An Illusion of Trust (Sequel to The Brevity of Roses) (15 page)

"I disagree. You need to know what happened to them, so you can move past the trauma of losing them."

"I don't really see how knowing that Nicole turned out to be a junkie—"

"They might need to know how your life turned out too."

That never occurred to me. "I'm sure Amber doesn't remember me."

"But your brother does."

"Maybe, but I …" I stop before I say that I think it's best for me to cut all ties to my past. I want Jalal to forget I was ever Renee Marshall because that's what I've been trying to do since the day I met him. I gulp the last of my tea and pick up a cookie. "You think Adam will mind if I wake him up with this?"

He glares at me, and I assume it's because I've changed the subject, but then he says, "You never wake
me
up with cookies."

"But aren't you happy with the way I put you to sleep, Mr. Vaziri?"

"Indeed, Mrs. Vaziri, indeed. Shall we meet back here tonight?"

I smile and leave him to his tea. Men are far too easy to distract.

J
alal and I put the kids to bed early so we can have a quiet dinner alone. As we take our places at the table, my future flashes before me. In a few years, I'll be just another rich, suburban mom, shopping in my designer jeans, classic pumps, and diamonds, chauffeuring my kids to soccer practice and ballet lessons in a huge, black SUV, scheduling hair, spa, and Botox appointments between luncheons and teas, and attending endless cocktail and dinner parties. In other words, my future sucks.

What's wrong with me? Aza has bloomed since she met Paul, joyfully gliding into the same society I resist. I have a closet full of expensive clothes I don't even like but wear to places I don't want to go, to spend time with people I'd rather not see. Why can't I love all this crap like Aza does?

"Renee?" When I look up at Jalal, he says, "What were you thinking about?"

"Nothing." I pick up my fork.

"I said your name three times before you heard me. Something must be on your mind."

Isn't he the mind reader? I blurt the first thing that comes to me. "I was trying to remember the dates of that next conference you're going to." His eyebrows shoot up at the same instant I realize what a dumb thing I just said.

"You mean the one in San Luis Obispo?" he says. "The one two days from now?"

"Oh. Yeah."

"Is something wrong? Let me rephrase that. Something is wrong. Please, tell me what."

I move my zucchini away from my chicken breast, neither of which I've tasted. I lay down my fork and take a sip of wine. "Maybe Kristen and I will take the kids to Bahía for the weekend."

"All right, but … did you forget I plan to leave the conference Saturday afternoon? Though Aza and Diane are staying for the closing session, I have no reason to."

"Great, so you can join us at our house." He says nothing. I can't read his expression. "Jalal?"

"Yes, fine. We can stay there until Sunday evening."

"Or longer—oh, right. Kristen has school."

"I could drive her back here and then rejoin you."

"Perfect." I pick up my fork again. "So Aza and Diane are sharing a room at the conference, right?"

"As far as I know."

We eat in silence for a minute, and then he says, "I could skip getting sloshed in the hotel bar and arguing the finer points of punctuation with a dozen other writers Friday night if you want me to drive to Bahía."

"Don't you have a breakfast thing on Saturday?"

"I can drive back."

"Don't be silly. Besides, how can you pass up a great punctuation debate?"

A couple of hours after we arrive in Bahía de Sueños, I answer a knock on the door. Seconds later, I'm standing in the doorway of the guest bathroom where Kristen and Brittany are finishing up an hour's worth of primping. "There are two guys standing on the porch asking for you," I say. In the mirror, Kristen exchanges a glance with Brittany before turning to me, wearing a look of total surprise. I'm not falling for it. First she begged to bring Brittany with us, and now a guy for each arrives. "Don't insult me by pretending you had no idea they were coming."

"Okay," she says, "I knew they might stop by, but—"

"Driving a half hour from Coelho does not qualify as a 'stop by.'" She and Brittany give themselves another once over in the mirror and then turn to leave. I'm still blocking the bathroom door. Kristen gets the message that the boys will be kept standing on the porch until she comes clean.

"We invited them," Kristen says, but when Brittany gasps, she amends that. "Okay, it was all my idea, but they're
nice
guys. You know, Renee?"

"I get it, Kristen. But your mother's rules are still in effect here." I step out of the way. The girls each pause to take a deep breath before they file nonchalantly down the hall toward the front door. They elect to sit on the porch with the boys.

Even though Adam has started balking at morning naps, insisting they're only for babies, he took one with Mia Grace today, so I'm free to search for a book to read. The shelves in the living room are half empty now. Jalal and I change our minds about books we left behind, taking a few at a time back with us after visits here, so the choices are getting slim. Most of the ones left here are duplicates of those on the shelves of the room in Coelho he calls the office, even though library is more fitting because there are a gazillion books in it.

I take down several books and thumb through them, but I'm not really looking at the words. I'm restless. No. I'm searching for something. I've felt this way ever since we moved away from Bahía. Maybe we left something behind here—some essential ingredient, the emotional equivalent of salt. Our life is bland without it. If I can figure out what we lost, maybe I can get it back.

When I pull out another book, the one next to it comes along and drops to the floor. A photo slips partway out. All that's visible is part of a bare leg. I smile. This must be one of Jalal's nude modeling shots. I pull it free.

It's his leg all right, but this is no modeling pose. I feel like someone just slapped me. Is this how Jalal felt when he saw the goth me? I look hard and then, unable to stand what I'm seeing, I lay it face down on the book. I gaze through the window at the sky and will my heartbeat to slow. I'm twenty-six years old and standing in my house in Bahía de Sueños. I'm a wife and a mother. That's real. That photo is just a piece of paper and has nothing to do with me. When my breathing returns to normal, I turn the photo over and look again. It's worse the second time. My nails dig into my palm.

