Exiled Heart

by Jennifer Haynie

  With that, he stumbled inside and located his keys. He grabbed them and faced her.

  Claire’s brow knitted as if she doubted his words.

  Ziad took a deep breath. “I am sorry if I have been abrupt. I am still having a difficult time with… everything.”

  “I understand.”

  Somehow, he knew she wasn’t simply placating him.

  She followed him onto the back porch. “Thanks for coming tonight. And thanks for rescuing me.”

  “From?”

  She grinned and held up her bandaged finger. “Myself. I had to laugh when the first words out of Emma’s mouth tonight to you were ‘Did she pass out?’ I guess I’m famous for that now.”

  Before he lost his nerve, he blurted, “May I ask you something?”

  “Sure!”

  “I would like to spend more time with you. To get to know you better,” he added before he lost his nerve. “Would you, perhaps, like to synchronize our schedules so we share some days off?”

  “It might be too late for June, but I can certainly try for July.” She smiled, and his heart pounded.

  “And I will see what I can do.”

  With that, he fled. Once back at his apartment, Ziad opened the French doors leading to the living room balcony so air flowed through the high-ceilinged room. Rather than turn on any lights, he stared through the darkness at the creek beyond.

  So much to think about.

  Too much.

  Claire spoke of God as if he were personal. So had Ben and Emma when they had lived in Jeddah. All three of them viewed him as their Father. And they’d spoken of Holy Spirit. So strange. Allah was Allah, not three persons, and certainly not personal. To him, prayer was a ritual, something he did as part of his religion while they viewed prayer as a conversation with God.

  He raked his hands through his hair and rubbed his chin. This is too much to take in. How can she speak of God lovingly as a father if he let such a tragedy happen? His fingers tightened, and his chest heaved. He flopped onto the couch and stared at the ceiling.

  Outside, the breeze puffed, and it skittered across the exposed skin of his arms, just like Sabirah’s silky tresses had once done.

  That infernal lump returned to his throat. His yearning for her morphed into an almost physical desire. Then Claire’s face appeared before him, not Sabirah’s. No! Sabirah will always be my love. My one love.

  He fled upstairs and snatched the photo of her he’d brought with him from Saudi Arabia. That smile of hers captivated him once more.

  For a minute or two.

  Claire’s face reappeared. His fingers almost tingled as he remembered holding her hand that night as he’d cleaned and bandaged her cut. I didn’t want to let her go. Am I going crazy?

  He dropped the frame onto the mattress and paced to the other side of the room, then back to the doorway. Into the still air, he whispered in Arabic, “Face it, Ziad. You’re attracted to her.”

  No. Yes! He was. But that was all. Once more, he picked up the picture of Sabirah. She had his heart and would always have it.

  Then why did he see Claire each time he closed his eyes?

  He preferred not to answer that question.

  20

  Ziad couldn’t avoid it. He lived within fifteen minutes of the beach. Time to pay it a visit, at least according to Claire, Ben, and Emma.

  “Oh, c’mon, Ziad,” Ben had said when he’d stopped by the Quick Fill late the night before after finishing a stakeout. “Em’s dying to go, and so is Claire. Take one for the team, will you? I promise Claire will have you home by noon.”

  He caved. Now, Ziad scrubbed his hands through his hair as he paced around the downstairs. He didn’t mind the beach. Not at all. What came with going there worried him.

  Too much skin.

  I’ll be fine. He retreated to his study and stuffed several magazines and his English-to-Arabic dictionary into a backpack. Then came a beach towel he’d bought the day before. He resumed his pacing since he had nothing else to distract himself.

  Or maybe he did. The week before, Ben had told him more about Southern women while they’d shared coffees and spoke Arabic to keep up Ben’s language skills. Ben slouched on his chair at Mocha Joe’s covered patio. “My friend, you must play a joke on Claire.”

  Ziad sipped his brew and leaned forward on his elbows as he replied in the same language, “What’s that?”

  “You know how in Saudi, if someone compliments you on something, you give it to them?”

