The Brevity of Roses (20 page)

Jennie brought his order to the table and squeezed into the seat opposite him. “You have an admirer,” she said and nodded toward the woman. “She’s reading your book.”

Jalal frowned and picked up his fork. “Did you tell her I come here?”

“Now, hon, would I do that? I know why you come in here so late. Did you notice I didn’t call out your name when you came in?” She patted his hand. “You doing all right?”

He had to smile. Jennie was only about ten years older than he was, but she was a born mother hen, like Goli. “I am fine, Jennie. Thank you for asking.”

Jennie looked over his shoulder as she scooted out of the booth. “That girl’s my new summer help. A hard worker.” She leaned down closer to him and whispered, “Pretty too.”

Jalal caught her wink before she turned to go, but took no offense. Jennie made no secret of her worry about his preference for solitude. He finished half his pie before it hit him. He motioned to Jennie.

She brought the coffee pot and topped off his cup.

“Thanks, but I just wanted to ask you something. What is her name?”

“Renee.”

He nodded. “We met a few days … a couple of weeks ago.”

“Oh, yeah? She didn’t mention it,” said Jennie. She stepped aside, sweeping her hand toward Renee. “Go talk to her, then.”

Jalal forced a weak smile, but shook his head. He sat for a moment while his anger churned, then he slipped a twenty under his cup, grabbed his book, and strode to Renee’s table. Not bothering to ask permission, he sat down across from her. She snapped the book shut and shoved it under the tote beside her. Her eyes flickered once across his face before dropping to her hands, now folded on the table. “So,” he said, “you are reading my poetry?”

“I was curious.”

“Before or after you just happened to show up at my house?”

Her head snapped up, eyes wide. “What?”

Jalal stared at her for a moment and then, incensed by her display of innocence, he slid out of the booth and stood with his palms flat on the table, looming over her. “Buying my book does not entitle you to invade my privacy.” Without waiting for a response, he stalked out the door. Before he was three strides down the sidewalk, he heard footsteps rushing up behind him. He stopped and turned.

“Hey,
jerk
,” said Renee, “you forgot the book you were reading.” She held it out to him.

He took it from her, but said nothing.

“Yeah,” she said, “you’re welcome.”

Hoping she would take the hint, he turned and started to walk away.

Renee called after him, “It was after, if you really want to know.”

Jalal stopped again, but did not turn back.

“I had no idea who you were that first day,” she told him. “Or the next time I stopped at your house either.”

He looked at her over his shoulder.

“If I had,” she continued, “I wouldn’t have been surprised.”

“Surprised?”

“You know … when you mentioned your wife.”

He had no precise recall of their conversation, but he never talked to strangers about Meredith. He rarely talked to anyone about her. “Then I apologize for the false accusation.” He tucked the small volume into his sweatshirt pocket. “Good night.”

Before Renee could say anything more, anything about Meredith, Jalal took off at a run, heading back home. Passing not another soul along the empty street, he cut across the bridge and wound through the lanes, every house looming dark and silent, every pounding step echoing from the vacant spaces, every heartbeat taking him down and down and down toward the shore.

It was nearly ten when Jalal woke the next morning, yet he was in no rush to get out of bed. Instead, he lay there tracing the edges of the ceiling with his eyes. If Renee never talked to Jennie about him, how did she know about his book? He needed a cup of tea. If only he could sleep at night, he would have a normal schedule and then he could write again. How long could you continue lying to your agent, screening her calls, before she gave up on you? He should have phoned Maman days ago.
Damn.
Renee called me a jerk. Right to my face.

The fog that had moved in early and thick the night before was only beginning to lift at noon. Even though the tide was just ebbing, he decided to go for it, and if he could not make it past the Point at this time of day, he would have to run the first half of his course twice. Then again, probably nothing prevented him from running both north and south today. Likely few, if any, people would be on the public beach yet. As he feared, the tide stopped him at Blue Point, so he doubled back and then continued south. Running forced him outside his zone of solitude. In the effort to stave off unwanted contact, he had learned to stay aware of his surroundings, to be alert to what moved in and out of his peripheral vision. As Jalal reached the public beach, he spotted her. Renee stood on the top landing of the steps leading down from the pathway.

Her face in profile, she looked out to sea, or possibly, she looked at nothing. Bundled against the chill and damp, with only a few flyaway tendrils escaping the hood of her sweatshirt, he was surprised he knew the shape of her. Her stance, her coloring, the line of her jaw, somehow committed to memory already. Surely, she would see him in seconds—three, two, now—he passed below her. He did not look up. She did not call out to him. Relief and disappointment washed over him in equal measure. He should have waved, at least. Maybe she would be there when he passed by again. If so, he would stop. Just to small talk, be courteous. After all, she had transgressed as a stalker only in his mind. He must have looked like a fool the other night, a bully—a jerk. Yes.
Welcome to Bahia de Sueños, Renee. Meet the town jerk.

Jalal turned back. Not long after he passed the pier, he focused ahead, straining to make out the stairway. Even as he came within yards of it, he could not see her, so when she called his name from behind and to his right, he stumbled and came down too hard on his left foot. With a sort of hop-limp move, he turned toward her.

Aghast, Renee stared at his feet. “Oh god, I’m sorry. Did I cause you to sprain something?”

“No … it is nothing,” he said, trying to catch his breath. “I did not see you.”

“I saw you when you ran by earlier,” she said. “I waited for you to come back so I could say hi.” She pointed. “I was on the stairs.”

As if he had not seen her there earlier, Jalal gulped water from his bottle and let his eyes follow her prompt to the steps. “Well then, hello.”

She laughed. “Hello.”

