Exiled Heart

by Jennifer Haynie

  “What?”

  “Ben for four years. Emma ever since she met you. Claire. And our Bible study. And others.”

  Stunned, he stared at her.

  “Have you told Ben?”

  “No. I—I worried he would blame me for what happened to Claire.”

  “Oh, no, no, no. Please don’t beat yourself up over that. Wow.” She shook her head. “I can’t believe you could keep something like that under your hat for so long.”

  “What?”

  Sonja smiled. “Look. You’ve got to let the cat out of the bag, okay? You need to tell someone. Not just to share, but because you need people there to guide you. We call that discipling.”

  “Oh, I see.” Just then, his phone chirped with a text message.

  Sonja’s did too. She grinned. “Probably Dom. Hold on.”

  Ziad unclipped his phone and pulled up the text message from Emma. Claire walked. Praise God!

  “Praise God indeed,” he whispered as a lump formed in his throat.

  Sonja lowered her phone. “Amen. I got the same thing. Ziad, go.”

  “What?’

  “Go see her. Now.”

  Something he could only describe as joy burst open within him like a budding rose. “I am leaving now.”

  Sonja winked. “I’ll be praying for you.”

  Ziad almost ran to the 4Runner, sped to his apartment, and jumped under a hot shower. He shaved and emerged squeaky clean. After adding the aftershave he knew Claire liked, he slicked back his hair.

  What to wear? He laughed out loud as he caught himself thinking like a woman. Hangars scraped along their rod as he thumbed through his shirts. He selected the forest green one she loved along with a pair of khakis. He strapped on his silver watch, laced up his hiking boots, and headed downstairs.

  Ziad reached for the knob of the front door, then hesitated. Christmas had come and gone without a present for Claire from him. No worries there. He opened the closet door to the study and retrieved the pendant from his safe. He held it up. It caught the late afternoon light and sent sparks of color across the room.

  Time to go. He dropped the pendant into his shirt pocket and grabbed his Bible.

  One more stop by the florist yielded a real red rose with a short stem.

  Fifteen minutes later, Ziad strode down the linoleum of the hallway at the hospital’s inpatient rehabilitation center. Room 208 with a guard outside. There! The door was cracked. After nodding to the guard, he pushed it open and smiled.

  Curled up in the recliner, Emma worked on some sort of needlework by the glow of a lamp. Christmas lights provided the only other light.

  Reclined, Claire slept in her bed with a comforter pulled all the way to her shoulders.

  Emma glanced up. Delight lit her face. She hopped up and joined him in the hall. “Ziad!”

  He accepted her hug. “How is she?”

  Her smile could have lit up a cave. “Doing great. She walked five yards today. Five! It took it out of her, and she popped a Vicodin when she got back. Listen. Do you mind staying with her?”

  Did he mind? Not at all. “As long as you need.”

  “Good. I’m famished. I’ll bring Ben by afterward so we can ring in the New Year together.”

  Ziad settled onto the recliner and watched Emma gather her items and head out. Once they were alone, he shut off the lamp. In the warm glow of the Christmas lights, he examined Claire’s face. Oh, how he’d missed her! He bent and kissed her forehead. Still that lovely scent of shampoo and soap. “I am here, habibti. I am here.”

  He reached across her and replaced the silk rose in its vase on the shelf with the real one.

  Claire sighed deeply but didn’t open her eyes.

  He retreated to the chair and picked up his Bible. No worries about dim light. Right then, he thirsted for Scripture so much he’d read in the dark if needed. He turned to the Book of John. With one eye on Claire and the other on his task, he began reading.

  #####

  Claire opened her eyes. Dusk had come, and now, Christmas lights cast a warm glow throughout the room. Beneath the comforter Emma had pulled over her, she felt warm, secure. She didn’t want to move, not when the pain had eased to a dull ache. Who cared? She’d crossed a huge hurdle in her journey toward home. T-minus seven days and counting.

  To her right, a delicate page turned.

  Emma must have been reading her Bible.

