The tattered black, red, and green Afghan flag flapped in the wind against the gray, evening sky over Little Kabul. The tiny restaurant was sandwiched between two larger buildings. Its pockmarked sandstone colored walls and rusty gate seemed out of place among the festive, modern décor of the surrounding eateries.
“Ever been here before?” Kelly pushed her way through the creaky gate into a small, vine-covered courtyard. A mural of snow-covered mountains overlooked the entrance.
“First time.” Tyler gripped Kelly’s hand and steeled himself. The piquant fragrance of Afghan food mixed with gunpowder, dust, and smoke in his mind. But he forced himself to relax.
If he wanted to return to Afghanistan to do humanitarian work, he needed to get over the negative associations and replace them with positive emotions. At least that was what his therapist said.
They stepped through an ornate studded door and were greeted by a young woman wearing jeans, her hair tied back in a ponytail. No burka, no hijab.
“Smells just like barbeque,” Kelly said after they were seated.
“Yep, nothing like roasted meat.” Except when it was mixed with the scent of blood and peppered with the screams of grown men.
Tyler took another cleansing breath. He had to get these morbid thoughts out of his mind. He’d seated himself where he had a clear view of the door from one side and the open kitchen with the large grill on the other.
“Would you like to order drinks?” the waitress asked.
“I’ll have the doogh,” Kelly replied. “You should try it too.”
“Yogurt and cucumbers?” He read the description on the menu.
“It’s addictive, I’m telling you,” Kelly said.
“Really good with kebobs,” the waitress added.
“Okay, I’m game.” He couldn’t believe throughout his time in Afghanistan, he’d never sampled the street food, never been to a residence, never explored. Of course there were those rules of engagement. They’d been forbidden to mingle with the civilians, especially the women. So they’d stuck to their regiments, eating at the chow tent.
“Their kebobs are the best.” Kelly pointed to the photos of reddish, charbroiled meat. “I usually get the lamb and chaplee. I’m a real meat eater.”
“I’m surprised. I thought everyone here is vegan or organic.”
“We have vegetarian entrees, too,” the waitress said. “Roasted eggplant or squash.”
“I’ll have what she’s having. How’s the chaplee?”
“Spicy,” the waitress said. “It’s sort like a hamburger, except it has green onions, garlic, cumin and coriander mixed in.”
“Sounds good.” Tyler handed the menu to the waitress.
“How are you feeling?” Kelly asked after the waitress departed.
“Fine. It’s just a restaurant.”
“Yeah, but it’s bringing back all sorts of memories, and I bet not all of them good.”
“Can’t blame an entire nation of people.” Tyler shrugged. “They really decorated this place well.”
One section had the traditional on-the-floor tables and cushions. A large mural depicting wild horses hung behind them across from another one showing travelers against the backdrop of shadowy mountains and high passes. The walls, however, were dark, blood-colored red, in contrast to the glazed blue pottery Afghanistan was famous for.
Kelly took his hand and rubbed it. Tension seeped out of Tyler’s veins, replaced by warmth.
“Thanks, I’m really okay.”
“I know you are. Don’t think about the war. Think about the rebuilding, the reconstruction, the hope for a better future.”
“That’s what Warspring is all about.” He switched tack. “That’s the charity I’m working for. They accepted my proposal to set up sports programs for Afghan orphans.”
“Really? That’s awesome.”
The waitress returned with their drinks. “I also brought you an appetizer, pakawra. I hate to call it Afghan French fries, because it’s nothing like it, except it’s a fried potato wedge, but really good.”
The dark-orange colored wedges were huge, longer than a pickle and flattened.
The two women watched Tyler try the pakawra. It was slightly spicy, tasting like a large chili fry.
“Like it?” Kelly asked. “It’s better if you dip it into the cilantro yogurt chutney.”
“It’s all good,” Tyler said. The minty yogurt drink, doogh, reminded him of a sour, salty margarita without tequila. He could see why it was addictive.
