An Illusion of Trust (Sequel to The Brevity of Roses) Page 9

  “The first day.”

  “Be serious.”

  “Okay. When you didn’t jump my bones an hour after you met me.”

  He sighs and shakes his head. “You did not fall in love with me the first day,” he says.

  “You’re right; it was day seventeen. You had this one curl that kept falling in your eyes …”

  “Are you capable of taking my question seriously?”

  “Apparently not.”

  He sighs again. “You know what cinched the deal for me?”

  “Wow. ‘Cinched the deal.’ How romantic.”

  “Do you know?”

  I gaze at the ceiling for a moment and then say, “My hair?”

  “I do love it, but no. It was watching you cook that first time.”

  “You’re weird.”

  “Shared interests are important in a relationship.”

  “Well then, I guess it’s a good thing I can cook.”

  He frowns. “We share other interests.”

  “Yeah, like the thing you’re thinking about when my cooking turns you on.”

  “That too, but we both love to travel—which we will get a chance to do again, eventually.”

  I hold up three fingers. “Three things. And that’s it.”

  “Reading.”

  “Whoa. Don’t we sound exciting.”

  “Being good parents.”

  Pow . Sucker punch. He’s twisted around to the mother discussion after all. “Jalal, this is not—”

  “When you first told me about your mother, we were sitting at this table. I thought I listened well, but I must have missed the most important part.”

  I won’t talk about her again. And I’m not going to cry. I know exactly which secret of his to bring up to end this. I move from my chair to his lap. “Well, I didn’t miss a thing, Mr. Hunk of the Month.” I expect him to push me away. He doesn’t. He just looks at me through eyes dampened by pity. I want to claw them out of his head. Instead, I jump up and run out the front door.

  I teeter on the edge of the top step. I don’t have the car keys and I’m not dressed for walking in the night air. The screen door opens behind me. “If you touch me, I swear I’ll scream.” I say that, but I won’t do it. I’m afraid I might not be able to stop. He steps up behind and enfolds me.

  “This wind will chill you. Come inside.”

  I let him lead me. He doesn’t head back to the kitchen or even stop in the living room, except to turn off the lights. He takes me to the bedroom. “We need to sleep,” he says.

  Jalal is unusually quiet during the drive back to Coelho. He didn’t even hear Adam trying to tell him about the cows he saw out the window. I had to poke him. He’s not mad at me, just worried, I guess. Our last day in Bahía was strained because I could tell he and Jennie wanted to get me to talk, but I didn’t give them the chance. I didn’t know what to say, then. Now I do.

  “Jalal?” I wait until he glances over, so I know he’s listening. “It’s not that I think I am a bad mother. I just don’t want to become one. All new mothers go a little overboard, and I know I’m not a new mother anymore, but most women grew up with an example of a good mother, and I grew up with a mother like Becky. I started way in the red, so I had a lot to learn, and I think I have learned a lot. I’m sure I have more to learn, I mean, as kids grow, there’s always new stuff, but I think I’ve caught up for now, so I’ll try harder to relax. I think I can do that. I know I can. Plus, we moved, so I had all that stress on top of Mia Graces’ birth, and a strange house, and a whole new town to learn my way around. It just freaked me out a little, but I’ve gotten used to all that now, so I’m fine. I’m really fine. And that’s all my mother has to do with anything. Okay?”

  His smile is weak, but he takes my hand. So, that’s settled.

  Eight

  Jalal has planned another dinner party. I’m not as nervous about this as I used to be. Since Christmas, we’ve exchanged dinners with several couples, not counting Judith and Hank, and gone to as many cocktail parties. I sip one glass of wine and listen a lot. Jalal’s friends don’t know what to do with me. I’m a curiosity—too young to be their peer, but too old or too mature, to relate to as they do their children. Mostly, they politely ignore me.

  Tonight at our table we have Judith and Hank, Aza and Paul, and Diane and her friend Scott. I’ve never even heard him mentioned before tonight. Since he’s not a writer or poet, but looks at Jalal as moony-eyed as Diane does, I assume he’s a fake date. I’ve watched Diane these last few weeks. I don’t know why Aza enjoys her company so much. I don’t trust her. Is it obvious only to me that Diane is interested in more than Jalal’s poetry?

