by Harte, Roxy
“Ommy means mother?” I ask.
“Yes, and Abi is dad but we always call father Papa, all of us except Athena-Sophia. She does not know Papa.”
Now that I have the screaming, combative baby in hand, Hektor climbs onto a stool and pours his own cereal. Standing, Kitten gives me a look and a heavy sigh before rinsing the cloth in her hand and returning to the mess in the floor. She looks exhausted, as if she hasn’t slept at all.
The baby bites my shoulder and I am certain draws blood.
“Hey!” I shout at her, startling her into silence. “No biting!”
Eyes wide, her bottom lip starts quivering but she is silent and not biting. So it’s a start.
From the floor, Kitten asks, “How long do you think he will be gone?”
I hear the desperation in her voice. The children have been awake only minutes and already she is overwhelmed. What a mess this is. I shrug, not knowing. How long could it possibly take to storm the castle and rescue the girl…hours? Days? “I wouldn’t think very long.”
“Don’t leave me alone with them.”
I assure her I won’t. How could I?
* * * * *
After four days, mornings are slightly calmer. Athena-Sophia has accepted a sippy cup in lieu of a bottle. Although it has a soft nipple, it is shaped like her older brother’s sports bottle. He convinced her she is a “big girl” or at least that is what he says he has taught her to say when she lifts her arms over her head and cries out,“Kah-beer Bent.” I am trying to convince him to speak to her only in English so that she will understand Celia and me as well. For now, every time she throws her hands over her head and cries out, “Kah-beer Bent,” one of the other children imitates her but says, “Big girl.”
Nervously, I leave the children at home with Kitten and Enrique while I drive to the private Greek Orthodox school in the suburbs to enroll Hektor in second grade and Olympia in kindergarten. It doesn’t go well. First, I am told Hektor will have to take a placement test, seeing that he’s been away almost two years. I think he will be devastated not to be able to rejoin the friends he left behind.
“Fall is always a time of transition for students,” I am assured by the principal.
Olympia will be welcome to join the other kindergartners, even though I feel she should be entering as a first grader. I am assured many parents wait until their children are six to start their formal education.
“Mr. Stephanopoulos will be very disappointed if I report back to him that the children will not be able to start classes immediately. Seeing that they have been in Sudan for almost two years, he wants to get them acclimated to all things American as quickly as possible, and reintegrating them into school to reestablish friendships is his first priority,” I bluff with Kitten’s sanity in mind. I pray the school will allow them to get started immediately.
Watching the principal’s face reveals nothing more than a man adept at hiding all thoughts and emotions. His eyes are a different story, and the gears are obviously turning in his mind. My relief is overwhelming when he finally says, “Perhaps Monday morning would be best for all concerned.”
Having taken much longer than I ever anticipated, I drive like a bat out of hell back to the penthouse fearing the worst—tears, blood, destruction of property—and am pleasantly surprised when I find that Athena-Sophia and Nikkos are down for naps and Olympia and Hektor are sitting quietly with Celia drawing pictures at the kitchen table.
Seeing me, she smiles.
“Monday morning,” I say.
Evidently she revealed my errand to the children because they both give loud whoops of delight and dance around the room, chanting, “School, school, school!”
“I think you made their day.” Celia leaves her chair to hug me. “I think we seriously need to consider the bigger house Thomas asked us to look at. It’s been a while, but hopefully it’s still on the market.”
I shake my head, feeling things are too up in the air right now.
An hour later I revise my thinking as I spend another night tucked between children, thinking about Celia sleeping in the other room alone. It occurs to me that after the twins arrive every night could be like this. How did Thomas ever do it?
We need more bedrooms now, space just can’t wait…and a nanny…
Quietly, I creep out of my bed to find Celia isn’t in hers. I find her in the dark living room. I turn on the small spotlights that are meant to highlight our artwork. It provides enough light without being jarring. Sitting on the couch, wearing a nightgown I didn’t even know she owned, she stares into space.
I sit down beside her and coax her into my lap. “Are you all right?”
