Behind the Curtain

by BETH KERY

  “Hi. It’s me,” she said. “Look, I know you’re mad. So am I, still. A little anyway. But I don’t want it to go on. We need to talk. I’ll be in Detroit tomorrow. I wasn’t sure if you remembered,” she mumbled, feeling a bit stupid, because of course he’d remember. They’d fought about it. For him, it was one of the examples of how she existed in two different worlds, never committing fully to one. She swiped irritably at a fallen tear on her cheek. “Anyway, I just wanted you to know where I was. I hope we can talk when I get back Monday morning.” She hesitated.

  “I miss you. So much.” More tears spilled down her face. She hung up the phone with a trembling hand, afraid she would say more, terrified she’d humiliate herself by begging him on hands and knees not to shut her out of his life.

  • • •

  Asher hunched over the bar at the Galway Arms, staring down blankly at his half-full glass of Scotch. The alcohol wasn’t doing much to still the whirlwind of his thoughts.

  “You need to talk to her. In person,” Jimmy Rothschild said from the seat next to him. Asher glanced aside at his friend. Jimmy was dressed casually, for once, it being the weekend. Weekend or not, Jimmy had been in the office working when Asher called and asked if he’d have a drink with him. He’d spilled the whole story about Laila. Jimmy had been surprised, and then fascinated, to discover that Laila Barek, that shy, beautiful girl from Crescent Bay, was the magnetic stage performer known as the Veiled Siren. He didn’t seem too surprised to find out that they had resumed their love affair.

  “She’s at her folks’ house up in Detroit, celebrating the engagement of a cousin. That’s the one place I can’t go.”

  “That really bugs you, doesn’t it?” Jimmy observed.

  “Shouldn’t it? I feel like I’m a leper in that part of her life.”

  He noticed Jimmy’s furrowed brow. “That’s a pretty strong way of stating it.”

  Asher shrugged in an “I’m just saying it like it is” gesture.

  “But what do you mean you can’t go to Detroit and try to see her?” Jimmy persisted.

  Asher scowled. “Don’t you remember what happened in Crescent Bay? I don’t think I’d be making things better for Laila and me by crashing a family gathering.”

  “So her parents wouldn’t like you being there.”

  “Or her aunts and uncles or fist-happy male cousins,” Asher muttered, taking a sip of whiskey.

  “You were pretty fist-happy yourself, if I recall things correctly from that night,” Jimmy reminded him wryly. “What about Laila?”

  Asher shrugged. “Like I said, I don’t think she’d appreciate me making a stir.”

  “So you definitely are operating under the impression that things are just the same as they were eight years ago?” Asher glanced over at his friend. Jimmy’s expression was that of a seasoned prosecutor teasing out a complicated truth, Asher realized.

  “No, things aren’t exactly the same. Of course not,” Asher said.

  “Then what’s different?”

  “Laila is older, for one. She makes a good living. She owns her own place. She’s not dependent on her parents anymore.”

  “She’s not like most women you date, where the idea of a parent’s disapproval rarely, if ever, comes up.”

  “She’s not like anyone I’ve ever dated.”

  “Yeah. That’s obvious.” Asher glanced over at him. “Even back then, in Crescent Bay, it was crystal clear you were nuts about her. It was like witnessing some kind of rare natural phenomenon occurring, like an erupting volcano or something,” Jimmy said, smiling slightly as he took a sip of his drink. He set his glass down on the bar. “So what are you going to do?” Jimmy asked. “Are you really going to just fly off to London and leave her behind?”

  “I don’t have much of a choice, if that’s what she wants.”

  “And you know for certain that’s what she’d choose?”

  “Well, no . . . but given everything else, I have no reason to believe—”

  “You just said she wasn’t the same person as she was back then. Why don’t you just ask her what she wants to do in regard to the two of you?”

  “She’s pissed off at me at the moment. Is that a good time to talk about our future?”

  “It’s the only time,” Jimmy said, shrugging. “You’re leaving in four days. Do you want to know what I think?”