I grab the book and shake it to see if more photos will drop out. None does. How many could there be? How many books are there? Like a madwoman, I pull three more off the shelves and flip through them. This is ridiculous. That photo is old—more than a decade. Jalal had a life before me—before Meredith. I knew that. What does it matter?

I make my way through two shelves of books before Kristen and Brittany walk in. "What are you looking for?" Kristen asks.

"Nothing. A book." They don't move, so I glance at them. Kristen and Brittany are all eyes in chalky faces. "What's going on, girls?"

"Uh … is it okay if we take some Cokes and chips outside?" Kristen asks. It's subtle, but she glances a second time at the shelves to my left. Without looking, I know what's on her mind. I reach for the small ginger jar Jalal keeps there.

"Oh, God," Brittany moans.

Before I even lift the lid, Kristen blurts, "It was Ryan and Jason and Chase."

"We didn't smoke any, Mrs. Vaziri. I swear." Tears rim Brittany's lashes.

"We really didn't," Kristen says.

"And how much of our liquor will I find missing?"

Kristen opens her mouth but then says nothing. I give her a look, shaking my head. "Get your Cokes. We'll talk about this later." They're back out the door in a minute flat. So much for Jalal thinking he kept Kristen from illicit behavior that weekend. And now I have to figure out how to deal with it—or rather, how Azadeh would. But first I have another problem to deal with.

I stand back and study the shelves. If the photos were stashed in books Jalal read recently, he would have found and gotten rid of them, so the books I've never seen him touch are my best bet. I pull an ottoman over to reach the top shelves and work methodically. Before the monitor picks up Mia Grace's first stirring, I find four more photos. That hole inside me gapes wider. I'm furious with Jalal, though I know that makes no sense, but mostly I'm ashamed of myself for searching for these. I shove them in my purse as I pass it on my way to get Mia Grace.

The kids are in a great mood, and I need to get those damned images of Jalal's past out of my mind, so this is a perfect time to visit Jennie. "Adam, go to the door and call for Kristen. Tell her Mama wants her." I'm brushing Mia Grace's hair when they come back.

"Adam said 'Mama wants her.' Does that mean me?" Kristen asks.

"Good job, Adam." I high-five him. "As soon as I get the kids ready, we're going to Jennie's for lunch," I tell Kristen. "Invite your friends. My treat."

"What if they don't want to go?"

"You and Brittany have no choice."

She gives me that patented teen girl huff and looks at the ceiling like she's deciding something. "Well, we're tired of sitting on the porch, anyway. Can we ride with them?"

"Only if you promise to go straight there."

I get an honest-to-god roll of her eyes on that one. Despite her protests, I know she appreciates our rules and boundaries. I would have too, when I was her age. Young girls need someone watching out for them.

Jennie's standing at the far end of the counter, facing away from us, rubbing her lower back. She turns as the bell signals our entry, automatically smiling, and then genuinely lights up when she sees us. Adam runs toward her and she steps out from behind the counter, arms held wide. I wait until she picks him up and then I stand Mia Grace on the floor. She takes two wobbly steps before she lists too far forward. I scoop her up just in time to prevent her from doing a face plant.

"Why didn't you tell me she's walking?" Jennie says.

"You can't really call it walking, but she's trying, and at eight months that's even earlier than Adam did."

"Well, of course. She has to keep up with her big brother." Jennie reaches for Mia Grace but winces when I hand her off and practically drops Adam onto the stool next to her.

I grab Mia Grace. "Your back is acting up again."

"It's nothing." The bell tinkles again and she looks toward the door. "Hey there, Kristen. Who's this crowd you brought with you?"

I drag a high chair over to Eduardo and Don's old table while Kristen makes introductions, and then she and her friends head for a booth. "Sit," I tell Jennie. "We'll switch jobs." Her lack of protest proves how badly she's hurting. Jennie's first husband took pleasure in humiliating her until that emotional abuse failed to give him a big enough high and he progressed to beatings, which usually ended with her on the floor and her back taking the brunt of his kicks. I never knew him, but I despise him.

One of the two girls Jennie hired to help during the summer and weekends is taking the teens' orders, so there's not much for me to do. "I'll go give our order to Eduardo," I say.

"He's not back there. It's just Victor right now." She anticipates my question. "The old fool is buying a motorcycle, down the coast."

I motion for her to hold that thought and go to the kitchen. A couple minutes later, I return with plates of cooked vegetables for both kids and macaroni and cheese for Adam.

"Nuggets," he says.

"They're on the way. Eat this first. I'll get you something to drink." I ring up a customer while I'm up and then return to the table with milk for Adam and Cokes for me and Jennie. "So, a motorcycle, huh? Like a big Harley, or what?"

She shakes her head, then takes a long drink before she speaks. "One of those silly three-wheeler things—a trike. He thinks we should go flying up and down the coast highway on that contraption. Have adventures, he says."

"You should."

"Oh please. The man's almost seventy."

"All the more reason. And the woman only
acts
like she's seventy."

Jennie shakes her head, but there's a glimmer in her eye. I try to picture Jalal at seventy. Suddenly, I can't breathe. What if he leaves me? What if Diane takes him away from me? Jennie grabs my hand and I jump.

"Are you all right?" she says. "You look like you're about to pass out."

I try to laugh, but it sounds more like a sharp sigh. "I'm fine. Look, Adam, there's your nuggets." I get the rest of our food from the pick-up window. Avoiding Jennie's eyes, I grab my sandwich. After the third bite, I put it down. I can't taste it anyway. I grab napkins from the dispenser and clean cheese sauce from Mia Grace's hands and face before pulling out the wet wipes. I pour a little milk in her sippy cup and hand it to her. "She's starting to wean herself, months earlier than Adam did."

"She's independent and headstrong, like her mother. Or like her mother used to be."

"What's that mean?"