by C J Murphy
Jordan had called Dava twice in the last few hours to update her. She’d pulled out of the campground, outside of Knoxville TN, around eight that morning. She’d tried to wait out the rain that had fallen steadily all night. The farther north she drove, the harder the rain came down. Progress had been slow on the day’s seven-hour drive. Twice, she’d been detoured around chain reaction pileups due to that same rain. The end was in sight. Unfortunately, the traffic was bumper to bumper, and she was at the point of no return. Diverting off I-66 would delay her arrival even further. Her phone rang again, and the radio automatically decreased in volume, as she used her hands-free device to answer it.
“Hey, Momma.”
“How far out are you, honey? I don’t want to start the rice until I know you’ll be here in fifteen minutes or so. Your sister and I are so excited to see you.”
“I’m on I-66 headed your way. Traffic is horribly snarled. If you guys are hungry, go ahead and start without me. I’ll be there when I can.”
“We’ll do no such thing. I’ve been working on your jida’s mansaf all day just for you. We’ll wait. I need a good Jordan’s hug. It’s been too long.”
“I agree, Mom. We started moving again, so I’m hoping it won’t be much longer. I’m so tired of being behind the wheel. I need some family time and your home cooking. Think we can accomplish those things?”
“Piece of cake. Now pay attention and drive. See you soon.”
“I love you, Mom. I’ll be there in a bit.”
Jordan disconnected the call and ran her hand through her hair again. She jammed on her brakes when a sporty BMW coupe cut her off, and she pounded the steering wheel in frustration. She let out a sigh of relief when she could finally see her exit. Fifteen minutes later, she found a parking lot about two blocks from Dava’s. She hefted a duffle over her shoulder and pulled her collar up against the still-pounding rain. The lights of D.C. reflected off the blacktop, as water puddled in small ponds everywhere. A passing bus hit a particularly deep pothole, soaking Jordan from head to toe in muddy water and grit. She’d managed to block her face from the worst of it. Unfortunately, the rest of her resembled a drowned rat, as she entered the glass-fronted apartment building. One look at the doorman’s face, as she dripped on the carpet, told her she looked like a vagabond seeking shelter. She sheepishly approached his desk.
“Sorry, Jordan Armstrong. Dava Armstrong’s sister. I got drenched by a bus two steps before the door. Sorry about the floor.” He smiled with a slight grimace and called down the elevator with the press of a button.
“So sorry about your bad luck. Ms. Armstrong asked me to call when you arrived. You can go on up. Don’t worry about the floor, par for the course today. Have a good evening.”
Jordan made her way to the elevator, her shoes squeaking with every step. She stepped inside and pushed the button to the fifteenth floor. The water dripped out of her hair and into her eyes. She closed them and let her head fall back against the elevator wall as she ran a cold hand over her face. The ‘ding’ of each floor echoed off the metal walls, letting her rest for a few minutes while she counted off fifteen bells. With great effort, she heaved herself off the railing and exited the elevator. She turned left and walked to her sister’s apartment and rang the bell. Footsteps sounded from inside, and Jordan heard the locking mechanism open. The look on her mother’s face was pure astonishment. Dalia Armstrong’s hand covered her mouth, but the laughter escaped, nearly doubling her over.
Jordan placed her hand on her hip in protest, unable to hold back the grin from forming on her face. Dava had moved her motorized wheelchair within view and nearly ran Dalia down to get to Jordan.
“Get your ass in here, Sherlock.” Dava stopped abruptly and took a good look at her sister. “And apparently straight into the shower. I know you’ve been living on the road, but this is ridiculous. What the hell happened to you?” The laughter infected Dava too, and all three were having trouble breathing.
Dalia stepped forward and used her hands to wipe off Jordan’s face until she could kiss her cheeks without doing it through a layer of road grit.
