“I don’t know what I’m thinking, remembering, hearing, or knowing right about now,” I groaned as I unfolded the paper with my bare hands.
Trying to save fingerprints from a man who stated he didn’t exist, what was wrong with me? That man had gotten under my skin real good for me to be acting and thinking like this. Twisted. That’s what he was and that is what he had done with my brain.
Get it together, Sienna, and stop being delusional, I told myself.
The paper, once unfolded, only confirmed that I’d gone way off track.
It was a drawing, the same illustration that he’d doodled on his blank registration packet, the same drawing I’d placed in his very incomplete chart.
A cat on a windowsill. The window framed with striped curtains.
I balled the paper back up and tossed it on my car floor. It wasn’t even worthy of the tiny wastebasket I hung from the rear of my passenger seat. As I drove away, I decided that I would throw it in a trash receptacle once I reached the restaurant where Laz waited for me. Fingerprints? Laz would look at me like I was sure enough crazy.
I was embarrassed at myself for thinking the man was a terrorist.
I looked back at the platter of mint chocolate raspberry cookies bars I’d baked that morning.
That task and the mindset I’d had when I baked them felt like a lifetime ago. My thoughts, my moods, my conviction seemed like breezes in the wind. What I at one second felt certain of, I doubted wholeheartedly the next minute.
What was wrong with me? When had I become such a confused being? I sighed as I turned onto the beltway, the first leg of my trip to the restaurant in Columbia where I was certain Laz was already waiting.
Certain.
I chuckled, knowing that “certain” didn’t even feel like it belonged in my vocabulary.
I’d told him yesterday that I had an answer to his proposal. What was my answer? I wanted to cry as walls began feeling like they were collapsing on me.
No crying!
I told him I had an answer, and I would stick to it.
Staying true to what I had already decided felt like the right thing to do.
Even as I acknowledged that the times I’d felt most confident over the week were in those rare moments when I’d wholeheartedly believed that Bennett was a terrorist.
I only felt crazy, uncertain, and anxious when I fought against that instinct.
I-695 was clear enough for me to set my car on cruise control for a moment. After it was set, I used my right foot to slide the wad of paper I’d thrown on the far right-hand corner of the passenger floor toward me. I picked it up and placed it gently in my ashtray.
Maybe I was a little off, but something in me wanted to preserve that little piece of paper. Perhaps his fingerprints could still be salvaged....
Chapter 25
Laz had chosen a fondue restaurant off of one of the main roads in Columbia. As I pulled into the parking lot, I recalled that a similar restaurant was in Towson, closer to my home, closer to my good friend Ava Diggs. I had been invited years ago by some friends at a former job to have the fondue experience once after work; I declined, never really seeming to fit in with coworkers and girlfriends the way I’d imagined most women did. Ava was ten years older than my mother and the closest I had to a “girlfriend.” Not sure what that said about me.
How long had I not been aware that I was alone?
I shut the engine off, closed my eyes, and wiped a trail of sweat that suddenly streamed from my forehead.
I was about to answer a marriage proposal. The last time I had done so, the entire track of my life changed.
And not necessarily for the better.
I reached for the platter of cookie bars I’d kept wrapped up in plastic wrap and foil in my back seat, trying to remember why I’d baked them, why I’d felt the need to bring them. I reached for, then let go, then reached for again the small wad of trash that had been handled by the stranger who’d made me second-guess all I thought, all I felt, what I knew of my instincts, what I’d held on to about my faith. I stuffed the wad into my purse.
With my heart feeling like it would pop right out of my chest, I finally entered the restaurant, self-conscious that I was carrying cookies, half dreading to see Laz, to answer him.
Dread.
Why that feeling?
“There you are.”
Laz appeared before the hostess could address me. Wearing a gray suit and a pink and blue striped tie, he kissed my cheek, touched my hair, winked at me, and led me to a private booth all before I could take in where I was or what I was doing.
“I think you’ll like this experience, Sienna.” He was all smiles as I sat down. I put the plate of wrapped cookies on the seat next to me. A pot of rich melted cheeses sat on the table along with artisan breads and fresh vegetables. I noted from a menu that more courses—salad, entrée, dessert—were to come.
All this food and I wasn’t hungry.
Diamonds glittered from the face of Laz’s watch and I thought about the ring he’d offered me on Sunday.
Or rather, the ring setting he’d presented for me to fill with the jewels from the lion’s head ring.
“I am offering you a chance to take that past, acknowledge it, and start over, make it work for you in a layout of your choice. That is what I’m offering to you. I’m not just asking you to be my wife. I’m giving you a chance to live your life.”
I smiled at him. The soft glow of candlelight that flickered across his sober face gave his features a warmth I did not usually see.
Everything is okay, Sienna, I assured myself, wondering why I even needed assurance. I thought about the wad of trash I’d stuffed into the corner of my purse, and the sick, empty feeling that had begun feeding off the bottom of my stomach increased.
“So . . .” Laz’s entire attention was on me. The smile on his face told me he had no idea of the raging war of uncertainty, fear, and anxiety that was churning in me.
I’ve made a decision. I’m sticking to it. No second-guessing.