She shakes her head. “I never dreamed he’d be gone this long.”
I don’t admit I’m just as worried, even though I assumed it would take time to find Lattie and arrange her release from the kidnappers. Five days seems like forever because our world has been turned upside down. I worry that Kitten has gone back to not eating and not sleeping.
“Our bed is so lonely without you in it,” she says.
“I know.” I kiss her temple. I consider sharing two of the four children with her, but she’d probably kill me if I suggested any such thing.
“If we get the larger house, they could each have a bedroom,” she implores and there is a desperation to her tone. “Or the boys could share a room and the girls could share a room and we’d have enough room for a nursery and a nanny’s suite.”
“I know.” I take her hand and kiss her knuckles. “Let’s look at the house Thomas emailed us about.”
She shakes her head. “That house is too big.”
I hold up fingers as I start counting off. “Our room, Enrique’s room, a nanny’s room, the boys’ room, the girls’ room and the nursery. Seven bedrooms seems like a lot until we really consider what we’re looking at.”
“Enrique?” she asks skeptically.
“I will have to rein in Enrique’s more risqué behavior, but I can’t imagine moving without taking him with us.”
“You’re right. He’s part of our family. He has to come.” She wraps her arms around me and hugs me tighter than she ever has. She whispers, “I’m so scared. What if he doesn’t come back?”
I kiss her, holding her face. There isn’t anything I can say or do to reassure her. She rearranges to straddle me without breaking the kiss. Being of the same mind, I push down the front of my pajama bottoms only enough to free my erection. There is a honeyed sweetness to it when she lowers herself over me and takes my length inside her.
She rocks over me quietly, gently.
I can’t remember the last time I was forced to be secretive or quiet. Our joining seems most naughty. She giggles, and I think she is thinking the same thoughts.
“Sh-h,” I whisper against her face. I lift my hips to meet her soft motion.
“We can’t get caught, I’ll die of embarrassment,” she admits softly. “I just need you so badly.”
“I know. Me too.” As the pleasure builds between us, I finally have the strength to admit to her, “Everything is going to be okay, sweetheart. No matter what.”
“Each player must accept the cards life deals him or her: but once they are in hand, he or she alone must decide how to play the cards in order to win the game.”
Voltaire
Chapter Seventeen
Celia
I try not to think about Thomas or the preparations he made before leaving. I can’t bear to think of him not coming back to us. I’m exhausted, mentally and physically. Fortunately Hektor and Sophia will start school on Monday; even Nikkos is starting preschool, leaving me only Athena-Sophia to care for during the daytime.
Garrett left me alone with them while he went to look at the house Thomas told us both about. I’m not sure who was happier, him or the real estate agent, when he called this morning to arrange a showing. They determined to meet an hour later and although Garrett wanted me to go too, I saw everything I needed to see online. The
re are enough bedrooms that however everyone gets arranged I will get to sleep with Garrett.
When Olympia and the two little ones conk out on sofas for their midday naps, I find myself with a young shadow. Hektor has been bored a lot lately. Getting crayons and paper, I sit with him at the kitchen table.
“I heard you call Olympia Amira last night. Is that a middle name or a nickname?” I have a sneaking suspicion it is Arabic. The more I learn about the children’s last two years, it seems Latisha wanted to erase their identities.
“It is her desert name. I was called Halil, Olympia was called Amira, Nikkos was Naji, and Athena-Sophia was Ayah.”
“That seems very confusing.”
Hektor shrugs. “A name is a name. Each place you dwell gives you the opportunity to be someone other than you were before, a better person.”
“Who taught you that?”
“Papa,” he answers, intent on his coloring.
“Your mother was half French, did she talk to you in French?” I ask hopefully. I really need a common language to try to get closer to Athena-Sophia. The constant wavering between smiles and wails of frustration is wearing on all of us. “Does Athena-Sophia speak French?”
“I think some, but Athena-Sophia rarely talks.”
“Well, you are amazing,” I assure him. “How many languages do you speak?”