Jordan fist bumped her sister. “A bus and a very large pot hole is what happened to me. I’ll be back out in a bit.” She headed to the bathroom, grateful for her waterproof duffle. After a long shower, she made her way to the modified kitchen, and stopped to properly hug and kiss Dava on her way. Jordan hauled herself up on the granite counter top and stole a carrot from her mother’s cutting board. “I’m starving and that smells like heaven.”
Dalia ruffled her daughter’s still wet hair and kissed her on the shoulder as she stirred the last few ingredients. The mansaf, a traditional Jordanian dish, was Jordan’s favorite food. Dalia had learned to make the creamy jameed sauce of fermented and dried, goat’s milk yogurt from a master, her own mother.
The smells in the kitchen took Jordan right back to her childhood. She could see her mom and jida in the kitchen, simmering the lamb and making lime-mint juice. Her grandmother had been a beautiful woman like her mother was. Jordan was grateful to have inherited her dark hair and eyes from both of them. Dava’s hair was a longer version of the same color, but she favored her father’s features.
Jordan surfaced from her memories when a cold glass was pressed into her hand. The beverage had a soft, green tint, and she smiled as she brought it to her lips. The mint fragrance mixed with the lime, tugged at her heart. She leaned over to kiss her mother’s temple.
“Momma, how is it you always know exactly what I need?”
Dalia placed a hand on her daughter’s cheek and stroked her thumb lightly. “Because a momma always knows. Now, go set the table.”
Jordan slid down from the counter and picked up the cream-colored plates with the thin, blue-lined pattern. The sisters had shopped together to furnish Dava’s first apartment. It was a milestone in Dava’s life, her first apartment away from her parent’s home. Dava was starting her freshman year at MIT, and Jordan was overjoyed with pride.
“It’s good to have you here, JJ. I’ve missed seeing that face.” Dava distributed the silverware Jordan had deposited on the table.
Jordan stealthily watched her movements, attempting to judge if she’d lost any further motor skills. Nothing seemed different, and Jordan drew in a relieved breath.
Dava continued to move around the table in her wheelchair. “Okay, spill the beans. Tell me about this sexy bartender you met in New Orleans. Any spark there?”
“More like a slow burn. Yes, little sister, a definite attraction. Joëlle was exotically beautiful. Skin like mahogany, hair like black velvet, and eyes like golden sunlight.” Jordan caught herself lost in the memory of their one and only kiss. “Definitely a spark.”
Dava furrowed her eyebrows and waved the fork she held. “And?”
“And I had too much respect for her to have a one-night stand.”
“You’re kidding me?” Dava’s tone was incredulous.
Dalia strode in with all the grace of a model, holding a serving platter in her hands. “I taught my children better than to disrespect anyone. I’m glad to see that lesson stuck.”
Dalia kissed Jordan’s hot cheek and motioned for her to move the trivet onto the table. “Obviously, Jordan cared for this woman, or she wouldn’t have resisted the temptation. Now, tell me her name.”
Jordan moved the trivet and placed her cool glass against her neck to pull the fire from her face. “Momma.”
“Don’t Momma me.”
“Her name is Joëlle, and she’s a civil engineer working on the levees in New Orleans. She was tending bar across the street from where I stayed. She took me to her grandmother’s to find the clue I was looking for.”
“Sounds like she was more than just a means to the end, my love.” Dalia motioned for them all to move to their seats and began portioning out the mansaf.
“She was, Mom. It wasn’t something I felt I could pursue, knowing I wouldn’t be staying. Joëlle deserves to have someone who w
ill treat her like the wonderful woman she is, all the time, not just once.”
Jordan felt her mother’s hand on her forearm and closed her eyes, knowing there was an unspoken request to look at her. Slowly, Jordan raised her eyes. Dalia cupped Jordan’s chin in her soft fingers. “You deserve more than that, too. I’m glad to see the interest. There is more to life than just your research, my child. Life without love is empty, no matter what you accomplish.”
Jordan knew better than to argue with her mother. Dalia had been a witness to Jordan’s devastation after Tina’s disclosure and had expressed her desire to unleash the wrath of a protective mother more than once. Jordan bent her head down and kissed her mother’s palm. “Can we eat? I’m starved.”
