The Broken Road (The Broken Series)

by Ruff, K. S.

  The staff in the lease office seemed completely put out by my request that I actually see the apartment before signing the lease agreement. It didn’t take long to figure out why. Although the apartment had been advertised as a non-smoking unit, the place smelled like a vile mixture of mold and smoke. The carpet was filthy, and the walls were so grimy I could see where all the previous pictures had been hung. I quickly scratched that apartment off my list.

  Habib returned for me as promised. After hearing my description of the first apartment, he insisted on waiting for me while I inspected the second one. The second apartment smelled marginally better than the first… more like old socks and garlic. I found a dead cockroach in one of the cupboards, and the lease officer insisted the rent was two hundred dollars more than they had quoted me over the phone. Apparently, the cockroach cost extra.

  Habib must have sensed my growing concern, because he insisted on accompanying me for the third apartment tour. The lease officer at the third apartment complex was named Mickey. I asked for her specifically because she’d been so personable when I called to schedule the appointment.

  Mickey offered to show us around the gated community before taking us to see the apartment. We walked alongside a beautiful pool that was located just behind the lease office. The pool was nestled under a cluster of magnolia trees, which appeared to be in full bloom. The trees held the largest white flowers I’d ever seen.

  We toured a small gym that was tucked inside a glass-front building overlooking the pool. Mickey led us through a number of walking trails, which were lined with vibrant flowers, lush green bushes, and small patches of lawn. I could easily picture myself walking Cade through the beautiful gardens.

  After we toured the common areas, Mickey walked us to a ground floor apartment that was located a short distance from the pool. The apartment was quite small, but it had a fresh coat of paint and brand new carpet.

  I followed Mickey into the kitchen. “This is a good-sized kitchen,” I noted appreciatively.

  She motioned toward the appliances. “The apartment includes a gas stove, a full size refrigerator, a dishwasher, microwave, and a garbage disposal.”

  I leaned against the breakfast bar and looked over the living room. The breakfast bar was the only thing separating the kitchen from the living room. There wasn’t room for a dining table, and the living room was quite small.

  Mickey opened the door to the hall closet.

  I followed her into the hallway, glanced inside the closet, and smiled. “A washer and dryer.”

  “This is nice,” Habib remarked as he wandered into the kitchen.

  A confused look flitted across Mickey’s face. “Will you be renting the apartment together?”

  I chuckled softly. “No. Habib’s a friend of mine. He’s just here for moral support.” I paused as I peeked inside the bathroom. “I really like this place, but I’m concerned about living in a ground floor apartment. Do you have any second or third floor apartments available?”

  Mickey flipped through a couple of pages on her clipboard.

  I wandered into the bedroom, which was located directly across the hall from the bathroom. The sliding glass doors in the bedroom led to the same patio as the sliding glass doors in the living room. Both sets of sliding glass doors overlooked a narrow street that ran between the apartment buildings. There would be no privacy when the blinds were open.

  Mickey joined me in the bedroom. “No. I'm sorry. This is the only one bedroom apartment we currently have available. I have a two bedroom apartment located on the second floor of one of our larger five-story buildings. The two bedroom apartments start at fourteen hundred dollars a month.”

  I popped my head out of the closet. “I'm afraid that’s a bit outside my price range. Besides, I like how these garden-style apartments have their own entrances.” I folded my arms over my chest as I studied the bedroom. The walk-in closet was huge, but the bedroom was very small.

  Mickey and I found Habib leaning against the breakfast bar. He was typing something into his phone. His eyes met mine as he shoved the phone into his pocket. “I think you will be safe here. The apartment has a security alarm, and your sliding glass doors face a high traffic area.”

  I hadn’t really considered the high traffic area a boon, but Habib had a point. No one was going to break into an apartment where he was so likely to be seen.

  Habib and I followed Mickey back to the main office. I felt conflicted about the apartment. I wasn’t crazy about living in a ground floor apartment, but the place was clean, it had all of the amenities I was looking for, they allowed dogs, and the rent was reasonable. I didn’t want to delay my decision too long and risk losing the only decent apartment I’d seen. So I thanked Mickey for her time, and I told her I would let her know my decision within the next twenty-four hours.

