by Hana Sheik
She sucked in a breath, realizing she was speaking faster than she was allowing herself to get air. Only suddenly it felt like she had to get this off her chest. But she hadn’t even told Mama Halima what had happened fully...the shame had been too great.
Why tell all this to Mansur?
Because he’d leave for America sooner rather than later. She wouldn’t have to deal with his pitying looks.
“What did he do?”
Mansur’s voice was eerily calm. The quiet before the destructive storm. When she tightened her lips and turned her head to the side he didn’t let her off the hook easily.
“Amal, tell me. What did your father do to you?”
He’d broken her heart without so much as touching a hair on her head.
“He... He asked for money as usual.” There. She’d said it, finally.
Moving to mold his big, warm hand to her cheek, he rasped, “He isn’t worth your thoughts, Amal. Put him out of mind.”
“He’s my father,” she said, pulling free of his hand and missing his touch as she took more steps to distance herself from him. An arm’s length away from him now, she was able to think coherently, even as her voice trembled with the tears blurring her vision. “He has a right to ask for help, even if his timing wasn’t opportune.”
“Then why are you upset? What’s the problem, Amal?”
Mansur kept a respectful distance, but his clenched jaw and fists hinted at the anger he’d leashed on her behalf. She knew he hadn’t been close to his father, and that it had to do with him having had a second wife and family, but she didn’t need him conflating his contentious memories of his father with hers.
“He didn’t stay after I’d transferred the money to his account.” She had used her phone, and as soon as he’d had what he wanted her father had been in a rush to leave.
“Where is he now?” Mansur’s tone curled into a low growl.
She imagined that if her father had been with them now, Mansur wouldn’t have held back in pummeling him. As impressive as his control was, he looked ready to do some serious damage on something—or someone. She hadn’t pictured him as capable of violence until that very moment.
“Far from us,” she said, sighing and pinching the bridge of her nose. “He should be in Mogadishu. He has family there. A brother and sister I’ve never met. He wants to start a business. That’s why he asked for the money.” Luckily, she’d had some to spare. “It’s like I told you...his request for money wasn’t what troubled me.”
“It was realizing that was all he wanted from you,” he gritted, baring his teeth.
Amal flinched, her eyes squeezing tight as she soaked in more calming breaths. Hearing Mansur voice aloud how she felt about her father’s cut-and-run attitude had knocked the wind out of her. Now she caught her breath, opened her eyes and confronted his simmering ire for her father.
“Don’t be angry with him. I should have known better.” She lifted her heavy shoulders, the shrug doing nothing to rid her of the sadness this conversation had wrought. “He didn’t stay to raise us, and he didn’t visit regularly either. I just couldn’t help but hope. Or maybe the amnesia made me vulnerable—” She broke off with a head shake and turned to walk on before she remained mired in the past.
Mansur caught up quickly, bumping into her hand this time—purposely, she realized, when he grumbled, “I like your hope.”
She had liked it, too—before she’d awakened to hopelessness.
As they walked forward to view Mansur’s inheritance Amal began to wish something crazy: for her amnesia to rid her of her hope, because it wasn’t doing her any good. That included hoping for her father to have a change of heart, and for Mansur to want to stay longer with his mother.
And with me, she thought with a sinking heart.
CHAPTER SEVEN
MANNY STARED LONG and hard at the spring-green untilled pasture before him. His mind was rich with ideas of what he could do with the inheritance if it ever became his. That didn’t last long when he glimpsed Amal’s subtle frown and the stifled frustration in her enticingly dark eyes.
He shrugged out of his suit jacket and dropped it to the ground, crouching to spread it out as a makeshift blanket. Amal noticed him only after he called her.
“Amal?”
She looked down to him, confusion deepening her frown. Then the light of realization went off in her eyes and she sat down beside him, sharing the jacket he’d thoughtfully set down without a peep of protest. It was the second sign that something was off. The first being her moody expression.
He knew it was bad when she said softly, “It’s really beautiful. You should meet your family and then do what you proposed about leasing sections of farmland to local farmers.”
It was her tone that broke him. Flat. Listless. Hopeless, he concluded, with a shiver crawling over his skin.
She sat with her legs under her, her hands in her lap and her posture unnaturally stiff. She didn’t even seem aware of his presence—at least not until he nudged her leg with his, just as he’d done at the hospital. Then Amal snapped her head to him, that frown still marring her pretty face. Brows pleated, she looked down to where his thigh bumped her again. She looked adorably perplexed.
He smiled, but masked it when she lifted her head up.
“It’s more than I expected,” he confessed, looking at the expansive land stretching out before them. “Now I know what all those Romantic and pastoral poets wrote about when they were so in awe of nature. Very picturesque.”
“Has it changed your mind?” she asked.
He was pleased that she’d latched on to his lure. As long as she wasn’t in her own head, she was safe from the sorrow he knew she had to be entertaining. He knew because he’d done something similar after she’d rejected him. The only difference was that he’d lost Amal and had no one else to lean on. But now, despite her being the source of his pain once, Manny was finding it more difficult with each passing day to remember why he should steer clear from getting any closer to her emotionally...
