Russ glanced down at his new Dragon. Miranda had spoken slowly enough for the voice recognition to pick up every word. Yusuf was eyeing the gadget with interest. Russ handed it to him.
“What is this?” Yusuf asked.
Miranda answered for Russ, who hadn’t said a word to anyone once the first introductions had been made. “Meet Puff.”
“Puff?”
“As in ‘the magic Dragon.’ Remember the old song by Peter, Paul and Mary? It’s voice recognition software that captures sounds and translates them into words on the screen. It hit me last week when I was texting Russ that this kind of device could simplify his life.” Miranda smiled at Russ, who had remained silent during her explanation.
Yusuf was clearly fascinated with Puff and Abra flashed a wide grin. “I’m amazed,” she said. “It’s a high-tech toy named after a children’s song.”
“Well, I think it’s brilliant,” Yusuf said. “And so are you Ms. Nolan for suggesting it. Russ, why don’t you keep Puff in your hand while I show you my own latest high-tech gadget in the master bedroom. Ms. Nolan can keep Abra company while she makes the lemonade.”
“Call me Miranda, please, and I’d love to help squeeze lemons but I’m curious—what high-tech gadget?”
Yusuf beamed at her. “It’s an intelligent-design alarm clock that forces you to answer questions you’ve downloaded before it shuts off. It’s very exciting!”
Abra rolled her eyes. “It’s the most annoying thing on the planet. The clock beeps incessantly until you answer all the questions. You can even program it to light up like a seventies disco. Strobe lights and a tiny mirror ball that twirls until you smack it to shut it down. Amazing.”
Miranda laughed. “I think that would make me crazy. I’d probably toss it across the room in a rage.”
Abra smiled at her. “Are you one of those people who just naturally wake up at the same time every morning?”
Miranda chuckled. “Wet nose.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Mine is named Phoebe. She’s new. Russ has an older model named Spero.”
Abra snapped her fingers. “Ah! Of course! Doggie clocks.” She fluttered long lashes at her husband. “Could we perhaps try that instead of being quizzed at 6:00 a.m.? After all, Yasmin has been begging for a puppy for the past year.”
“Yasmin? Miranda asked.
“Our daughter. She just turned fourteen.” Abra tapped her head of partially gray hair. “I swear this was all brown until her birthday a week ago.”
Miranda grinned. “I get it. I’m dealing with about six her age at the children’s theater. Fourteen is an absolutely hideous age. For all concerned—the teens and the adults they torment. They should be forced to carry a sign that reads, ‘I’m fourteen! Danger! Run away while you have the chance!’”
Abra led Miranda toward the kitchen as Yusuf and Russ headed the other direction. “I don’t know how you do it with more than one at your camp. I keep thinking I should lock Yasmin in a closet until she’s twenty-one. Or thirty.”
“It’s easier for me. They’re all pretending to be what they call ‘hashtag impressed’ for the fifteen-and sixteen-year-olds in the same class. Plus they’re learning the same things and staying really busy and I only have them a few hours each day. I’m also not the one who has to say ‘no, young lady, that eye shadow makes you look like a Halloween mask’ or ‘no, you may not go out with the dude on the motorcycle who has the tattoo of the parrot plastered on his shaved head.’ I stick to things like ‘Yo! Troops! Point your toes, spit out the gum and quit looking at the floor.’”
They’d reached the kitchen at this point, laughing most of the way.
“How can I help?” Miranda asked. “Am I slicing lemons?”
Abra shook her head. “No. It’s all done except the pouring.” She opened the refrigerator and grabbed the pitcher from the first shelf. “I really thought Yusuf and Russ could use a little alone time.” She shot Miranda a sharp glance. “I don’t normally spill my inner thoughts but I feel certain I can trust you. You won’t go running out of the house or despise either man for being unable to express his true feelings.” She exhaled, then quietly said, “It’s not good. They pretend they’re fine, but there’s so much self-reproach on both sides I’m afraid it’s going to explode one day and I keep hoping they’ll talk it out before that happens. Russ avoids us. I truly believe part of that is his way of hiding from the guilt.”
