A Family Affair

by Fern Michaels

  As one, they turned to leave, Rashid in the lead. Outside, a long black car waited. They climbed in. Once again there was no traffic, and the long black car raced to its destination. The moment it stopped, Rashid literally flew out of the vehicle and held the door for Trish and his wife. The three of them sprinted across the tarmac to the waiting plane. Out of the corner of her eye, Trish saw one of the palace guards race up the portable stairs and her gold chest with the intricate lock and her purse disappear inside the plane.

  “Go! They’re burning fuel, and you know how Malik hated when that happened. Do not ask, little sister. We are doing what Malik wanted.”

  “But I am leaving you to face . . .”

  “Go! Everything is in place.”

  Trish was blinded with tears. “I’ll be back. I don’t know when, but I’ll be back.”

  Soraya clung to her. She bent over to kiss the box in Trish’s hands. Rashid did the same thing before he gave her a swat on her rump. “Go already!” His voice was so tortured, all Trish could do was fly up the steps. She didn’t look back.

  That part of her life had ended.

  The flight was long, but Trish didn’t sleep. From time to time, she smelled tantalizing aromas coming from the galley, but she didn’t partake of any of the food with which the stewards tried to entice her. She did drink cup after cup of the coffee that Malik so loved. Twice she got up during the long flight to use the lavatory, but she carried the sealed box with her.

  In her seat, she talked in low whispers to the box in her lap. She didn’t much care that the stewards were whispering about her. The truth was, she really didn’t much care about anything but the box in her lap.

  Hours and hours later, when the plane was ready to make its descent into Las Vegas’s McCarran International Airport, a steward appeared holding a long white cashmere winter coat and a matching pair of white suede boots. Soraya had, indeed, thought of everything. It was winter again, almost Christmas again here in Nevada. She’d left the warm weather behind when she boarded the plane. She saw the gold chest and her purse at the front of the plane.

  Forty-five minutes later, Trish was walking up the steps to her town house. She fished around inside her purse for her key, but before she could find it, the door opened, and Emma literally lifted her off her feet and swept her inside. One of the stewards was right behind her. He set the gold chest down, turned, and walked to the door. He reached inside his jacket for a white envelope.

  “It’s the information on the plane, where it will be hangared and the like,” he said.

  “I don’t understand what that means,” Trish said.

  “The Gulfstream is yours now. It belonged to your husband, is what Rashid told me. I’m sorry we had to meet under these sad circumstances. Good-bye, Shaykhah.” The man bowed low and backed out the door.

  “Wait, wait, where are you going now?”

  “Back to Dubai. It’s a turnaround flight for us. We’re flying commercial.” He bowed low, and then the door closed.

  Trish whirled around. “How did . . . Who?”

  “Rashid called me. I also spoke to Soraya. All I had to do was go to the airport and the ticket was waiting for me. You have your own airplane! Amazing. Come, Trish. Let me take your coat off. At some point, my dear, you have to let go of the box, even if it’s just for a few minutes. Please, Trish, don’t make this any harder than it is. Help me out here.”

  Trish walked into the living room and set the wooden box down on the coffee table, then slipped out of her coat. She was wearing a sundress with spaghetti straps. She looked down at the white suede boots and smiled.

  “I made dinner, and yes, you are going to eat, even if I have to spoon-feed you. Go upstairs and take a shower and put on some warm clothes. We’ll eat by the fire. I’m going to make us both one hell of a stiff drink. After that, we’ll talk and . . . and whatever. The box is not going to go anywhere. Scoot now. This is your big sister telling you what to do, so will you just go already?”

  “What did you cook?” Trish called over her shoulder.

  Hands on her hips, Emma cocked her head to the side. “Now, what do you think I cooked? It’s thirty-two degrees outside, and if you had been paying attention, you would have seen the snow flurries. The weatherman said possibly four inches of snow, but to answer your question, stew and apple pie.”

  “Sounds good. Actually, I am hungry. I can’t remember when I ate last. Maybe yesterday or the day before. Whatever . . .”

