53 Letters For My Lover (22 page)

“Do you always ask for this suite?”

“I ask for the best.” He says it with no trace of pretentiousness. “Come sit with me.”

I curl up next to him. It’s like we can’t go too long without the feel of the other.

“I won’t be able to see you for a while,” I say.

“No?”

“The kids are home for the summer and Hafez is taking some time off.”

We watch sea gulls swoop down into the water, and the bobbing sails of boats across the lake.

“Troy?”

“Hmmm?”

“Don’t think I didn’t notice.”

“Notice what?”

“No red condoms today.”

“Never again.” His eyes crinkle at the corners.

“No more Scary Cherry?”

“No, but I kinda like the way that sounds. You may be on to something, Beetroot.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean like a cosmetic company that manufactures just one shade of red. I can totally see women with Scary Cherry lips and Scary Cherry toes and Scary Cherry cheeks.”

“You’re crazier than I thought.” I laugh. I’m crazier than I thought too. About him.

“I wish you’d kept the cell phone,” he says.

“Hey, we have our work email set up now. You can message me.”

“What about beetbutt? Have you logged in recently?”

“[email protected]?” I laugh. “I’d forgotten about that.”

“Maybe I should leave a reminder so you don’t forget.” He gives my bottom a good spank.

“Ouch!” I rub it in sore indignation. “I think that’s my cue to leave.”

“Stay.” He pulls me back. “I’ll kiss it better.”

I stretch out on top of him, feeling his hand slide under the robe. “I really have to go.”

“But we’re in the middle of expanding our line. We now have two viable shades of red: Scary Cherry and Beet Butt.”

“I. Have. To. Go.”

“You can’t. Your toes aren’t dry yet.”

“They’ve been dry for ages.” I laugh.

“Fine, but don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he says as I step inside.

I’m almost dressed when he comes in and helps me button up.

“I blew off a major meeting to see you today,” he says. “You’re no good for business.”

“You don’t say.” I lift the hair away from my neck, letting him fix my collar.

“Uh-huh. You’re hazardously distracting.” He brings his hips into full contact with mine.

“And you, Mr. Heathgate, are completely insatiable.”

“Completely.” He grins before handing me my handbag. “Have you ever thought about getting your broker’s license?”

“Me? Do what Bob does?” I laugh. “I’m fine with being an agent.”

“Don’t settle for fine, Shayda. You’re a fantastic negotiator. I think it’s because you’re so good at making everyone happy. You should look into it.”

He gives me a long, slow kiss goodbye, the kind that will stay on my mind. I linger, not sure when I’ll feel the full, firm crescent of his mouth on me again.

I walk into the hallway, straightening my skirt as I wait for the elevator. A man walks out, but I’m too busy smiling at the shiny red paint peeking through my open-toed shoes.

“Shayda.”

I freeze.

Baba.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, holding the elevator open.

“I was just...dropping off some papers.” How easily the lie rolls out of me.

“Ah, for a minute I thought I’d caught you in the act. You know, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.” He laughs like it’s an absurd inside joke, because it’s something that can never be.

I want to scratch his eyes out. Because he’s right. I made sure I married someone as different from him as possible. I never expected that I’d be the one who would turn into him.

“I didn’t know you were in town,” I say.

He shrugs. “You know how your mother gets when she finds out. Why am I here? Who have I come to see? It eats her up inside. I can feel her curses raining down on me.”

I nod. “Well, see you around.”

He pushes the door aside as it starts to close. “Listen Shayda, I...uh...”

Oh dear god. Not here. Not when Troy can come striding out of the room at any minute.

I watch as Baba fumbles. I notice the age spots on his hands, the way his lids droop on his eyes, like a tired, crinkled roof, sliding lower every year.

“Maybe we can meet for coffee while I’m in town?” he asks.

I see us sitting across the table, sugar cubes and awkward silences, like two strangers stuck together on a train.

“Sure,” I reply.

Baba smiles. I know he won’t call. He knows he won’t call, but it’s not about that. It’s about me accepting his olive branch. And how can I not, when I am trailing in his footsteps myself?

