An Illusion of Trust (Sequel to The Brevity of Roses)

by Lewis, Linda Cassidy

  Jalal walks to the door leading into our room then stops with his hand on the knob. “Remember,” he says, “you are the one who hired Judith.”

  “You didn’t protest. And you approved her sketches. But you made me chose colors and fabrics and styles from all those window shopping trips and photos of beds and lamps and chairs and a thousand other things. I told you I didn’t know what I was doing, Jalal.”

  He opens the door.

  We step into our room. To the right is an alcove, a sitting area, where the closets used to be. Beyond that, are the new closets and extended bathroom suite. The windows are in the same locations, but otherwise, the room is unrecognizable. “How did you do all this so quickly? You totally moved the closets.”

  “Do you like it?”

  Not only do I like the arrangement, but I’m amazed Judith took my stupid input and created a room more beautiful than I ever imagined. Yet, it feels like I knew all along this is exactly what I wanted. There’s no stopping the tears this time, and Jalal doesn’t confuse them for disappointment but holds me again in silence, stroking my hair until I dry my eyes and nose on his shirtsleeve. I turn slowly, taking in the whole room again. Then I give him a wink. “How about we try out that bed?”

  He doesn’t waste time answering.

  When we move to Coelho, two weeks before Christmas, the house in Bahía de Sueños gets demoted to our getaway place. Since the remodeling crew finished work on the new great room only the day before our move, we arrive to Lorena and her sister still scrambling to clean up the dust left behind before unpacking the kitchen items and putting everything back into place.

  We left Adam in Bahía, to spend most of the day with Granny and Dardo—as Adam calls Eduardo. I try to help with the unpacking, but Jalal, Azadeh, Lorena, and even Kristen all command me to rest, so I’m sitting in the living room, trying to decide where to place the Christmas tree. With ten-foot ceilings, we’ll have to buy a much larger one than we had our first two Christmases together, which also means shopping for a lot more ornaments. And I’ll need larger ones now to keep in scale with the size of the tree. Why didn’t I think of that sooner? I could have ordered more to match the gorgeous ones I found online last year. What if the local stores don’t have a good selection left?

  “And what about the outside?” I ask Jalal as he enters holding out a bottle of water to me.

  “Excuse me? Drink. Were we having a conversation about something?”

  I follow orders and down a third of the water before answering. “Decorating for Christmas.”

  “Oh. I hired someone to do that, inside and out. We are lucky they had an opening. I forgot to schedule it earlier.”

  “You’re joking.”

  “They will be here early tomorrow to put up lights and things outside and on Monday to decorate this room and the downstairs hall. And Aza said she and Kristen would do something with the dining room and anywhere else you want. And … I am babbling because I can tell you are upset.” He grabs my water bottle and drinks the rest of it.

  Hell yes, I’m upset. He keeps telling me to make this my home, yet now it seems everything is being done or decided for me. I try to keep my voice level. “That’s the way you’ve always done it here.”

  He grimaces. “Well, yes, but I thought … you being pregnant. Twenty-nine weeks. I mean …” He sighs and looks down at the empty bottle in his hand. “I should have asked you what you wanted.”

  I nod, even though he’s not looking at me.

  “I am truly sorry,” he says and hugs me.

  “What will the tree be like? Besides huge.”

  He pulls back, puzzled.

  “It won’t be one of those god-awful decorator trees with pink and purple and feathers and junk, will it?”

  “No. Uh … I hope not. I called the same company we always used, and I think they will do—”

  “I see. So how was Meredith’s tree decorated?”

  For a moment, he squints toward the front windows as if trying to visualize it. “It had some white and gold stuff … and … you know, decorating Christmas trees is not really something I know much about. Judith will remember what it looked like. Ask her.”

  I step out of his embrace. “Well, it doesn’t matter, does it? It’s already scheduled.”

  “Red! I remember. You like a lot of red on the tree.” He pulls me back to him. “I will call now and tell them to make sure your tree is decorated in red.” He kisses me and then pulls out his phone.

  “I’m hungry,” I say. “When are we having lunch?”