“Five. I think. Not a lot in some of them. I am best at English and Greek, but after we left the United States our mother only spoke to us in French or Arabic. But there is a difference between the desert Arabic and the Arabic in Egypt. So that’s five.”
“Well, you have me beat. I speak English, French and some Spanish but very little.”
Hektor laughs. “¡Hola! ¿Hablas inglés? Hablo poco español. ¿Podemos ser amigos?”
“Yes, I think we will be very good friends.” I tousle his hair. “Your Spanish is very good. Much better than mine. You could say that you are well on your way to knowing six languages. You are very smart.”
Hektor beams, eyes sparkling. On a piece of paper, he draws swirls that I think is Arabic script. “What does this mean?”
He blushes. “It is a house blessing. To keep you safe.”
“Thank you.” I ruffle his hair, overcome by his sweetness. He seems so much older than seven, but then he’s been through so much. I can’t imagine how difficult it is for him, sliding between cultures, torn between parents, and now both parents gone. I hide my emotion by starting lunch.
Garrett returns as we are finishing up, finding Enrique loading the dishwasher and me sweeping. He takes the broom and pulls me into a hug. “We have a new house.” He hands Enrique the broom. “Watch the kids? Cartoons, popcorn, you can handle them for an hour, right?”
The kids love Enrique, he loves them, yet as sure as I am of that, leaving them alone makes me nervous. “Are you sure about this?”
“We’ll hurry back.”
It’s hard not to get caught up in his excitement and enthusiasm as we race across town. “You aren’t going to believe this place. It’s the penthouse times ten, and my God, the view of the bay and the bridge!”
Pulling into the driveway, he presses a garage opener and we pull inside. It’s a three-car garage, no more parking garage. The inside garage entrance leads directly into a walk-in pantry and then the kitchen. He waves a hand dismissively. “I’ll redo it, it’s fine.”
As I take in acres of granite, I can’t imagine what he needs to redo, but it’s his kitchen and I know it isn’t even close to his standards. It seems like we’re running a marathon as he leads me through the dining room, living room, out onto a deck that overlooks the backyard and the bay and the bridge. “It’s breathtaking.”
“But not the best part.”
We go upstairs and he pulls me down a long hallway, pointing through doors. “Bedroom, bedroom, bedroom, bedroom, bedroom, bedroom.”
We’re both out of breath as we take the elevator up. We exit into a smaller but still big room. He points as we walk. “Second living room, office.”
Opening a double door, he leads me into a palatial room. “Master bedroom.”
Our gazes collide and we both smile. Neither one of us has to suggest it, we start tearing off our clothes. There isn’t a bed or single piece of furniture. The carpet is a luxuriously sinful shag. As I drop to my knees, I ask, “Is this fur?”
“It feels like fur,” he agrees as he rolls me over and pushes me back. He buries his face against my mons. “God, I’ve missed you. I was beginning to think we’d never have sex again.”
As he licks the slit separating my labia, I ask, “Is parenthood always like this?”
“Not for people who can afford really big houses and a nanny.” His lips vibrate against my clit, tickling.
“Two nannies,” I remind him then moan as he sucks my clit into his mouth. “God, oh God, I’ve missed this.”
I enjoy oral—a lot—and as Garratt licks and sucks and bites, it seems as though I am transported to a different realm. My entire body becomes languid, but also alive. My skin seems more sensitive. I want to be touched. All over. I encourage him to run his hands over my thighs. I hug myself, teasing my fingers up and down my arms. And when I can’t take much more, I squeeze my breasts, pinch my nipples, stretch them out.
“God!”
Garrett knows exactly the right moment to slide his fingers inside me, knows just how fast and how deep to pump me. He forces my orgasm to its highest pinnacle, then holds me there. I scream, anticipating the spiraling fall, but somehow…somehow…he holds me adrift, and just when the pleasure seems to take me to the brink of insanity, he allows me to fall into the spiraling chasm of la petite mort.