“Guilt?”
“Oh, yes. Yusuf feels guilty because it was his idea that Russ take a break from teaching for a year or two and become an interpreter for the military. This was after Kamyar had joined the Army. Yusuf had encouraged him to go which adds to his belief he’s to blame. I truly believe Yusuf thought Russ could look after Kam, but how could he keep our son safe when suicide bombers were waiting to kill themselves and everyone around? Russ is strong and brave and brilliant, but Russ is not a superman. So Russ lost his hearing and Kam lost his life and now Russ doesn’t even want to see us.” Abra blinked back tears as her voice grew hoarse. “I’m sorry. Again, I probably shouldn’t be saying any of this but I felt you needed to know. You may call me crazy and I hope I haven’t embarrassed you. If you want to tell me to squirt those lemons in my eye and shut up, I’ll understand.”
Miranda reached out and took the pitcher of lemonade from Abra’s trembling hands. “What I understand is that there’s a world of hurt on all sides and no reason for guilt on any side. I gather Russ would have gone to Afghanistan regardless of whether he knew anyone in that unit or not. The only person who should be guilty is the fanatic who decided to use hate to destroy too many lives.”
Both women sank down into chairs at the small café-style table. Abra closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them and reached for Miranda’s hand. “Thank you. I knew you were a good person the instant I met you. You and Russ are perfect for each other. You can help keep him grounded.”
“Oh, no! I mean, we’re not together as a couple. Didn’t he tell you about the wills?” Miranda told Abra about Miss Virginia’s death and the conflicting wills that had forced her and Russ to work on the inventory together. “The upshot is that our attorneys are fighting and Russ and I are working and being civil—and discovering we have a lot in common apart from our love for Miss Virginia. Anyway, I’m helping him because I wanted to see Kam’s artwork and apparently the owner of the gallery, uh, Darci somebody, can be tricky to deal with. I gather she requires a faster translation than even the Dragon can provide. We’re meeting her tomorrow after I’m through at the children’s theater.”
Abra ignored Miranda’s attempt to define her relationship with Russ. She sniffed. “You’re together. You and Russ that is. You know it and I know it and soon Russ will know it, and he will learn to trust. As for Darci? Well, I’m not a believer in gossip but I will say I’m glad to hear she’s engaged to some divorce lawyer in town. I actually like her. She’s very funny. But she and Russ were not a good fit. I think that lasted about a month before they called it quits.”
Before Miranda could ask what Darci was like, the back door to the kitchen opened with a bang and a tall, attractive young girl dressed in hot-pink capris and a hotter pink T-shirt stormed inside.
“Muh-ther! Why can’t I join Lacy and Sarah for a sleepover!” The girl didn’t ask. She demanded.
Abra chewed her bottom lip. “Yasmin! Show some manners and behave like a civilized person. I would like for you to meet Miss Miranda Nolan, a good friend of Russ.”
The girl continued to glare at her mother. Miranda quickly said, “Nice to meet you, Yasmin.”
Yasmin mumbled a hello but didn’t look at Miranda. Instead she repeated, “Sleepover?”
Abra’s tone was stern. “You are not going because that so-called sleepover is in Gadsden and the last I heard the only person even resembling a chaperone wi
ll be Sarah’s seventeen-year-old sister, who’s been grounded more times in her young life than a plane with engine trouble.”
“But I’m so bored! There’s nothing to do!”
Miranda smiled at Yasmin. “What do you want to do?”
The teenager finally turned her attention to Miranda. “Go to sleepovers with my friends. But since that’s obviously out, I’m kind of clueless. I just know sitting around here learning to cook isn’t my idea of a fun time. Tossing new recipes at me 24/7 isn’t going to change that one single bit.”
“You got that right,” Miranda muttered. She glanced at Abra. “Sorry. But I’m with your daughter on this one. I also hate to cook, but my new stepmother is always urging recipes and gadgets on me. And if that came out as rude, it’s your turn to tell me to squeeze the lemons and keep quiet.”