  “I think Lorena might murder us if we try to get into the kitchen before they finish with it, so we—”

  “I want pizza.”

  “All right. We can go to—”

  “And mu shu pork.”

  “All right. Uh … I am trying to think of a restaurant that serves both.”

  “We can order the pizza delivered, and I’ll go pick up the Chinese.”

  “No. You stay here and I—”

  “Quit treating me like I’m an invalid, Jalal. Or an imbecile. I can drive, for God’s sake.” I take two steps toward the hall, intending to find out what the others want to eat. Jalal grabs my arm and I turn on him, fuming. “What now?”

  “I know I upset you about the Christmas decorating, but this is not only about that, is it?”

  No. Not even close. “I’m just hungry,” I say, even though I know that won’t fool him. His few seconds’ pause confirms that, but he knows me well enough to let it go, for now.

  “Well then,” he says carefully, “find out what everyone wants and order it, but I have to pick it up because you barely know your way around this town, and Yen Ching is not that easy to find.”

  Okay. Sometimes I over-react.

  I wish I hadn’t suggested pizza and Chinese, because now we’re sitting around one end of the huge mahogany table in the dining room eating take-out food with real silver forks off expensive china. Cardboard containers, paper napkins, and soda cans litter the table. Jennie is wrong. I don’t deserve to live here. I’ve been here less than a day and I’m already trashing up the place. Jalal frowns when I reach for another Coke. I ignore him.

  “No offense, Uncle J,” Kristen says, “I know you’re a good cook, but we should have meals like this more often.”

  “Thank your aunt for her cravings,” he says.

  “Thanks, Renee. Maybe you could crave tacos next.”

  “You’re welcome.” I caught the look Jalal gave Azadeh. He feels it’s disrespectful for Kristen not to call me aunt, but I don’t mind. She’s the same age as my sister Nicole.

  “Renee,” Aza says, “Jalal says the tree in the living room is taken care of, so when can we go shopping for what we need to decorate the rest of the house?”

  Damn it. Does Jalal tell her everything that goes on between us? To keep from gritting my teeth, I over chew a bite of spring roll. I shouldn’t blame Aza. I swallow and smile at her. “Jennie won’t be bringing Adam until after three, so we could go right after lunch. Or tomorrow, after Jennie leaves, if you’ll be too busy this afternoon.”

  “Let’s go today,” Aza says. “That way, if Jennie wants to help us decorate tomorrow, she can.”

  Though it worsens the throbbing in my lower back, I rock Adam on my hip, kissing his curls on every other beat. “But, Jennie, if he wakes up he won’t know where he is.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” she says. “If he wakes—if—he’ll darn sure know he’s with me.” Jennie holds out her hands and Adam reaches for her. “You and Jalal enjoy a quiet first night in your new home. Granny can handle this little guy.” She grasps Adam’s wrist and waves his hand at me. “Say nite nite, Mama.”

  “Go seep, Mama,” Adam says.

  “Or not,” Jennie says and winks.

  I kiss Adam one more time, but it takes a push from Jennie to get me out the door. I assume Jalal is still in the kitchen, so I head for the back stairs. A shard of light slicing across the carpet in our other
wise darkened bedroom catches my eye. As I get closer, I hear water running in the bathroom.

  “A hot bath for you,” Jalal says when he sees me in the doorway. “To relax your back.”

  “And how did you know it’s aching?”

  He points to his forehead. “I can tell by the crease between your brows.”

  As he turns off the water, I lean into the mirror. Huh. I never noticed it deepens when I’m in pain. Either this baby is going to be bigger than Adam, or I was in better shape for my first pregnancy. Being on my feet, working at Jennie’s through my sixth month kept my muscles toned. Motherhood has softened me in more ways than one.

  “Do you need help?” he asks.

  “With what?”

  He gestures to the water. “Getting undressed and into the tub.”

  I’ve stripped to my underwear when Jalal starts undressing. It’s a huge tub, but I’m seven months pregnant. “Uh, Jalal, I don’t think both of us—”

  He shakes his head, helps me into the tub, and then he starts the water in the shower. “However,” he says before he steps in, “if you have any desire for a twosome afteryour bath, I am your man.”

