Tentyrian Legacy (26 page)

Three chocolates, three vanillas, and an iced
green tea to go later, I try to hail a cab to Grand Central.
Without one in sight, I end up walking. Fortunately, I’ve given
myself plenty of time. After a block, a weird feeling starts to
creep up on me. I sense I’m being followed. Off and on for the last
couple of months, I’ve definitely had moments that felt like
someone was watching me. I’m probably becoming paranoid. But this
time, it feels different . . . it’s ominous.

I stop. Pretending to balance the cupcakes
and reach into my purse for my sunglasses, I look behind me. I
notice that the same man who was behind me in line at the bakery is
now walking a short distance away. It’s probably a coincidence.

When I get to the station I check the arrival
board. The 9:07 is on time and on track 26. I still can’t shake the
feeling of being watched. So I decide to walk to track 25 and
pretend to wait. If I am really being followed, I don’t want him to
know where I’m going. He’s probably a pervert. At 9:06 I run to
track 26 and get on right before the doors close. Fortunately, I
manage to find a row with an empty seat in the middle, separating
me from another train passenger who is busily reading his paper. I
don’t see the cupcake man. But again, I’m probably just being
paranoid . . . I did barely sleep.

I close my eyes and put in my earbuds,
turning on my classical mix. “Don’t be naïve, Arianna,” I hear him
say. Damn it. I need to talk this out with Raad; he always gives
the best advice. Maybe he has a new herbal infusion that will help
clear my head. Today wasn’t the new day I thought it would be. For
now, I let my thoughts take me where they want—to Maximos.

I wonder how he manages to look so good. Not
a wrinkle or extra ounce of fat. Rather than making his athletic
build look awkward, his tux last night enhanced it. The man was
born to wear formal wear. He should be in his mid-thirties but he
looks much closer to my age. I try to imagine him getting Botox or
eating vegetarian food. No, not him. He is a man’s man through and
through. He probably has a bevy of bimbos. The good-looking ones
always do.

We arrive at the New Canaan platform on time.
Raad is waiting for me with Beau and Luna pulling on their leashes
and barking like psychotic animals. As much as Raad and I are
animal lovers, we aren’t disciplinarians at all. Beau and Luna are
as friendly as can be, but they rule us rather than the other way
around. We talked about taking them to obedience school, but of
course we never followed through. Raad gives me a big bear hug, and
I’m showered with sloppy kisses by the dogs. We pile into Raad’s
car, and with the windows rolled down, the dogs continue to bark at
the passing scenery. It makes it difficult to have a conversation.
But this is what I’m used to, and it’s bliss to my ears.

As we drive along the winding roads out of
town, I think about my parents. Coming back to my hometown, but
never actually going home to the house I grew up in, is a strange
notion. I used to get nervous I would somehow see them in passing,
whether it was on the sidewalk on Main Street or driving to the
farmer’s market. But in the past five years, we haven’t had a
chance meeting once. Mostly it’s because we stay at Raad’s house or
go to the park, two places my parents would never go. But they know
I come back—this town is simply too small. Plus, in the last few
years, I’ve run into several of their friends. I wonder what they
think of when they think of me. Do they even miss me?

When I told Raad what happened with Charles,
he was the shoulder I cried on. He suggested that I talk to someone
professionally, aside from him. He worried that my relationship
with my parents had become so convoluted and damaged that I would
always harbor resentment toward them. And he was right; I still am
angry. But I don’t want to get over it. I told Raad that going to
the spa was plenty enough therapy. He never brought it up
again.

We arrive at the house, and I unpack in the
guest room, which for all intents and purposes is my room. Raad let
me decorate it, along with the whole cottage. The summer after my
freshman year, I scoured country consignment and antique shops to
make over what he called home. The little cottage on the Silvermine
River had practically no furniture, and Raad saw nothing wrong with
it. The man would live like a Spartan if I didn’t intervene. He let
me do it because he wanted to appease me and get me to stop shoving
pictures from design magazines in his face. But I know he
appreciates it. When I took a colorful throw, made by hand by his
late wife Seda, and framed it in a shadow box to hang in the living
room, I saw tears in his eyes.

