The Brevity of Roses

by Linda Cassidy Lewis

  After dinner, they decided to go for a walk on the beach. Jalal stopped short as soon as they stepped out the front door. “What is that?”

  “Oh, I forgot. I bought you a new plant. The guy at the nursery said it grows well here. It smells good too.”

  “What is it called?”

  “I don’t know. Some kind of vine. It has a label on it. He said it needs a trellis.”

  “Thank you.” He kissed her, then turned his attention to the plant. “I wish you had told me earlier. I could have planted it this afternoon.”

  “Thanks a lot.” She stepped back. “Am I that bad in bed?”

  He looked alarmed. “You are excellent in bed. I meant I could have planted it after.”

  “Yeah, right.” She gave him a hard push and stomped down the steps. Halfway down the walk, she stopped and turned. Then, she smiled.

  He shook his head. “You have an odd sense of humor, Renee.”

  “Get used to it.”

  Jalal took her hand, when they reached the beach. Why should such a simple gesture choke her up?

  “That really was a good meal,” he said.

  “Quit saying that like you’re astonished.”

  He smiled and raised her hand to kiss it. “You impressed me,” he said.

  They walked on in silence. On this beach, her previous life of chaotic noise seemed a distant memory. The surf, with its constant admonition to shush, lulled her into a state of stillness she had never known. At times, like now, she almost felt she could surrender, give up the burden of control, and let Jalal lead her, but that control was everything. It was all she’d ever had. The thought of stepping off that cliff, feeling nothing but air beneath her, so frightened her it made her queasy. Jalal squeezed her hand. What was he thinking right now? He was so different from her, so vulnerable. How had he survived so long in this world?

  “Do you think I am weak?” he asked.

  Startled that he seemed to have read her mind, Renee ignored what he was really asking and squeezed his bicep. “You seem pretty strong to me.” She smiled. He didn’t.

  “You know what I mean,” he said. “I have given a lot of thought to how you handled your mother’s death. And you were only a child then.”

  She’d never been a child, but he couldn’t understand that. “I had no choice, Jalal.”

  “Yes, you did. I did.”

  “It wasn’t the same for me. I lived every day knowing my mother could die from an overdose, or be beaten to death by one of her dates, or get shot in a bad drug deal. Her death didn’t really come as a shock.”

  He said nothing.

  “We’re just different types, Jalal. You’re a poet; I’m a smartass.”

  Jalal stopped and pulled her into his arms. “The sun is setting,” he said. She turned in his arms and they stood that way until the sun nearly reached the horizon. “The temperature will drop quickly now. We should head back.” They walked for a minute before he spoke again. “Please quit your job at the bar.”

  “I have bills to pay.”

  “Let me pay them.”

  “You’d better be joking.”

  “I could buy that bar.”

  She stopped short. “And what, fire me?”

  “Of course not. I would … renovate it.”

  “Renovate?”

  “Come on, Renee, I hate the way those men look at you.”

  “I don’t look back.” She knew what was coming when his eyes slid away from hers.

  “It is not decent for you to work there,” he said.

  She jerked her hand from his. “Not decent for me, or not decent for you?”

  “You are reading more into this than—”

  “No, I’m not! I’ve waited bars since the day I turned twenty-one, and I’m not ashamed of it. You’re a fucking snob.” She stomped off down the beach and got about twenty yards ahead of him before he jogged up behind her.

  “I do not want to fight,” he said.

  Renee stopped again and faced him. “Take me as I am, or leave me alone. Don’t try to change me.”

  “Understood,” he said. “I am sorry.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him, determined not to let him off that easy, but then he flashed a smile at her. “Okay,” she said. “I forgive you, but don’t think that smile is going to work every time.” She started toward the steps, and he followed.

  “Your birthday is next month,” he said.

  “So?”

  “You need a passport.”

  “For what?”

  “I want to take you somewhere as your gift.”

  She stopped halfway up the stairs and turned around. “Where?”

  “Anywhere you want.”

