An Illusion of Trust (Sequel to The Brevity of Roses) (30 page)

I sit forward and lay my hand over his. "It's all right, now. That's all in the past."

He wipes his eyes and looks deep into mine. "No, sweet love. That hurt is still there, and no matter how hard I try, I can do nothing about it." He caresses my cheek, his smile sad. "You are surrounded by people who love you, but it was obvious today that your father still brings you to your knees."

No, no, no. I press my fingers to his lips and then stand, pulling the clip from my hair. "No more talking."

B
randon and I talk on the phone every day. We each have eleven years of our lives to share. I think a lot about coincidences and fate. For over a year, Brandon's hangout after work was Rick's Place, but a month before I started waitressing there, he got a job on the other side of town. It takes my breath away when I think how different my life would be now if we'd reunited in Sacramento. No Jalal. No Adam and Mia Grace.

The only thing we don't talk about is our father. Brandon tries. He mentions him every time, trying to pique my curiosity, but I don't bite. I know all I need to know about my father. I hoped Brandon would take the hint, but he's just pushed me again. "Look, Brandon, I really am grateful that Steve helped you. God knows where you'd be now if he hadn't. But did you ever think maybe some of his willingness to help
you
was because he felt guilty about rejecting
me
?"

"He didn't really reject you, Renee. You're the one who asked for emancipation."

"That's crap. Listen; I don't want to argue with you, and I don't want to say anything to ruin your relationship with him, so I'm going to hang up. I love you. Talk to you later."

Well, well, well … poor put upon Saint Jalal is a fucking liar. I have the restaurant receipt to prove it. Now I know why he's been much better about picking up his clothes and emptying the pockets. I guess he stuffed these jeans in the hamper too quickly.

He had a lunch rendezvous at the little beachfront restaurant down the coast from Bahía. The one we always talked about going to but never made it. Looks like he made it with someone else. And no way can he convince me he and Hank had lunch there. The orders are clear, and it's easy to spot Jalal's. The other person ordered a salad of spring greens. Yeah, like that would fill up Hank. That's a Diane lunch order.

What a fool I've been.

How many other receipts has Jalal thrown away. God. How stupid I am. That's the real reason he takes care of the finances. Hell, he could be supporting a mistress—several of them—and I wouldn't know. Does he deposit ten thousand dollars in
their
checking accounts too?

I jam the receipt in my pocket and start the washer. I'm trying to figure out where, when, and how to confront Jalal when I hear a scream that sets my feet running before I comprehend what's happening. When I'm halfway down the back stairs, I realize Adam's wailing outside. By the time I enter the kitchen, Jalal is already rushing toward Kristen who's carrying Adam in through the play yard door. All I can see is blood.

Both of them are crying. "I'm sorry," she says. "He fell off the slide before I could get to him."

Jalal takes Adam from her, searching for the source of bleeding.

"Here," I say to Jalal, pulling my shirt sleeve over my hand and pressing it against the gaping cut at Adam's hairline. It's not even a half-inch long but pumping blood. I'm freaked and shaking so hard I can barely hold my hand still, but I remember you need to apply pressure. I also need to calm him. "Shhh. Mama's here. It's okay." He and Kristen both cry a little softer.

"I'm sorry," Kristen says again.

"He will be all right," Jalal says. "Where is Mia Grace?"

"Oh my god!" Kristen runs back outside to get her from her swing.

"He needs stitches," Jalal says, laying Adam in my arms. He grabs an ice pack from the freezer and wraps it in a clean kitchen towel. As he places the pack under my hand, Kristen returns carrying Mia Grace. "Stay with her," he says. "We have to take Adam to the emergency room." He gathers our jackets and an afghan to wrap around Adam. As he passes Kristen, he reaches out and gives her a quick hug. "You are not to blame. These things happen."

Amazed that Jalal is so calm while I'm a mess, I offer her a weak smile of support and follow him to the garage. I don't realize I'm wearing only socks until I register the cold of the cement floor, but there's no time to go back inside for shoes. My child is bleeding.

No matter how much money you have or what kind of insurance, the wait in the emergency room can be long in a non-life-threatening situation. Jalal, who finally loses it when we get to the hospital, huffs and puffs and threatens to blow the place down if they don't take care of Adam immediately, but since the bleeding has stopped and he's smiling at everyone, the staff calls Jalal's bluff.

The three of us are a sight; all of us bloody, and me shoeless. Jalal and I take turns washing up as best we can, so now we're sitting here with half-damp clothing too. I wonder if I'll be able to get the blood out in the wash—oh crap, the receipt. I reach in my pocket and feel it, waiting, but this is not the time or place for a confrontation.

Really, though, I already know I'm not going to ask him about it. He'll just lie. Jalal knows me so well. Because I want so badly to have a family, a stable home, I've shown him I'll believe anything he says. He tells me that midnight call was to Hank, and I believe him. He tells me he's going down to City Hall about the coyotes, and I believe him. He tells me he's not flirting back with Diane—no!—I don't really believe that. But if I force him to tell me the truth, then I have to deal with that. And sometimes the truth hurts too much.

It's rained for a week and Adam hates being shut up in the house. This morning he begged us to let him play outside, so we're standing here cold, wet, and irritable, but we smile every time he looks our way. Jalal looks at his watch, "Five more minutes, Adam."

"Jalal … what would you do if I left with the kids?"

His head snaps in my direction. "Why are you asking a question like that?"

"Hypothetically. Would you just forget them?"