  It was almost midnight when the two sisters climbed the stairs to the second floor. They’d eaten the succulent stew, feasted on the apple pie, and each of them had consumed three double scotch and sodas. And they were now ready for bed.

  “I don’t know how to thank you, Emma. I was so dreading walking into a cold, empty house, carrying this box. You made it . . . all bearable. I don’t want you to worry about me. I’m okay. I really am. I’ve had almost a year to prepare myself. That doesn’t mean I’m . . . Oh, you know what I mean. What I wasn’t prepared for was the cremation. Malik and Rashid arranged that and didn’t tell me until . . . well, until the end. Malik didn’t want to be buried in a hole in the desert. That was the bottom line. It’s so sad, Emma. He was caught between two cultures, and in the end, he chose the one he wanted. Rashid and Soraya will make it right for those who have something to say. Malik replaced the council in the summer with more forward-thinking younger people. I’m still the shaykhah, but I handed over my power to Rashid and Soraya. It’s sort of like power of attorney over here but a hell of a lot more complicated.”

  “What are you going to do with the ashes?”

  “Keep them on the mantel in my bedroom so Malik is close to me when I sleep. He said”—Trish’s voice broke—“he said I would know when the right time was to . . . to . . . The words he used were ‘disperse them.’ He said I wasn’t to keep them forever, and I promised. I really am okay, Emma. Sad, bereaved, but okay. I’m also relieved that Malik is free of his pain and in a better place. Everyone says those words, but the listeners think them trite somehow. I don’t.”

  “That’s good. Breakfast is at seven. Don’t even think about blowing me off. I shopped all day yesterday for food. We could survive in a storm for six months with what I bought. You know I love to cook, and you sure do need fattening up. Good night, little sister.”

  “Night, Emma. Thanks for coming. Thanks for being my sister, and thanks for just being you.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Emma grumbled good-naturedly as she walked through the door to her bedroom. “See ya at breakfast.”

  “Yeah, see you at breakfast.”

  Trish’s last conscious thought before she fell asleep was, And now this is my new life. I’ve come full circle. Good night, Malik. I will always love you, just like the song says. Always and forever, then into eternity, plus one more day.

  Epilogue

  Three years later ...

  TRISH SQUATTED ON HER HAUNCHES AND LOOKED AT THE ground, defying a weed to poke through the freshly cultivated soil. She called this minuscule patch of a garden her own little paradise. From time to time, she likened it to the lush, almost tropical, gardens back at the Dubai palace. She’d planted each bloom herself, talking to the plant, and then, as she always did, talking to Malik. The fact that neither answered her made no difference.

  Starting early in the spring, Trish had worked in her little paradise for three hours each morning, before the heat of the day took over. This year was no different. She looked over at her garden tools, which consisted of a pair of scissors, not shears, a big serving spoon, and a salad fork from her kitchen for turning over the rich soil she’d purchased at Home Depot. She didn’t bother with gardening gloves, either, because she liked to feel the earth on her hands. The fact that her nails were a disgrace didn’t bother her at all.

  These days, as most days since she’d returned to Las Vegas, had been busy days. She didn’t cry as much, and she didn’t sleep all that well, but she knew she was progressing into
what she called her boring world. She got up in the morning, made sure she cooked breakfast for herself, checked in with Emma and talked for at least half an hour. Then she did her gardening, which she actually looked forward to. By the time she finished her stint in the garden paradise, it was lunchtime. She made sure she ate, because she’d promised Emma, and a promise was a promise. Then she worked on her philanthropy, which consisted of giving away what she still insisted was Malik’s money to worthy endeavors that she investigated thoroughly before handing over a check. It was hard giving away the money, whittling it down, because every month, more money appeared in the account. She called it magic money. Then, when she finished with that, she ran whatever errands she had to run and came home to cook a dinner for herself. Her evenings were spent reading, calling Soraya to check on the kids and gossip, and sometimes to cry. On very rare occasions, they laughed together.