Abra smiled. “Don’t worry. It was an honest response. I love to cook so I don’t understand why everyone in the universe isn’t happily slicing and dicing and downloading every recipe imaginable. I’m well aware that Yasmin doesn’t share that particular interest—I suppose it’s my own feeble attempt to find a way to bond with my daughter.” She winked at Yasmin, who shrugged but seemed somewhat calmer. “Yasmin’s a cheerleader, so she was very busy throughout the entire school year. But school is out and she won’t go to cheer camp until mid-July.”
Miranda eyed mother and daughter and made a quick decision. “Just a thought—I’m teaching dance for the summer camp at the Masquerade Children’s Theater. Which is a misnomer since half the campers are over the age of thirteen and they get very touchy when called children. Anyway, our designer was telling me he needs more teens to help in the shop since the little kids shouldn’t be doing the nailing and gluing.” She turned to Yasmin. “Do you think that’s something you might enjoy?” She grinned. “No cooking involved.”
Yasmin whooped, “Whoa! Yeah! That would be really cool. I mean, I don’t have the kind of talent Kam did—” she swallowed “—but I love to put stuff together and slap paint on walls and I’m amazing with a hammer and nails. Mother, please, could I?”
“If your father approves, and I see no reason why he wouldn’t, I have no objections,” Abra said solemnly. “I’ll even volunteer to drive you.”
“Fantastic! I’m going to ask him now!” Yasmin started to fly out of the room in that manner only befitting tornados and teenagers.
Abra quickly stopped her. “Wait! Let Miranda ask him first. She can explain what this entails.” She glanced at Miranda. “Do you mind?”
“Not at all.”
Miranda followed Abra’s directions to Yusuf’s office. The door was partially open. She was about to knock when she heard Yusuf exclaiming, “I don’t care about the model trains, Russell! I care that this is only the third time you’ve come to see us since you’ve been back. Two years. You barely said a word past introductions and you let your friend do the talking and now all you can do is rattle on about how the McWane Science Center is hosting a train show in July? Talk to me!”
Russell took the time to read Yusuf’s words on his Dragon before responding. “I’m sorry. I am.” His voice sounded as though he were choking. “But I look at you and I look at Abra and I see Kamyar standing in front of me on that last day. He was so annoyed because the unit’s new cook had been asking everyone where he could find bacon to mix with the powdered eggs. Bacon! Kamyar said no wonder America couldn’t make headway with the people in the Middle East if the Army kept sending idiots who didn’t understand basic Muslim traditions. Then he started laughing because this same cook had asked Lenny Goldberg if he needed him to find a kosher ham!”
Miranda could almost see Yusuf’s smile. “That’s a good memory, Russ. Laughter. Believe me, it’s the only way Abra and I have lived through the past two years. Kamyar brought so much joy to us and to Yasmin. I look at her and I see her brother in her eyes. I hear him in her laughter.” He paused, then continued with a voice that had suddenly become hoarse. “For my part, I am truly sorry that you cannot hear her. I am so terribly sorry that your world is one of silence.”
Miranda tiptoed back down the hall. This was not the time to intrude...or to eavesdrop.
“Well?” Abra asked.
She grimaced. “I decided to let Yusuf and Russ continue their private conversation.”
“Ah. So, Miss Nolan, you’re tactful as well as creative.”
Yasmin spoke up. “Well, I’m not tactful. I’m busting in.” She whirled around and headed toward her father’s office before Abra had a chance to hold her back.
Abra shook her head. “Probably for the best. I’m not sure how long a private conversation between my husband and Russell needs to be at this point. But you! Miranda, you’re a miracle worker. In two minutes you’ve managed to come up with a project that will keep my daughter busy and stop her from whining about that bacchanalia the girls euphemistically refer to as a sleepover. Bless you.”
“Well, I hope it works out. The theater does need help since we’ll be doing a production at the end of camp. It’s a tight schedule.”
Abra inclined her head. “This will be great.”
