An Illusion of Trust (Sequel to The Brevity of Roses) (17 page)

"I wasn't snooping, Jalal. I just found the photos when I—"

"Stop." His glare pierces my heart. "We both know that is a lie. Maybe you found the first one accidentally, but you had to look through a hell of a lot of books to find the others. The question is
why
you did that."

I want to tell him I don't know why. I'm sorry. Let's forget it. But he's already gone.

W
e make it through breakfast, pretending everything is fine, and then Jalal gives the girls money to walk into town and shop. He plays with the kids while I straighten the rooms. Though the girls packed their backpacks before they left, as I make the rounds, I gather nail polish, earrings, and flip-flops they've left scattered around the house. Jalal feeds the kids lunch while I do laundry. He and I exchange less than fifty words in five hours, most of them concerning Adam or Mia Grace.

He promised to meet the girls for lunch at Vincenza, so after a short walk with the kids we start their nap routine. I take Mia Grace to their room and he takes Adam to the bathroom. I'm sitting in the rocking chair, nursing her, when he carries Adam in and lays him on the bed. "Story," Adam says.

"Not today."

"Please."

Jalal relents and reaches for a book on the shelves between the bed and crib. He sits down on the edge of the bed and begins to read. Mia Grace pulls away from me and reaches toward Jalal. "Ba."

Jalal stands and takes her from me and reads the story to them both. When he's through, he kisses Mia Grace and lays her in her crib. He sits back down beside Adam. "I have to drive Kristen and Brittany home now," he tells him.

"You be back?"

"Not today."

"Yes."

"Not today, Adam."

"Yestamorrow?" Adam is pleading now, and I want to tell Jalal to grow up. Still waiting for an answer, Adam says, "Baba Daddy, you be
back
," pounding Jalal's arm with his little fist for emphasis. I'm ready to strangle Jalal. After a moment, he clears his throat and nods. "Go to sleep, little man. I will come back before dinner time." Jalal kisses Adam and walks out of the room without even a glance in my direction. I no longer exist to him.

I stay with the kids until they're both asleep. The house seems deliberately silent and empty, as if I'm a child put in time out. I can't call Jennie because I assured her everything was fine when I canceled the dinner invitation. So many thoughts are whirling in my head they're making me dizzy. I don't know why I looked for those photos. Or why in hell, I showed them to Jalal. Why can't I leave things alone and be happy?

Even the sun punishes me by hiding its face as soon as I step onto the porch. I curl up on the swing and push away the thought of how many times I've sat here with Jalal. What if Adam hadn't ordered him to come back? How many days would he stay in Coelho? What if he never came back? What if I didn't want him back? What if I made a life here without him?

When Jalal returns, I'm in the kitchen, chopping vegetables for dinner. He still doesn't speak to me. He takes Mia Grace out of her play corral and they sit on the floor with Adam to watch Sesame Street. After a few minutes, I hear him say, "Here you go, sweet baby." When I look, Mia Grace is secured again and he's handing her a toy. I turn away before he straightens up, so I'm startled when he comes up behind and wraps his arms around me. "I was wrong to leave without saying goodbye," he says.

Yes, you were. I don't melt back into him like I know he expects, but I don't pull away, either. Before Adam was born, this would have been the start of round two. When children are involved, the stakes are higher. Back then, I would have told Jalal to fuck off and thrown this diced onion all over him, but I can't behave that way now. We're responsible parents, like Jennie said. I resist my nature. "I'm sorry I looked for the photos."

"They upset you."

"They made me feel—"

"That I am a stranger."

"And that maybe you wish you were still that other Jalal." He turns me around to face him.

"I never want to be that person again. I burned those photos today and, if I had remembered they were in those books, I would have done it long ago. I hate that chapter in my life. Last night, I got angry because I was ashamed that you saw me like that. And … because it was unfair."

"Unfair?"

"We agreed, three years ago, not to ask about previous partners."

"I didn't ask—"

"You did, by showing me the photos. Why else would you do that?"

Because I'm a jealous, insecure, lunatic? "I'm sorry," I tell him.

He glances over my shoulder, then moves me aside and scrapes the onion into the hot skillet. "Have I done something to make you feel insecure?"