  “I’m not so sure,” Asher said darkly. But of course he did want to hear the unvarnished truth. That was why he’d called Jimmy in the first place.

  “I think you’re scared to bring up the topic with her because you’re afraid she’ll do what she did eight years ago. I saw how much her walking away hurt you then. I think you’re scared of being rejected all over again.” Asher didn’t deny or confirm it. It seemed to him Jimmy knew the truth, anyway.

  “But just imagine how Laila must be feeling. It sounds to me like she’s as crazy about you as she ever was. You two are in love. She knows that there would be conflict with her family, if you two decided to be together on a permanent basis. Maybe most importantly, she knows you’re leaving in four days. She must be scared to death about being separated again.”

  “She doesn’t press me about it,” Asher said gruffly. “If she was that worried, wouldn’t she bring it up?”

  “You’re not bringing it up. Maybe she thinks she’s following your preference. She probably feels guilty about hurting you back then. Maybe she doesn’t feel she has the right to ask questions and make demands.”

  He considered that for a moment.

  “That does kind of sound like Laila,” he said slowly, frowning.

  “Just go and talk to her, Ash.”

  Something clicked inside him.

  Jimmy was right. That old fear of rejection—of loss—was making him behave in ways he normally wouldn’t. It was making him hesitate, when normally, he would have jumped full-out.

  But now wasn’t the time for caution.

  “Yeah. Maybe you’re right.” He stood abruptly and threw some cash on the bar. “I’ve got to get going. Thanks, man. It really helped.”

  “Good. Hey, Ash,” he called when Asher turned to walk away. Asher turned back. “Don’t forget to invite me to your wedding.”

  Asher gave a half grin and a wave. He wished like hell he could be as optimistic as his friend. As things stood, maybe there weren’t as many barriers between Laila and him as there had been eight years ago.

  But there were enough to make this whole situation a damn steep risk.

  • • •

  On Monday morning, Laila came up behind her cousin Driss where he stood in the kitchen surrounded by various gabbing family members. She tugged on his elbow gently, praying her aunt Nadine wouldn’t notice Laila stealing away her son for a moment. Driss was a captain in the Navy, six feet two inches tall, with a build that had helped him make the Michigan All-State football team as an offensive lineman back in high school. But he was comically helpless when it came to his tiny mother’s demands, and Nadine was being uncommonly clingy with him during this brief visit. Nadine was orchestrating the breakfast preparation though, so there was a good chance they could get a few moments of privacy. When Driss turned and saw her silent plea for silence, he followed her down the hall into the empty sitting room. As planned, Tahi was already there, waiting for them.

  “What are you two up to?” Driss asked, laughing.

  “We need to talk to you,” Laila said, shutting the door. “About something important.”

  Driss’s amusement faded when he noticed their somber expressions.

  “You’ve seen how emotional Aunt Nadine is, with you being here with Sara,” Tahi began. “She starts crying every other minute, it seems like.”

  “She misses Zara,” Laila said starkly. Driss started slightly at having his sister’s name said out loud, but Laila was tired of beating aroun
d the bush. Zara was a person—a member of the family whom they all loved. She was sick of taking part in this ridiculous drama and constantly leaping over the topic of her. “We all miss her,” she added, stepping toward her cousin.

  “Of course we do,” Driss said, recovering. “And of course I’ve noticed how emotional Mom is.”

  “Your upcoming wedding is making her miss Zara even more than usual,” Laila stated.

  A flicker of pain went across her cousin’s face. “I know, but what can I do about it?”

  “You’ve always been reasonable, Driss. More reasonable than most of the people in this family. You must realize this whole thing with Zara being labeled an outcast can’t go on forever. She’s your sister, for goodness’ sake,” Tahi said, frowning.

  “Zara is the one who left.”

  “She left because she no longer felt welcome in her own home,” Laila defended hotly. When she saw Driss’s expression tighten at her outburst, she inhaled, trying to calm herself. “You honestly can’t be okay with this . . . this thing we do, ignoring Zara’s existence, treating her like an anathema, denouncing her like she’s cursed. She’s still your sister. She’s still Aunt Nadine and Uncle Reda’s daughter. Isn’t she?”

