CHERISH (22 page)

I’d never before imagined a future for myself. Not that kind, the kind with the picket fence, the smells, the tastes and thoughts of all that
could
be. I realize how true my words are. I really do belong to him. And in every recess of my body I am sure that everything really will be okay. It has to be OKAY.

Beckett

I've got the phone pinned to my ear. I managed to get Rehema, Louis's sister, to take another call about ten minutes ago while Promise took a bath.

My girl nearly broke me trying to get me to climb in the tub with her. There is nothing I wouldn’t do for her. And when it involves loving her balls deep, I’m all in.

If I could, I would eat her like a fucking Vegas buffet twenty-four hours a day. She’s that delicious.

But I needed to get rolling on this. I need to crack Louis’s sister. The need is now urgent since I talked to Brendan again and wrapped up my little Q & A with Jeremy.

I've distracted Promise for the moment, but I know she’s riding the edge. It feels like forever since we got married, but it’s only been a few days. A few days that Jordan’s been gone. To her, that’s forever. Big fucking pieces of the puzzle are still missing and the clock is ticking.

I already had Rehema on the phone and everything was going fine, but then I pushed her a little too hard, started asking about her father and whatever horrible transgression Louis committed as a child that got him banished from the family.

She hung up on me. Screamed at me in Arabic for a good bit and then the line went dead. But, a few minutes later, my phone rang and she was ready to talk.

Now I’m tucked into the farthest corner of the loft, behind the kitchen where there is a small utility closet with the hot water heater, a bucket, a mop and some privacy.

I can still hear Promise singing Neil Diamond’s “Sweet Caroline.” She's in the bathtub, where I settled her after I got her good and dirty.

Her taste in music is a whole different subject.

Listening to her in one ear, and Rehema in the other, I imagine what it would be like to just steal her away to some secret garden, somewhere I could have her all to myself until the end of our days.

Rehema told me to hold on while she dialed in one of her brothers. Seems after she ripped into my ass, she called him and they decided to speak with me together.

“Hello.” A male voice with a thick accent comes through the line first.

Before I can reply, it’s Rehema.

“Hello. Beckett Fitzgerald is married to Jordan’s sister.” Rehema takes care of the introduction.

Her tone is restrained but eager. I’m pretty sure she’s on our side in some way and I take some comfort from that.

“Hello.” The male voice again and this time it’s clear it’s directed at me.

“Hello. Thank you for speaking with me.”

Silence.

I hold. First one to say something loses. It’s an old trick when you are negotiating. When you get to a moment of transition, you wait. People hate silence, so you let it turn thick, see who fills it first. So long as it's not you then you’ve got the upper hand.

Five seconds.

Seven.

Might not seem like a lot of time, but when that time is filled with an empty space, believe me, it's fluid. It stretches and bends and feels different. A whole lot more awkward . . .

Ten.

“So you wish to know about my brother?”

Bam.

“Not as much as I want to know about Jordan. I want to know why he’s there. Why Louis took him without telling us. You realize we have a shared legal custody agreement and he’s violating a court order.”

More silence. I may have opened heavy, but I needed them to know I’m not fucking around. I kept it polite though. Sending my first launch over the bow filled with profanity would surely end the call before I made any headway.

“You think your court has any power here? My brother is the boy’s father. We have every right to decide where he will live.”

Live. Fuck, he dropped that right in my fucking lap.

“I also know family is very important to you,” I say, keeping my voice steady. “And he is away from the only family he has known. His only sister. That has to mean something.”

“Sons belong with their fathers. You are married to his sister. She is part of
your
family now.”

You’ve got that right motherfucker. And so is Jordan.

I need to change gears.

“That is true.” I agree with him, because it puts people off balance, makes them think you're on their side. I clear my throat and hear the click of the pilot light on the water heater next to me. “But you are here and you know Jordan is part of our family as well. Louis and I have known each other for a very long time. He never mentioned his family. Can you see why we are concerned? Maybe if you can tell me why Louis never mentioned any of you?”

I hear breathing.

“No.”

Fuck off. Hard.

“Are you with Jordan now?”

“He is not far. The boy is fine. He is blood. Part of our family now.” He says it with a finality that sounds like he’s told me everything I need to know. He’s clearly not picking up on what’s going through my head, which is that I’m fucking coming for Jordan and I don’t care how many bodies I leave in my wake.

He’s coming back here, that's a fucking certainty.

The pilot ignites the gas on the water heater with a ‘whoosh’ and I push my fist into the wall, next to the pipes that trail up it. I need to hold it together before I continue.

“He’s part of his
sister’s
blood.” I swallow the bitter taste in my mouth, but I can feel myself losing it. “The sister that has been his only fucking
family
since he was a baby. Why the fuck is his sister less important than a father he’s never fucking known?” I’m done playing diplomat.

The last thing I hear before the soft click on the other end of the phone is a dark chuckle and the sound of a boy yelling in the background.

“Fuck.”
I pull my fist back and slam it into the drywall, leaving three knuckle indents. Before I disconnect, I hear a soft sound of Rehema clearing her throat. I fucking forgot we were on a three way.

“I’m sorry.” She sounds disappointed. I can work with that.

“Me too.” I’m thinking fast, trying to keep her on my team. “Seems he may not value a sister’s love as much as we do.”

I toss it out there, hope I hit a sore spot.

A few seconds of silence. The white noise of the connection and my heart slamming around in my chest are the only sounds. Promise’s soft singing no longer drifts in from the bathroom so I know she will come looking for me any second. I want to have good news and so far I’ve got a steaming pile of shit.

“No, they do not,” Rehema says and I do an invisible fist pump.