"I … it's just—"

"I hungry, Mama."

"Here," Jalal says. He tears off an egg-sized chunk from the loaf of bread lying on the counter and hands it to Adam. "Eat this."

"Mee-Grays have some?"

"No," I tell him. "Thank you for wanting to share, but she can wait until dinner's ready."

"Apparently, we should finish cooking and feed our offspring," Jalal says.

He takes over at the stove, so I do the small tasks and keep an eye on the kids. Focus on this. This is my life. A good life. I can't let my fucked up brain ruin this blessing.

When the pasta is done, Jalal turns and watches me as I set the table.

"What?"

He motions for me to come to him. When I do, he kisses me like he's starting something we can't finish with the kids awake. I pull away.

"I miss this," he says. "We should do it more often."

"Kiss or what you were leading up to?"

"Well, both of those are always good, but I meant cooking together."

"What are you talking about? We cook together all the time." I dish up food for the kids so it can cool. Jalal butters a slice of bread for Adam and tears off a piece of crust for Mia Grace. After we're all seated, he brings up the subject again.

"I guess we lose the intimacy because the kitchen is so big there."

"You love that kitchen." What I'd like to say is the whole house is so big that most of the time it doesn't seem like we're together, but why bother? "And we're married now; we're not supposed to get intimate in the kitchen." I meant that as a joke, but when he freezes, I can almost see Meredith's ghost pass between us. Evidently, I conjured up a memory of some past kitchen escapade—one I prefer not to think about. I fear I've ruined his mood, but he recovers quickly.

"Who made up that stupid rule?"

"Stupid," Adam cries, and a second later Mia Grace shouts and waves her spoon flinging smashed peas over the table, reminding us that family meals serve as kitchen intimacy now.

We laugh and our life clicks back to normal. If I stay focused on the present, it will stay that way.

After dinner, Jalal gets three phone calls. The first is good news from Aza; she and Paul are engaged. She's apprehensive about telling Ryan and Kristen, but I think they'll be happy for her. I'm sitting close enough to see Hank's name on the caller ID for the second call. "This is business," Jalal says and takes the call outside, leaving me to wonder what he and Hank are up to.

The third call is from our private investigator. He's found Amber. She was put up for adoption soon after being taken from Becky. Though Nathan knows the identity of her adoptive parents, she's only thirteen, so any contact would have to be approved by them. Jalal says Nathan's not sure how long his request will take to reach them.

I'm still thinking about Amber when Jalal and I get into bed. "Why doesn't Nathan just call her new parents?"

"Maybe their contact information is outdated."

Having learned to watch for Jalal's subtle reactions, I caught a second's hesitation before he answered. "Do you know something you're not telling me?"

"He will call tomorrow when he knows more." He gives me a kiss that's tender but not a lead-in to something more. "I love you, and I hate when we fight."

"Me too," I say.

He turns off his lamp and rolls to his side, away from me. I do the same, though I know it will be a long time before I fall asleep. This is the longest relationship I've ever had, and yet it feels like we're still getting to know each other. In one day, I've gone from planning a life without him to not being able to imagine how I could do that. Sometimes marriage and motherhood both seem bizarre to me. Even if we divorced, I'd be linked to Jalal for the rest of my life through Adam and Mia Grace. I see how hard it is for Aza to watch her kids fly off to spend time with their father, even though she and Sam have made peace.

It's my role as mother that freaks me out the most, though. I'm responsible for two other lives. That's not really a new role, since I adopted that one years ago, but I was too young then to realize how much power that gave me. I am shaping Adam and Mia Grace into the man and woman they will become. The weight of that is almost physical, nearly crushing the breath out of me sometimes. I'm not qualified to do that job, but that's knowledge come too late. I jumped into motherhood as thoughtlessly as I did marriage. I wanted it. I took it. I never asked if I deserved it.

Thirty minutes later, I'm staring at the clock when Jalal sits up and turns on the light. I know without looking he's going to read. He couldn't fall asleep because something's weighing on his mind too. I get up and go to the bathroom.

"I'm sorry I woke you," he says when I come back.

"You didn't. Remember when I used to drive past this house in the middle of the night and see your lights on? Were you reading then?"