He circled her slowly, breathing easier now and testing his ankle. “How are you today?”

“I’m great. A little cold.”

He looked for the sun. “The fog will burn off soon.”

She nodded. “Not to bring up a sore subject, but I finished your book.”

“And?”

“Your writing is beautiful.”

“Thank you.” He took another drink and glanced up the beach toward his house. “I really should keep moving. Cool down, you know?”

“Oh! Sure.”

He set off toward his house.

“See you later,” she called.

He kept running, but raised a hand in response.

Twenty-four hours later, Jalal stood before the rack of French reds in Piemonte Wine and Deli. He was studying the bottle of burgundy in his hands when someone sidled up to him. Without a glance, he knew who it was and that both pleased and unnerved him.

“That’s some bargain,” said Renee.

He turned his face toward hers. “You know this vintage?”

Her eyes widened. “I wasn’t serious.”

He frowned, questioning.

She reached out and flicked the price label on the rack. “How much do you think Jennie pays me?”

He hesitated. She was only teasing him, surely. Still, he felt self-conscious as he slipped the bottle in his basket. “Do you shop here often?”

“No.” She glanced around. “I’ve never come in here before. I’m still getting to know my way around town.”

“This is the best place in town for wines and cheeses.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” She wiggled her fingers at him. “Enjoy your wine.”

“Thank you. I will.” He addressed her back because she had already turned away, headed toward the door. Disappointment washed over him and he realized he had been about to invite her to lunch. He blinked in disbelief. How did she have such power to bring out the fool in him? He shook himself. In defiance, he reached for another bottle of the burgundy to add to his basket.

Jalal walked out the door of Vincenza at the same time Renee stepped out of Bahia Bar and started up the stairs sandwiched between the two establishments. “Renee?”

She stopped and turned toward him. “Hey. How are you?”

“Fine.” He peered up the dark stairwell, barely visible in the neon glow from the bar. “Where are you going?”

“Home.” She stepped down onto the sidewalk again.

He tilted his head back. “You live up there?”

“Yeah. Believe it or not, we don’t all live in luxury beach homes.”

“What I meant was I never noticed there was an apartment above here.”

“
Riiight
.”

He gestured toward the bar logo on the apron she wore. “I thought you worked at Jennie’s.”

“I do.” She untied the apron. “I also pick up a few hours here most nights.”

“Ah-h.”

“Oh,
please
. Don’t even pretend you know what it’s like to work for a living.”

Jalal stared her down. “Believe it or not, Renee, I have earned a paycheck or two in my life.”

“Touché.”

He smiled. “Was it a rough shift?”

“Yep.”

They stood looking at each other. The shadows and the muffled sounds of music and voices from the bar lent an awkward intimacy to the moment. Renee’s eyes darted toward Vincenza. “Did you just eat there?”

“Yes.”

“Is their food good?”

“Very.”

“The smells fill my apartment,” she said. “Makes me hungry all the time.”

“I would buy you dinner, but they were closing when I left.”

“Geez, Jalal, I wasn’t asking—”

“I was headed over to Jennie’s. Would you like a cup of coffee?”

“Uh … yeah. Sure.” She backed up the stairs a couple of steps. “I need to change, first. I’ll meet you there.”

“No problem. I will wait.” By the time she entered her apartment, he had second thoughts. Why was he doing this? He felt as though his life had been hi-jacked by some unseen force, constantly spinning Renee across his path. Four days in a row. His usual explanation would be The Fates at work, but that would involve a comparison to his meeting Meredith. Ridiculous. Meredith and Renee had nothing in common. It was only coincidence. Like he had told Renee, this was a small town, a village; he saw the same people all the time. He only took notice of her because she was new here. She would blend into the scenery soon enough.

His car sat ten feet away. He should get in and drive home. Now. Jalal was only two strides from his escape, when he heard Renee coming down the stairs. As if he were headed there all along, he veered to the passenger side and held the door open for her. Regret escalated to panic when he slid into his seat and shut his door, enclosing them in the darkened, intimate space. His brain screamed,
Stop this!
His hand started the car.

“I love your accent,” she said.

“I do not have an accent.”

She laughed. “No? Say my name.”

“Well … maybe a little,” he muttered and pulled into the street.

“You were born in Iran.”

“Indeed.”

“Are you … Muslim?

“No.”

“Will you ever move back home?”

“This is my home; I am an American citizen. I have lived here a long time.”

“How long?”

“Twenty-two years.”

“Wow, that’s almost as long as I’ve been
alive
! Not that you’re old or anything.”

Coffee. They would have one cup of coffee.

“So, um … how old were you when you came to America?”

He hesitated to consider the implication of her switch to subtlety, obvious as it was. “I am forty, Renee.”

“Am I asking too many questions?”

He shrugged. “You are inquisitive. That is a good thing.”

Renee nodded, but she said nothing more as they drove the few blocks to the restaurant. Jennie’s lack of surprise when he walked in with Renee confirmed Jalal’s suspicion he had been a topic of discussion between the two of them. He returned Jennie, Eduardo, and Don’s greetings without looking directly at any of them. His first thought, that sitting at the counter would be a safer—less intimate—choice, was countered by the realization doing so would necessitate sitting closer than in a booth or table. Closer than in the car. While he wrestled with indecision, Renee made the choice.

“Sit,” she said indicating a stool and then stepped behind the counter to pour their coffee herself. “Do you want something to eat?”

Jalal shook his head at the same moment Jennie spoke up. “He’ll have the German chocolate cake.”

Since he had eaten less than half his meal at Vincenza, he did not contradict her. He survived on sugar and caffeine these days.

“So,” said Renee as she took a seat beside him, “what kind of work did you do to earn a paycheck?”