  Habib studied me as we approached his cab. “You haven’t eaten, Kristine. Let’s take a break and go to lunch.”

  My eyes widened when I glanced at my watch. I couldn’t believe it was already two o’clock. My stomach growled its consent as I slid into the passenger seat. “Sure, Habib. Where do you want to eat?”

  Habib smiled as he backed the car out of the parking lot. His teeth practically glowed against his tan skin. “I know a good Afghan restaurant not far from here. My sister, Diwa, works there.”

  My eyes met Habib’s. “I’ve never eaten Afghan food before. I’d love to try it, but I may need some help ordering.”

  Habib chuckled as he eased into traffic. “I’ll make sure you sample all the best dishes.”

  I leaned back against the head rest and closed my eyes while Habib drove. I suddenly felt completely exhausted.

  Habib pulled into a parking lot next to a white stucco building with a red shingled roof. The front of the restaurant boasted a long wooden deck, which had been painted red to match the roof. A number of arches framed a walkway alongside the building. Red neon signs hung in the windows.

  The restaurant staff greeted Habib like he was family, and they treated me like an honored guest. Habib’s sister, Diwa, was breathtaking. She had the lightest green eyes I’d ever seen. Her dark hair peeked out from under a delicate lavender scarf. I was thrilled when she sat down and joined us for lunch.

  The waiter brought a steady stream of food to the table from the moment we arrived. Habib recommended I start with some dumplings that were served with a meat sauce, spicy yogurt, and mint leaves. The dumplings were divine.

  I would have been perfectly content eating the dumplings, but Diwa encouraged me to try a pastry stuffed with potatoes and herbs. This, too, was served with a yogurt sauce. The appetizers were followed by lamb kabobs and a dish Habib referred to as Kadu Chalua, which I thought tasted a lot like pumpkin. Both dishes were served with white rice. Another meat dish was loaded with carrots and raisins. The food was unlike anything I’d ever eaten, but I loved how the coriander, cardamom, cilantro, and mint played out on my tongue.

  Habib and Diwa told stories about growing up in Afghanistan. I could tell the two of them were very close. They spoke fondly of their family and their childhood, but their stories were based on the simplest pleasures. It wasn’t difficult to imagine the hardships they’d faced as children.

  I was curious about how they’d come to live in Virginia, but I was hesitant to pry. So I waited to ask until the meal was over. Habib was drinking coffee. Diwa and I were drinking a cardamom laced tea. I cleared my throat, then directed my question to Habib. “What brought you to Virginia?”

  A dark cloud passed through Habib’s eyes as he responded. “My father helped the U.S. government in Afghanistan back in 2001 and 2002. The Taliban issued death threats against my family when they learned my father was working with Americans. The U.S. government offered my family special immigrant visas when our lives were threatened and it was no longer safe for us to remain in Afghanistan. Both of my parents, Diwa, my brother, and I moved here together. The special visas did not extend to my aunts, uncles, or cou
sins, so we still have family living in Afghanistan.”

  I pressed my hand against my chest as tears welled in my eyes. “I’m so sorry you had to move because your lives were threatened. I can’t imagine how frightening that must have been.”

  Diwa fidgeted with her scarf. “It is not uncommon for Afghans to be killed for trying to make their country a better place.”

  I set my tea cup down. My eyes sought Habib’s. “I hope you’re happy here. I hope people in the United States have treated you well.”

  “Some better than others,” Habib admitted frankly. He looked thoughtful as he sipped his coffee. “It is not easy being Muslim here.”

  I thought about the hate crimes that followed the September 11th terrorist attacks. “No,” I admitted sadly. “I imagine it is not easy being Muslim here.”

  “Did you know a Christian woman can marry a Muslim man?” Habib asked rather unexpectedly.