And physically.
He had to be careful. But surely he could create some comfort for her in the meantime? Even at the risk of throwing himself under her perceptive gaze...
“It might have,” he drawled, leaning back on his arms and crossing his legs one atop the other. He felt her watching him as he stared out at the inheritance his father had left him. Thinking of his father had him saying, “I was shocked to learn he’d given me anything.”
“Why? He’s your father. Aren’t you his firstborn?”
“Yes, but there wasn’t much love between us. I hadn’t seen him for years.”
And Manny had preferred it that way. He’d left at seventeen and never looked back to see himself as a boy, flailing wildly—and embarrassingly so—for his father’s attention. He had made himself a new man. Sloughed free of the skin of the insecure teenage boy he’d been when he had pulled himself out from under his mother’s skirts.
As much as he appreciated his mother, staying with her would have never brought him the peace his profession now gave him. He stood on his own two feet, his history nowhere near as important as his present and future. That was where all his possibilities lay—before him, not behind.
Amal shifted to face him more, her knee touching his outer thigh, their contact re-established accidentally. She looked down at the same time as he did, but neither of them made a move to break the contact.
“When was the last time you saw him?” Amal asked.
“Shortly after I left for America,” he said.
“Mansur, that’s fifteen years!”
Amal’s aghast look reined in his retort. He had to remember that she was viewing him through the filter of her high value on family.
“I’m aware of my age,” he grumbled, “and I can do the math myself.” But then he hissed in a breath at the h
urt blooming on her face. Trying again, he said, “There’s a reason I kept away from him. It’s personal...something I’d rather not touch on.”
He convinced himself the lump in his throat was from the anger he muffled, but the truth was much more pathetic.
His eyes smarted as he looked off to the side, away from both the farmland he was due to inherit and Amal. “He wasn’t a very good father, Amal. Not much different than your dad. He paid my mother’s bills and brought us the occasional gift from Addis when he’d visit, but that was it. Certainly it wasn’t enough to make him father of the year.”
“But, Mansur, he was still your father,” she urged.
He saw her breath hitch when he looked to her suddenly. “I don’t want to talk about him anymore. As for seeing his family here in Addis—I’ll continue to think on it.”
And hopefully have a decision by the time the investigative firm searching for his father’s second family got back to him.
Standing, he looked down to her and offered a hand. “It’s time we head back.”
She tipped her head up to the sky, her hand shielding her eyes from the sun now lowering from its zenith in the sky. “Guess it’ll be late when we reach Addis Ababa.”
“If we leave now, we might catch the sunset,” he said.
* * *
“It won’t start.”
Mansur slipped free of the steering wheel and stepped from the car out to her. He crouched down by the car and looked under it. After a few minutes he stood and wiped his hands on a tissue he’d pulled from his pants pocket.
“We’re leaking fuel. If I had to guess, the gas tank was punctured by road debris. This country terrain is a lot rougher than the city streets. Even rougher than I predicted. I should have accounted for it.”
“Are we stuck here?”
Amal’s insides churned at the possibility. Being trapped out here with him, just the two of them, after everything she’d shared about her father—no! They had to find a way back to Addis Ababa.
Mansur scowled, the fierce look stopping her protest short, withering her tongue, halting whatever she’d planned to say.
“Amal, I’m not risking driving a car with a leaking fuel tank.”
“But—”
He gave her a hard look that brooked no argument. Then he leaned against the hood and fiddled on his phone. Taking the opportunity to study him from behind, Amal glowered at Mansur’s back and then poked out her tongue.
He chose that moment to look back at her and he froze, his hand clutching the phone to his ear and his face slackening at her childish antics.
She blushed, happy when he had to speak to whoever was on the line. It saved her from his questions.
Amal hunkered down and took her own peek beneath the car. The pungent smell of fuel struck her first, and then she saw the small but growing puddle of inky oil under the car. She’d known Mansur wasn’t lying about something so serious, but seeing it was truly believing it. And in this case she had to accept they were stranded for the time being.
Amal stood and brushed at her skirts. She rounded the car to where Mansur was, at the front, sitting on the hood now, speaking warmly on the phone. It amazed her how unfazed he was by their predicament.
“Half an hour is fine,” he said, smiling and nodding. “We’ll see you then. Bye.”
Amal coughed lightly, which garnered his attention. It wasn’t her fault, a breeze had kicked up the dust, but she was curious as to what he’d meant by seeing someone. Who was he expecting?
Not holding her in suspense for much longer, he patted the space beside him on the hood. “Might as well have a seat and get comfortable. I’ve called for rescue, but it’ll be a little while before they reach us.”
“Who’s rescuing us?” she asked, sliding up to sit beside him.
“A friend.”