  “In the world?”

  He laughed. “I think it would have to be, yes.”

  “Wow.” Dozens of images from the travel books she’d read flashed through her mind. How would she ever decide? She turned and started up the steps. Wait. She should refuse. No matter how much money he had, that was too expensive a gift. But damn. He held the front door open for her and as she passed him, she shook her head. “Wow.”

  “So, where do you want to go?” he asked.

  “I have no idea. You pick.”

  “This is your gift. Take some time to think about it. You do need to get started on that passport though.”

  “What’s your favorite place to visit?”

  “Renee …”

  “No, really, I just want to know.” She curled up on one end of the couch. “You’ve been everywhere. So tell me, where do you love to go most?”

  Though he faced her with his eyes in her direction, they weren’t focused. She felt him slipping away. “Hey,” she said and jumped up, “let’s have a beer.” She tried to pull him toward the kitchen, but he resisted.

  “Paris,” he said.

  She loosened her grip on his hand. “Did you and Meredith go there?’

  “Yes. Many times.”

  She stepped closer and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Then I won’t choose Paris.”

  He kissed the top of her head, then whispered into her hair, “I will take you there someday.”

  “Yes. You will.” She started to pull away, but he held her close. “I’d better get home now.”

  “Please, stay.”

  “Jalal …”

  “It makes no sense for you to leave every night.”

  “I don’t leave every night. I told you I’m not living with you.”

  He sighed. “Just talk to me for a while, then.”

  She stayed in his arms, but neither of them spoke for a few minutes. Their relationship had to be a give and take. They could be together—a couple—but only as equals. “It’s your turn to come to my place.” She felt him tense, but then he nodded.

  Outside, he steered her toward his car, but she corrected him. “I want to take my car.”

  “I would rather drive mine.”

  “Or you don’t have to drive at all.”

  He stood beside his car. In the glare of the security light, she could see his jaw working. He blew out a breath, pocketed his keys, and walked toward her with his hand out.

  “All right. We will take your car,” he said, “but I am driving.”

  For once, she managed to keep her mouth shut and handed over her keys.

  They said little during the few minutes it took to drive to her apartment. Inside, they headed straight for the bedroom. Renee grabbed a bottle of water from the refrigerator as she passed, took a drink, then handed the bottle to him. It wasn’t until she flipped the light switch, that she remembered she’d never cleaned up from her aborted attempt to pack and leave. At least her bed was made. “Sorry about the mess.” When Jalal made no reply, she turned to find him staring at her overflowing suitcase on the floor. He looked stunned.

  “You were going to leave.”

  “No,” she said. He lifted his gaze, his eyes accusing her, and she began to stammer. “I … okay, for a minute, yes … I panicked. But t
hen Azadeh called—”

  “Or you would have left me.”

  “No. Jalal—”

  “Do not lie to me! My god.” He raked his hair off his face. “You could bring me to my knees and then abandon me? You could actually do that!” He turned and left her room before she could protest.

  She ran after him. “Jalal, it wasn’t like that. I—”

  He had the door open, about to step into the night, but stopped and looked back. “Yes,” he said. “It was.” Then, he left her.

  Eighteen

  RENEE CRIED MOST OF THE NIGHT. In between waves of despair, her anger flared. She silently raged against Jalal, Meredith, Jennie, this stupid town, and then the whole state of California. Sometime around three o’clock, she fell asleep, but she woke again at seven and got up. She started hanging up her clothes, as if doing so could turn back time and erase the damage her weakness had caused. When she was done, she sank to the floor in front of the closet. For the first time in her life, she had no clue what to do next.

  It was after nine, when Renee woke on the floor so cold from the inside out even a long hot shower failed to warm her. She started the coffee and while it brewed, sat at the table staring toward the front door. Jalal had walked out on her. She still couldn’t believe that. When the coffee was ready, she carried her mug to the windows overlooking the street. Jalal had driven home. “Well, I guess that’s step one,” she said to no one, “walk over there to get my car.” Maybe she would be lucky. He would be in the house and her keys would be in the ignition. She wouldn’t have to face him.

