A Family Affair

by Fern Michaels

  “Selling real estate in a down market is not romantic. That leaves the trophy wife, who is just eight years older than Missy, on her own. He wants Missy to keep her eye on his new wife. Missy adores her. They shop till they drop, do girl things, putz and putter around. According to Missy, I am a Neanderthal, square, don’t know where it’s at, and a nag at the same time.”

  “Oh, God, Em, I am so sorry. What about Christmas?”

  “Jeff is taking his wife and Missy to Hawaii. I didn’t fight that, either. No point. I’ve become active in several support groups, and we have plans for Christmas, just like your friends there. That’s so none of us are alone. We do our little lunches, tree trimmings, secret Santa gifts. You know how it goes. Listen, enough about me. Tell me stuff, little sister.”

  So she did. Trish thought her sister sounded genuinely happy for her. I wish you would come back with me for my wedding, Em. Will you at least think about it?”

  “I can’t, Trish, as much as I would like to. I have to be here for Missy in case she wants to come back. Once a mother, always a mother. If Jeff found out, he’d make my life miserable. I hope you understand why I didn’t tell either one of them about your going to Dubai and now about getting married to a sheik. Somehow or other, Jeff would make that work for him and destroy you in the bargain. I don’t know who he is anymore. He’s driven by power and money.

  “Here’s another thing. Some of the women in my various support groups all got screwed the way I did with the same lawyer Jeff used. Those same guys all belong to this new international group that Jeff is heading up. I overheard Missy on the phone with one of her friends talking about her father. Okay, okay, I was eavesdropping. Sometimes you have to do that with teenagers. Anyway, she was bragging about how her father was going to be a billionaire very soon. Not a millionaire but a billionaire, and he was going to buy her a Porsche as soon as she got her driver’s license. Missy never even mastered riding a bicycle. Look, let’s talk about something else.”

  “Just promise me you won’t be alone for Christmas, Em.”

  “I promise, Trish. By the way, your gifts arrived. I put them in the closet. I haven’t put up a tree. Maybe a little artificial one since Missy won’t be here.”

  “How are you fixed for money?”

  “I’m making it. Hey, I’m the big sister here. I have a little cushion. I never spent any of the money from the sale of Mom and Dad’s house, and I still have my share of the insurance. I know you never spent yours, either. I just couldn’t. Knowing it’s there if I need it is good. I’m sure the economy will pick up next year, and if it doesn’t, I registered with the modeling agency I used to work for. My feet look the same, and so does my hair, so maybe something will come through with that. I’m sorry I ever let Jeff talk me into giving all that up when we got married.”

  “You gave it up for me. Don’t put all the blame on Jeff, Em. You wanted to be there for me when I needed a mother the most. I will be forever grateful to you for stepping in when . . . after . . . you know. I also know Jeff didn’t want me living with you, but you held tight. I love you for that, Em. After I’m married, I’ll be in a position to help you out.” She told her about the financial arrangements and giggled at her sister’s reaction.

  “Trish, that is so awesome. My God, what will you do with all that money?”

  “I can’t wrap my mind around it all yet. I’ll think of something. Right now, though, I’m just about broke. I’m going to rent my town house to one of the girls in the line. I don’t want to give it up. I worked too hard to get it, did without too much to just give it up. You taught me that, Em. Always keep something in reserve. Like you with your inheritance and me with mine. You just never know what tomorrow will bring.”

  On the other end of the phone, Emma sighed. “In a million years I never thought Jeff would push me to the curb. I’m still trying to figure out how I could have been so stupid. There had to have been clues, and I missed every single one of them. My friends all say the same thing. None of us saw it coming. Out with the old, in with the new. The guys are all sporting young, as in very young, trophy wives who spend their days shopping and lunching at the country club.”