“We can. Know that this conversation isn’t over.”
Jordan caught Dava’s laughing eyes and slowly raised the middle finger of her right hand. Dava nearly choked on her drink. This earned Jordan a smack on the arm and a disapproving look from her mother, who missed absolutely nothing when it came to her girls.
The comfortable apartment was filled with the sounds of conversation, as they ate and caught up. The three ate to nearly bursting. Full or not, they saved room for Jordan’s favorite dessert, hareesa. With the texture of a dense brownie, the confection was made with a blend of almonds, jameed, and coconut. It had been a staple around the house when she was young, especially when her jida had come to live with them. The whole meal gave Jordan a warm feeling of being surrounded by love. She looked around the table at the most vital parts of her life, her mom and her sister. They grounded her and reminded her of all the good things she had.
The leftovers were packed away, and the dinner dishes done before the three sat around the dining room table playing bastra and enjoying dessert. “So, Momma, how’s the foundation going?” Jordan fished a card from the board before the next play moved to Dalia.
Dalia smiled broadly. “It’s been a good year so far. We’re opening another playground in a few months, in Fairfax County.”
Jordan and Dava’s parents had established Unlimited Fun to serve a population of children with limited mobility issues. The specialized equipment made it possible for everyone to enjoy simple childhood pleasures. Hundreds of playgrounds around the United States had been designed and built using funds from the charity Dalia still ran. Jordan made sure that Cornell contributed every year, as did many of the companies Dava worked with. The swings were made so that wheelchairs could be rolled up into them, sandboxes had digging equipment that could be used from wheelchairs, and ramps were built so that children unable to climb stairs could use railings to help balance themselves or roll to the upper levels. All the equipment was painted in red, yellow, blue, and green. The bright primary colors added to the lively atmosphere each playground displayed.
“Jordan, where’d you go?” Dalia touched Jordan’s arm.
Jordan smiled. “I was remembering your first park, Momma. I remember seven-year-old Dava cutting the ribbon.”
Dava cleared her throat. “I remember it too, JJ. We spent the whole day swinging and climbing all over that thing. It was one of the first times I didn’t feel different.”
“Now you two stop, or I’ll start. We all know what a leaky faucet I am.” Dalia dabbed at eyes and started clearing the table.
Jordan rose and took the dessert plates from her mother. “I love you, Momma. The best things in my life always started with you.” She set the plates on the counter and leaned her head against her mother’s.
“You two are the best things I’ve ever done. You’ve both made me so proud.” Dalia placed her hand on Jordan’s face and held her close. “Now, you two go visit. I’ll clean these up. It’s rare I get to do this for both my girls. Go work out your clue with Dava.”
Jordan carried two cups of her mother’s famous hot chocolate into the living room. Jordan sat on the plush couch and sipped at her mug. “So, still seeing that software engineer?”
Dava turned her head and rolled her eyes at her sister.
“What? You can ask me about my love life, but I can’t ask about yours? That’s a double standard, Watson. Nope, won’t have it. Dish.”
“Okay, fair’s fair. Yes, Sarah and I are still seeing each other. She’s incredible, although I’m not really sure what she sees in me.” Dava sipped from her hot chocolate.
Jordan choked on her drink and sputtered, as she sat up trying to catch her breath. “What the hell’s that about?”
“What?”
“You don’t know what she sees in you?”
Dava rolled her eyes again and grinned. “Look, let’s be honest. I got the brains, you got the body.”
Jordan flipped her younger sister her middle finger. “I’m two points behind you, you ass.”
“Two points is two points.”
“Okay, okay. Knock that shit off. You’re a beautiful woman, Dava, and your heart is three times bigger than that brain of yours. Sarah’s a lucky woman.”
Jordan watched the emotion swirl in her sister’s eyes. There was much more to the relationship with her fellow technology geek than Dava was ready to analyze with her big sister. The determination to force Dava out of her comfort zone was a strong motivator for Jordan. She knew when to push and when to wait out the younger Armstrong.