“Do we get right to it, or do we chat about our days first.” I let my smile equal his, swallowing down the lump that threatened to take over my throat. Was that man in my office a terrorist? I could not keep my thoughts straight.
All over the place, I was.
“Well.” An oblivious Laz grinned at me. “Well,” an oblivious Laz grinned at me, “a good news story needs a good buildup, so I’m open to starting with the small talk. How was your day, Sienna?”
“It was . . . fine. That man came to see me today and I think we had a breakthrough.” I held my breath.
“Ah.” He dipped a piece of broccoli in the pot of cheese fondue. “I’m glad to hear that you’re gaining ground with helping him. You’re a good therapist, Sienna. Don’t let the tragedies of the past few days distract you or get your thoughts and feelings off track.”
“Right.” I looked down, nibbled on a broccoli stalk. What was I expecting? For Laz to tell me that I needed to do all I could to prove that my suspicions weren’t true? Was there anyone else on the planet who actually thought the wrong terror suspect was in custody? The even bigger question: was there anyone else on the planet who actually thought the man who said his name might be Bennett was a terrorist?
Listening to myself ask those questions in my head sealed the deal for me. I was crazy. That I even spent time thinking such things said a lot about my mental stability, or the lack thereof. And I had gone a step further and believed that God was talking to me, telling me I was on the right track with my insane suspicions.
I, Sienna St. James, had officially lost my mind. I felt embarrassed for myself, embarrassed that I’d even given space in my head to such delusions. Had that man gotten under my skin that much that I hadn’t been able to think straight?
“So the blue or the green? What do you think, Sienna? I need to let the set designer know my preference soon.”
How long had Laz been talking? He’d put a computer tablet on t
he table at some point during my mental break and was rambling about set designs, potential guests, and news topics, I gathered.
I’d missed all of it, his whole conversation. I needed to put an end to my absentmindedness immediately.
“Yes, Laz. I will marry you.”
The words came out with urgency, certainty. Loudly. A woman at a nearby table looked over at us with sudden interest. A smile filled her face until she began looking back and forth between Laz and me in an effort to see “the ring.” Her smile slowly faded and she turned her attention back to whatever simmered in her table’s pot as Laz and I simply stared and blinked at each other.
Whatever sentence he’d been in the middle of, whatever link he’d been about to click on his screen came to a halt. His finger froze in midair.
“You . . . said yes.”
We both looked surprised.
“Yes,” I said again. “We still have to figure out the whole ‘move to Atlanta’ thing. I’m not ready to address that yet. One issue at a time,” I whispered, and nodded as tears I could not explain sprung to my eyes. He reached both hands across the table and covered mine in his. Did he know an unstable shell of a woman on the verge of a complete crackup had just agreed to be his wife?
“We are going to get through this together,” he whispered while rubbing the back of my thumbs.
“Are you comforting me, or congratulating us?” I asked and we both chuckled. “This is what you want, right? Us? Marriage?” I raised an eyebrow, a sudden panic settling into the other emotions that swirled around in my stomach.
“Of course, of course. I was the one who brought up the idea of marriage.” He let my hands go and sat back in his seat. I noticed then that neither one of us had eaten more than a single broccoli stalk.
“Then, what is it? Are you having second thoughts?” I held my breath waiting to hear his response.
“Everything is real now, Sienna. That’s all. Everything I’ve ever wanted: my own show, not to be alone. I . . . I’m overwhelmed. Thank you.”
I saw the tears in Laz’s eyes and for the first time since I’d known him, I saw the vulnerability.
Not to be alone.
The words jumped out at me. I’d just been thinking about loneliness when I’d entered the restaurant. Now I’d be leaving as a fiancée with the promise of a lifetime partner.
For better or worse.
Not to be alone.
The words haunted me.
“So I have a good jeweler friend of mine in Rockville who could help with whatever setting you want for the ring.” Laz had picked up his fork and had begun stuffing his mouth with food. “And you already have the papers to get started with the divorce.” He took a long swallow of whatever sparkling beverage was in his glass. “It’s simple. Since nobody knows where RiChard is, you just have to show that you tried to look for him, then have the divorce decree posted in a newspaper for him to see and respond to, which won’t happen, and then you’ll be free to be Mrs. Tyson. Like I said before, I think the whole process should take about six months or so.”
“Yeah, I know.”
He spoke about divorce and RiChard so casually, I wondered if it really would be that simple. I wondered if I should tell him about my planned return trip to San Diego tomorrow. What if I actually find out where RiChard is?
“Unless you wanted something big, Sienna, I figured we could do a small destination wedding, just the two of us, to one of the islands. Jamaica, Bahamas. Dominican Republic. Or, maybe, we could go to Mexico. There are some interesting stories I could cover down there. Just kidding. I won’t work during our wedding weekend. We could have the whole ceremony and honeymoon all in one and be done with it. Or should I say, just starting? Wow, Sienna, we’re getting married.” He put his fork down for a moment, blinked at me with a half smile and then went back to dipping and dripping with the cheese fondue.
Mrs. Tyson.
