by Holly Rayner
I feel her nodding, and then she turns her face towards mine. She kisses me. And right then and there, I know that I can do anything. Even though the next few days will be perhaps the hardest of my life.
One day later, I’m looking out at flowers of a completely different kind than the ones I picked around the cottage. Dalian flowers, I think, as I cross the palace grounds, are bigger and more colorful than the flowers in Pennsylvania. But they lack the subtle delicacy.
I stop in one of the palace dining areas to grab a strong cup of Turkish coffee. I’ve been traveling all night, and I want to feel sharp when I meet with my father.
The coffee does stimulate my brain, but it also increases my anxiety. Better get this over with.
I knock on my father’s office door. As sheikh, his office is central in the palace, and far larger than Hassan’s or my own. A bodyguard opens the door for me and greets me warmly. I see my father across the room, which is as expansive as a basketball court. He’s sitting behind his desk.
I have been in this office so many times, and never has it felt so big. Honestly, I don’t know that I’ve ever even noticed the size of it—it was one of those things that always I took for granted. But now the vastness of the polished room stuns me, and I feel as though it takes me forever to cross it.
My father stands up, rounds his desk, and greets me with a warm hug. I’m taller than him, and he’s rounder than me, but just as strong. He squeezes me with powerful arms.
“Son!” he says. “I wasn’t expecting you! Why didn’t you call?”
He returns to his seat, and I take one across from him. It used to upset me, as a boy, that most of my talks with my father took place with a desk between us. But now that I’m a man I’m used to seeing him behind his desk, and I find that it suits him. He is a sheikh first, and a father second. His sense of responsibility for his country encompasses all else, his family included.
“It’s a spur-of-the-moment visit,” I say.
“Visit? You mean you plan to return to America?” He folds his hands. “I’ve never known you to spend so much time away from home.”
This would be the perfect time to say it. I met a woman. She’s pregnant. I open my mouth, but hesitate for two seconds too long. He’s talking again.
“Not that I’m complaining,” he says. “Jabir, you’ve increased productivity of our American factories by nearly one hundred and fifty percent! Every week, Hassan brings me new numbers—”
He reaches for a stack of folders and flips open the top one. “Every week, we marvel at the statistics. Double the number of cars per month coming out of Illinois. A twofold reduction in late shipments from New Hampstead. Eighty percent more steel frames being approved without defect in Delaware. There’s no end to it!” He looks up gleefully.
Now. I have to say it now, before he praises me any further. I can’t stand knowing that what I’m about to say might overshadow all of the good things he believes I’ve done in America.
“Father,” I say.
“Yes, Jabir?”
“There’s another reason, for my stay in America. I’m truly glad that it’s benefiting our company, but I need for you to know the truth.”
“Truth? What truth?” He closes the folder. “What are you talking about?”
“The reason that I went to the U.S. in the first place. Remember, Father, when Hassan and I first traveled to the Northeast, back in November?”
“Yes…?”
“Well, on that trip, I met a woman. We conceived a child. I returned to Pennsylvania to be with her. To help her…in any way that I could.”
My father looks incredulous.
“A woman! That’s what you’ve been up to, this whole time?”
“She lives in New Hampstead,” I say, looking down at my hands. “Her father works at the factory there.”
“The daughter of an employee, hmm. An American girl. Hm. I should have known. You’ve always been guided by your heart, not the numbers. Here Hassan and I are, studying the statistics like that’s the whole picture.”
“Hassan knew, sir.”
“Your brother knew about all this? The girl—and the baby? But you didn’t tell me or your mother?”
“I didn’t know how.” I feel my shoulders slump with guilt. I’ve held back this information for far too long. “I should have told you, but things were going so well. I felt that you were trusting me with more and more responsibility. I felt that you were treating me, finally, like a man.”
“And you think that this will change that?” my father asks. “Son, you’re more of a man now than you’ve ever been. Going to the mother of your child, and helping her, as you’ve done, was the right thing to do. That took courage; that took bravery.”