  The ensuing silence rang in her ears. For a few seconds, Laila’s heart squeezed tight in anguish as she sensed the battle waging inside Driss to answer. Yes, she and Tahi had decided on the drive to Detroit to speak to Driss and enlist his help in doing something to address the Zara issue. Driss was the perfect person to get involved. He was the apple of his mother’s eye, and he and Zara had always shared a close relationship. But Laila hadn’t realized until that moment just how personally invested she was in healing this rift between Zara and the family. It was like part of her believed that if her family couldn’t ever accept Zara, then she—Laila—was certainly doomed if she ever exposed her true feelings for Asher.

  And in a flash, she realized the futility of her anguish. She would never be able to twist her family’s emotions to meet her personal desires.

  “I don’t think I can do anything to change my parents’ mind, if that’s what you’re getting at,” Driss said. A feeling of profound sadness went through her, because she felt the truth of his words in the very core of her in that moment. “Besides, what difference does it make? Zara is gone. We don’t even know where she is.”

  “We do,” Tahi stated. She gave Laila an anxious glance. “Or at least we have, several times in the past, before she moved on to another job. We’ve been trying to track her whereabouts over the years. We think she’s still in Detroit, or at least she was as of recently.” Tahi went on to explain all the details to Driss about their attempts to contact Zara. Laila didn’t speak, sensing Driss’s doubts about their proposed plan to bring Zara back into the fold . . . feeling her own sense of loss and sadness growing.

  “So . . . can we depend on you to help us try to right things with Zara and the family?” Tahi asked breathlessly after several minutes.

  “I can’t change my parents’ mind,” Driss said. He noticed Tahi’s disappointment. “But I can do one thing,” Driss added quickly. He gave Laila a glance. “I can try to join in the hunt and help you find her.”

  “You will?” Laila asked, her heart thawing a little.

  Driss nodded. “She’s my sister, and I miss her. I’m not the whole family, but I’m one more person on your side. That’s something, isn’t it?”

  Laila glanced over at Tahi, who was watching her with shining eyes. Her chest ached. Tahi had always stood by her. She’d always been her family, not just in name, but in deed. She walked over to Tahi and grabbed her hand before turning to Driss.

  “It’s more than just something, Driss. It’s huge. And maybe it’s all we can hope for,” she said, her voice hoarse with emotion. She squeezed Tahi’s hand. “One family member at a time.”

  • • •

  Her large extended family gathered on the front porch of Ami Reda’s house. It was a sunny, cool autumn day. They’d just finished a huge breakfast. Reda and her Uncle Taha would be driving Driss and Sara to the airport.

  The good-byes had been going on for a good forty-five minutes now. So far, Sara and Driss had only progressed about twenty feet, from the foyer to the front steps. Driss’s mother seemed incapable of releasing her son. Driss’s gaze met Laila’s over his mother’s shoulder as Nadine gave him yet another tearful hug. They shared a glance of understanding and compassion.

  “We’d better get going,” Ami Reda said for the tenth time. “If there’s traffic, these two will miss their flight.”

  Driss and Sara finally broke away from the many outstretched arms and kisses. Laila’s dad, Tahi, Laila and Driss’s little sister, Sophia, trailed Sara and Driss down the staircase to the sidewalk. Even the next-door neighbors—the Kantari family—were on their front porch, waving and calling out good wishes to the couple.

  “Have a safe trip. We’ll talk soon about wedding plans,” Laila promised Sara, whom she’d ended up liking very much. They all gave Sara one last hug. Reda, Taha, Sara and Driss finally made it to the car. Laila and Tahi shared an exhausted smile when they drove off, and turned to walk back up to the porch. She was glad Driss and Sara were so happy together—seeing her whole family rejoicing over the couple.

  But it had left her sad, heartsore and very lonely, as well. It was like she was there with her family as a shadow rather than flesh . . .