The door closes, separating our worlds—the Apple and the Tree.

August 4th, 1996

“Are you kidding?” asks
Ryan. “You’re going to serve us year-old cake?”

“It’s a tradition,” replies Jayne. “And it’s been carefully preserved. I didn’t even have to re-frost it.”

“I don’t know.” Ryan eyes the thawed out top of Jayne and Matt’s wedding cake. “Can I just get another hamburger instead?”

“Ellen.” Jayne turns to his wife. “Can you talk some sense into my brother?”

The deep, heavy rumble of a motorbike cuts her short.

“Holy shit!” Ryan gets up as the fire-engine red steel and chrome machine rolls into the driveway. “I’ll be damned!” He races off towards it.

Tough boots, snug jeans and a wicked black leather jacket—trouble cruising for a place to land. Even with the sleek, dark helmet, I know the sexy, assured way Troy carries himself—feet planted wide, the broad measure of his shoulders, the chest that cradles my cheek.

“Who’s
that
?” asks one of the guests.

“Down, girl,” says Jayne. “There’s a waiting list.”

“Does it look like I care?” she replies.

“That’s a Ducati 916,” says Hafez, more interested in the hardware.

The men make their way, gathering around the bike like schoolboys around a shiny, new toy.

“Helllllooo?” yells Jayne. “Cake-cutting going on here!”

“Come on, guys,” says Matt. “Before my wife serves my head instead of cake.”

“Hello, Jayne.” Troy gives her a peck on the cheek.

“Making a splash as always?”

“Sorry. Bad timing?”

“You’ll just have to make it up to me,” replies Jayne. “Maybe a ride on that sexy thing after wards?”

“You got it, Mrs. Cavelry.”

“Happy Anniversary!” We clap as Jayne and Matt cut into the cake.

My eyes find Troy’s over the cheering. I’m immobilized by the rawness he pins me down with. That intense sexual tension, yes, but something else, a slow inner smoldering, like a heart on fire.

“Where are Natasha and Zain?” I ask Hafez.

“In the back with the other kids. Matt set up a trampoline and a sprinkler to keep them busy.”

“I’ll go check on them.” I need to get away, to breathe. I’m completely unprepared to see him.

“Shayda.” Jayne stops me. “Would you mind rustling some lunch up for Troy?” She turns to him. “I should let you go hungry for showing up so late, but there are lots of leftovers inside. Tell Shayda what you want.”

Tell Shayda what you want. I almost laugh at the irony of it.

“I thought you weren’t coming,” I say as he follows me into the kitchen.

“I rescheduled New York.”

I can feel the heat of his body behind me as I open the large foil dishes. Hamburgers, chicken, corn on the cob, coleslaw....

His hand halts mine as I reach for the plate, pressing my palm flat against the counter. His other arm comes up from behind, circling my waist.

“Troy—”

He swings me around and captures my lips in a rough, savage kiss, branding me with his possession, rendering me defenseless. I push against him, but he forces one leg between mine, slanting his mouth to deepen the kiss. His hands slide into my hair, tugging my head back, plundering my mouth with his tongue. Blood roars through my veins, a rushing boom-boom-boom, drowning out where I am, who I am. My body ceases to struggle.

“Why haven’t you returned any of my calls?” His lips press against my temple.

Because I’m scared. Because each time I see him, it’s a little more overwhelming than before. Because I’m afraid it’ll build up to a tsunami-like crescendo and come crashing down on me. I cling to him, inhaling the rich, intoxicating smell of him and wind and leather.

“Hello? Anyone here?” A woman’s voice asks from the entrance.

We break apart at the sound of approaching footsteps.

“Hey!” It’s the girl who was admiring him outside. “I hear you want some lunch.” She holds out her hand. “I’m Tanya.”

“Troy.”

“So did you find anything yet?” She looks at me, then him, and then the counter.

“You know what? I’m going to leave the two of you to it,” I reply. “I have to check on the kids.”

Troy’s eyes narrow, but he doesn’t say anything. He slides out of his jacket and gives Tanya that knees-to-jello smile.