"How could you even think that? It would kill me to be separated from them. Why are we talking about this?"

"I was thinking about my father."

"I am not your father."

"No."

"Your father left your mother."

"Yeah, I know, Jalal. I was there."

"But you framed your question as you leaving me."

I sigh. "I was thinking about my parents, not us. I'm going in to make a huge pot of coffee. I'll put the kettle on for your tea."

When Jalal comes inside, he stops on the tiled entry to strip off Adam's wet jacket and shoes. Adam whines that he's cold. "Too bad," snaps Jalal. "You wanted to play out in the rain."

I grab an afghan off the couch and wrap it around Adam. "Here, snuggle in this and you'll get warm and toasty. Let's turn on Diego." I set him in the chair next to the fireplace and angle it toward the TV. The kettle screeches. Jalal's still standing by the door. As I head toward the stove, I flash him a look that says he's blown the father of the year award.

He apologizes to Adam and follows me to the kitchen. "Considering some of your moods lately, you have no right to jump on me."

"I do when you're out of line with my kids."

"So now they are just your kids?" he says. "And you might take off with them?"

"Lighten up. I told you I was thinking about my father and—"

"I would prefer you not compare me to your father. Especially not with the way
you
feel about him."

"What's that mean, the way
I
feel about him?"

"Your brother feels differently."

"And you think I should feel the same way?"

"Brandon has forgiven—"

"Brandon wasn't rejected
twice
. In fact, Brandon had nothing to forgive because Steve never rejected him at all."

"I am not saying the guy deserves your undying devotion. Clearly, he had serious problems to leave your mother and you like that, but obviously he has changed. Maybe you should re-evaluate—"

"
God
. I can't believe you're saying that to me. Steve had a second chance and look how that turned out."

"Have you ever considered what it must have been like for him? He was a forty-year-old man with an angry, streetwise girl suddenly shoved into his life. A stranger. Can you, for one minute, understand how he might have been a little freaked out by that?"

For a second, I'm ready to rage back at him, and then the punch I've been expecting hits full force. He's not talking about my father. He's talking about himself. That's how he feels about me.

"Actually," I say, "I
have
thought about that … a lot." I switch off the coffeemaker. "I'm going up to get Mia Grace from Aza."

"Renee …"

He reaches for me when I pass him, but I avoid his touch. I open the door to the laundry room and change my mind. "You get Mia Grace," I tell him. "I'm going for a drive." I grab my purse and jacket and check on Adam. His eyes are half-closed, so I just blow him a kiss.

"Where are you going?" Jalal asks.

"Out." When I try to pass him, he steps forward and blocks my way to the door. "Move."

"How long will you be gone?"

I refuse to look at him. "Not long."

"Judith and Hank's party begins at six."

"Go without me."

"This is their tenth wedding anniversary, Renee. You have to be there."

"I'm not in the mood. Now get out of my way." I endure the weight of his glare as I keep my eyes focused on the door frame to his left.

Finally, he sighs and steps aside. "Please, drive carefully. The streets are wet."

Because of Meredith's accident, I try not to drive in the rain any more than I have to, and it would be kind of me to stay and not worry him, but I have to get out of here. "I will."

I head toward the Jeep before I remember it belongs to Kristen now. As I predicted, Jalal took me car shopping before Thanksgiving. I'm not the owner of a black SUV, though. We compromised on a luxury crossover, in a grown-up
dark cherry pearl
. I miss my Jeep, but I'm not complaining about the extra room or features of this one. It even cools the driver's seat, which is a luxury I'd pay anything for on a Coelho summer day. And why am I thinking about cars when I need to figure out what to do about a husband who, even if he can't admit it, is sorry he married me?

After I drive around town for a while, I reach for my phone to call Jennie. Crap. I left it on the counter at home. I head toward Bahía anyway. But when I get there, I don't go to the restaurant or Jennie's house. I just want the comfort of the ocean and my porch swing. I want to be home. As soon as I pass through the gates at the top of our road, I see another FOR SALE sign. Are those owners choosing to move or are they being uprooted? Why did I not recognize that difference a year ago? I pass our house to check on the cliff house at the end of the road. I see the SOLD sign before I reach it. One leaves and another arrives. Nothing stays the same.

Here, the sky is clear, though the sun hangs low above the horizon. The garden seems neglected, but when I look closer, it's obvious nothing is dead or even struggling. The gardening service is doing its job. The plants are just lonely. Oh geez. What a crazy thought. It's just the angle and tint of the light, shadowing the plants and turning the green to bronze, that makes the garden look weird. I've seen it change like this a thousand times at sunset.

I face the ocean to watch daylight's end. We never watch the sun set in Coelho. No, that's not true. Jalal watches often. The image of him sitting on the patio, aglow in the reddish light floods my mind. "I'm too busy," I tell him, so he sits alone. How long does it take? Five minutes? Ten? Look there; only a faint glow of orange remains at the horizon. How can I ever be too busy for those few minutes with him? Let's be honest. That's one of the petty ways I punish him for moving me away from here.

The temperature drops as the sky darkens, but I stay on the porch. What am I doing here? Running away again. Punishing Jalal for telling the truth. As much as I hate to admit it, Jalal could be right about my father. It must have been a shock to him when CPS dropped me into his life. Wrapped up in my own anger and fear, I don't think I gave a thought to how he felt. I might have been a shock to Jalal too, but he wasn't
forced
to deal with me. And today he wasn't trying to tell me he's sorry he married me. I just made that up in my crazy head.