  “My compliments to the chef,” Scott says, turning to me.

  “That would be Jalal,” Diane says before I get the chance.

  “Really,” Scott says, peering at Jalal as though amazed that the luscious mortal sitting at his end of the table could perform such magic with food.

  “The man still can’t grill a decent steak, though,” Hank says.

  “And how is your chateaubriand these days?” Jalal counters. We all laugh and, for a moment, I forget that I don’t like Diane.

  After dessert, they all move to the living room while I slip into the kitchen for a minute to listen to the monitor. Kristen is reading to Adam, and Mia Grace imitates her in babbles. When I join the others, they’re talking about education. Please don’t let anyone ask me where I went to college.

  “Oh, Renee,” Diane says, “I’ve been meaning to ask you, where will Adam attend kindergarten?”

  I’m too surprised at her question to respond, but Jalal doesn’t jump in. All eyes are on me.

  “You’ve started the process, right?” she says.

  “Adam’s just turning two,” I say.

  She laughs. “Birth is not too early to start planning. All the best schools have waiting lists.”

  “For kindergarten?”

  “Absolutely. For preschool too. Surely he’s been accepted at your chosen preschool.”

  “We hadn’t talked about that yet.”

  “Oh my. It’s probably already too late then. These schools don’t take just any child. They screen the child and the parents.” She turns to Jalal and smiles. “Your income level is a major plus, of course, and your being a published author will move Adam up a few notches too. They appreciate the draw of celebrity.” When she looks back at me, her smile takes on an edge. “And you, Renee?”

  “Me?”

  “What qualifications do you have that might benefit your children?”

  I hate this woman. I despise her. And I’m angry at myself for letting her sit here and humiliate me. She’d love it if I gave her the satisfaction of answering with the “none” she expects. I stand abruptly. “Excuse me,” I say, “I heard a cry from the nursery.” I pray I look steady on my feet as I leave the room. I reach the top of the stairs before the tears win out.

  I didn’t really hear a sound from the nursery, but I can’t go there anyway, because I don’t want the kids to see me crying. In my room, I flop down on the bed and pull a pillow over my head. I’ll stay here until I calm down and then take over for Kristen. It’s rude to abandon our guests, but I can’t face Diane again tonight. I won’t. Thirty seconds later, someone jerks the pillow away.

  “Get up.” Judith pulls me to my feet to emphasize her order. “Blow your nose, fix your makeup, and get your ass downstairs. Now.” She pushes me toward the bathroom.

  “I’m not—”

  “I’ll tell you what you’re not. You’re not going to let that bitch get the upper hand.”

  I stare at her in disbelief. She feels the same way I do about Diane? She snaps her fingers at me. “Okay. Okay,” I say.”

  Jalal looks relieved when I return to the living room a few minutes later. “Are they all right?” he asks.

  “It was nothing,” I say. “Sorry for rushing out.” Diane opens her mouth, but I beat her to it. “You know, Diane, I’m concerned
that wealth and celebrity are considered significant qualifications for ‘the best schools’ in town. I’d prefer to enroll Adam in a school with higher standards.” I glance around. “Can I freshen anyone’s drink?”

  Later, when I enter the bedroom after a final check on Mia Grace and Adam, Jalal lays his book aside and asks, “Should we check out schools tomorrow?”

  “That’s up to you.” I cross to the bathroom to get ready for bed. When I open my eyes after rinsing my face, the mirror reflects Jalal standing in the archway behind me.

  “We should make these decisions together, Renee.”

  I dry my face and jam the towel over the rack. I want to slap him, but I don’t know why. “I’m tired. Can we discuss this another time?” He blocks my way when I try to pass. “Jalal, please …”

  His fingertip traces the line of my shoulder. “Are you too tired, Mrs. Vaziri?”

  So that’s why he’s not mad at me for disrupting his dinner party. Does he really think I don’t know he wants me only because tall, beautiful, blonde Diane’s been turning him on all night? Screw that. I look him in the eye. “Yes, I am.”