We decide to start tackling the attic right
away. He’s already made significant progress, and there are less
than ten boxes to sort through.

“Wow, I can’t believe you actually started to
clean this place up,” I say in surprise.

“I know. It looks like you’ve finally gotten
your wish. Maybe you can do something with the extra space?”
answers Raad.

“You mean like a decorating project? Really?
You are voluntarily asking me to decorate?” I’m now suspicious.
“But you never wanted me to do anything up here before. What’s
changed?”

Raad looks at me sheepishly. “I was thinking
of putting it on the market.”

“What! You want to move? Why? You can’t. This
is your home!” “It’s just something I was thinking about. Maybe
moving to the beach . . .”

“But where? Florida? California? Outside the
US? There are a lot of beaches.” My voice is panicked as I spit out
my questions rapid fire. “Ari, my dear, I was just thinking of
moving over to Darien or Westport. It wouldn’t be any farther for
you to come visit. I don’t need all this space, and I think Beau
and Luna would love the ocean.” I

breathe a sigh of relief.

“Do you want me to have a heart attack?”

“I didn’t think you were going to get so
worked up.” Raad looks concerned. He puts a comforting hand on my
shoulder. “Are you sure you are all right? You seem
apprehensive.”

“You’re right, I’m not being myself. I had
this weird and terrible interview yesterday and I don’t know . . .
I’m just unsettled.”

“Then let’s pause on the sorting and I’ll
make you some tea.”

“That would be great,” I say appreciatively.
“If you have any magic potions to stick in there—please feel
free.”

We head down the creaking staircase and into
the kitchen. Raad makes my favorite, and we sit in the little
garden that the kitchen opens on to. The sun shines on my face,
relaxing me as I sip the warm beverage from my Adirondack chair.
Coming out here is so much better than the Hamptons. It’s quiet,
peaceful, and without the pretentious- ness of the Manhattan crowd.
But then again, how pretentious could it be out here? It’s just me,
Raad, and the dogs.

“I’m going to miss this place if you sell
it,” I say.

“I know. I will too.” Raad’s voice is equally
wistful. “But things can change, Ari, for the better.” I look at
him skeptically.

“Tell me about this interview,” he asks. I
lay out my story as Raad listens patiently.

“So that’s what happened . . . I handled it
completely wrong,” I say, frustrated.

“Well to be fair, you were expressing what
you felt at the time.”

“I was, but that feeling was and still is
utter confusion.”

“Do you want my opinion, Ari?” “Of
course.”

“It sounds like you are attracted to this
man, and it sounds like you want the job, but . . .”

“Yes, there is always a but . . .”

“But you are scared of what will happen if
you admit that attraction or take the opportunity—which represents
everything you hate.”

“What do I hate?” “Taking a chance.”

He nailed it. He always does, and he doesn’t
read minds like me. I let out a sigh.

“It’s too late, though. The offer
expired.”

“Something tells me that if they were
pursuing you that hard, they will make an exception if you change
your mind.”

“Maybe.” I’m doubtful.

“Ari, you are responsible for getting what
you want out of life. But if you fight change, you will stagnate.”
I know he’s right.

“I don’t mean to pry where I’m not wanted,
but you do realize you haven’t had a relationship in four
years?”

“I have plenty of time, though. I’m only
twenty-four. And that’s not true, I go out on dates.”

“Yes you do. But they are all first dates
only. Right?”

“Yes. I just haven’t met anyone I want to go
on a second with.” “Okay. And when are all of your first
dates?”

“Thursdays.”

“And where do you go to dinner—every time?”
“Locanda Verde.”

“And do you let him pick you up?” “No, I meet
him there.”