  What the hell. That wasn’t like her. Where had all her toughness gone? Jalal had walked out on her. Why couldn’t she just say fuck him and get out of this town? She didn’t owe anyone here a damned thing. Tears flooded her eyes again and she swiped them away. “This is so stupid.” She jerked on her shoes and set off toward the beach.

  As Renee neared Jalal’s house, she could see him working in the garden, planting the vine. The sight made her want to cry again. She stopped and closed her eyes until the feeling passed. Why was she kidding herself? She didn’t want to walk away from Jalal. She couldn’t. Damn him. He owed her as many chances as she’d given him.

  If he heard her enter his gate, he didn’t show it, nor did he seem to notice when she walked up to him. “It might be a mistake to plant something I gave you.”

  Jalal stood and turned toward her as he wiped his hands on his jeans. “Why is that?”

  “If it behaves anything like me, it might screw up your garden.” She smiled. He didn’t.

  “You cannot joke your way out of this, Renee. Not this time.”

  “I told you I panicked.”

  “But your bags were still half-packed.”

  “I just didn’t get time to pick things up.”

  “That was two days ago.”

  “I know, but … I’ve been here most of that time. Or at work.”

  He shook his head. “You keep your apartment spotless. If you had truly made up your mind to stay, you would have already cleaned up that mess.”

  Where the hell had sensitive poet Jalal gone? “You don’t understand—”

  “Yes, I do,” he said, “I finally do.” He locked his eyes on hers. “We are both too damaged, Renee. We are not good for each other.”

  His quiet calm iced her heart. “Don’t say that.” She reached out to him, but he motioned for her to stop.

  “I am trying to face things, Renee. Let myself feel again. But you …” He cleared his throat. “You do not seem able—or willing—to break down your walls. Not a bit. Not for me.” He reached in his pocket for her keys and held them out to her. “I think you should go now.”

  Somehow she forced her feet to move, made them walk across his yard and out the gate to her car. When she opened the door, Jalal’s scent of spice and tea and sugar swirled around her making the air she inhaled feel heavy, yet too thin, and she steadied herself against the car for a moment. Long enough to come to her senses. She slammed the door.

  When Renee turned and realized Jalal was watching her advance toward him, it threw off her stride, but only for a second. “Why do you get to decide we’re over? How many chances did I give you?” She locked eyes with him and stood with hands clenched, arms stiffened at her sides. “I made one stupid mistake—one—and now you decide I’m not willing to make this relationship work?” She took a deep breath, waiting for the urge to hit him to subside. “You son of a bitch, you can’t just tell me to ‘go now.’ That’s not fair. I don’t want to go!”

  “Wonderful!” Jalal grabbed her, knocking her off balance. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her so tightly, she couldn’t breathe. Or maybe that wasn’t the reason. His reaction had blown away her anger, leaving her empty for a moment. Now his kisses filled that spot.

  “It’s hard for me to open up, Jalal.”

  “I know.”

  “I will try.”

  “I know.”

  Renee pressed even closer to him, marking him with her tears.

  After a few days, they had settled into a rhythm. Every day Jalal asked her to quit her bar job, and every day Renee refused. On most days, after her shift at Jennie’s, she went directly to his house for dinner. They took turns cooking. They spent a lot of time in bed, and though some nights she drove home afterward to sleep in her own, she usually lay awake wondering why she bothered. The words Jalal had denied himself all those months now flowed freely. During the hours she worked, he wrote at home, so today, when he walked into Jennie’s at the peak of the lunch rush, it set off her alarm. Renee could tell by his face he’d had a setback. At her first opportunity, she slipped into his booth. “What’s wrong?”

  “Azadeh called. She is moving back to Seattle.”

  “Well … did you really expect her to move down here permanently?”

  He rubbed his forehead. “What about Sam?”