I look up, and he meets my eye and gives me a curt nod. “I respect that,” he says. “Much more than if you chose to reject the child and hush the whole thing up. No, you are facing your destiny, not running from it.”
“But, Father, aren’t you upset that this will pull me away from my responsibilities to our country, and to our businesses?”
“Quite the opposite. Jabir, this only proves that you’re more ready to be a leader than even I could have suspected. Leadership requires true integrity, in moments where no one else is watching. Your actions prove this, beyond a shadow of a doubt. In fact…” He pauses, and places his hands into a triangle. He taps his fingertips together. “In next week’s meeting with the royal council, we will begin to put things into place for your succession as Sheikh of Dalai.”
I’m stunned. Speechless. I can barely breathe.
When I find my voice, I hear myself as if from somewhere beyond my body. “Father, I’m honored. I—” I stand up, and extend my hand. He reaches for it, and then we shake, our palms pumping up and down. My eyes lock with his. “I’m honored beyond measure,” I say. “I— I’ve been waiting to hear that. Wondering if I ever would… for my whole life.”
“I know that, Son,” my father says.
We stop shaking. There’s more that I have to say. I feel my heart hammering in my chest.
Am I really going to say this?
I think of Teresa. I think of the way it felt to kiss her tear-stained cheek, and the way I’ve promised to come home to her. I can’t have both. I can’t be the man that she needs me to be, and ruler of Dalai.
“Father, I cannot accept. Hassan will make a better Sheikh than I. I belong in New Hampstead, with Teresa and our child. I want to be a father first, and a sheikh second.”
My father nods. He doesn’t look surprised. I see that he was expecting this.
“I can continue to look after our businesses in America,” I offer. “And we’ll visit Dalai as often as we can. But my home is there, now. Not here.”
“I understand,” my father says.
He steps around his desk and embraces me. Once again, I feel the firmness of his grip. He’s a strong man, my father is—inside and out. I hope that as a father, I’ll be able to have as much strength. But I also hope that I’ll laugh more than he has, and be more affectionate. There won’t be a desk always between my child and myself.
“You’re a wise man, Jabir,” my father says, squeezing me and patting my back. “Sometimes, I think you know more than I do, and honestly, I wouldn’t have it any other way. Sons are supposed to surpass their fathers. I gave you what I could. Now it’s your turn to pass your own strengths, wisdom, and passion on to your own children.”
“I will do my best.”
“I know you will. I’m proud of you, Jabir.”
Before I know it, he’s back behind his desk. But it doesn’t bother me.
“I’m proud of you.” His words have gone straight to my heart. I take them like the gift that they are—a gift I’ve always wanted to receive—and exit his office.
I carry his words with me over the next few days. Packing up my belongings doesn’t take long—most of the possessions that I treasured here in Dalai would be meaningless and unnecessary in New Hampste
ad.
After making some final arrangements so that I can complete my move back to the States, I find myself once again crossing the ocean in an airplane and then driving up the winding road to my new life.
When Teresa greets me at the door to the cottage, I feel like I’m finally arriving home. The last few months have been filled with so much uncertainty, but now, she wraps her arms around me, and all of that uncertainty is gone.
I’m home.
And I’m here to stay.
Chapter 17
Teresa
Five Months Later
“Over here!” Jabir says. He’s walking towards the path to the river.
“But the eagles aren’t there anymore!” I protest. “Let’s go up the road a ways and see if we can find that fox that hangs out by the big boulder.”
Jabir keeps walking towards the river path, so I follow him. Why does he want to go down there, even though the nest is empty?
The eagles left the nest weeks ago. Jabir and I watched them learn how to fly like any other couple might watch movies. We did little dances of celebration on the river’s rocky beach when a fledgling found success. I’m glad that he loves them like I do.