  Yes, you are.

  Five

  I have to admit the Christmas tree in the living room is the most beautiful one I’ve ever seen. Aza and I bought a smaller one for the great room and decorated it with the ornaments I bought last year. Jalal says he loves that tree best of all. The whole house looks so gorgeous it makes me feel like crying. If only it snowed in Coelho.

  Shopping is almost easy this year. Jalal’s finally accepted his family’s rule of no gifts for adults, though he makes an exception for his adult nephews and nieces, but since even his youngest nephew is now eleven, he sees the practicality of giving them all gift cards. Despite the rule, when we fly up to Seattle after Christmas, he’ll bring gifts for his parents. And I’ve already shopped for Jennie and Eduardo. Adam is too young to appreciate the holiday, and he has everything a toddler could want, but still, it’s Christmas. I want him to have what I don’t—wonderful childhood memories.

  Trying to think of gifts for Jalal is almost impossible. When you know the person has money to buy whatever they want, it certainly takes some of the pleasure out of gifting. But I guess that’s not the point. You give them what you want them to have. I want Jalal to love the real me. How do I give him that?

  Jalal’s relationship with Judith and Hank picked up where it left off, except now it’s me, not Meredith by his side. I’ve learned a lot about his previous life here by listening closely when we’re with them. When he and Judith talked about how many parties they’d each thrown during previous holidays—pre-Christmas, Christmas, post-Christmas, New Year’s, post-New Year’s—I panicked, afraid he’d expect to do that this year. I should have known he’d be more considerate. After all, I’m seven months pregnant, as he reminds me every two seconds.

  Jalal tells me this will be a quiet Christmas season. We’ll attend only one pre-Christmas party, at Judith’s; have our family Christmas with Aza, her kids, and Jennie and Eduardo; and then, two days later, we’re off to Seattle. That’s about as much quiet as I can handle.

  “You must be joking,” Jalal says. He’s looking at the shoes I’m trying to wiggle my swollen feet into.

  “These shoes are beautiful.”

  “And you are seven months pregnant. Six-inch heels are a hazard.”

  “They aren’t six-inch heels. I can walk perfectly fine.” That, I realize as soon as my feet are wedged in them, is a lie. I wobble to the bed and sit down to pry them off. “I hate being short.”

  “Since when?”

  “I hate my big fat feet.”

  Jalal kneels and lifts one foot to kiss it. “Your puffy little feet are adorable. But we should watch your salt intake.”

  I kick him with my other puffy little foot. “I hate this dress. Why did I let Aza talk me into buying this shiny thing? I look like a ham wrapped in foil.” Jalal tries, without success, to hide his amusement, which only makes me more irritable.

  “You look beautiful.” He gets up and slips on his jacket. “I will have to stay close by your side all night to run interference.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. None of yours and Judith’s friends will even notice me.”

  “How could they not, a foil-wrapped ham of your size?”

  A six-inch heel makes a hefty dent in the wall when your target ducks. Jalal’s brows are raised nearly to his hairline when he looks from the wall to me. “I’m not going,” I say. “I don’t think Kristen is ready to handle Adam by herself.”

  He lowers his brows and just looks at me in that maddening way of his.

  “I’m sorry, Jalal. I’m fat and I’m in a crappy mood. Just go with Aza.”

  “Adam is asleep and will stay asleep until morning, as he has done almost every other night for months. But if—for some bizarre reason—he wakes up and is traumatized by our absence, we will be five minutes from home. Kristen has my number on speed dial and my phone will be in my pocket the whole evening. And you are not fat; you are pregnant.”

  He said all that in a calm voice, but I’ve heard that voice before and I know it’s just an inch from anger. He thinks I’m being unreasonable and overprotective again. But that’s not why I don’t want to go. “What will your friends think of me?”

  Jalal’s face softens into a smile. He pulls me to my feet and looks into my eyes. “They will think you are beautiful and charming and I am a very lucky man.”