  She glanced that way.

  Ziad.

  Her eyes widened. Oh, did he ever cut a fine line in those khakis and his forest green shirt with the sleeves rolled up to just below his elbows. He rested his chin on one hand as he flipped through the book on his lap. Wait. Was that… She dared to hope. Through dry lips, she whispered, “Ziad?”

  He raised his head. “M’Lady Claire.”

  His image blurred through the sheen of her tears. “You’re not a dream.”

  “No dream at all.” He knelt and took her hand, then kissed her palm and cradled it between his. “I heard you walked today.”

  “I just want to go home and sleep in my own bed.”

  “May I?” He gestured to the mattress.

  She eased over. Without releasing her, he sat on the edge.

  Her gaze once more slid to the black, leather-bound book he’d placed on an end table. Golden Arabic embossed the spine. A Koran? Or… “Is that a Bible?”

  His dark eyes sparkled. “It is.”

  She blinked several times to keep her tears in check. “When—I—I don’t believe it!”

  “I am sorry I did not come over here sooner.” His thumb caressed her palm. “I felt so ashamed.”

  “Why?”

  “Your accident happened because of me.”

  “Ziad, no.”

  “But the investigation—”

  “Detective Rothschild told me all about it.” She curled her fingers around his. “I don’t blame you, okay? I survived. That’s all that matters.” Her heart filled. “And if it took an accident to bring you to Christ, I’d do it all over again.”

  He shuddered. “No. Please, do not.”

  His fingers skittered down her arm.

  Even with a long-sleeved T-shirt on, electricity shot upward. “When did you convert?”

  Slowly, Ziad shared his experience that happened so close to midnight Christmas Eve.

  Her eyes widened. “I prayed for you then.”

  “What?”

  “Well, I’ve been praying for you a lot. I was all alone here and reading the Christmas story in Luke. Just as midnight came up, I prayed for you. God is good. He is so good.”

  “I was so worried you were angry with me. When I saw Sonja earlier today, we had coffee. She told me this news was too good to keep under my bag and that I had to keep the cat in the hat.”

  “What?”

  “I said those phrases wrong, did I not?”

  Joy filled her, and she began chuckling, which turned into full-blown laughter. “Maybe let the cat out of the bag and not keep it under your hat?” She groaned as her back protested. “I’ve missed you.”

  “I have missed you too, m’Lady Claire.” He reached over to the shelf where she’d kept the silk rose. With a start, she realized someone had replaced it with a real red rose. He pulled it from the vase and handed it to her. “For you, beloved.”

  She held it up to her nose as she deeply inhaled the scent. Delicate, sweet. Beautiful. “Oh, Ziad.”

  Without breaking his gaze, he brought her hand up to his lips.

  Was it possible to drown in the dark chocolate color of his eyes? And the feel of his lips on her fingers. She shivered.

  “I would like to… well…” He looked away, then sifted some of her hair through his fingers. “I want to marry you—if you will have me, that is. I know,” his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard, “we have a lot of ugliness in our past, but I cannot deny it. I love you, and I want to be with you for the rest of my life.”

  Joy once again filled her heart. “I lo
ve you too.” A little bit of worry wormed its way inside. “I’d like that. Really. I would.”

  “But you have concerns.”

  “I want you to grow in Christ.”

  “You do not want—”

  “Let me finish.” She put a finger across his lips.

  He nodded.

  “I know where we’re headed. Honestly. I do. But you said it. We have some rocky spots behind us.”

  He nodded.

  “I want to wait a while before we marry. To get to know you even better and let you grow in your faith so you can be the spiritual leader of our household you need to be. Do you see where I’m coming from?”

  He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I do. Surprisingly, I understand. The old me—the prideful me—would have demanded we marry now. But yes, I do. I know I need to be—how do you say it?—discipled.”

  “Right.” Claire smiled. “And Ben’s the perfect guy for that.”

  “Enough serious talk.” He skimmed his fingers across her cheek.

  Oh, that touch. She’d forgotten the way she came alive near him. She shivered.