Now, with the nest empty, I’m eager to find other wildlife to sketch. Jabir’s holding a large notebook under one arm, and I have my own leather-bound one in my hand. I can’t walk fast—my belly is so round it makes me sort of waddle, but I try to catch up with him the best that I can.
Instead of going down the path as I thought he would, Jabir ducks into the woods, bending shrubbery and young saplings away to move forward. I follow close behind.
“I saw it here yesterday,” he says. “And I think you’ll like it. Just a little bit farther, now… There!” He stops short.
There’s a birch tree in front of us, and in the crook where a branch meets the trunk, I see a delicate little nest.
Jabir takes my hand and leads me to a boulder nearby. Chirping fills my ears. Jabir lets go of my hand and climbs up the large rock so that he’s standing on top of it.
“From up here, I can see straight into the nest!” he says. “There are four of them in there. Robins, I think! Must have been born in July!”
He scrambles down.
“I want to see!” I’m so excited I can’t stand it.
He smiles. “I knew you would. Hang on, I’ll help you.” He stations himself at the bottom of the boulder, and then steadies me as I take the few steps necessary to reach the top.
He’s right. I can see straight into the nest! I’m about to share my excitement when the feeling of water pouring down my legs makes me freeze. What just happened?
Jabir’s reaching for me, and his hands circle my waist. Effortlessly, he lifts me off of the boulder and place me on the ground. His face is filled with as much shock as I feel.
“Honey, that’s your water. Your water just broke!”
“But…it can’t be! My due date is two weeks away!”
“Dr. Newton said that was only an estimate, but that it could come a few weeks before or after.”
I feel my chest rising and falling, and a sensation of panic wells up inside of me. I wasn’t expecting this, today! I look around. The trees that looked so beautiful just minutes before now look like a thousand obstacles standing in the way of my body and the car we need to get to.
“Take a deep breath, baby,” Jabir says. His deep voice soothes my building panic. He reaches for my hand. “Come with me. Everything's okay. Follow me.”
He leads me back to the cabin swiftly, and then helps me into his car. “I’ll be right back,” he says, kissing my forehead.
“Wait, Jabir! Can you get clothes for me to change into? These pants are soaked. And something for me to sleep in, at the hospital? And my water bottle… It’s on the kitchen counter—”
“I’ve already packed our bags,” he says with a smile.
He closes the car door and I watch him through the passenger side window. He jogs to the house and emerges two minutes later with two little duffle bags that I’ve never seen before.
“Where did you—?” I ask, when he jumps into the driver’s seat, the bags safely in the trunk.
“I picked them up in Melrose last week. There’s a new bathrobe for you in there, and plenty of clothes. I wanted to be ready.”
“What would I do without you?” I ask, just as a slamming, squeezing sensation in my lower abdomen wipes the dreamy grin off of my face. “Ohhhh!” I cry, gripping a handle on the doorway tightly.
“Are you having contractions already?” Jabir asks.
I can’t let go of the door handle. I can’t speak. I can’t breathe. Pain rips through my core, twisting my insides. And then, it’s gone.
“You are,” Jabir affirms, not waiting for an answer.
We’re already out the driveway, heading down the dirt road towards town. Jabir picks up speed, and I hear little pebbles bounce around the wheel wells.
“We just have an hour to go, before we get to Melrose,” I hear him say. “Once we get into town and we have cell service, I’ll make a call so they’re ready for us. Are you feeling okay?”
Though the word “okay” doesn’t seem to fit the state I’m in, I nod my head.
Jabir reaches into the back seat and then hands me my water bottle. “Drink some of this,” he says. “It’s important to stay hydrated.”
We’ve just reached town when another contraction hits me. As it passes, I hear Jabir mutter, “Sixty seconds.”
“What does that mean?” I ask, breathing hard. The contraction seemed to steal all of my breath away, and I feel frantic, terrified of the next one.