There was nothing like food and a beautiful woman to pave over the fear warring in his gut. By the time the kebobs arrived, Tyler was able to breathe easy. Kelly’s quiet and easy company was a wonderful gift, something he could hardly dare to wish for.
Add to that, her laughter and the way her honey-colored hair was highlighted against the soft lighting reignited a primitive instinct of desire and want. What could be better than a woman’s comforting touch? Not just any woman, but Kelly Kennedy, someone with a head on her shoulders, able to empathize, having had enough life experiences to not be dismissive of his.
He clamped down his lustful imagination and steered them to more practical matters, like helping her get her wish for a better paying job.
“Have you thought about applying for the financial assistant position with Warspring?” he asked as the waitress refilled their drinks.
“I’m not sure I can.” She wiped her lips, leaving lipstick on the napkin.
“Why not? You haven’t been out of work long. Right? You were still working in New York last Christmas, less than a year ago.”
“Sure, but a lot has happened since then.” Kelly dipped a piece of flatbread in the yogurt sauce. “Let’s not talk about it.”
“Fair enough. I won’t mention it, but here’s Carina’s contact. She’s waiting for an email from you.” He pushed the Warsping finance director’s business card at her.
“Why, Tyler? Have you become my mother?” Kelly rolled her eyes and winked.
Oops. He didn’t mean to come off pushy. He perused the dessert menu. “Any room for dessert?”
“Oh, no, I’m too stuffed. Why don’t we take something home?”
He liked the sound of that. After ordering a baklava pastry and firni, a milk pudding topped with ground pistachios and a rosewater syrup, he paid the tab.
Fog had descended on the city by the time they walked out of Little Kabul. The wind had died and the frayed, stringy flag hung limp.
Tyler and Kelly meandered arm in arm down blocks of colorful row homes, every one stuck to its neighbor, but distinct in architecture and style.
They stepped through an alley and down the stairs around a dumpster. Kelly’s apartment was tucked behind a low wall. She unlocked the flimsy hook of the screen door, but didn’t slide the door to invite him in.
“I had a wonderful time,” she said. “I hope you did too.”
“I did.” He placed his hands on her shoulders. “Can’t beat the food and company. Want to do it again?”
“Sure.” Her hazel-colored eyes darkened, and she bit her lips.
Something was off. Ever since he’d mentioned the job, she’d gone from open posture to closed. He wasn’t going to get lucky tonight.
Might as well lean in for the kiss and cut his losses. Her mouth opened to say something, but Tyler swooped down and kissed her.
She tasted both spicy and sweet, honeyed like the baklava they’d nibbled during the walk to her place.
Tyler broke the kiss before Kelly. “I have to work tomorrow. What does your schedule look like?”
“Working every evening until Friday.”
“Want to spend it with me or do you have something planned with your family?”
“Both. Bree’s in a Christmas play at church.”
“Great. What’s she playing?”
“A sheep in the meadow.” Kelly laughed. “But it’s a big role for her. You won’t believe how she rehearses her part. Baaa … Baaa …”
>
“Am I invited? Do you think it’ll be okay if I show up?”
“Maybe, but it might be best if you weren’t seen with the family.”
“I understand.” Tyler couldn’t help his throat from tightening.
“Hey, but there’s no reason why you and I can’t have dinner beforehand. My mother can bring Bree to church.” She tapped his chest and smiled. “You’re so cute when you pout.”
“I didn’t pout.
“Did too.” She reached up and kissed his cheek. “Dinner, my treat.”
“Dinner it is, but I’m paying.” Tyler caressed her shoulder. “I’m the man.”
“I’m a woman who doesn’t need a man.” Kelly slid the glass door aside.
“Oh, I bet you have needs you’re not even aware of.”
“None that I can’t take care of myself.” Her heaving chest and the blush burning her face gave away what she was thinking.
“Ah, but the pleasure of the unexpected touch is a gift, not a command.” He lowered his head and brushed his lips on her neck, kissing her pulse points and nibbling her skin.