  “That’s how Emma gets her mare in a couple of weeks.”

  Ben chuckled. “No one had told her about that before she said something. At least she knows how to ride horses. Anyway,” he cleared his throat, “in the South, if a woman is asked how something looks, she is duty-bound to say she likes it. So go get something completely hideous, then ask her if she likes it. When she says she does, give it to her.”

  “Will she say she likes it if she truly doesn’t?”

  Ben winked. “Trust me on this one.”

  Now, Ziad paused at a console table behind his couch. Despite his reservations about the day, he smiled. The lamp. His first yard sale find. So perfect for Ben’s suggested trick.

  “You found that where?” Ben had asked a few days ago when he’d come over for the evening.

  “For five dollars at a yard sale.” Ziad lifted his chin and grinned. “My first purchase.”

  Ben started laughing as he studied the three chintzy monkeys painted in gold that formed the post. “Those are See No Evil, Hear No Evil, Speak No Evil.”

  Ziad cocked his head. “What?”

  “The monkeys.” He fingered the red satin shade with its black tassels with rhinestones on them. “Man, this is going to be great.”

  Now, maybe Ziad could distract Claire, make her forget about going to the beach.

  The doorbell rang.

  With a deep breath, he greeted her. “Welcome to my house.”

  He tried to ignore her shorts, tank top, and flip-flops that revealed toenails painted a deep red.

  She smiled. “Good morning.”

  With a small bow, he stepped aside. “Come in.”

  She did. “How was your first overnight shift at the store?”

  Ziad grimaced. “I am staying awake until two. Then I will sleep. Let me show you around.”

  He led her upstairs to the landing and his bedroom. He flung open the door to reveal a bedroom suite of black furniture with sleek, clean lines. “My room.”

  “I can see your sense of style.” Claire smiled at him. She tapped her chin as if hard in thought. “Hmmm. Za man likes za contemporary styles.”

  He chuckled. “Come downstairs.” He showed her his study at the foot of the stairs, then the living room. “I just bought a corner cabinet for the television.”

  She avoided gazing at the fireplace, where he’d hung the Saudi flag.

  Why? He filed that observation away for later.

  “And what do you think about this?” He gestured to the lamp. “Do you like it?”

  Her eyes widened. Her jaw dropped, and she blanched. “It’s, uh, it’s nice. Where’d you find it?”

  “A yard sale. You were right.” The corners of his lips turned upward. “You can find treasures among the trash.”

  “What?”

  “You said you like it, yes?”

  “Um…” She paused. “I do, but—”

  “Take it.” He picked it up.

  “Ziad, I—I’m—”

  “Please.” He picked it up. “Consider it a gift.”

  “Um…”

  “You like it.” He held it out. “It is yours.”

  She started shaking her head. “I—I couldn’t. It’s your first yard sale find. How could I do that to you?”

  “Please, take it.”

  As if Emma had told her about compliments in Saudi Arabia, she sighed. “Thanks. Uh, we need to go. Em and Ben have been there since eight.”

  She turned and left without ano
ther look at her gift. She was probably hoping he’d forget about it.

  Wouldn’t happen. He shouldered his pack and picked it up. With its rhinestones flashing in the sun, he triumphantly bore it to the Mustang, which had its top down.

  She popped the trunk, and he laid it inside. As he settled on the front passenger seat, he noticed the beach chairs tucked behind the front seats. “You have been looking forward to this.”

  Claire started the engine. “A lot. I don’t make it to the beach but three or four times each summer. Isle of Palms, here we come!” After turning onto the Isle of Palms Connector, she glanced at him. “Are you all right?”

  “Tired.”

  “You’re sure?”

  She’d seen through his white lie. This time, he didn’t say anything.

  “It’ll be fun. Isle of Palms is really nice. Lots of sand. Nice water.”

  Maybe for her. His stomach knotted on the fruit bar he’d choked down upon arriving home at 7:15. “I have not been to the beach in a long time.”

  “Didn’t you go while in Jeddah?”