  “Are you cold?” he asked.

  Just wanting you to kiss me. “No.”

  “I was leaving my apartment when I realized I had no Christmas gift for you. Then I remembered.” He reached into his shirt pocket and brought out a delicate silver chain. The diamond sparkled as it dangled from his fingers. “I would be honored if you would wear this again.”

  Lord, you are so good. Thank you. She nodded because of that infernal lump in her throat.

  He leaned close as he fastened the chain around her neck.

  Hmmmm, mmmm. That aftershave she loved. She wrapped her arms around him. He kissed her neck, then her cheek. Oh, my goodness. His kiss on her lips sent everything on high alert. When he finally released her, she trembled from head to toe.

  He traced her lips with his finger.

  She had to catch her breath. “I’ve missed that.”

  “Me too, habibti.”

  “Habibti?”

  “Sweetheart in Arabic.”

  “Seems like I have a lot to learn as well.”

  “And I will be glad to teach you.” He swung his feet up and leaned against the mattress next to her. “Perhaps I should have asked permission.”

  “No need to ask.” She rested her chin against his shoulder. The better to enjoy that spicy scent of aftershave. She slid her hand into his. Oh, how she’d missed that!

  Comfortable silence ticked by before she asked, “Why do you call me Lady Claire?”

  He chuckled.

  “C’mon, Ziad. ‘Fess up.”

  “In May, Eddie called you that.”

  “Oh?” She smiled. “Why?”

  “He said you had class, even when in secondary school. I would say he is right.”

  A blush started. “I’m flattered.”

  That got an easy laugh from him.

  She kissed him. “How about some television? The remote’s on your side.”

  He turned on the television and located Animal Planet. “Better?”

  “Much.” She tugged up the comforter so it covered them both. She rested her head against his shoulder and closed her eyes.

  Unexpected joy.

  And peace.

  She’d treasure it as long as she could.

  41

  “Mom, I’ll be fine. I promise.” Two weeks after she came home, Claire walked her mother to the French doors leading to the screened-in porch.

  Mama studied her. “You’re sure?”

  “Ziad’s going to be here at five. I promise I’ll be okay for an hour.”

  “You know I can stay.”

  Claire relished the thought of a break from having someone in her house twenty-four hours a day. “My back’s feeling good right now. I won’t head upstairs. I’m just going to putter around the kitchen.”

  Finally, Mama nodded. She hugged her daughter in the same delicate way she had ever since Claire had come home from the rehab center. “You know I’m a phone call away.”

  “I know. Be gone with you.” Claire watched as Mama headed down the steps. A cold, damp wind hit her in the face. What a nasty, gray January day. She shivered and shut the doors.

  A gloom filled the family room even though it was just past four. Time for some light. And drawing. The doc had said to let pain be her guide and reduce activity rather than pop more painkillers. Oh, and go up and down stairs only once a day. At least she could lie on the soft couch now rather than the hard floor.

  She grinned. Ziad had moved her coffee table into the den, and they’d both lain on the floor in front of the family room’s fireplace. Her evening conversation, she’d joked, since he’d kept her company after his shifts as a reserve officer or at the Quick Fill. They’d talked about everything, from the Bible to teaching her Arabic. Then one evening, he’d put glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling in different constellations.

  Also, she could sit up for longer periods of time. It certainly beat drawing while lying down or standing. With a steaming mug of tea in her hand, she stepped into her art studio and switched on the light over her drawing table. There, in a folder, sat her next project.

  The emblem for Saudi Arabia. A palm tree and crossed daggers. Seemingly easy. Except she planned to cross-stitch it, which required first drawing it to scale on grid paper before even conceiving of stitching it. But a perfect wedding present. She began the drawing.

  Half an hour later, her back twinged. Time to stop. She examined her work. Progress. She could probably begin stitching it before she returned to her job. Claire flipped the drawing over and stashed the printout in a folder.