  “Don’t be so hard on yourself, Em. You were being a wife, taking care of me, and raising a daughter. You did it all right. Jeff is the one who screwed it up. ‘What goes around comes around.’ You always used to say that to me. Then you’d finish it up with, ‘Karma is a bitch.’ ”

  Emma laughed. “I have to go, Trish, and at least pretend I’m working. There are at least two dozen divorcees standing in line for this crappy job if I bomb at it. Why does every woman who gets divorced think the only path to take is in real estate?”

  It was Trish’s turn to laugh. “I have no clue, Em. Love you. I’ll call again in a day or so.”

  Trish sat for a long time after she disconnected the call. She’d never really liked Emma’s husband, because he had always made her feel like a charity case and resented having had to feed her, clothe her, and put a roof over her head. Bastard. The thing that bothered her the most was Missy turning on her mother. In a way, she understood that teenagers thought only of themselves and keeping up with their peer group. She could see how the promise of a Porsche would tempt any young person. A trip to Hawaii for Christmas. Well, that was just the cherry on top. A young stepmother who spent all her time shopping and lunching, right down a teenager’s alley. Poor Em.

  Right then, at that precise moment in time, Trish Holiday came to the understanding that money was at the root of all evil.

  Trish went back to her computer search. She was trying to make arrangements for her wedding gift to Malik. Her intention was to find his old rattletrap of a car, buy it from whoever had it, and ship it to Dubai. Soraya had provided her a list with the names of Malik’s old roommates and friends who had sent condolences when their father died. Malik had asked her personally, as the only female in the family, to take care of it, and she had. There were nine names on the list.

  She started with the first one, Malik’s closest friend, Zack Molton. She dialed the number, waited until the phone was picked up, then identified herself and said what she wanted. He sounded nice, asked about Malik and how he was doing. Trish volunteered just enough information without giving anything away about Malik’s private life.

  “Well, let’s see. Malik just called me and asked me to get rid of all his stuff. I didn’t see him again after he left for his visit to Vegas. He got the news of his father’s passing and left from there. We’ve spoken only once since he left. He called to thank me. Then I got a really nice letter—we all did—from the family. You probably don’t know this, but us guys had a tree planted at Berkeley with his father’s name on a plaque. We sent Malik a picture of it. When it comes right down to it, what do you do for a guy who has it all and is a sheik in the bargain? A tree sounded right to all of us. It will be there forever.

  “But back to your problem. I gave the car to Duke Richards. I think he said he was going to give it to his nephew, who had just gotten his learner’s permit. If you hold on a minute, I’ll call Duke on my other line and see if the kid still has it.”

  Trish said she would wait and hold on.

  Five minutes later, Zack was back on the line. “Okay, I’m back. Duke said his nephew sold it for seventy dollars to a friend because it kept dying out on him. He’s going to track down the other kid and call me back. Malik sure did love that car. How are you going to get it to Dubai if we can locate it?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t get beyond trying to locate it. Do you have any ideas?”

  Zack laughed. “This just might be your lucky day, Miss Holiday. Someone in our group has someone in their family who works at the port. I just don’t remember offhand who it is. I’ll check with the others and see what we can do. It’s called networking. Even though our group is scattered all over the country these days, we stay in touch. Anything for Malik. I’d give anything to see his face if you can pull this off.”

&
nbsp; “I’ll send you a picture,” Trish promised. “Call me. Doesn’t matter what time it is. I see that this is a Virginia number, so I’m three hours behind you. Thanks for your help, Zack.”

  Trish dusted her hands dramatically. She didn’t know how she knew, but she just knew she was going to find the rattletrap and somehow get it to Dubai in time for the wedding. Now that the car was being taken care of, Trish let her thoughts go to her sister and what she could do for her. How sad she must be that her daughter chose her husband over her. Ex-husband. She wondered what, if anything, she could do about that.

  She’d make it a family affair.