  “I did, but…” He clamped his jaw shut, lest he have to explain spending the last year in jail.

  “Anyway, Ben and Emma have all of the beach toys. Frisbee. Baseball. A football.”

  He settled for listening to her chatter as they found a parking spot in a public lot.

  He took a beach chair, shouldered his pack, and followed her down a path of white sand to the strand. His stomach tightened as he gazed at all of the people in swimsuits.

  Two twenty-something women in string bikinis strolled along the water. One of them smiled at him.

  He gawked, then ripped his gaze away.

  Ahead of them, a figure stood up and waved.

  Emma. In a one-piece swimsuit of navy.

  Ziad focused on the sand.

  “Hey, you two!” Emma hugged her sister, stood on tiptoes, and kissed him on the cheek.

  He jumped.

  “What a perfect day! Just the right temperature. Just the right amount of breeze.” She sighed blissfully. “Come on over.”

  Claire unfurled a blanket, which Emma helped her spread. She unrolled her towel on one side. “Ziad, feel free to use the other side. It’ll keep sand off your towel.”

  He did. After kicking off his sandals, he eased onto it with a small sigh.

  Beside him, Claire tossed a wide-brimmed straw hat she’d brought onto her towel. She began sliding from her shorts.

  Panic seized Ziad. She was undressing!

  To reveal a one-piece swimsuit of oranges, reds, and yellows.

  His jaw dropped. Had he started salivating? And forget good manners. He stared at her figure.

  Ben snickered, and he sent him a dirty look.

  Ben grinned and mouthed, “Told you so.”

  Ziad scowled at him. He forced his gaze to the ocean.

  Claire’s chair creaked. She put on her hat, shoved her sunglasses over her eyes, and picked up a magazine. “Are you okay?”

  “It is hot.”

  Another soft snort from Ben.

  Would his friend ever let up?

  Beside him, Claire chuckled at something she read.

  Emma jumped up. “Hey, do y‘all want to throw the Frisbee?”

  “I do.” Claire climbed to her feet and dropped her hat.

  Ben joined them.

  Emma turned to Ziad. “C’mon, Ziad.”

  “I think I will watch.”

  Emma tossed the disk to her sister. They threw it back and forth as they spread out until they had about eight meters between them.

  Ziad watched all of them, but Claire held his attention. So beautiful in more ways than he’d expected. Never, ever in his life had he seen a woman so exposed in public! If she’d done that in Jeddah…

  Forget being jailed.

  With superhuman effort, he ripped his attention away from her and pulled a magazine from his pack. Reading Newsweek immensely beat watching Claire.

  Only if he were blind.

  Though he tried to focus on finding the Arabic meaning of English words he didn’t understand, his gaze drifted to her. At least his dark sunglasses hid his eyes.

  She had a grace about her. She snapped a hard throw that sailed toward Ben, who caught it with ease.

  He lobbed it toward her in one smooth motion.

  It was a high throw, and she jumped up to tip it with her finger. It sailed upward. With another easy jump, she caught it.

  Hmmm. Athletic. Something he’d never seen in a woman.

  Once more, he returned his attention to his magazine. An article about Zap making its way across the world. Very interesting. As he looked up words he didn’t understand, he realized one thing. No one except him, Ben, and now the task force had a clue about the tattoos he’d seen on the hands of his suspects.

  He took a deep breath and reread the entire feature piece, this time only in English. Progress, it seemed, since he didn’t pick up the dictionary once.

  A drop of water hit his foot. Claire stood over him, her wet hair slicked back and her hands wringing water from it. How much time had passed?

  She cocked an eyebrow. “You don’t want to swim?”

  He shrugged.

  She lowered her voice. “Do you know how to swim?”

  “Of course.” What could he do to stall? “I am not hot enough yet.”

  Sweat trickled down his temple.

  She lay down on her stomach with her magazine in front of her. She flipped through the pages. On the other side of Claire, Emma worked a Sudoku puzzle while Ben engrossed himself in a novel.