  Twice, she’d made plans to return to Dubai, and both times she’d canceled her plans at the last moment. She told herself she just wasn’t ready to go back there. Maybe she would never be ready to go back. She simply didn’t know. One day at a time was what had gotten her to this place in time, so she wasn’t about to tamper with a work in progress.

  Trish knew she wasn’t happy, but she also knew she was content. She told herself it was a good thing that she knew the difference between the two emotions.

  Ironically, since her return, her best friend had turned out to be Ernie. The girls, her old friends, had scattered, moved, gotten married, and relocated. One night a week, she had Ernie and his wife, Bella, for dinner, and one night, usually on the weekend, they invited her to their home for dinner. Ernie was now a full-time choreographer and much sought after, partly thanks to Trish’s magic money. When her old boss Nathan retired shortly after her return to Vegas, she’d talked the owners of the casino into giving Ernie a chance, and it had paid off big for the young man. It went without saying that some of the magic money changed hands until Ernie proved himself. When he did, the casino even paid her back, which almost blew her socks off. And it was the best-kept secret in Vegas, so it really was true, that saying, “What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.”

  Trish had just set a place for herself at the counter, cut her tuna sandwich, eyed the celery and carrot sticks, along with the peach, that were to be her lunch, when the doorbell rang. She frowned. No one visited her. No one but Ernie and Bella, and they always called before coming over. She wasn’t expecting UPS or FedEx, and the mail had arrived earlier. The doorbell chimed again, a cheery five-note ditty.

  She yelled, “Coming!” and raced to the door. She opened it wide and stood in shocked amazement at the man standing on her little stoop with a bouquet of sad-looking flowers in his hand.

  “Zack!” she squealed.

  He imitated her. “Trish!”

  “What are you doing here? Come in! Come in! I was just going to have lunch. Can you stay? Did you eat?”

  “I can stay, and I can eat. I’m in Vegas for a conference. It started yesterday, and we broke early today. I thought I’d come by and see how you were and maybe take you out to dinner this evening. What do you say?”

  “I say yes! It is so good to see you. How have you been? How are all the guys? I can’t wait to hear how everyone is.”

  “We’re all fine. I can break it down later, but more importantly, how are you doing?”

  Trish waved her hands about. “What you see is what you get. Pretty much the same old, same old. I’m sorry I wasn’t a better e-mail pal. Sometimes, the days just seem to get away from me. Other times, they just drag. I try to keep busy giving away Malik’s money, but as fast as I give it away, there’s more to take its place. I gave up trying to figure it all out. I help my sister from time to time. I told you about the shop that she and her friends operate back in Princeton. If I see a one-of-a-kind something, I ship it up to her. They are doing fantastically well. What about you?”

  “Like you, same old, same old. A little older, more gray hair, put on a few pounds. I try for the gym at least twice a week, but it doesn’t always work out. There are days when I get fed up with teaching eager and not-so-eager minds and wish I were a plumber or a mailman. The feeling doesn’t last long, though. By the way, great sandwich.”

  “I cook a lot. Emma made me promise. You know, one of those promises carved in stone, that I would cook and eat three meals a day. I’m pretty good at it.” Trish suddenly burst out laughing. “Actually, I pretty much throw stuff in a Crock-Pot, and whatever comes out is what I eat. I already did that earlier, just chicken and vegetables. So if you’d like to eat here instead of going out, that would work for me. I have some good wine and also some good beer.”

  “Then I’m your guy. This really is a good sandwich.”

  Trish laughed again. This was so nice. She had company, and it was an old friend. What could be nicer?

  “Have you gone back to Dubai? How is Rashid and his wife?”

  “No, I haven’t gone back. I had plans to go twice, but I changed my mind at the last moment. I don’t know if I’ll ever go back. They gave me a plane. Did I tell you that? The reason was, so all I had to do was call up, say, ‘Fuel up,’ and off we go. It’s sitting in a hangar somewhere. Rashid is doing well. Malik would be so proud of him. Soraya is, first and foremost, a mother. The kids are growing and giving her a run for her money. She complains, but she loves it. She works a little for my sister, finding those one-of-a-kind treasures. She says it helps to do something besides chasing kids. We talk just about every evening. I miss them.”