  Chapter 8

  TRISH ROLLED OVER IN BED, THEN ROLLED BACK. SHE SNIFFED. The scent of fresh-brewed coffee was wafting about her. Soraya making coffee! Unbelievable! Still, the young woman had taken to life here in the States like a duck takes to water. She knew how to work the washer, the dryer, the dishwasher, and the microwave and was proud of her accomplishments. She even made toast and cut up fruit in the morning. She said she loved doing it, and Trish believed her.

  It was the day Soraya had been waiting for since their return. A week had gone by without a trip to the casino because Trish had had too many things to do. But today was the start of the first Christmas show, and she was going to dance, with Soraya front and center in the audience. Malik had told her last night, in his last call of the day, that his sister had called him a dozen times to thank him for allowing her to come to the States and then to regale him with all she’d done since her arrival.

  A soft knock sounded on Trish’s bedroom door. “Come in.”

  “I thought you might like coffee in bed today. I’ll join you if that’s all right.”

  “How sweet of you to do that. Is it drinkable?” Trish joked.

  Soraya laughed. “Malik told me how to make it. One scoop for each cup and one for the pot. He said I couldn’t go wrong if I did it that way. I tested it. Tell me what you think,” she said anxiously.

  Trish sipped the fragrant brew. “Excellent! I couldn’t have made it better.”

  “What are we doing today? I can’t wait for this evening. You have to help me choose something to wear that is appropriate for this evening. I have no wish to embarrass you. Is it dress up, or is it casual? Plus, it’s cold out. I saw on your little television in the kitchen that it is twelve degrees outside.”

  “Casual is always good. The night I met Malik, he was wearing jeans and a cable-knit sweater. That white cashmere sweater you bought the other day and the black wool slacks will be perfect, if you’re comfortable wearing them. Easy on the jewelry. There are people out and about who scout around, then rob you. Security is excellent, but you still have to be careful.”

  “I understand. So, how much progress have you made on Malik’s car? He will go over the moon when he sees it. Did I say that right?”

  “You did, and I hope you’re right. The last call I had was to tell me they think the car is in a junkyard. They’re working on getting it out. Zack said he would call me today if they were successful. He wanted to know if I wanted it fixed. The whole point of getting the car is so it’s drivable, so I said yes. That means I’m going to have to scrounge up money from somewhere. I’ll get paid to dance tonight, but it won’t be all that much. I’m about tapped out. I still have gifts to buy for the girls and other odds and ends.”

  “How much do you need, Trish? I have lots of money. Just tell me what you need.”

  “No, sweetie, it doesn’t work that way. This is a gift from me to Malik, so I have to pay for it. I have a little nest egg I can tap. Don’t worry about it, and don’t you dare tell Malik. This is one of those girl secrets I told you about. Girl secrets are not to be shared. Agreed?”

  “You have my word. Tell me this. Will it pay to have the rattletrap fixed?”

  “Lord, Soraya, I have no idea. If it’s in the junkyard, that has to mean something serious is wrong with it. Maybe it even needs a new engine. That could run into some serious money. I’ll know more when Zack calls me. He did say that Toby knew how to work on cars. I don’t even know who Toby is.”

  “Tobias Little. He was number seven on the list of names. I remember Malik telling me that he worked on all the guys’ cars at one time or another. He said he liked to tinker with cars. If I remember correctly, Tobias lives in California. Does that help?” Soraya asked anxiously.

  “If that’s where the junkyard is, and he cuts us a deal on labor and parts, it will work.”

  “I will cross my fingers that it all works out for you. So what are we going to do today?”

  “Sadie said she is coming by for you at eleven. She said you agreed to babysit her little girl for a few hours. After that, we have to get ready to go to work. I’m going to finish packing up my personal things and moving them to the attic and basement. My friend who is taking over the town house has her own things. I’m just going to be doing boring stuff. Some online banking and a trip to the post office.

  “Soraya, do you know anything about American lawyers and how they work with the emirates? Does Malik deal with them, or is it the council who does that?”

  “All the time. We have hosted many dinners for American lawyers. They handle the private-sector business for the emirates. All the sheiks and emirs deal with them. I did hear Malik say once that those men are getting rich off the emirates, but that is all I know. Why are you asking me this?”

