Haunting Jasmine (15 page)
“Because it is true.” Auntie covers the receiver and yells for a rickshaw. Then she comes on the line again. “I must go. You must follow your heart. We’re all part of something bigger than ourselves. Oh, dear, we’re heading off to catch the train to Agra. We’re sightseeing.”
“We? Who are we?”
“We’re visiting the Taj. I haven’t been there in years!”
I lose the signal. “Damn it.” I slam the receiver back into its cradle.
“You always did like to swear,” a familiar voice says behind me.
Robert
.
.
My body betrays me, still responding to him out of habit, alert to the smooth timbre of his voice. “What the hell are you doing here? How did you find me?”
Chapter 23
“Didn’t you get my messages?” Robert strides toward me in a black trench coat, his features placed by a careful god in perfect proportion, except for the dent on his nose, just above the bridge, where he tripped and fell on a tree root while running on the track team in high school. He still has a runner’s physique, a bounce in his stride as if he might break into a sprint.
“I don’t get a good signal here.” I need a paper bag or I’m going to hyperventilate. Or throw up. I can’t decide.
“You’re a hard woman to track down, but Scott Taylor gave me the tip I needed. I have to talk to you.” His eyes, a mixture of hazel and gray, have always looked deceptively benevolent. I wonder when Lauren will understand his true character.
“I’m working,” I say. “Talk to my lawyer.” I gather up an armful of books. I don’t know what to do with them. Where is Tony when I need him?
“I’d like to talk to you in person.”
“Where is Lauren? Does she know you’re here?” I can’t help the nasty tone in my voice as I say Lauren’s name.
“She knows. Is there a place we can go?” Robert looks around as if trying to find a clear space in the clutter.
“You’ve had months to talk to me. I said no, I’m not selling the condo for such a low price.”
“That’s what I want to discuss. The condo.”
“What else is there to say? Talk to the real estate agent.”
“I need to discuss this with you.”
I drop the books on a table. “Why? I’ll see you at the final settlement hearing next month.”
“I came all the way up here to see you. Can’t you be civil?”
Customers are starting to look at us. “Outside,” I whisper. “Not in here.”
A few minutes later, I’m hurrying up the block, the wind whipping my hair into my face, Robert hunched beside me, keeping pace. “Why the rush?”
“Don’t ever show up without warning me again. Scratch that. Don’t ever show up. Period.”
“I know you’re angry with me.”
“Angry doesn’t begin to describe what I feel.”
“I tried to reach you. I wanted to see you. Are you okay? I still worry about you.”
“You worry about me?” But my heart softens by a micron. For an instant, I flash back to our romantic walks together. We were like this, nearly shoulder to shoulder, discussing retirement, the future, the places we wanted to travel.
“You didn’t tell me you were leaving L.A.”
“I don’t have to tell you anything,” I say, but I’m a little sorry for him. His nose is pink from the cold. He’s fragile in this kind of weather, and I’m not.
“Can we go inside? Maybe here?” He turns into Le Pichet, a dimly lit French restaurant. A voluptuous waitress leads us to a corner table in the shadows. A romantic table, as if we’re a couple.
“May I bring you drinks?” she says.
“Water for me,” I say.
I watch Robert. He keeps his gaze above her neckline. He’s trying. “I’ll have something hot. Coffee.”
She nods and walks away. Robert does not watch her go. He keeps his eyes on me.
I fold my arms across my chest for protection. “You have five minutes. Start talking.” I’m barely aware of the buzz of conversation, the clinking of glasses, the smells of onion and wine.
“I can’t drink my coffee in five minutes.” Robert fixes his gaze on my forehead, as always. That should have been a sign, his inability to look me in the eyes.
The waitress brings my water and Robert’s coffee. “Menus?” she says.
I shake my head.
She nods and walks away.
Robert drinks his coffee black as always. He still gulps instead of sipping. He still has a habit of clearing his throat.