  “You said they were settling the divorce on friendly terms, now.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “And school starts for the kids soon.”

  With one flick of his eyes, he signified her betrayal. “There are good schools in Coelho,” he told her.

  She laid her hand over his. “The Coelho house is not Azadeh’s home, Jalal.”

  He only stared at the tabletop.

  “It’s your home.”

  When he looked up at her, his eyes revealed the depth of misery her reminder caused him. She didn’t look away. She didn’t back down. She could almost see him circling her words in his mind, stepping gingerly onto them, testing if they would hold his weight. After a moment, he sighed and relaxed back against the seat.

  “She wants me to drive over there tomorrow,” he said. “My mother is there.”

  “You should go.”

  “Will you come with me?”

  “I … I don’t know if Jennie can give me the day—”

  “You must be kidding,” said Jennie from somewhere behind their booth. “I’ll fire your ass, if you don’t go.”

  A ghost of a smile touched Jalal’s lips.

  Renee shrugged. “Looks like I’m going with you.”

  She stayed with him that night. Time after time, his insomnia pulled her from sleep. At dawn, they finally abandoned the pretense and moved silently through their morning routines, each muted by anxiety over the day ahead. Their fears were not equal. She would only have to face his mother. He would have to face reality.

  By mutual agreement, they stopped for breakfast at Jennie’s before heading to Coelho. She realized, for the first time, that both of them drew from Jennie a strength, a centering, a sense that all was right in the world, though it seemed she and Jalal lived on the edges of that world, neither sure how or where they fit in.

  They spoke little on the drive inland. At one point, Renee asked, “Your mother speaks English, right?”

  Jalal glanced over, but it took a few seconds before his eyes focused on her and a few more before he formed a reply. “Yes. Yes, she
speaks it quite well. She has only a little accent.”

  “More than yours?”

  “I do not have—” He stopped, realizing she only teased. He gave her a weak smile and reached for her hand. “You will like Maman. And she will like you.”

  The closer they got to Coelho, the slower Jalal drove. When they reached the town, he turned off a main street and then, it seemed, took a circuitous route up into a hilltop community, The Knolls, according to a sign. They passed one unique gate for the second time, confirming her suspicion he was stalling.

  “Jalal, it’s time.”

  He kept on driving, circling around again, but when they neared the dragon-shaped gate a third time, he reached up and pressed a remote button. The gate came to life, rolling aside, and he steered the car into the drive. They crept forward.

  “Shadi,” he said and parked next to a silver Lexus.

  Though the word sounded familiar, Renee had no idea what it meant, but the way he said it made her reluctant to ask. It would probably be best for her to say very little today. Let him face this on his own terms.

  While she'd read Meredith’s journal, she tried to imagine her house. She’d got it all wrong. The house and grounds were less California upscale and more English country manor. No wonder Jalal had avoided coming back here. Even she doubted Meredith would ever truly leave this place.

  Jalal turned off the engine, but made no move to open the door. “My sister is here,” he said.

  Had this trip traumatized him more than she’d thought? “Jalal … Azadeh was the one who asked you to come.”

  “Not Aza.” He pointed to the car next to his. “My sister Shadi is here. She must have driven my mother down.”

  “Is that a problem?” His response was to raise his eyebrows and crook his mouth, a gesture she took to mean a problem was possible. Likely even.

  Jalal sighed deeply and got out of the car. At the front door, he extended his hand then hesitated, mere seconds, but long enough to make her wonder if he would walk in, ring the bell, or turn and leave. In the end, he took a deep breath and claimed his rightful ownership.

  Delicious smells filled the entryway and Jalal appeared to head straight for their source. She followed behind, casting quick glances left and right, taking in the rooms that led off the hall. A huge living room sat to the right and, to the left, a darker room lined with bookshelves and, on the far side, a door leading beyond to a sunnier room. They passed a large formal dining room and then entered what would surely be described as a dream kitchen in decorating magazines, but she had only a moment to register a few details before Jalal’s mother spied him and squealed in delight.