She sucked in a sharp breath and melted against him. He made his way to her ear and nuzzled the lobe delicately. She quivered and a small moan escaped her throat.
“I’ll see you Friday,” he whispered. “Unless something comes up this week and you need my unexpected touch.”
Without waiting for her reply, he retreated into the fog.
16
~ Kelly ~
“I’m going to do it,” I tell Mama. “This is a non-profit, so I don’t think I’m violating my probation terms.”
“I’d be careful.” She looks over my shoulder at my laptop screen. “You’re a convicted felon. You can’t vote and you can’t serve on a jury. Did you check with your probation officer?”
“They said it was okay for me to volunteer at Bree’s school. This shouldn’t be any different.” I flick to the “About” page on Warspring’s website. “See? It’s a registered charity.”
“What if they do a background check?” Mama pops a waffle into the toaster for Bree’s breakfast.
“They hired Tyler on the spot. No background check. Tyler says Dave Jewell has a soft spot for those who are down and out. He’s always taking food baskets to the homeless.”
“Then go for it.” She turns toward the hallway. “Bree. Wake up, honey. Today’s a school day.”
While she dresses Bree, I update my résumé, taking care to erase my last position in investment banking. What I have before then is sufficient. Intern, a finance degree, even the post-graduate analyst job with a different firm. If they ask me what I was doing for the last four years, it’s simple. I had Bree, and I lived off my savings to give her a stay-at-home parent.
I hit ‘send,’ fish the waffles from the toaster, and check my inbox. There’s a message from [email protected] already.
Tyler: Carina says you applied. You free for lunch?
Typical guy. Stringing on two thoughts in one note.
Me: Sure, but maybe I should practice interviewing.
I pour a glass of water for my mother and coffee for myself. My laptop rings with incoming email notifications.
Carina: Can you come by today? Is eleven good?
Tyler again: They want to talk to you.
Me to Tyler: Oh, gosh. I don’t know what to wear.
Me to Carina: Yes. Definitely.
Tyler: Don’t dress too conservatively. Dylan’s a real Bohemian.
Carina: Great. Directions attached.
Me to Tyler: But what about Carina? Let me google her.
Tyler: Not to worry. They’re both really nice. Young too. Carina doesn’t look like she’s out of high school.
Me to Carina: Got it. Will be there.
I step away from the laptop. “Mom, I got the interview. Today at eleven.”
She peeks her head from the hallway. “That’s great. But Bree’s feeling hot. I don’t think she can go to preschool today.”
I rush to the room where Bree stays. My poor baby, between my cleaning job and date with Tyler, I’ve neglected her.
“Mama, I hot.” Bree puts her hand over her forehead. “I wanna go school.”
“Not when you’re hot. Anything hurt?”
Bree points to her throat. “Owie.”
“You’ll have to stay home.”
“But I wanna go. They have reindeer play today.”
“She can stay here,” Mama says. “I can cancel my appointment.”
“No, it’s important. I’ll postpone the interview. I’m sure they’ll understand. Bree, you want apple juice?”
The cold juice could help her throat. I go to the kitchen and pour a cup for her. She grabs it and climbs onto a chair to eat her waffle with honey.
The emails are still coming in. After giving Bree the juice, I stop by my laptop.
Tyler: Think we can have lunch after the interview?
Me: Actually I have to postpone. Bree has a fever.
Tyler: Oh, bummer. Carina’s schedule is booked solid until Friday, then she’s taking off for the East Coast for the holidays. I can keep an eye on Bree for you. Is she too sick to come to the office?
“I wanna go school.” Bree pouts. “They have real reindeer. They pwo-mised.”
Me: A little sore throat. She wants to go to school. Should I stuff her with Tylenol and send her?
Tyler: No, she might expose the other kids and once the medicine wears off, she’ll feel miserable. Bring her by. I’ll take her for a walk or show her some of the toys Dylan collected from his travels.
One thing’s for sure. Tyler can be very persuasive.
