaned in a few months. You will get back up to speed then." He parks the car and comes around to open my door.

"If I'm not pregnant again."

"I am under strict orders from Jennie not to let that happen, so we need to discuss our options."

I stomp my foot. "Jennie is not the boss of me."

"Good lord," Jalal says, shaking his head, but he can't help laughing.

He leads me in the house and to the kitchen. "Sit," he says. "Do you want coffee or tea?"

"I'm not really drunk," I say. "Let's stay up all night and drink wine, like we used to."

"And then pick up our children at dawn and feed your daughter the fine vintage you produced during this night of debauchery?"

"You're no fun."

When the coffee's brewed, he fills two mugs, sets the dessert between us with two spoons, and takes the chair across from me. "So," he says, "to continue our earlier discussion. You thought I was hot the first day, but when did you know you were in love with me?"

"The first day."

"Be serious."

"Okay. When you didn't jump my bones an hour after you met me."

He sighs and shakes his head. "You did not fall in love with me the first day," he says.

"You're right; it was day seventeen. You had this one curl that kept falling in your eyes …"

"Are you capable of taking my question seriously?"

"Apparently not."

He sighs again. "You know what cinched the deal for me?"

"Wow. 'Cinched the deal.' How romantic."

"Do you know?"

I gaze at the ceiling for a moment and then say, "My hair?"

"I do love it, but no. It was watching you cook that first time."

"You're weird."

"Shared interests are important in a relationship."

"Well then, I guess it's a good thing I can cook."

He frowns. "We share other interests."

"Yeah, like the thing you're thinking about when my cooking turns you on."

"That too, but we both love to travel—which we will get a chance to do again, eventually."

I hold up three fingers. "Three things. And that's it."

"Reading."

"Whoa. Don't
we
sound exciting."

"Being good parents."

Pow
. Sucker punch. He's twisted around to the mother discussion after all. "Jalal, this is not—"

"When you first told me about your mother, we were sitting at this table. I thought I listened well, but I must have missed the most important part."

I won't talk about her again. And I'm not going to cry. I know exactly which secret of his to bring up to end this. I move from my chair to his lap. "Well, I didn't miss a thing, Mr. Hunk of the Month." I expect him to push me away. He doesn't. He just looks at me through eyes dampened by pity. I want to claw them out of his head. Instead, I jump up and run out the front door.

I teeter on the edge of the top step. I don't have the car keys and I'm not dressed for walking in the night air. The screen door opens behind me. "If you touch me, I swear I'll scream." I say that, but I won't do it. I'm afraid I might not be able to stop. He steps up behind and enfolds me.