“Breathe, baby,” he says, looking over at me. “Keep breathing. Just like we practiced.” He demonstrates, and I try to copy him, but it’s hard. Before I know it, another contraction has me in its grip, tearing through my insides like fire.
Jabir makes a sudden turn.
“Where are you going?” I shout. We were almost to the main road that would take us out of New Hampstead, to the hospital in Melrose. I want to get there as fast as possible. “If you think you’re gonna stop for a sandwich now Jabir, I swear, I’ll—”
“Teresa, honey, those contractions were only five minutes apart. We’re not going to make it to Melrose. This baby is coming soon.”
I feel hot. I’m sweating, waiting for the next contraction to take over my body. I can barely think.
“I’m taking you to your mother,” Jabir says, his voice calm and steady. “She gave birth to you at home, right? She can help us.”
My mom! I never would have thought of that. Thank goodness one of us isn’t losing our head! I lean back, fully trusting that Jabir knows what he is doing. I tilt my head back and try to breathe as I feel my uterus muscles tighten once again. He’s right. Our baby is impatient.
We pull in to my parents’ driveway in a flurry of dust. Jabir’s out of the car in a flash, and then he’s at my side, holding me as we walk up to my folks’ house. As usual, we don’t knock. Jabir calls out, “Carol? Carol! We’re having a baby!”
I see my mom careen around a corner. “What?”
“Her contractions are lasting sixty to ninety seconds,” Jabir says. “They’re only five minutes apart.”
“Good Lord! This baby is anxious to meet us! Here, Jabir, bring her in here.”
I leave all of the talking to Jabir and my mother. I can’t figure anything out; not in my state. I simply lie down where they tell me to lie down, and breathe when they tell me to breathe.
The whole world seems to have flipped inside out. The sensations in my body are no longer secondary to what is going on around me; instead, they take over and the outer world becomes a fuzzy blur. It feels good to push, and when I am, my focus is one-pointed. I push, and push and push like it’s my only purpose for being on earth.
In the moments between pushing, I feel Jabir’s hand in mine. I feel him smooth my damp hair away from my face. I feel my mother place a blanket over my bent knees,
and a pillow behind my head.
“You’re so close, sweet pea,” My mother says confidently just before another set of contractions consume me.
“That’s it, baby. You’re doing wonderfully. Push, Teresa. Don’t give up. Push!”
I push, push, push—and then there’s relief.
And crying.
And laughter.
A sound of scissors, snipping.
And then a baby—a beautiful, perfect, child—is placed in my arms.
“It’s a boy,” Jabir whispers in my ear. He lies down next to me, right there on the living room carpet. His head is propped up on one elbow, and he’s looking down at me with so much love in his eyes.
I feel the weight of our baby on my chest. Jabir leans over me, and kisses my cheek. Then, he gazes at his child. The sight of him, kissing our son on the forehead, is the most precious sight I’ve ever seen in my life.
Jabir strokes out son’s impossibly small, dimpled fist. I see Jabir look down at his own hand, and his shining ring, and then to his son’s hand.
“I’ll give him my ring, when he’s old enough to wear it,” he says, softly. “I’ll tell him about his family crest—the eagle that brought us together. He’ll be a man of honor, integrity, and strength.”
I feel my heart bursting with pride. “What do you think we should name him?” I ask.
We both stare down at the little miracle in my arms. His skin seems paper thin. I can see his little veins. His eyes are puffy, and swaddled in the blanket that my mom’s wrapped him in, he looks like a little peanut. I stroke the soft skin of his arm, marveling at his little body. There’s a soft fuzz of dark hair on his head.
“He’s going to have your hair,” I say.
“But he’s going to be full of light, like his mamma,” Jabir whispers.
I glance at Jabir, and see that he’s just as captivated as I am.
“Yes. I think he will,” I say. I can already feel our son’s power, though he’s only a few minutes old. He’s done so much for us already. Jabir and I wouldn’t be here, now, if it wasn’t for the baby in my arms.