  My eyes narrowed. I thought it a very curious remark, since I had presumed a Christian woman could marry whomever she wanted. I turned the statement in my head before responding. “Can a Christian man marry a Muslim woman?”

  Diwa shook her head. “No. In Muslim culture, the man is considered the head of the house, and the head of the house must be Muslim. So a Christian man must convert to Islam to marry a Muslim woman.”

  The double standard didn’t sit well with me, but I held my tongue. A few minutes later, I excused myself to use the restroom so I could pay for lunch without debate. I figured it was the least I could do. Habib was undoubtedly losing cab fare by accompanying me to my appointments.

  Habib was mortified when he discovered what I had done, but instead of arguing with me, he engaged in a rather heated debate with the person who had accepted my cash. I have no idea what was decided between the two of them, since I couldn’t understand the language they were speaking, but Habib remained courteous and respectful to me as we said goodbye to Diwa and returned to his cab.

  Habib and I viewed two more apartments together. By the time we were done, I realized what a gem that third apartment really was. I dug my cell phone out of my purse and scheduled an appointment with Mickey so I could make a deposit and complete the necessary paperwork the next morning.

  When Habib pulled up to the Holiday Inn, he insisted on dismissing the entire day’s worth of cab fare. I tried to explain that I was being reimbursed for my expenses, but he still wouldn’t allow me to pay him. I felt mortified that I had cost him an entire day’s worth of work, but I feared I had injured his pride or committed some cultural faux pas by paying for lunch. So I abandoned my attempts to pay him and apologized for putting him in such a difficult position. I assume he forgave me, because he agreed to drive me to the airport and allowed me to pay the cab fare two days later.

  Chapter 3 – Runaway train

  Complete chaos broke out when I returned to Montana. I had no clue how to organize a cross-country move. Project deadlines were bumped up at work, and my social calendar blew up. My phone beeped constant reminders for farewell parties, luncheons, and dinner dates with friends and colleagues who wanted to see me before I moved to Virginia.

  I would have liked to squeeze in a bit more hiking, but the air quality in Helena squashed all hopes of that. The entire state was under a code red. The forest fires were over a hundred miles away, but the air in Helena was thick with smoke. Particles of wood and ash swirled around us like snow. Everyone was discouraged from spending time outside. People walked to and from their cars with bandanas tied around their faces.

  It was in the midst of this insanity that I received an unexpected call. “Kristine. This is Habib. Are you okay?”

  My brows furrowed. “Yes, Habib. I’m okay. Why? What’s wrong?”

  “The forest fires… I just saw the forest fires on the news. Are you in any danger? Are you sure you’re okay?” The pitch of his voice increased with each word he spoke.

  A small smile tugged at the corner of my lips. Habib didn’t realize how large the State of Montana was. Still, it warmed my heart to know that he had thought of me when he heard about the fires. “I’m fine, Habib. The air quality is bad, but the forest fires aren’t anywhere near me. I’m perfectly safe. I promise.”

  Habib exhaled loudly. “Thank God.”

  I turned toward my computer and pulled up my flight itinerary. “I just purchased my plane tickets for DC. Are you available to pick me up at three o’clock on Sunday, July 31st?”

  “Yes, of course. I’ll put it on my calendar.”

  I leaned back in my chair. “I’ll have my dog with me this time. I need to walk him before we leave the airport, but I’ll keep him in the carrier while we’re in your car.”

  “That’s fine. I look forward to seeing you again.”

  I smiled. “Thanks for calling, Habib.”

  Just as I was ending the call, my second line rang. I quickly switched lines. “Senior and Long Term care, Kristine speaking.”

  Tom’s voice snaked over the line. “I want the umbrella.”

  The smile slid from my face. “Why are you calling me?” I hissed. I rose from my chair and stretched the phone cord as far as it would go so I could close my office door.

  “I want the umbrella back,” he repeated as if it were the most reasonable request in the world.