  That’s bull, but I smile back because he’s trying to make me feel better. I’m a poor substitute for Meredith is what his friends will really think. I waddle toward my closet. “The least you can do is help me find shoes to go with this dress.”

  “Indeed, you grumpy little ham.”

  Even the low-heeled sandals I’m wearing prove too much for my back, and after twenty minutes of standing by Jalal’s side as he catches up with old friends, I kick them off, which means I now feel like I’m standing elbow-height to everyone else. I don’t say much more than nice to meet you, but no one seems to notice. This is the first time I’ve seen Jalal work a party. He’s a natural. Everyone seems to like him. I’m not jealous. I’m in awe. I’ll never learn how to be charming like that. I don’t think I have the patience for it.

  When I tell that to Aza, as we’re sitting on a couch in a quiet corner, she laughs and says, “So all those years you waited tables and chatted with your customers you were sincere?”

  “That’s different.”

  “No, not really. Oh, he’s genuinely interested in some of these people. He’s just being polite to the rest.”

  “Well, that’s something else I never learned—manners.”

  “Yes, it’s disgusting that you eat soup with your hands.”

  We’re laughing when Jalal walks over and extends his phone to me screen first. It’s a text from Kristen—all good. “Can I get you something?” he asks as he pockets his phone.

  “You can hoist me up. I need to pee.”

  When I come back into the room, a man is sitting next to Aza and she seems to be enjoying his attention, so I look for Jalal. He’s in a group, of course. I scan the rest of the room. I’m the only one alone. I head for the bar hell-bent on a glass of wine, but when I get there guilt requests a Pellegrino. I take it to a comfy nest of a chair in the corner where I can watch the whole party play out in front of me. It’s research.

  Judith joins me about ten minutes later. “I’ve been looking for you,” she says. “Why are you hiding?”

  “I’m just resting.”

  She perches on the arm of my chair and gestures with a sweep of her hand. “So, what do you think of the Coelho upper crust?”

  “They’re just people.”

  “Exactly. And if you keep that in mind, you’ll stay sane.”

  “That sounds like a lesson hard learned.”

  “Indeed, as your husband would say. I’ll tell you about it sometime, but right now I need to min
gle. When you’re rested, come find me, I want to show you off.”

  “As what?”

  “A satisfied client, of course.”

  “Oh. Then help me up.”

  It doesn’t take a genius to see right away that Judith’s satisfied client thing was a ploy to introduce me to the younger crowd here, which means I’m only ten years younger than the women in this group. After introductions, Judith flutters off to make her rounds as perfect hostess. While these five women smile and ask me polite questions, I feel ridiculous, like someone’s patronized kid sister.

  “When’s your due date?”

  “February twenty-second.”

  “Where do you have your gift registry?”

  “Well, I—”

  “Oh, do it at Les Bébés, they have gorgeous imported items.”

  “Okay.”

  “Aren’t you the one I’ve seen driving that adorable pink Jeep around town?”

  “Guilty.”

  And on and on. My answers are almost automatic because I’m preoccupied with taking note of their clothes, hair, nails, their posture—not one of them is barefoot. They modulate their voices perfectly; their laughter is like music. I’m so glad I’ve kept my mouth shut most of the night. No one would have spoken a word to me if I wasn’t Jalal’s wife.

  I want to go home.

  Seconds later, as if she too has the gift of telepathy, Aza rescues me by saying Kristen is on the phone. “I lied,” she whispers as we walk away. “You looked so uncomfortable. I thought you’d welcome an excuse to get away.”

  “Bless you.”

  “Really though, I’ve met a couple of them before and they seemed nice. Some of them are mothers of young children, like you.”

  “They may be mothers, but they’re not like me.”

  Aza laughs. “You say the funniest things.”

  She delivers me to Jalal and returns to her mysterious man on the couch. Jalal holds me close with a hand at my waist and continues his conversation with Hank and another man for a few minutes. I half-listen as they discuss something about mutual funds. Shoeless or not, my back aches. And I’m sleepy.