“You missed a spot again,” I say, pointing to the left side of his jaw, just below his ear. Even in this dim light, I can see his mistakes. He was never careful about shaving, although he was always careful about keeping secrets.
“You look good,” he says, unfazed by my comment. “Something about you is different. Did you lose weight? Or is it your hair?”
I touch my wild locks self-consciously. Robert always made me aware of my appearance. “What about the condo?” I say. “Let’s stay on point.”
“Can’t I at least tell you you’re beautiful?”
“Not anymore.” With every word, he carves a hollow space inside me. I imagine him on his knees, begging my forgiveness.
I loved you all along. How could I have thrown away those mornings in the sun, making love on the living room carpet, frying mushroom omelets? I don’t love Lauren. I love you. I want to live with you happily ever after… .
I loved you all along. How could I have thrown away those mornings in the sun, making love on the living room carpet, frying mushroom omelets? I don’t love Lauren. I love you. I want to live with you happily ever after… .
My heart will leap and then break into a thousand pieces again. I will say …
I loved you. I’m falling apart. I wanted those things, but now there’s no going back. How could you do this to me?
I’m at the edge of a precipice.
I loved you. I’m falling apart. I wanted those things, but now there’s no going back. How could you do this to me?
I’m at the edge of a precipice.
“Could you take a look at this?” He pulls a sheaf of folded papers from an inside pocket of his jacket, like a magician, and slides it across the table. The pages are stapled together.
“What is this?”
His gaze softens. “Take a look. Please.”
I unfold the paper. On the top page:
THE GRANTOR(S), Jasmine Mistry, for and in consideration of: One dollar and love and affection conveys and quitclaims to the GRANTEE(S), Robert Mahaffey, Jr., the following described real estate, situated in the County of …
The colors leach from the room. The bartender, the couples huddled at tables, the hanging plants—everything darkens to black and gray.
“You want me to give up my rights to the condo,” I say. “But we agreed to sell it together.” This is the last thing we were to do as a couple. The last thing.
He clasps his hands in front of him on the table. Pretty hands, long fingers. Hands I once held with trust. No ring on his wedding finger.
I look away. I. Feel. Nothing.
“I wanted to sell,” he says. “It’s not me. It’s Lauren.”
I push my chair back, to put more distance between Robert and me. He suddenly smells foul, despite his usual subtle cologne, that familiar mineral scent.
“She wants to live in the condo.” In the middle of all those memories. “She loves the light, the windows.”
“She wants to take over my house.”
“Not strictly yours,” he says. “Ours. And we—Lauren and I—want to know if you’re willing to give it up, out of the goodness of your heart.” He sits back and shoves his hands in the pockets of his coat.
“Out of the goodness of … ? What?” I chuckle, softly at first, then louder. A woman at a nearby table glances over at me. Robert’s face reddens. I throw the paper across the table at him. “Nice try, Robert. I won’t give up my home to that woman. How could you ask me to? How could you ask me to give up everything I put into that place? All the love, the blood, the sweat? The memories? The tears? How could you ask such a thing?” Even as I say this, I understand how cold Robert can be. Until now, I couldn’t face the depth of his indifference.
“I didn’t think you’d go for it,” he says. “But I promised Lauren I would give it a try.”
“You promised her.” My voice is rising. “How much more hell can you put me through? Is it not enough that I gave up nearly everything I own—cleaned out my savings—to pay my damned legal bills? Now you had to follow me to the ends of the earth.” I get up, nearly knocking over my chair.
“Jasmine, please. Don’t be so angry with me. I’ve told you so many times, I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” He reaches out and rests his hand on mine, so quickly that I can’t pull away fast enough. His touch is a painful sting.
“Robert, don’t come here again. Don’t call me.”
“Just a minute. Wait.” He grabs my wrist. “Sit down. Just one more minute.”
I yank my arm away. “Don’t touch me. I’m leaving.”