  “Are you happy?”

  “Not like I was happy with Malik. Let’s just say I’m content these days. I try not to think about or dwell in the past, and Malik is the past. It was a different life and it’s gone now and I can’t get it back, so I have to move forward. At first I fought it, but things are better now. What about you? Why haven’t you ever married?” Trish asked bluntly.

  “I guess the right girl just hasn’t found me yet.” Zack laughed.

  “What? You’re waiting for her to knock on your front door?”

  “I have to admit, that would be nice.” Zack laughed again.

  Trish joined in the laughter. “Come with me. I want to show you my garden. I work in it every day, right up until late fall.”

  “Wow! You need sunglasses out here. I never saw so many flowers in one spot in my whole life. This is beautiful. Ah, those flowers I brought you, they were the only ones left in the gift shop at the hotel. I am so ashamed after seeing these.”

  “Don’t be. It’s the thought that counts. How long are you going to be in town?”

  “Until Monday. I can stay longer if you take me around sightseeing. As you know, us professors do not work in the summer. Well, some of us do, but I don’t. I was going to go home to the farm, but my parents are going camping with some of the grandkids for weeks at a time, so I elected to stay home. I might take some road trips to see some of the guys. We’re going to get together in New York over Thanksgiving, all of us. Each one of the guys committed. They’re bringing their spouses. Can you join us as Malik’s stand-in?”

  Trish didn’t think twice before she said, “I would love to.”

  “Great. That’s settled, then. Now, what should we do?”

  “How about I make us a pitcher of iced tea, and we sit on my tiny, as in ‘tiny balcony,’ and play catch-up? I can actually fit two canvas chairs on it. My sister calls it a platform with a fence, but it works for me.”

  “Then let’s do it. I bet we can talk for hours and hours and hours, or until that stuff in your Crock-Pot is ready to eat.”

  And that was exactly what they did. Then, when dinner was over and the cleanup done, they talked till midnight, when Zack said he had to get back to the hotel because he had a six thirty breakfast date with several fellow professors he hadn’t seen in awhile, plus he was giving the opening address at the conference at eight.

  “Can I come by later, around lunchtime? Think of something to do,
and I’ll drive.”

  “Okay.”

  No one was more surprised than Trish when Zack leaned over and kissed her cheek. “It is so damn good to see you, Trish. I mean that.”

  “I do know what you mean. You make me smile. Good night, Zack. See you in the morning. I’ll figure out something to do.”

  Trish ran upstairs and over to the mantel in her room. She reached for the wooden box and started babbling. “And he’s coming back tomorrow. He liked my stuff in the Crock-Pot. At least he said he did. He has gray hair now, Malik. Like me, he misses you. I’m going to go to New York in your place over Thanksgiving, as your stand-in for their reunion. I said yes. It seemed like the right answer. I know I’m not going to be one of the guys, but I’ll do my best to represent you. Just once, Malik,” Trish whispered, “I wish you could give me a sign that you hear me when I talk to you. Just once. Is that too much to ask?”

  She sighed as she replaced the box on the mantel. She bent down to adjust the sound on the surround-sound system she’d had installed. She liked to fall asleep to soothing music. She stood stock-still when she heard Whitney Houston singing “I Will Always Love You.”

  Trish smiled through her tears. “That’s good enough for me,” she said, singing along with Whitney until the song ended. Then she did what she always did before she settled herself under the covers. She opened her night-table drawer and reached for a small gold-colored velvet bag. Her hands trembled as she withdrew a small bundle of Malik’s hair, which Soraya had given her. She said she had kept an identical bag for herself. She said it was Rashid’s idea. Trish touched the ebony curl, and as always, a tear rolled down her cheek. She clutched the curl in her hand and fell asleep. In the morning, sometimes the curl was damp when she replaced it in the gold bag.