“I think we’ll manage just fine,” he says to her, without looking at me. “Won’t we? Tanyahhh.”

I leave the kitchen, my heart dragging like a wet rag behind me. I follow the trail of kids’ laughter outside, but there’s no sign of Natasha or Zain.

“I can’t find them.” I say when I return to Hafez.

“Here.” He hands me his half-eaten cake. “I’ll go take a look.”

Troy comes out of the house laughing, with Tanya literally eating out of his hand—carrot sticks or celery or whatever’s on his plate. The two of them sit under the tree, away from the rest of the party. I know what he’s doing. He’s wringing my wet rag of a heart until it’s all twisted and turned, punishing me for keeping us apart.

The cake tastes like saw dust in my mouth. I laugh at something Matt says, because everyone’s laughing, so it must be funny.

Don’t look, don’t look, I tell myself, but my eyes wander back to Troy...the exact moment when he leans over and kisses Tanya.

A high pitched shriek comes from the lake. Everyone pauses.

Then we hear it again.

“Natasha!” I drop my plate and start running towards the water.

She comes crashing through the trees.

“Natasha! Are you all right?”

“It’s Zain. He’s in the water.” She catches her breath. “We were playing on the boat and he fell over.”

I can’t get to the dock fast enough, my heart hammering against my ribs. Heavy, urgent footsteps follow me.

“He can’t swim,” I cry.

“Keep her here.” I hear Troy’s voice. And then a splash.

Hafez catches up to me.

“Zain.” I point to the water. “He fell in.”

Another splash as he joins Troy. Matt and Ryan peel off their shirts and dive in.

My knees buckle and hit the hot, splintered wood. I’m vaguely aware of Natasha crying beside me.

One by one, heads come up in the water.

Oh please. Oh please. A flicker of hope bursts to flame each time someone emerges, but no Zain. They come up empty, gasping for air before diving in again.

Every second passes like a time-bomb, ready to detonate inside me, spilling my guts all over the dock.

It’s my fault. My fault, my fault. I was kissing Troy in the kitchen when I should have been looking for Zain. I was distracted by petty jealousies while my son fell in the water. I dropped him at Maamaan’s to spend an afternoon with my lover. This is my punishment. This is my tsunami. Except it’s claimed Zain, not me.

My breath comes in heart-wrenching sobs. How odd it sounds in this serene setting, with the wind rustling through the pines, as if it were just an ordinary afternoon. How can the water look so sparkly? Why is the sky still blue?

There is a loud, sharp intake as someone breaks through the water. Two heads. Oh god. Yes. Yes. I make out Troy’s form, swimming back towards us, towing Zain to shore.

Hafez helps him out of the water and they lay Zain’s body on the dock. His lips are a sickly blue and his eyes remain closed. Troy places two fingers on the inside of Zain’s wrist.

“Call an ambulance,” he says. “Now!”

“My baby.” I crawl up to Zain’s limp form.

Troy puts the heel of his palm on Zain’s breastbone. “Hafez, keep his head still.”

“1,2,3,4,......” Thirty fast, hard chest compressions. An endless stretch of eternity. Then he covers Zain’s mouth with his and pinches hiss nose, tilting his chin up as he gives him a breath. Once, twice. He places his ear close to Zain’s mouth.

Back to 1,2,3,4.....Each number feels like a quick, sharp stabbing of my soul. Hack, hack, hack, hack. The cross around Troy’s neck sways. Life, death, life, death.

“Come on.” He gives Zain another rescue breath. “Come on!”

Pink foam sputters out of Zain’s nose and mouth on the next round of compressions. It’s not clean, like in the movies. It’s ugly and slimy and mucusy. He hurls lungfuls of water with each chest press. He takes a breath, but sucks the water back down. Cough. Sputter. Horrible popping, gurgling sounds. His eyes open, teary and bloodshot.

Troy rolls him to his side. More water. More wretched gasps.

“Get me some blankets from the boat,” shouts Troy. “Where’s that damned ambulance?”

He lifts Zain up from behind, arms around his waist, and squeezes. More water. Hafez covers Zain with a blanket and Troy lays him down again.