“Do we see a pattern here, Ari?”

“Yes, I get your point. I know it’s weird and
freakishly routine. But I think of it like a science experiment. If
I am going to test if a relationship can go somewhere, then I need
to control for certain things . . . like when, where, and how the
date takes place.” Raad doesn’t say anything. He just sips his tea
and suns his face. “I’ve been really happy with the way things are.
I like my job, I like my friends, and I like my life.” He opens one
eye and squints at me. “Fine. I’m going to call Leo on Monday and
see if the job is still available.” He smiles. Raad always manages
to get me to the place where I need to be. “Do you want a cupcake?
I brought them for tonight, but I could use a pick-me-up.”

“Absolutely.”

“Stay right there. I’ll grab them.”

I bring out the cupcakes on a blue and white
Chinese platter. Like two naughty kids, we spoil our lunch.

“So I found something when I was cleaning out
the attic,” Raad says, brushing the crumbs off his wrinkled khakis.
The man doesn’t iron and certainly doesn’t make use of the one I
bought him. I should call the maid and ask her to do his ironing;
he’ll never remind her. Mental note, check.

“And what’s that?”

“I’m not sure exactly, but it looks like a
journal.” “Can’t you read it?”

“No, that’s the problem. The text is pretty
faded and the paper is crumbling in some places. I didn’t recognize
the language, and I didn’t want to touch it any more than I did;
otherwise I’ll ruin it.”

“It sounds really old. Can I see it?”

“It’s with a friend of mine back at Yale—you
remember Professor Sorrell. He is an expert on languages, and I
asked him if he could translate it.”

“Well that’s exciting! A Raad relic,” I say
thoughtfully.

“It was in a trunk that actually belonged to
my father, buried at the bottom. I don’t know why I didn’t know of
it before. Anyway, Sorrell said he would get back to me next week
when he had a chance to look at it.”

“Do you think there is anything more in the
attic like it?” “Probably not. I’m pretty sure everything else up
there is Seda’s clothes.” Sadness washes over his face. I place my
hand on his. “Do you still miss her?” I ask.

“Every day. She was the love of my life. One
day, I hope you will find that same happiness.”

“You know I can go through those boxes
myself. Do you want me to take the clothes over to the Salvation
Army?”

“I can help. It’s not going to make me cry, I
promise,” he says with a wink.

“I’ve never even seen you cry.”

“You never watched Titanic with me, or The
Blair Witch Project.” We sit in companionable silence enjoying the
sun. My stomach is starting to cramp with all the sugar I just
shoved into my body.

“I made dinner reservations tomorrow night at
Bonne Nuit. I was thinking tonight we could grill,” Raad says.

“Sounds great. In that case, I should
probably take a run and work off these calories. Do you want to
come?”

“Not on this stomach. But why don’t you go
ahead and take Beau? Luna’s arthritis has been bothering her, so
leave her here.”

“Okay. I’ll be back in a couple of
hours.”

I give him a quick kiss on the cheek and run
inside to change. We’ll clean the attic later. It really is a
beautiful day, and we should enjoy it while it lasts. I’m pretty
sure I saw something in the weather report about late afternoon
showers. Beau and Luna start jumping up and down as they see me
rifling through the leash basket by the door. “Now Luna, I can’t
take you but I’ll give you a biscuit instead.” I reward both dogs
with treats and lead Luna outside to sit with Raad while I take
Beau for our run.

We start with a fast-paced walk on the gravel
road. I notice Beau has gotten a bit chunky, so this will be good
for him. Picking up the pace, we start to jog and veer onto the
running trail that goes into the woods. This is one of my favorite
routes. It’s hot, but the trees offer shade as we run through.
After an hour, Beau gets fatigued. I also start to hear the
rumblings of thunder. Good, some rain will help wipe this summer
humidity away. Our jog winds back to a walk so we can cool down.
Raindrops start to patter on my head as they sneak between the
trees.