  For a second, he looks surprised and then disappointed. I look away before his need stirs mine.

  He turns off the bathroom light and follows me to bed. “Will it keep you awake if I read?”

  “No.”

  I’m not all that tired, but even if I were, I’d still be lying here pretending to sleep. I should have said yes to Jalal. I’ve never said no. Now I’ve broken something—a vow, a promise, a trust. I’m sorry. Ask me again. Please ask me. Touch me. Want me. Please.

  All my willing him to read my mind this time is a waste. He ignores me.

  When he closes his book and turns off his lamp sometime later, I’m still awake. In less than five minutes, he’s snoring softly, a contented purr. The dark sucks me in and does not exhale. I’m left to contend with ghosts.

  This is the kind of house most people only dream of living in. I hate it. There are too many rooms. Empty rooms. Ghosts behind the closed doors. How did Meredith stand it all those years alone here? Maybe she didn’t sense them. Or maybe they didn’t bother her, because they knew she would be one of them. I lie here in the dark and feel her outside the door, waiting for me to drift off, so she can rush in to stand glaring over me. On particularly bad nights, I imagine she creeps up to lie between us, alternately whispering her love in Jalal’s ear and threats in mine. She’s the reason I sleep fitfully, seeming always to wake on the last note of a scream.

  I am losing my mind.

  Jalal gets Adam dressed while I’m nursing Mia Grace. This has always been my favorite time of day with my babies, both of us still drowsy and warm from bed. It’s such a peaceful cuddle. But this morning she pulls away from the breast when she hears Adam and Jalal in the hall, heading for the stairs. At only six months old, she knows they’re going to breakfast and wants to join them. It saddens me to realize she’s going to wean herself early. She’s more independent than Adam. She’s more like me.

  Jalal is cooking oatmeal and talking to Azadeh when I enter the kitchen. “And local schools were good enough for yours,” he says.

  “But that was in suburban Seattle. You don’t know the school system here.”

  I buckle the baby in her high chair and pour more milk for Adam.

  “This is only preschool,” Jalal says.

  “Preschool today is serious teaching. And we went to private schools.”

  “Only in Iran, not in Paris or Seattle.”

  “But if we’d stayed in Iran, with Baba’s income and social status, we would have continued in them.”

  Jalal has already set out mashed banana for Mia Grace, so I pour a cup of coffee and sit to feed her. I don’t want to be drawn into their conversation. Aza clearly takes Diane’s side, which means Jalal will soon be persuaded.

  “The public school system in Iran was nothing compared to the one here,” Jalal says. “How much serious teaching can you do with a three-year-old anyway?”

  “You’d be surprised. And most importantly, he’ll learn to socialize.”

  “And heaven forbid Adam socializes outside his class.” Damn. I can’t believe I said that.

  Aza turns to me, open-mouthed. “Well … no,” she says. “That’s not what I meant.”

  “What did you mean?” Jalal asks.

  Aza sighs and shakes her head. “Jalal, you can’t have your kind of money and pretend you’re just Joe Average.”

  “What you mean is because I have money I am obligated to be a snob.”

  Mia Grace grabs the spoon to get my attention because I’m staring at Jalal in disbelief. He’s on my side? I scoop up another bite of banana for her.

  “It’s not snobbish to want the best for your children,” Aza says. I didn’t have to look to know she faced me again when she said that. And that hurts. When did she switch from admiring me to considering me a bad mother?

  “Low blow, Aza,” Jalal says. “You know we want the best for Adam, but we will decide what that is.” He dishes out oatmeal and carries the bowls to the table. “Besides, if Diane is right, we have no choice but to enroll him in a ‘Joe Average’ preschool. And I am willing to bet all my money—and even my ‘celebrity’—that attending such a school will not exclude him from Harvard.”

  I look up in time to see him give me a wink.

  I follow Judith to her couch, take a seat beside her, and then immediately stand and pace. “I need your help.”

  “You said that on the phone, so please satisfy my curiosity and tell me what you need my help for.”