  . . . like she no longer belonged.

  She noticed that her father hadn’t turned and started back to the house with them. He stood alone on the sidewalk.

  “Baba? What is it?” Laila asked, walking back toward him. She noticed his sober expression and narrowed gaze.

  “That car that just parked in front of our house a minute ago,” her dad mused thoughtfully. Laila turned to look at where he stared. Her parents’ house was only two residences down from her uncle Reda’s. “There’s someone waiting inside,” her dad continued. “And the car has Illinois plates.”

  Laila immediately recognized Asher’s rental car parked in the street at the curb. Her father calmly started to walk down the sidewalk toward the car.

  Adrenaline poured through her, making her veins sting. She began to follow him. She glanced back nervously but saw that everyone else was filing back into Reda and Nadine’s house. No one seemed to have noticed Laila and her father walking away.

  As they approached the car, Asher opened the door and got out. He wore a pair of jeans, boots, an ivory button-down shirt and a rugged brown jacket. Despite her anxiety at seeing him standing on the curb in the neighborhood where she’d grown up, her heart jumped at the vision of him. He stood there, waiting for them to approach patiently, his vivid, clear eyes trained on her, his expression somber.

  When Laila’s dad got about fifteen feet away, he abruptly paused on the sidewalk.

  “You,” he simply said. Laila noticed his expression of recognition and surprise. Laila inhaled shakily for courage and took her father’s hand. She urged him toward Asher.

  “I’m sorry,” Asher said quietly to Laila. He looked worried, and very sincere. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your family gathering. I was going to wait until I could get your attention for a private word.”

  “You mean you were waiting to pounce on her when she was alone?” Baba interrupted.

  “Stop it,” Laila implored her father. She inhaled slowly. “Baba, this is Asher Gaites. Asher, meet my father, Anass Barek. I don’t think you two were ever really formally introduced.”

  Asher stepped onto the verge, holding out his hand. “It’s an honor to meet you, sir.”

  Her father didn’t accept his hand, though. He looked very confused. His obvious vulnerability pained Laila. Especially because this time, she knew she couldn’t do anything to make it better.

  “What’s going on?” her dad asked Laila.

  “Asher
and I haven’t been in contact since that summer in Crescent Bay, Baba. But he returned to Chicago recently, and we ran into each other. We’ve been seeing each other,” she explained quietly.

  Her father’s gaze transferred to Asher. Asher slowly lowered his outstretched hand.

  “I think you’d better go, young man,” her dad said.

  “I came to see Laila,” Asher said politely but firmly, holding her father’s stare. “It’s important.”

  “I love him, Baba.”

  Both men looked at her. She felt as if she’d just punched her father, but she forced herself to continue. “I’ve never stopped loving him. You said I was too young to know better back then, but you were wrong. Since Asher and I have been together in Chicago, my heart has been so full,” she said, touching her chest lightly, beseeching him to understand. “I’ve never been so happy and alive as I am when I’m with him. He is my other half, Baba. I don’t feel whole without him. Can you please try to be happy for me?”

  “I don’t understand what’s happening,” her father said, his brow creasing. “Why haven’t you mentioned any of this to us before?”

  “Because I knew it would make you and Mamma unhappy.”

  “You knew it would make your mother and me unhappy because you know it’s wrong,” her father said.

  “No, Baba,” she said, reaching to take his hand. He looked at her, startled by her touch. She saw bewilderment and hurt in his dark eyes. “Asher and I are not wrong. We’re so right. He’s the most wonderful man. I wish you would get to know him—”

  “No,” her father said, releasing her hand and deliberately placing it away from him. “I don’t accept any of this. I don’t understand to whom I speak. Where is my daughter? You know how much it’s going to hurt your mother, and yet you insist on seeing him? Ma’anashi Farhan, Laila.”

  She flinched in pain. Her father—whom she adored and loved—had just told her how unhappy he was with what was happening, but it was the expression on his face that hurt her more than anything. He looked so sad, like he was losing the most important thing in the world to him.