“What’s she been up to lately? Designing something to make the world more technology friendly?”
A twinkle gleamed in Dava’s eyes. “Believe it or not, she’s designing apps to help those with accessibility issues see what their options are for entertainment in relationship to their particular difficulty. She’s also helping the National Park Service become more ADA compliant. Her algorithm helps identify potential areas where they can make improvements to existing access or creating new ones.” Dava’s grin slowly grew wider.
Jordan reached out and clasped her sister’s hand. “Oh, Sis, you’ve got it bad. You better hold on for the ride.”
Dava’s voice was small and soft. “I’ve never met anyone like her. She’s so strong in every way. Nothing seems to matter to her about my disability. She’s like you, Jordan, she sees beyond the chair.”
Jordan leaned forward and kissed her sister’s forehead. “What did Mom and Dad always teach us? The only limitations are the ones we put on ourselves. So, don’t add love to your list of things you can’t do. If she’s important to you and she loves you, let her speak for herself as to what she sees. I’m betting it has nothing to do with that chair. If she’s like me, she sees a dark-haired beauty with soulful eyes, an incredibly intelligent woman with quick wit, and a heart of a lioness.”
Jordan held her sister tightly. Looking around the room, Jordan spotted the gift she’d bought her sister at Christmas time last year. The replica of the brass cryptex used in The Da Vinci Code was a tribute to her sister’s skills, even though Dava had scoffed at the movie in general. Jordan smiled at its pride of place in the room. She also saw all the diplomas, accolades, and awards and knew her mother must have placed them. Dalia was devious enough to know that Dava could not take them down because they were out of reach. Their mother had spent her life telling her children to be proud of their accomplishments and not to hide their light under a basket.
A new photo caught her eye. She stood and took two steps toward the mantle and picked up a framed photo of Sarah kneeling beside Dava. Sarah was in a black tux with a rainbow-colored bow tie, a shock of turquoise right in front of her spiked blonde hair. Dava was in a black cocktail dress with a small set of pearls around her neck. Jordan brought the picture back to Dava. “Where were you guys when this was taken?”
Dava quirked a grin. “We were at an awards dinner held by Smithsonian Magazine, their American Ingenuity Award. We were joint winners for our work in digitizing literary works in over a hundred languages. We make it more affordable, allowing for greater accessibility for those with functional issues all around the world.”
Jordan carried the picture over and knelt beside her sister. “A modern-day Mart
in Luther translating the Bible from Latin to German. Why didn’t I know about this?”
“I might have forgotten to mention it.”
“Dava! This is a big deal.”
Dava sighed. “You know how I hate people making a fuss.”
Jordan pointed to the picture. “This is fussworthy, Watson. I’m so proud of you.” They were still in tears when their mother entered the room. “What happened? Why are you two crying, and if they’re happy tears how come nobody invited me in?”
Jordan pointed her thumb toward Dava. “My little sister here has been keeping secrets, Mom.”
Dalia wiped tears from both her daughter’s faces with her thumbs. “Well honey, she is one of the country’s foremost cryptologists. Secrets are part of her job.”
“True, I’m guessing this was a secret she didn’t have to keep. Did you know she and Sarah won an award together?”
Dalia’s eyebrows shot up. “Dava Grace!”
Jordan watched with amusement, as her mother chastised her younger sister. “You stepped in it this time, kiddo.” Dava became the five-year-old who’d been caught with her hand in the cookie jar.
“Save me, JJ.”
Their mother leaned down and drew them into a hug. They’d perfected the ability to hold themselves at the right height to accept a hug from Dava long ago, and for the first time in as long as she could remember, Jordan felt like she was exactly where she was supposed to be.
“Now, about that clue, Sherlock.” Dava pulled from the hug and rubbed her hands together.
Jordan tried to hide a yawn unsuccessfully. “Tomorrow, Watson, I’m beat. Tomorrow, first thing, I promise.”