  “I need to fit in. We had a different life in Bahía. It was okay that I was ignorant of all the things that matter here in Coelho. Now I need to learn the rules, the social rules. Where to shop, how to dress, how to … everything, just everything. I’m an embarrassment to Jalal.”

  “Jalal said that?”

  “I’m not so stupid that I can’t tell. You’re all sophisticated. Educated. Poised. Freaking rich and everything that comes from that.”

  Judith shakes her head. “This is just your reaction to Diane’s nastiness at your dinner party.”

  “It has nothing to do with that.”

  “Oh. So you just woke up this morning and decided you need a total makeover?”

  “I’ve been thinking about it for a while.”

  Judith lifts one brow. “Since you moved to Coelho?”

  “Yes.”

  “And now it’s critical because …”

  “It’s just time.” Judith smiles at me. “I’m serious,” I tell her.

  She laughs. “I know you are. Now tell me why?”

  “I told you why. Will you help me?”

  “No.”

  I stare at her, my mouth hanging open. Well, screw you. “Thanks for nothing, Judith.” I grab my purse and start toward the door.

  “Sit your ass down.”

  I stop and turn around.

  “Come back here and sit. Please.”

  I sit in one of the chairs opposite the couch.

  “I’ll discuss this with you,” she says, “but only if you tell me the real reason.”

  “I’m tired of feeling like … like I’m a barmaid crashing the rich people’s party. I want to fit in.”

  Judith nods, looking past me and smiling as though she has a secret. “You want me to teach you to be pretentious.”

  “No. Well … I guess.”

  “And this has nothing to do with Diane?”

  Geez. Do I have a cartoon balloon above my head revealing my thoughts to everyone? Yes, yes, yes, it has everything to do with Diane. “No, it doesn’t,” I tell her.

  Judith leans toward me, forcing me to look her in the eye.

  “Why?” I say. “Should I be concerned about her?”

  “Yes.”

  For a moment, I’m not sure I heard her right. “Yes? So … she reminds you of Meredith too?”

  Judith sits back and crosses her legs, ready to do business n
ow. “Yes, she does, but only in a superficial way. She has some physical resemblance. She’s educated, a member of the academic community.”

  “I thought Jalal was over Meredith, but—”

  “You’re never over someone you loved. Truly loved,” she says. “You just move on. You make room in your heart for someone else.”

  “So when he compares me to Meredith—”

  “When?”

  “Well, he must. Of course he does. And now, with Diane fawning all over him, it’s obvious she’s everything I’m not. She’s everything Meredith was.”

  “No. Diane isn’t half the person Meredith was. She’s a cheap knockoff.”

  I consider that for a moment. “Even if that’s true, she still reminds Jalal of Meredith. She reminds him of what he had.”

  “When I look at Jalal, I see a man who’s in love. A man who’s happier than anyone probably deserves to be. He looks nothing like a man who regrets his choice.”

  That’s what she doesn’t understand. He didn’t choose me. I threw myself at him. He was vulnerable, and I knew it. I took advantage of that. I say, “But when we met,” I say, “he was … he made that choice at a bad time.”

  Judith leaves me hanging while she studies her nails. Finally, she says, “We tried to keep in contact with Jalal after he moved away, but he made it hard, and then he cut us off completely for a while. I knew he was depressed—I would have been shocked if he wasn’t—but he told us he was dealing with it.”

  “He lied. He kept Meredith alive by writing about her constantly.”

  “So you think he married you in haste and now he’s only pretending to be happy?”

  “Not completely. I believe he’s happy about being a father. That’s not an act.”

  “But he’s sorry he married you?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe he wasn’t until now. Until he saw what he could have chosen.”

  Judith studies me for a moment. “You’re right and you’re wrong, Renee. Believe me, I know Diane’s type. She’s well aware that she reminds Jalal of Meredith. She’s counting on that. And every time you let her see your insecurity, you give her more ammunition to go in for the kill.”

  “And how am I wrong?”

  “Jalal doesn’t want a Meredith clone. He wants you. Rather, he wants the Renee he married. I think he’s a little confused right now because you’ve changed, which is why I want nothing to do with helping you change even more.”