“You didn’t look at the other pages. We’re offering another option. We’re willing to buy you out, buy out your share of what the condo is worth. Here.” He flips a few pages and shows me a highlighted paragraph.
This can’t be happening. This isn’t real. I see Robert, dressed for our wedding, slipping the ring on my finger. Robert, holding me close, in the crook of his shoulder. Robert, feeding me ice cream from a spoon.
“That amount?” I say mechanically, staring at the paper. “My share is worth much more than that. No, I won’t do it.”
“Jasmine.”
I’m already rushing to the door. Robert scrambles to pay for his coffee. I’m racing down the street. The wind howls, and driving rain smacks me in the face.
“Jasmine, wait!” He’s close behind me.
“No, Robert.” When I reach the door to the bookstore, I’m soaked to the bone. My teeth are chattering. I’m shaking all over. “I won’t give up the condo,” I say, breathless. “I loved that place. That was our home, not hers. We’re selling, Robert. You should not have come here. Find yourself another place to live. Don’t ever talk to me again. From now on, speak to my lawyer.”
“You never gave an inch,” he says.
I stumble inside, slam the door in his face, turn the deadbolt. Then I rest my back against the door, slide down to the floor, and burst into tears.
Chapter 24
Tony directs me to sit in a saggy armchair and makes me a cup of chamomile tea. Customers glance at me with concern. He ushers everyone out of the room.
I grip the mug in both hands, savoring the warmth. “Thank you, Tony. I needed this.”
“In my opinion, no selfish bastard is worth the tears,” he says. “The minute he walked in here, I knew he was trouble.”
“I wish I had known before I married him. I can’t believe I considered staying with him.”
Tony grabs a damp rag and wipes down the counters. He’s obsessively neat, but somehow he can’t keep up with Auntie Ruma’s clutter. “You mean after you found out … ?”
“I read about surviving infidelity. I thought—maybe I can make this work. Maybe he cheated because I was boring—”
“You’re wound up, but you’re not boring. Don’t ever think of yourself that way.”
“Thanks, Tony. You’re kind, you know that?”
“Hey, what can I say? Maybe he’s going through the midlife crisis thing.”
I grip the mug tighter until I’m sure it might break. “I thought of that. I thought maybe he needed more attention or I was unavailable. I don’t know why he didn’t just leave. I don’t know what would have hurt more.”
Tony squeezes the rag in the sink and drapes it across the faucet. “What a lowlife for cheating on you.”
I sip the soothing liquid. A few chamomile leaves have broken free of the tea bag and are floating to the top of the cup. “He’s narcissistic, totally self-involved… .” My hands tremble so much I spill the last of my tea on my lap. I jump to my feet, and Tony is there in a second, wiping at my jeans with the rag.
“You’re going to be okay. Deep breaths. You have to believe in yourself. You’re a survivor.”
My throat tightens, and tears sting my eyes again. “I feel like a wreck, and we’ve been separated almost a year—”
“Takes time. You’ll feel better. Go and do something fun. Bungee jumping. Cliff diving.”
“I’m sad, not suicidal.” I wipe my cheeks. Black mascara comes off on my fingers. “I want time to leap forward, past all this pain. I don’t want to go through this.”
“I’ve heard time travel may be possible someday, but for now, you need to let it out. Scream and yell.”
“I don’t want to scream and yell. I’m okay now. I’m going to put some books away.” I leave my empty cup on the counter and stride down the hall, my chin up. In the Self-Help section, a bunch of used paperbacks are piled in a corner.
The Woman Alone
,
Private Lies
,
First Aid for the Betrayed….
The Woman Alone
,
Private Lies
,
First Aid for the Betrayed….
I pick up one book, then another, and throw them against the wall. Each one hits with a thud and tumbles to the floor. The only other person in here, a round woman in a purple bonnet, gives me a startled look and hurries out of the room.
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