  Trish waited a few moments before she spoke. “Can you handle another girl secret?”

  “I absolutely can,” Soraya said, jumping on the bed and sitting Indian style. “Tell me.”

  “You won’t speak of this to your brother?”

  “I can keep a secret, Trish. I will not speak to my brother of what you confide in me.”

  Trish set her coffee cup down on the nightstand and told her about her sister and what she’d said the night before. “My sister is struggling to survive, and her ex-husband is getting rich, supposedly from dealings in Saudi Arabia and Abu Dhabi. I want to find out how all that works. Jeff, my former brother-in-law, doesn’t know that I’m marrying Malik. I want to keep it that way. He’s already enticed my niece away from my sister with promises of money and all that goes with it.”

  “That is so terrible. When I was your niece’s age, I would have done anything to have a mother who cared about me. My father used to make up stories about what my mother would have done had she lived to see me grow up. At the time, I didn’t know that the stories were made up. He would have tears in his eyes, so perhaps that’s why I thought they were true. He told me my mother would sing me lullabies as I fell asleep, that she would shower me with kisses all day long, that she would dress me like a princess. He said she would never be far from my side, and always, always, she would smile when she looked at me. That she would hold my hand tight in hers.

  “I loved those stories. To this day, I still think of them as I fall asleep. How wonderful to have someone you love wrap you in their arms, then look in your eyes and tell you how much they love you. I feel sad for your niece because I know from what you say, her father or the new wife will not do this for her. I hope she realizes her mistake before it is too late. But my father also told me that a mother’s love never wavers no matter what goes awry. Was it like that with your mother, Trish?”

  Trish felt her throat close up. She struggled to clear it. “Pretty much just as you describe it. For my sister, too, and I know she thinks of our parents every day, just as I do. My sister is very much like our mother.”

  “And I think you will be, too, when you become a mother. All right, I must now get showered and dressed. Eleven o’clock will be here before you know it. Is there anything I can do before I leave?”

  “Nope. I’m good. Thanks for bringing the coffee. It hit the spot. I’ll see you downstairs. Did the weatherman say anything about snow?”

  “Just flurries, whatever that is,” Soraya called over her shoulder.

  “Soraya, wait a minute. If there’s time, do you
want to go pick out a Christmas tree this afternoon? If we’re running tight, we can do it tomorrow. I want you to have the experience of picking out a tree. We’ll put this one on the other side of the fireplace. You can never have too many Christmas trees. At least that’s what my mother used to say. Emma used to have one in every room in her house when she first got married. And I think I’m going to take you up to Lake Tahoe this weekend and teach you how to ski. Would you like that?”

  Soraya raced back in the room. “Oh, yes to everything. Thank you. I can’t wait to tell Malik. He knows how to ski, but he said he spent more time on his bum than he did on his feet. I have pictures!” she said triumphantly.

  The two women hugged each other before Soraya ran off again. How nice it was to make someone so happy. If only she could get Emma’s ex-husband out of her mind. What he was doing to her sister and her niece was taking the edge off her own happiness.

  Their cheeks rosy with the cold and brisk wind, Trish and Soraya struggled to carry the Christmas tree up the steps to the little porch of Trish’s town house. Trish ran inside to get a bucket of water. They managed to prop the tree in the bucket, getting it to lean against the railing. Trish then cut the netting, and the branches spread out like eager hands.

  “By tonight, when we get home, we can bring it inside, and then tomorrow we can decorate it. The house will smell wonderful. At this time of year, I always let cinnamon sticks simmer in boiling water. My sister always did the same thing. It takes me back to the time when I was little and still believed in Santa Claus.”

  “Look at my hands! I just love this smell. Palm trees don’t smell,” Soraya said, giggling.

  “We cut this close, Soraya. We have to hustle now to make sure we’re not late. We have time. Just don’t dawdle around, okay?”