Mama glances over my shoulder, reading my mail. “You should go. If you wait until after the holidays they might have found someone else. Who knows if Carina meets one of her old schoolmates while back home? I’ll watch Bree.”
“Mama, you’re fasting for your appointment. It’s bad enough I can’t take you.”
“I can still drive, you know. I’m not that old.” Mother whispers, “Do you think it’s wise for Tyler to watch Bree?”
“He won’t hurt her.”
“I know that,” Mother says. “I’m thinking more about the father for Christmas thing.”
“Oh, you’re right. But I have a good feeling about him. We had a wonderful time last night.”
“I know you did.”
“He didn’t even try to come into my apartment. He knew Bree was spending the night with you, but he held himself back. And he’s really gung ho about me getting the job.”
“That way he can see more of you.” Mother winks. “Let me call Ella and see if she can watch Bree.”
I slap myself on the forehead. Of course, Ella is on school break. “What’s wrong with me? I almost went back on our agreement to have Tyler stay away from Bree.”
“That’s because you’re falling for him, dear.”
“It’s too soon. I barely know him. I don’t have time. If I get this job, I’ll be busy.”
“Not too busy for an office romance.” Mother gives me an encouraging smile. “You deserve happiness. Don’t you think you’ve paid enough already? The worst day of my life wasn’t the day I found out I had cancer, it was the day you went to Riker’s Island.”
“Oh, Mom.” I hug her. “Thanks for standing by me the entire time, even though I wasn’t with you for your treatments.”
“Hush, your heart was in the right place. I know you did it for the experimental treatment we couldn’t afford.”
“It’s no excuse though. No excuse.”
~ Tyler ~
“May I see you in my office a moment?” Carina stood outside of Tyler’s cubicle. He had finished confirming the speakers for the Donor’s Ball coming up this Friday.
“Sure, I was wondering if I could have an extra ticket to the ball. I promised a friend of mine, another veteran, to be my guest, but I wonder if Kelly can also get an invite.”
Carina’s eyebrows turned down, and her nose scrunch
ed, as if smelling trouble. “Actually that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”
Alarm bells jangled in Tyler’s mind, and sweat prickled his skin. He walked the few steps to Carina’s office.
She shut the door and pointed to her monitor. “Have you seen this?”
“Uh, no.” He craned his neck to look over her shoulder. “Who’s that? Kelly? Can’t be. She’s a single mother who works in a cleaning service.”
The headline read, “Wall Street Director Convicted of Insider Trading.”
“It’s Kelly all right.” She brought up another page with her mug shot and read, “Kelly Kennedy of Goldfinch Securities has been sentenced to three months in Federal Prison on securities violations and insider trading. Leniency was given in this case because of the perpetrator’s young daughter and elderly mother suffering from cancer, and the fact that Kennedy did not profit from the trade. She lost all her assets totaling …”
“I didn’t know. Honestly.” Tyler sagged into a chair and ran his hands up and down his pants legs.
“How long have you known her?” Carina handed him a printout. “She lied on her résumé. Look at this. ‘Time out to be a stay-at-home mother for my daughter.’ We can’t hire her.”
“I had no idea.”
“Let me send her an email cancelling.” Carina glanced at her watch. “Now I can meet Dylan at The Brewed Force across the Bay. He’s auditioning for a guitar player since he hurt his wrist.”
“The Brewed Force, where’s that?”
“Berkeley.” Carina’s lips quirked. “You’re really a caveman aren’t you? Everything’s on the internet these days. I’ll ask Dylan to pick you up a smartphone.”
“Sure thing.”
“No problem.” Carina squeezed his arm. “Too bad your friend didn’t work out. I printed you an extra ticket. Just keep Kelly away from Dylan’s father and his friends. Now that I think about it, haven’t you ever wondered why she’s a maid at Mogul Bank? She’s probably going through the wastebaskets or eavesdropping. The question is, whose side is she on? The government or her cronies?”
A Father for Christmas: A Veteran’s Christmas, #1 Page 9