"Sometimes. The rest of the time I was writing—or trying to." He lays his book aside and slides down to lie facing me. "Why are you thinking about those lonely times in our lives?"

"I don't know. Sometimes I feel like part of me is still up there on the road, driving alone." He brushes my hair off my cheek and tucks it behind my ear. A tear slips from my eye, surprising me, and with it comes words I wasn't planning to say. "I'm afraid." Jalal slips an arm under my neck and pulls me close. That breaks the dam and a million bitter tears rush through. I don't know exactly why I'm crying because so many different things are on my mind, but it feels good, like draining a wound.

Finally I'm cried out. I'm wrapped in peace. I'm wrapped in Jalal's arms. And now I'm conscious of the heat of his body, the scent of his skin, and I want him to make love to me. He said nothing while I cried. I don't know what he's thinking or if he's in the mood, but when I tease his nipple, he slides his hand down my back and presses me against him. There's no mistaking his interest now, so I roll to my back, and he slips lower until our lips meet. His hand begins its exploration. Though my body aches in anticipation of the pleasure he will give me, I will him to move slowly. Make this last. Never let me go.

We have this. We have this. We are not alone. We are one.

Jennie's now closes after lunch on Mondays, so today we're preparing our previously canceled dinner for Jennie and Eduardo. They arrive at four to spend plenty of time with the kids. After Jennie gets her initial fill of hugs and kisses, she suggests we take a walk—just the two of us. Eduardo offers to watch the kids or help Jalal in the kitchen, whichever is needed.

"We won't be gone long," Jennie says. "You know me and exercise."

Still, I hesitate until Jalal practically orders me to go. Jennie's motive for getting me alone is to question me about why I canceled our first dinner invitation—the real reason. I don't want to lie to her, but telling her the truth will only open the door to other things I don't want to tell her. When we get to the beach pathway, I head directly toward the closest bench. "I know your back is acting up, so let's just sit and talk."

"You also know what's on my mind," she says, "so spill it."

"We had an argument, and neither of us was in the mood to see anyone." She's not satisfied with that answer and stirs the air with her hand, signaling me to continue. "I found some old photos and when I showed them to him, he got mad." She waits for more. I don't see the point. "There's really no need to talk about this, Jennie. We've obviously made up, so—"

"So you can just pretend everything is fine now, right?" She takes my hand. "What were the pictures of?"

"Most of them were of Jalal."

"Ah yes, seeing pictures of himself always sends him into a rage."

I sigh. Why do I ever think I can get one over on Jennie? "Eight photos: six of Jalal with a woman, one of just a woman, one of him alone. All the women were blondes. Some of the photos were taken at parties. In one, some skank dressed only in a bikini bottom, is pressing her tits into Jalal's bare chest and a joint to his lips. No wonder he'd hidden the damned things in his books."

"Hidden? How did you find them?"

"The first one fell out when I dropped a book. I looked for the rest."

"And pictures were all you found?"

"Well … no. I found some sales receipts, business cards, scraps of paper. Why?"

"So Jalal uses all kinds of things to mark his place?"

I say nothing.

"Does he?"

"Okay, yes. He grabs whatever's closest to use as a bookmark. But none of the photos stuck out of the tops like bookmarks. They were hidden."

"These were old pictures, right? I mean, pre-Meredith old."

I nod. Jennie says nothing, so I watch the surf, hoping she's satisfied. I love that she cares about me, about us, and she wants to help, but there's nothing for her to fix.

"Ha," she says and slaps her thigh. "Diane. This is about her, isn't it?"

I don't acknowledge her question in any way.

"You think because Jalal used to have a thing for blondes he'll jump any blonde that looks at him. That's insane. Look at me, hon."

I turn my face partly toward her.

"Jalal also used to have a thing for cocaine. Are you worried about that too?"

I begrudge her a slight head shake.

"Damn it, girl, when are you going to realize he has eyes only for you? That man is happier than anyone deserves to be. He's not about to trade that in to hump a snooty bitch like Diane." At my look of surprise she adds, "Judith and I talk. She told me about the dinner party." Jennie stands and pulls me up with her. "Stop looking for trouble."