  Ziad would be here in fifteen minutes. She smiled. Maybe he’d rub her back. Over the past week, he’d taken to gently massaging the area where she’d broken her vertebrae. Oh, my… Even thinking about it, her cheeks warmed. A match made in all parts of their lives. She’d not deny that. And boy, during those fourteen weeks they they’d been apart, she’d missed his touch.

  Mama had run the dishwasher after lunch, and she lowered the door to put them away. Just as she opened a cabinet door, the phone rang.

  Ziad.

  She smiled. “Hey!”

  “How are you doing?”

  “I’m fine. Just hurting a little. Mama left about forty-five minutes ago.”

  “I am on my way over and should be there in about five minutes or so. I am sorry I am late. I did not leave work until 4:15.”

  “No worries. Ben and Emma will be here by five as well. I’ll see you soon.”

  “I love you, habibti.”

  “I love you too.” She smiled softly and hung up before resuming her work. Ouch! She flinched as her back barked at her. Time for a painkiller. Someone else could finish emptying the dishwasher. Now where was the orange juice? She opened the refrigerator and studied the inside. There. She pulled out the carton.

  A rush of cold air greeted her. Ziad must have been closer than he’d realized. She picked up her glass. She began turning as she said, “You were—”

  Pain across her cheek stole her words. She staggered as the glass flew out of her hand and shattered on the tile.

  She whirled.

  A masked man pushed her—hard.

  She slammed into the cabinets. Her head cracked against the wood. Stars sparked in her vision. With a moan, she collapsed into darkness.

  #####

  In the misty, chilly dusk, Ziad turned left into Claire’s neighborhood. Time to spend the evening with her, something he’d begun treasuring. God, thank you for her. Thank you for bringing us back together. Now, they planned on spending that Friday evening together with Ben and Emma.

  He slowed as he turned onto her street. Good. The squad car Detective Rothschild had promised remained at its post. Come Monday, the detective had told him, he’d pull the guards back since most likely, any threat of danger had dissipated.

  Just as he pulled into the carport under the house, his phone rang.
He grinned when he noted the caller. “Ben, my brother.”

  “How’s it going?”

  “I just arrived at Claire’s house.” Ziad slid from the SUV and winced as a cold wind bit into him. He shivered. “How are you?”

  “Good. We’re on our way right now.” Subdued, as if maybe Ben had just argued with his wife. “We had our first appointment with our Realtor.”

  Ah, the source of why his friend sounded so quiet. “Did you have fun?”

  “I’m not ready.”

  Ziad laughed. “It is like having children, my brother. Are you ever ready?” Before shutting the back door, he grabbed the three bags of groceries he’d collected for that evening’s meal. “You will have to tell us about it tonight. So, are you ready to stand outside with me while we grill the meat?”

  Ben groaned. “Maybe if Claire has some golf umbrellas we could use.”

  Ziad chuckled as he climbed the steps. “At least the ladies will be dry.” He turned the knob. “Strange. It is unlocked.”

  “Maybe she forgot to lock it,” Ben said.

  “Possible.” Warmth spilled over him as he stepped through the doors. “Claire?”

  “She around?” Ben asked.

  “I do not know.” He frowned and surveyed the interior. Lights on in the studio but no Claire. The same with the den. He called, “Claire? Habibti?”

  No answer.

  “Should she be downstairs?” Ben again.

  “The doctor told her to go upstairs and downstairs once a day. You know how stubborn she can be.” Ziad set his burdens on the island and turned to open the refrigerator.

  Something scraped on the tile beneath his foot.

  He glanced down.

  Broken glass, a puddle of orange juice. “That is strange.”

  “What?”

  “Orange juice and a glass on the floor. And…” he knelt in front of one of the floor-to-ceiling cabinets and stared at some dark splatters. He touched them. His fingers came away red. “Ben, something is wrong. There is blood on the floor.”

  “On my way.”

  “Be care—”

  “Get your hands up,” someone ordered.

  Ziad froze. Glancing over his shoulder, he noticed a shadowy form standing between the kitchen and the dining room.