The Brevity of Roses (32 page)

Except, she didn’t. It was Azadeh he saw when he walked into the kitchen. She looked up from her book and smiled, but waited for him to speak.

“Where is Renee?”

“At home.”

“How long have you been here?”

“Since yesterday.”

“Renee called you?” he asked.

“Yes. She was worried about you.”

He walked to the stove for the kettle, filled it, and turned on the burner. While he measured out the tea, Azadeh carried the teapot from the table to the sink, emptied the cold brew, and rinsed it out. She offered him the plate of cookies Renee had made for him—a long time ago, it seemed. As he chewed, he studied Azadeh, now sitting at the table. She gave him no clue what thoughts had occupied her while waiting for him to wake up. They said nothing more until he carried the teapot to the table and sat down with her. “Did you talk to Renee?”

“She told me what happened,” said Azadeh. “She was afraid she pushed you too far.”

Their eyes locked, and again, they did not speak. They had always said as much to each other in silence as with words. He looked away first. “I feel—”

“Like you’ve been away for a long time.”

He nodded. Renee had not pushed him too far. She had repaired him, as if he had been a clock with bent hands, caught up on each other, unable to mark the passing minutes. She had fixed him, reset him to the current time.
I survived.
He offered Azadeh a wan smile. “I am back now.”

She reached across the table and patted his arm. “Good.” She pushed back her chair and stood. “I’ll fix you some eggs and toast.”

“I should call Renee.”

“No!”

He had risen halfway from his chair to get his phone, but now sank back down. “Why not?”

Azadeh went to the refrigerator and gathered what she needed before answering. “Give her some time, Jalal.” She set a sauté pan on the burner and dropped in a chunk of butter.

“But what if she thinks—”

“She doesn’t.”

He shook his head. “You do not know the whole—”

“Yes,” she said, “I do. We talked for a long time before she left.” Azadeh pushed the bread down in the toaster, cracked the eggs into the bowl, and reached for the whisk.

“But I want—”

“Jalal! She knows what you want.” She sighed. “Renee’s right, you are spoiled. We’ve all spoiled you.
Your
wants can’t always come first. Let her decide what
she
wants. Wait for her to come to you.” She adjusted the flame and stirred the butter around to melt it.

Spoiled? An argument rose up within him, but then, in his mind, he heard Meredith accuse him of always insisting on having things his way. Apparently, Meredith had thought him spoiled too.
Meredith
. Even in his mind, her name sounded different to him now, more solid, not just an echo. The gossamer image he had held on to so long had grown faint, leaving behind something solid, something real, like Blue Point coming into focus as the fog burned away. Something separate from himself.

Jalal watched Aza’s movements at the stove for a moment. “Are you saying I need to grow up?” he asked.

“I’m saying the whole family needs to step back and let you fight your own battles.” Azadeh set the plate of eggs and toast before him. “Enjoy. I’m going to bed,” she said and kissed the top of his head.

As he ate, that vague mental creeping sensation returned, but this time he recognized it as words floating through his mind. He listened. By the time he finished the eggs, the words had started connecting themselves into phrases. Lines formed. Elated, he scanned the room for his journal. Sitting alone, in the hush of night, he composed the poem flowing through him, and still the words came. He started a story. He would write of the only thing that mattered. He would write of love.

Sixteen

RENEE SLIPPED JALAL’S phone from his pocket before she left his bedroom. In the kitchen, she dialed his sister’s number. The phone rang two, three, four, times and then, as Renee debated whether she would leave a message or try again in a few minutes, Azadeh answered.

“Hi, Azadeh, this is Renee. We met at—”

“Jalal’s, yes.”

“Can you please come here? To Jalal’s house?”

Azadeh gasped. “What’s happened to him?”

“Nothing,” said Renee quickly, “I mean, not an accident or anything. He’s just … I confronted him … about Meredith.”

“Meredith? What … where is he now?”

“He’s asleep.”

There was a pause. Renee couldn’t stop shaking and she didn’t know what more to say. Azadeh broke the silence.

“Are you telling me Jalal had a breakdown of some sort?”

“I think so.” Renee sank onto a chair. “I’m sorry.” Her hands shook so hard she had trouble keeping the phone to her ear. “I’m so sorry.”

“I’ll be there within the hour,” said Azadeh. “Stay with him until I get there!”

“Of course,” said Renee. When the call ended, she tiptoed back down the hall to check on Jalal. From the doorway, she watched for the rise and fall of his chest. He lay so still, so far away from his pain. Away from her. A tiny part of her—the unselfish part—hoped he would forget her by the time he woke. The rest of her prayed he would forgive her.

She returned to the kitchen to wait. For several minutes, she sat staring at Jalal’s journal lying where he’d flung it to the floor. Finally, she crossed the room and picked it up. Some of the pages had rumpled and she smoothed them, closed the book, and laid it on the table. She’d done her best to not read anything. Not that she wasn’t tempted. She was pretty sure she’d seen her name written on one page. And most of the pages were blank. This was not the same journal she’d peeked in before.

She had lied to Jalal. And she’d justified her snooping because she wanted to help him and needed to know what he was thinking. That day on the beach, when he’d confessed he hadn’t been writing poetry, she’d guessed what he did write in these journals, but had to see for herself. Not that she’d ever planned to let him know. That had just slipped out today. Disastrously. After another minute, she got up and carried the journal over to the counter where it had been before she picked it up earlier today. Before she had forced Jalal’s hand.