  He switched his attention to Claire.

  Now she slept, her face turned toward him, her sunglasses clutched in her hand on the towel. The lines at the corners of her eyes had disappeared. Her lashes were dark against her cheekbone. Forget reading. He had eyes only for her.

  Ben rose. His friend pointed at Emma and made the walking sign with his fingers.

  Ziad nodded and returned his attention to his magazine. Nothing else about Zap in that one or the next. He began rummaging around in his pack for another.

  “I fell asleep.” Claire sat up and stretched.

  Once more, he gaped. A flush that had nothing to do with the heat began.

  She shoved her sunglasses onto her face. “Where are Em and Ben?”

  “On a walk.”

  “Do you want to go for a swim?”

  “Uh—”

  “C’mon. The water’s perfect, and I’m hot now.”

  No more avoidance. He’d answer her questions about swimming in an old pair of SANG fatigue pants. He pulled off his T-shirt and turned to put his sunglasses on the blanket beside his towel.

  “What on earth?”

  “What?”

  “These!” Like a blowtorch, her fingers almost burned his back.

  He whipped around. “These what?”

  Claire sat on her knees, her hand still upraised. “Those scars. They look like whip marks.”

  His heart pounded from her touch. He swallowed hard. What could he say? Only the truth. “They are.”

  “When did that happen? When you were a kid? They look too fresh—”

  “A long time ago.” He didn’t want to say anything else. Not in public. Not when one question would lead to another.

  “How long ago? These look—”

  “I told you, a long time ago” He took a deep breath. “Why is it so important to you?”

  “Why can’t you tell me?” She leaned away. “It’s not like I’m going to blab it to everyone. What are you hiding?”

  An out at last. He glared at her. “Maybe it’s you who should be hiding something.”

  Claire’s jaw dropped. “I—I don’t understand. What’s going on?”

  On his knees, he loomed over her and wagged a finger in her face. “You and your lack of modesty! Do you not see that every man out here is staring at you?”

  Her gaze flicked around the various groups around them. “Ziad!” />
  A couple of guys walked by, and their gazes lingered.

  “See!” He gestured to them. “You are causing them to think of only one thing.”

  She faced him. “No, they were staring because you’re raising your voice. Keep it down, will you?” Her lip began trembling. She shoved her sunglasses over her eyes. “It’s not like I’m wearing a bikini or something.”

  He sneered. “You should be more modest.”

  “Well, you’re staring, aren’t you?”

  What truth.

  Not that he’d admit it.

  He rose. “That is one of the things wrong with this country. The lack of control by you women! You want men to respect you for your minds, yet then you go and you dress like a pros—”

  “Stop it. Just stop it!” Claire jumped to her feet and backed away. “I can’t believe you. I just can’t! I was curious, and what do you do?” A tear slid from under her sunglasses. “You start preaching to me about what a bad person I am simply by the way I always dress when I come to the beach.” She crammed everything on the blanket into her bag. “If you’re so concerned I’m leading you astray when it’s really about your own lack of self-control and lust, then I’ll leave!”

  She snatched up her beach bag, slid into her flip-flops, and fled without another word.

  Just as fast as his anger had come, it faded.

  He glanced around him.

  People stared.

  The guys he’d noticed had stopped as if concerned for Claire.

  His knees shook, and he plopped onto the blanket. What would he say to Ben and Emma?

  Or to Claire?

  Why did you do it, Ziad? You just upbraided the one person to whom you’re closest. What could he do? Nothing at the moment. He’d have to wait until Ben and Emma took him home.

  After that, he didn’t know how he would repair the damage he’d done.

  21

  Much later that night, now dressed in a pair of khakis and a golf shirt with the Quick Fill logo on it, Ziad leaned against the counter of the convenience store near the Charleston harbor. Brrrr. He shivered at the cold temperature of the air conditioner. Canned music from a satellite radio station played over the speakers. Wait. A Brad Paisley tune. What was it? Something like “The Fishing Song.” Claire would have been proud of him.