I forced another broccoli stalk down. “Wow,” I echoed, nodded along, wondering what I was supposed to be feeling as an officially newly engaged woman.
Laz continued rambling about wedding plans and his ideas for the show and house hunting in Atlanta and dreams and plans and hopes and wishes. I nodded when he seemed to be asking me a question, smiled when his pearly whites flashed between his moustache and goatee, laughed when he chuckled.
And wondered the entire time why I felt like throwing up. I thought I’d just said I wasn’t ready to talk about Atlanta. I felt irritation as he began talking about the different suburbs in the Atlanta metropolitan area. Then where will I be if I’m not there with him?
It was too much to think about, too much to figure out.
“I brought cookies,” I interjected as the chocolate fondue course began. “I mean, I wanted to give you my cookies.”
Laz’s grin grew wider and he began licking his lips. But his smile dropped when I put the platter of cookie bars in front of him.
“Mint chocolate raspberry cookie bars. Special recipe. Homemade.” I pulled back the plastic and foil. I inhaled and thought of Leon. My eyes sprung open and I covered the bars back up quickly.
“Really, Sienna? You tell a man you want to give him your cookies and you . . . put out a plate of cookies?”
“Of course. What were you . . . ? Oh.”
An awkward silence filled the space between us as I finished tucking down the corners of the foil over the large plate.
Cookies.
Marriage would mean sharing cookies that I hadn’t shared in eons with a man who seemed to be used to gobbling up crumbs from many bakeries.
Despite his many advances over the year, and the preheat button he’d occasionally ignite in me, I realized that I had not given much thought to all a marriage would entail; not just companionship, but intimacy.
With Laz.
He stared at me as I slowly uncovered the cookies again. I wondered if he, was bothered by the fact that I felt so awkward, unnerved.
“Sienna.” His voice was a whisper as he reached for a bar, split it in half. “We’re going to be okay. I promise.”
We both took a bite out of the cookie he had broken.
But all I could taste, all I could smell, all I could feel was Leon.
“He’s moved on, Ma. And you need to too.”
Roman’s words to me just days ago.
He was right. I needed to move on.
“Like I said, Laz, these are homemade cookies. One day, we’ll have to come together to make a recipe of our own.”
“That’s right. We’ll be cooking together.” He licked some chocolate off of his fingers, never breaking his gaze from mine. “Make our own heat. And who knows? Maybe one day we’ll have a lot of new creations all our own. Laz-ette. Siennafer. Sienlaz. We can get as creative as we want to be with our children’s names.”
Screech!
I actually heard the brakes slam down in my brain, heard the tires come to a squealing halt. Laz saw it on my face and chuckled.
“Or not. Calm down, Sienna. I was just kidding. Nobody said we are having kids. Let’s just start with a wedding date. Six months from now. Then you can resume your panicking if you choose.”
Sex. Babies. Panic was an understatement.
“We have a lot to talk about.” And pray about, I realized for what felt like the first time since I’d sat down.
“And we will talk, but, as you said, we don’t have to figure that out right now. Let’s enjoy the moment and figure out all the other details later.”
Exhale, Sienna. You are getting married. This is the right thing to do, I told myself. Enjoy the moment. I let my shoulders relax.
But the moment was short-lived.
Laz’s cell phone started beeping. Clanging, really.
“New developments.” He scrolled through his phone and began typing with a fury into his tiny keypad.
“Breaking news? About the terrorist attack?” When he didn’t immediately answer, I reached for my phone to pull up CNN.
“It’s
not on the news yet. That was my source. I’ve got to go.” He began packing up his things, put away his tablet, then froze and looked at me. “Sienna, when the news does air . . . don’t read too much into it, okay? I don’t want you worrying.”
He dropped two fifties on the table and rushed toward the exit.
My cookies were still on the table.
Chapter 26
Don’t read too much into it.
Breaking news about the terror attack was about to hit the airwaves, and Laz told me not to worry? Not to read too much into it? What happened? Why would he tell me that? Didn’t he realize that worrying would be all I’d be able to do until I found out what he knew? What his source from Homeland Security knew?
I left the restaurant right after he did, shutting off my phone because I needed a clear mind to handle whatever else was coming down the pipes. The evening—no, the day, the entire week—had proven to be too much.
Tired, weary, and now worried, I felt fragile, like one little tap from the wrong hand would send me to pieces.
Enough!
I wanted to believe that I could just tell myself to get it together, but being this close to the edge, I knew a self-pep talk wouldn’t cut it. It was after ten-thirty when I reached Baltimore’s outer loop that took me to my home, but without even forming the thought, I knew I was making a stop in Towson first.
She sat on a metal chair on her porch, a closed book in her hands. Bright moonlight cast shadows on her face and a cool breeze scented by geraniums wafted in the nighttime air.
“Ava,” I called out to her as I ascended the steps to the wraparound porch that graced the front of her near-century old Cape Cod. She’d nodded off, I could tell by the way her head popped up to attention at the sound of her name.
“Sienna, I haven’t seen you for a while. What time is it? I must have dozed off. Here, let’s go inside.”
Sacrifices of Joy Page 14