  I sank into my chair. “The umbrella? Really? You want… the umbrella.” My anger at this idiotic request threatened to consume me. I growled at him through gritted teeth. “When I left, I walked away from the house, thirty acres by the lake, three cars, and nearly all of the furniture. I took only my clothes, the two pieces of furniture my father made, Cade, and my jeep…” and evidently the umbrella that was stored in my jeep. “You got everything… and now… ten months later… you want the umbrella?” I couldn’t help but be pissed at this. All of the fear, anger, and frustration over how he had treated me and what he had put me through washed over me in large overpowering waves.

  The phone line fell silent. I was getting ready to hang up when Tom responded. “I want to see you before you go.”

  I shot out of my desk and began pacing as far as my phone cord would allow. “What? How do you know I’m going anywhere?” I reached for my garbage can as my stomach clenched.

  “Apparently, this fellowship in DC is a big deal. I have no clue who you slept with or how you landed the position, but it was all over the local newspaper.”

  Of course, he would think that of me. Of course. He had assumed I left him for some other man. He couldn’t possibly comprehend the fact that I left because he beat me, beat my dog, and threatened to kill us both. “I hate you,” I hissed. “I don’t ever want to see you again.”

  Again, silence. Tom cleared his throat. Then he spoke in a low, threatening tone. “I still have your great-grandmother’s jewelry... her wedding ring, the brooch, and the necklaces that were handed down to you.”

  I fell back against the wall, then slid to the floor. I couldn’t see. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t even breathe. He had her jewelry. How had I forgotten to take it with me? How had I missed that? I opened my mouth to answer him, but no sound came out. I swallowed hard and tried again. My voice was breaking… I was breaking. Finally, I conceded. “I want the jewelry. I’ll meet with you but only if you bring the jewelry.”

  Tom laughed maliciously as he made his next demand. “Tell me where you live.”

  Fear seized my heart, then pulsed through my veins. I shook my head. “No. I’ll only meet you in public.” Where, I questioned frantically. The seconds ticked by. Come on, Kristine, think! “Jade Garden. I’ll meet you at Jade Garden,” I breathed. Tears pooled in my eyes as I began to tremble. The realization that he could still wield so much power over me was devastating.

  “Tonight. Seven o’clock. Oh, and Kri? You’re not getting the jewelry unless you bring the umbrella.”

  My head fell back against the wall. The umbrella would only cost ten dollars to replace, but this wasn’t about the money. This was about control. Tom
was relishing the fact that he could still make me do something I didn’t want to do. I would have to give him the stupid umbrella.

  * * * * * *

  Tom was sitting in a booth by the time I arrived at the restaurant. I shoved the umbrella at him the second I approached the table. “Give me my grandmother’s jewelry,” I demanded with false bravado. It took everything I had to tamp down my fear of facing him.

  His eyes hardened. “Sit. Down,” he gritted out. “You’re making a scene.”

  I slid reluctantly into the seat across from him. I glanced around the bustling restaurant. No one was looking at us. My eyes returned to Tom’s face. I inventoried his pale skin, sharp features, piercing blue eyes, and the cruel smile spreading across his thin lips. What did I ever see in him? A wave of nausea hit me. “Look. I do not want to be here. We have nothing to say to each other. I want the jewelry, and I want you to leave me alone.”

  Tom leaned back in his seat. “You know, Kristine… I just might move to DC too.” His eyes turned calculating as he waited for my response.

  Panic shot through me. “What?”

  The waitress glanced at our table. I tried to calm down, but being in the same room with Tom made hell seem like a cake walk.

  Tom smiled. He seemed pleased with my reaction. He leaned forward as he continued. “I’ve gotten more involved with the church. I’ve become very good friends with the priests and the bishop from the cathedral. We even golf together.” He smirked, entirely too impressed with his ability to conceal from priests who he really was. “They’ve been encouraging me to work things out with you… and I don’t see how that would be possible if we were living on opposite ends of the country.”

  This from the man who refused to go to church with me? The room blurred as tears filled my eyes. Tom was going to ruin everything. I stared down at the table. I was completely incapable of looking him in the eye. “Please, let me go,” I whispered brokenly. I reached for the bag of jewelry and slowly rose from my seat.