As the minutes passed, she alternated between checking on Jalal and trying to decide whether she would escape as soon as Azadeh arrived or stay and talk to her awhile. At the least, she owed her an explanation of why she’d had to drive all the way over here. When the door opened, Renee was still planning what she would say.

Azadeh motioned for Renee to stay seated and went straight to Jalal’s room. After a couple of minutes, she entered the kitchen and laid the book she had brought with her on the table. “He seems to be fine,” she said, “just deeply asleep.” She selected a bottle of wine, opened it, and set two glasses on the table. She took a seat across from Renee and poured. “You look like you could use this,” she said.

“I’m sorry I had to call you,” said Renee.

Azadeh waved away the apology. “Just tell me what happened.”

Renee took a gulp of the wine. “I pushed him too far. I forced him … about Meredith.”

“
What
about Meredith?”

“About him not letting her go, not mov—”

“Good. I’m glad you did.”

“But—”

“Renee, listen, I love Jalal as much as any sister can love her brother, but sometimes he angers me. Sometimes …” She sighed. “Sometimes he just doesn’t seem to want to help himself. You know?”

Surprised by Azadeh’s candor, Renee only nodded.

“I’m sure it’s part of why he writes well,” said Azadeh, “but Jalal tends to create a world around him that’s not … not quite the reality the rest of us live in.”

Oh, God
. “Are you telling me Jalal is … has some kind of—”

“No!” said Azadeh. “Jalal’s not sick, not schizophrenic or anything. He just tends to see things the way he wants them to be, rather than how they are. At least, he does in his personal life.” She smiled. “It really surprised me he did so well in the business world.”

“So he really did work for a living.”

Azadeh frowned. “Excuse me?”

Renee held her glass by the stem, rolling it between her thumb and fingers. She wished she hadn’t started this topic. “I thought he was just born into money. He seems—”

“When we lived in Shirazi we were wealthy, but Baba lost a lot in the revolution.” Azadeh looked into her glass, swirling the wine around.

Renee waited to see if she would say more. “I didn’t mean to pry,” she said after a moment.

“No, it’s all right, I was just thinking about how hard Baba had to work to build up a new business here.” Azadeh set her glass down and looked over at the counter. “Are those cookies?” Without waiting for an answer, she got up and retrieved the plate of snickerdoodles Renee had baked for Jalal. “Anyway, yes, Jalal ‘really did work.’ He invested well too. Of course, the bulk of his money now is what he inherited from Meredith. But I interrupted you, what were you going to say—‘He seems’ what?”

“He seems … spoiled.”

Though Azadeh pressed a hand to her mouth, Renee could see the smile in her eyes. She just didn’t know whether Azadeh was laughing at her or what she’d said.

“That’s true,” said Azadeh, finally. “He is spoiled, and I’m part of the reason.” She turned serious again. “Anyway … I’m glad you confronted Jalal. What hap—” She turned her head in the direction of Jalal’s room, as though listening.

Renee hadn’t noticed any sign Jalal was awake, and heard nothing now. After a moment, Azadeh motioned for her to continue, as though she had been the one speaking before the pause. “I told him I couldn’t be a stand-in for Meredith,” she said. “I told him he needed to grieve and move on. He got angry … and then he sort of … broke down.” Azadeh’s gaze was even, impassionate, making it impossible for Renee to interpret the thoughts behind it. “I’m sorry,” she said again.

Azadeh did not respond, she only reached for her book and opened it. As she leafed through, Renee could see that handwriting filled the pages. Was it another of Jalal’s journals? Or one of Azadeh’s? Maybe his whole family kept them. She closed the book again and looked up at Renee. “Do you love my brother?”

Renee opened her mouth to respond, but closed it again. She picked up her glass and drank the last of her wine. “I don’t know.”

The journal turned out to be Meredith’s. Azadeh had found it hidden in the garden shed shortly after moving into the house in Coelho. When Renee told Azadeh she didn’t know whether she loved Jalal, whether she was good for him, whether she should even stay in Bahia de Sueños, Azadeh had asked her to read the journal before making any decisions. She had brought the book home with her, but it lay unopened on the coffee table. It taunted her. What good would it do her to read how much Meredith had loved Jalal? Their relationship had been miles away from hers and Jalal’s, far beyond anything they could ever have. What could she offer him?

Renee made and ate a sandwich without ever tasting it. She sat blindly in front of the TV for three hours. She called Azadeh who told her Jalal still slept. Finally, she sought sleep herself, but it eluded her. At two a.m., a sudden clarity of thought lifted her out of bed and she stood in the dark for a moment, certain that getting far away from Bahia de Sueños was her only option. But her mind could not convince her heart, and she lay back down, hugging the spare pillow to her as she curled around it. When her alarm woke her at nine, she climbed out of bed still dreaming, smiling. Jalal had just said something to her … something … and then, it was gone. Reality dawned.

By the time she got to work, Renee thought she had it all under control. She’d worn makeup today, enough to hide the circles under her eyes, enough to make her look alive and well, so there was no reason for Jennie to look at her the way she did. It was as though the woman just knew things, like a mother would—if you had a mother who paid any attention to you.

“You can leave early today,” said Jennie, “if you need to.”

Renee smiled. “Why would I need to leave early?”

“I don’t know, honey, why don’t you tell me?”