* * * * *
Two weeks later we are no closer to having nannies, but the children are in school and we are moved into the new house. I never dreamed it could happen so quickly, but as I lie in bed surrounded by moving boxes and even more exhausted than I thought I could ever become, I know I’m not dreaming.
“She has her own bed,” Garrett grumbles about Athena-Sophia lying between us.
“Hektor says she’s used to sleeping in the tent between several bodies. I think we’re going to have to give her some time to get used to things.”
“Put her in her bed or she’ll never learn.”
“You put her in her bed.” I think every muscle in my body hurts even though I really didn’t do anything. The movers did almost everything. God, how can I be this tired?
It seems like a dream as I listen to Garrett trying to get the baby out of our bed and into her own. She fights to get out of his arms, reaching for me. “Non, non, non!”
“Athena-Sophia, you learned a new word!” Garrett praises her. I crack open an eyelid in time to see her smile beatifically as he carries her from the room, explaining, “You are such a big girl. You can sleep in your brand-new big-girl bed tonight.”
Her screams carry through the walls and a few moments later Garrett carries her back into the bedroom. Her bottom lip is pouted out. “Non! Je suis un bébé!”
“She speaks French,” Garrett informs me.
Evidently.
Athena-Sophia pats her chest. “Atso est un bébé.”
“Atso?” Garrett asks.
Athena-Sophia beams and pats her chest. “Atso.”
From the other side of the bed, Olympia and Nikkos pop up. “Can we sleep in here too?”
Garrett does his best to glare as all three children wiggle under the covers. “You know what this means?”
“We may never have S-E-X again?”
“Exactly.” He growls, turns out the lights and crawls back into bed. “We really need a nanny.”
“Two nannies!” I agree, knowing that there would be no way one woman would ever agree to the responsibility of six children.
Unexpectedly Garrett’s cell phone rings. It isn’t late, at least not that late, only nine or so, but still. I’m party to a one-sided conversation that leads me to believe he’s needed at the club
. “I can’t possibly leave right now. What happened?”
I sit up, turning on my bedside lamp when he leaves the bed. Pacing, he runs his hand through his hair. I lose track of the conversation when he leaves the bedroom and goes into the walk-in closet. He returns with a suitcase. “I’ll catch the next plane.”
What? Plane? My heart skips a beat as my thoughts turn dark. God. Thomas. Please let Thomas be okay.
Garrett looks from me to the kids. “We have a new problem.”
I hold my breath, not wanting to know. I don’t want to know anything. I rub the spot on my abdomen where it’s tender from one or both of the babies kicking me. I close my eyes when Olympia hugs me tightly. She’s old enough to know something’s wrong. I return her hug and kiss her temple, remembering what it feels like to be young and scared and unsure about what the future will hold. Not even knowing the problem, I whisper, “It’s going to be okay.”
I meet Garrett’s gaze, praying hard that Thomas is still alive, and am thrilled when he tells me, “My mom needs me.”
I’ve never been so relieved. Cincinnati I can handle. Thomas hurt or worse, I’m not going to be able to deal with. I kiss Olympia again, hugging her closer. “Go to sleep, sweetheart. Nothing we need to worry ourselves over.”
When I return my gaze to Garrett I know my nonchalance has hit a wrong nerve with him. What does he expect? I can’t worry about one more thing. Whatever is wrong in Cincinnati it has absolutely nothing to do with us or our life here.
“For this is what is hardest: to close the open hand because one loves.”
Friedrich Nietzsche, Thus Spoke Zarathustra
Chapter Eighteen
Garrett
Cincinnati, Ohio
Standing on my parents’ front porch with a white-knuckled grip on my luggage, this is not the homecoming I imagined. I hang my head, not really knowing what I’m walking into.
I’ve spent the entire flight thinking about Kitten. I can’t believe I left her at home, with Thomas’ four children, and potentially going into labor at any time. I don’t care what Dr. Wang has to say on the matter. Few women carry twins to full term and that has me so worried I can’t see straight.