Before either woman could continue discussing the mysterious business of parenting, they were joined by Russ and Yusuf.
“I’ve just been accosted by a flying teenager who was thrilled to tell me that her mother believes she should spend her time at a theater slapping paint onto boards and doubtless all over herself. Is this true?” Yusuf asked, his eyes twinkling.
Abra nodded. “It is.”
“Well, that’s good, because I said yes.”
“Where is she?”
“In her room firing up the computer. She’s going to study up on stagecraft. I believe she plans to take over the designer’s job five minutes after she arrives at the theater.”
There were smiles all around as Abra poured lemonade and offered dishes filled with fruit and nuts, yet Miranda still felt that an undercurrent of words had yet to be spoken. Was it Russ’s sense of culpability for something he had no control over? She glanced at Yusuf and Russ. Something was definitely in the wind that had nothing to do with Yasmin turning into a theater rat.
The silence suddenly turned uncomfortable. Miranda quietly asked, “Are you both okay with this exhibition? I’m sensing an elephant in the room.”
“It’s not the exhibition,” Yusuf said. “I’m proud that our son’s works will be seen. It’s...” He nodded at Russ and signed, Tell them what you told me.
Russ inhaled. “I’ve been offered a job.”
“Well, that’s a good thing!” Abra said, smiling. “Delivering furniture is not what you were put on this earth to do. Back at Samford?”
Russ read her words on the Dragon. He shook his head. “No. This is with a defense contractor, but not the one who hired me a few years ago. This outfit works out of Washington. They deal with military intelligence and our friends at Langley.”
“The CIA? Seriously?” Miranda asked.
“Yes. They want me to work as a translator.” He smiled briefly.
Miranda slid the Dragon back to Russ. “What do they want you to translate?”
“Classified documents that would lead to...various classified operations,” he said.
Miranda’s expression darkened. She paused but finally had to ask, “Including drone strikes?”
“That’s part of it,” Russ said. His mouth tightened. “You don’t approve?”
“Honestly? No. I didn’t approve of the war in Afghanistan or in Iraq and I believe that drone strikes only serve to keep the anger and hatred alive while too many innocent people die.”
“You’re wrong,” Russ said with more than a trace of anger. “We’ve taken out a boatload of terrorists and crazies that way while saving our soldiers.”
Abra joined the argument. “They’ve also helped
demolish wedding parties and entire villages by mistake. Russ, I know you believe you’d be helping the war effort, but I’m with Miranda. I don’t see it that way. Not that our opinion makes a difference in what the military decides to do.” She paused. “Would you be able to do this job from Birmingham or would you have to move to Washington or Virginia?”
Russ read Abra’s words on the Dragon before responding. “I can work from Birmingham. The company would send the information on a secured computer and I’d translate. And before everyone here gets their proverbial knickers in a twist, I only received the offer yesterday. I haven’t decided what to do. So, can we change the subject? I’d rather not get bogged down in politics right now.”
“Of course,” Abra said. “Miranda? Tell us about the children’s theater Yasmin plans to own by the end of the week?”
Miranda gratefully launched into a monologue about the classes, the camp, the funding needs and how marvelous the kids were. The tension in the room almost visibly dissipated.
Before long the pitcher was empty and the chatter was hitting topics that included children’s theater and Broadway, Abra musing about getting a part-time job and Miranda saying she’d be happy to ask her stepmother if she needed an extra hand at her catering business. Yusuf eventually stood. “This is delightful but are you two ready to see Kam’s works?”
“Absolutely.”
The artwork was stunning. Miranda found herself veering between admiration and awe for the pieces themselves and sadness and anger that a young life had been taken. Kamyar Durani would never create more of this beauty.
An hour later, Miranda and Russ left the Durani house. Neither spoke during the entire trip to Russ’s house. Miranda wasn’t sure if they were both unwilling to break the spell of emotions swirling from the impact of Kam’s artwork or if residual friction about Russ’s new opportunity kept them silent.
Legacy of Silence Page 10