Amal shrank in on herself at his succinct but obvious response. He’d sounded comfortable, talking to this friend of his. And they were obviously close enough that he felt he could rely on this person’s assistance now. She hated to admit it, but she was jealous. Envy for Mansur’s friend crept over her chest like heartburn. She wanted his trust, too. From what he’d told her, she’d had it once. Clearly the amnesia had changed that—otherwise wouldn’t they be closer now?
“Are we friends?” Amal barely heard her own question, softly spoken as it was.
Mansur had heard her, though. He tipped his head to her, his brows furrowing. “Where did that come from?”
“Are we?” she asked again, urgency raising her voice. “I know we must have been once, but are we still friends?”
Did he still consider her a friend?
“I have few friends—even fewer these days, with my work schedule being what it is.”
Mansur rolled his sleeves higher, the muscles of his forearms bunching. His face was devoid of any telling emotions. And yet she couldn’t shake the feeling he was evading eye contact for a reason.
She opened her mouth, closing it when he spoke first.
“You’re a family friend, so...yes,” he said.
“Is that all?”
She could’ve slapped a hand over her mouth, disbelieving her own ears. Had she really just asked him that? Oh, no!
Before she could explain her lapse of sanity to him, Mansur chuckled. His laughter was surprising, and a bit unsettling given the situation. Especially as she couldn’t tell whether he was laughing at her or not. Maybe he thought she was having a good joke. She hoped it was that. The idea of having to explain herself posed a daunting challenge.
“Why are you questioning our relationship?” he asked, once his humor wore off.
“Not questioning. I’m only curious.” And she hoped he’d indulge her intrigue.
“We didn’t speak for a long time, Amal. Not until you called me a couple of years ago. Then we started speaking again. Before that we both lived our lives. Chased our studies and our professional aspirations.” He inclined his head slowly, his face softer in a blink. “I do consider you a friend or I wouldn’t have asked you to come here with me.”
“I thought you did that for your mother. Mama Halima can be persuasive.”
Mansur smiled crookedly. “That she can—and yet she wouldn’t have twisted my arm into helping you if I hadn’t wanted to. And besides, I’d be stuck out here all on my own if I’d left you behind.”
Amal gripped her knees tighter, her knuckles popping white against her skin. He was joking—she understood that—but her grandmother had told her once that every joke had a nugget of truth embedded in it. What it sounded like to her was that she was a convenient companion. If he hadn’t already had this inheritance business in Addis Ababa he wouldn’t have given her the time of day. He’d be back in America already, far, far away from her and her problems as an amnesiac.
Licking her lips slowly, watching his eyes dip to her mouth for a fraction, Amal sucked in a shaky breath and felt flames ignite in her veins. Those flames were soon fanned furiously into a wildfire. The need to kiss him smacked her dead center in the chest. She had experienced something similar in the hospital. And, given the way he was looking at her, she didn’t think he’d stop her from leaning in for a kiss this time either.
The only difference now was the part of her that nagged, telling her she’d be making a mistake. Kissing him would leave her wanting more, she was sure of it. Her bones ached from the push-and-pull battle waging in her.
“This friend of yours...she lives in Addis Ababa?” Amal squelched the desire to lean in and grab onto him, pull his face closer and taste his mouth. Redirecting her thoughts elsewhere helped immensely.
“She?” He gave her one of his long looks and then, glancing around their surroundings, said, “Yes, we’ve worked together.”
“She works in the same field as you? In construction and engineering?”
“
No,” he said simply.
Amal didn’t like the short, safe answer for a number of reasons. One, it felt like he was hiding something, and two, she didn’t have any confidence that she held his trust. Not as a friend, despite what he said.
“You must be close,” she remarked, side-eyeing him.
“We’ve worked as business partners before.” He peered up at the cloudless blue sky, squinting. “I measure a person by how they conduct themselves professionally.”
She did much the same in her line of work. Some clients were shady, finding loopholes in order to wiggle out of contracts after construction was completed. Her amnesia would’ve ruined her business, too, if she hadn’t had a loyal staff around her. Her office manager Iman had stepped up, even without Amal’s explicit request. That was real friendship.
Amal’s heart swelled with a mix of pride and happiness for her staff. “I know what you mean,” she said, and she met his eyes.
“I knew you would.” He gave her another small smile. His phone vibrated, and he drew it out of his pocket, eyeing it for a solid minute before a stormy frown clouded his features. “I have to take this,” he announced, slipping off the hood and striding from her at a clipped pace.
He put some distance between them before he placed the phone to his ear and Amal watched him pace as he spoke, his words swept up with the kick of a breeze. The blue sky was looking slightly gray now.
She looked around, tired of watching him and wondering what kind of call had delivered such intense urgency into him. A squeeze from her gut warned that it couldn’t be anything good, though she dredged up the hope that it wasn’t bad news.
For his sake, she thought, her heart panging for him.
When he returned, Mansur didn’t leave her guessing.
“Sorry about that. It was the investigative firm I hired.” He clenched his jaw, a muscle leaping high in his cheek because of whatever he’d just learned.