I spend the next few minutes earning her trust, not pushing, but pulling her toward me. Listening for Promise’s movement out in the loft, I inch closer to the open door of the utility closet, leaning against the door jamb. One hand is down in my pocket, the other is holding the phone.

“My father . . .” Rehema’s voice halts.

“Yes, I’d like to know about your father.”

“He’s very ill. My brother sent word to Bakari a month ago, telling him our father was dying and he would die with the curse and shame still on the family. I prayed he would not burden Bakari with this, but they do not ask me for my opinion.”

“Why did you leave Egypt?”

“My family is very traditional. My father picked out my husband when I was only five years old. I grew up knowing my fate was to marry and serve my husband. I wished to go to university, to be a writer, a journalist. To help.”

“And your family would not allow you to go?”

“No. I was to marry when I was seventeen. Then the man I was to marry was killed in an automobile accident. I had nowhere to go. I begged to be allowed to go to school, to go to America and study. Eventually my father allowed me to come to the United States for one year, just to study and live with another family he knew. But I never went home.”

“Why didn’t you find Louis? I’m sorry, Bakari?”

Silence. This is where our conversation was derailed earlier. I can hear each heartbeat.

“He brought our family shame. My father strictly forbade it. I did look for him once, but I didn’t find him.”

“What kind of shame?”

“The worst shame. The very worst. I have changed. I do not believe in the curse anymore.”

I can tell she’s close, but I feel like she doesn’t want to be the one to say it. A couple of pieces of the puzzle are coming together. I change gear.

“How old was Bakari when your father sent him away?”

“He was eleven. I was very young, but I remember him. He was very kind, very soft. Not like my father and my brothers.”

I hear Promise’s soft steps coming through the loft. I need to speed this up. Something Jeremy said hits me and decide to take a chance.

“Did Bakari show interest in another man? Or boy?” I drop the bomb. I’m running out of time and I need to put this together. I stand up straight, waiting for Promise to appear around the corner.

I'm prepared for Rehema to disconnect. Instead, she doesn’t miss a beat.

“Yes.” I can almost sense the relief in her voice.

“So why was he able to return now?”

I hear the refrigerator door open, the clink of a glass, water turning on in the sink. Any second I’m going to hear her calling for me, because I’m practically glued to her every damn second.

Rehema goes quiet. I’m saying a silent prayer as I stare up at the ceiling.

“I’ve said too much already.” Her voice turns flat and she shuts it down.

Fuck. Come on, man, keep her going. Choose your words.

I'm concentrating on trying to find exactly the right thing to say to keep her on the line when Promise appears around the corner. I practically jump out of my damn pants.

“What are you doing?” Her eyes are wide, brows raised, her hair hanging in damp waves down her naked skin. “What’s going on?”

Before I can deal with the crazy shine in my wife’s eyes, Rehema attempts to cut things off in my other ear.

“Goodbye, Beckett. Please, I cannot help you.”

I’ve got a woman in each ear. Both of them need me right now and I make a split second decision, pull the phone from my head and put it on speaker.

“Rehema, please don’t hang up.”

I turn to Promise who stands before me, mouth agape, and I don’t have time to explain. I just meet her eyes and hope to God this works.

“I have Jordan’s sister here. Promise, this is Rehema, Louis’s sister I told you about. She’s been so helpful with information about Louis and Jordan.”

Promise turns dark. She grabs the phone as I step forward and around the corner to the edge of the kitchen. I place my hand at the small of Promise’s back, bringing her right along.

“Please, where is he?” Promise pleads and my heart aches at the desperation lacing her voice. “Is he okay? I need to get him back.
Please
, you don’t know how much I love my brother. Please help us.”

“I cannot help. I’m sorry.” Rehema’s voice fades.

“No!
Please!
I’m his sister. I’ve taken care of him my whole life! He’s like my own son. Please, I
can’t
lose him. Won’t you help me? Please, he’s my life.”

Her hand shakes as she holds the phone turned up in her palm. I pull her next to me, her body soft, and I try not to think of how incredible she looks standing here completely naked and unashamed. Her eyes are set deep. She’s tired, her emotions are ragged, but her moods have taken on an edge the last few days. Something I’ve not seen from her before.

I write it off to the craziness of our life right now. There is only so much a person can take. Even my tough girl. Getting married, Jordan being gone, her mother turning up out of the blue and raising a storm, finding out she’s carrying my baby. I know I have to keep a close eye on her right now, because the burden on her is heavy. I hate it. It’s my job to take all of that from her and put it on myself.

Her soft skin is still pink and warm from the bath, smelling of the lavender shampoo she loves.

I’m sure the phone is going to go dead. But for a second longer than I expected, the low static is still there.

“I will speak to you. I wish to speak to you privately.” Rehema’s voice is stern. I let Promise go, raising my hands in resignation as she looks at me with those eyes that bore into my soul.

I motion for her to take over the call and I step back.

“That’s fine. Just please talk to me.” Promise touches the screen and takes the call off speaker. She puts the phone to her ear and walks over to the blue-velvet sofa, where she settles into the corner, pulling her legs underneath her.

She draws in a deep breath, puts her free hand on her rosy cheek and looks down, away from me.

I walk to the bed, grab a blanket, then move to the sofa and settle it over her.

She looks up at me with a pained smile then just as quickly looks back down, concentrating on whatever Rehema is saying in her ear.

For the next fifteen minutes I keep my distance, watching Promise’s face while she talks. I mess around in the kitchen, washing up a pan left from last night, forcing myself to be busy. Her face looks tight as she listens. Then suddenly she smiles and one hand flutters over her mouth, then up to her forehead as her chin drops to her chest.