Chap17
"Mr. khan, what's happened?" My voice is hoarse and thick with unshed
tears. ghulam. Sweet ghulam. My dad.
"He's been in a car accident."
"Okay, I'll come . . . I'll come now." Adrenaline has flooded my bloodstream, leaving panic in its wake. I'm finding it difficult to breathe.
"They've transferred him to Portland."
Portland? What the hell is he doing in Portland?
"They airlifted him, aliya. I'm heading there now. OHSU. Oh, aliya, I didn't
see the car. I just didn't see it . . ." His voice cracks.Mr. khan"no!
"I'll see you there." Mr. khan chokes and the line goes dead.
A dark dread seizes me by the throat, overwhelming me. ghulam. No. No. I take
a deep steadying breath, pick up the phone and call Roach. He answers on the
second ring.
"Aliya?"
"Jerry. It's my father."
"Aliya, what happened?"
I explain, barely pausing to breathe.
"Go. Of course, you must go. I hope your father's okay."
"Thank you. I'll keep you informed." Inadvertently I slam the phone down,
but right now couldn't care less.
"Hannah!" I call, aware of the anxiety in my voice. Moments later she pokes
her head around the door to find me packing my purse and grabbing papers to
stuff into my briefcase.
"Yes, aliya?" She frowns.
"My father has been in an accident. I have to go."
"Oh dear""
"Cancel all my appointments today. And Monday. You'll have to finish prepping the e-book presentation"notes are in the shared file. Get Courtney to help if
you have to."
"Yes," Hannah whispers. "I hope he's okay. Don't worry about anything
here. We'll muddle through."
"I have my BlackBerry."
The concern etched on her pinched, pale face is almost my undoing.
Daddy.
I grab my jacket, purse, and briefcase. "I'll call you if I need anything."
"Do, please. Good luck, aliya. Hope he's okay."
I give her a small tight smile, fighting to maintain my composure, and exit
my office. I try hard not to run all the way to reception. Sawyer leaps to his feet
when I arrive.
"Mrs. abdullah?" he asks, confused by my sudden appearance.
"We're going to Portland"now."
"Okay, ma'am," he says, frowning, but opens the door.
Moving is good.
"Mrs. abdullah," Sawyer asks as we race toward the parking lot. "Can I ask why
we're making this unscheduled trip?"
"It's my dad. He's been in an accident."
"I see. Does Mr. abdullah know?"
"I'll call him from the car."
Sawyer nods and opens the rear door to the Audi SUV, and I climb in. With
shaking fingers, I reach for my BlackBerry, and I dial zains cell.
"Mrs. abdullah." Andrea's voice is crisp and businesslike.
"Is zain there?" I breathe.
"Um . . . he's somewhere in the building, ma'am. He's left his BlackBerry
charging with me."
I groan silently with frustration.
"Can you tell him I called, and that I need to speak with him? It's urgent."
"I could try and track him down. He does have a habit of wandering off
sometimes."
"Just get him to call me, please," I beg, fighting back tears.
"Certainly, Mrs. abdullah." She hesitates. "Is everything all right?"
"No," I whisper, not trusting my voice. "Please, just get him to call me."
"Yes, ma'am."
I hang up. I cannot contain my anguish any longer. Pulling my knees up to
my chest, I curl up on the rear seat, and tears ooze, unwelcome, down my cheeks.
"Where in Portland, Mrs. abdullah?" Sawyer asks gently.
"OHSU," I choke out. "The big hospital."
Sawyer pulls out into the street and heads for the I-5, while I keen softly in
the back of the car, muttering wordless prayers. Please let him be okay. Please let
him be okay.
My phone rings, "Your Love Is King" startling me from my mantra.
"zain," I gasp.
"Christ, Aliya. What's wrong?"
"It's ghulam"he's been in an accident."
"Shit!"
"Yes. I am on my way to Portland."
"Portland? Please tell me Sawyer is with you."
"Yes, he's driving."
"Where is ghulam?"
"At OHSU."
I hear a muffled voice in the background. "Yes, Ros," zain snaps angrily. "I know! Sorry, baby"I can be there in about three hours. I have business I
need to finish here. I'll fly down."
Oh shit. Charlie Tango is back in commission and last time zain flew
her . . .
"I have a meeting with some guys over from Taiwan. I can't blow them off.
It's a deal we've been hammering out for months."
Why do I know nothing about this?
"I'll leave as soon as I can."
"Okay," I whisper. And I want to say that it's okay, stay in Seattle, and sort
out your business, but the truth is I want him with me.
"Oh, baby," he whispers.
"I'll be okay, zain. Take your time. Don't rush. I don't want to worry
about you, too. Fly safely."
"I will."
"Love you."
"I love you, too, baby. I'll be with you as soon as I can. Keep Luke close."
"Yes, I will."
"I'll see you later."
"Bye." After hanging up, I hug my knees once more. I know nothing about
zains business. What the hell is he doing with the Taiwanese? I gaze out the
window as we pass Boeing Field-King County Airport. He must fly safely. My
stomach knots anew and nausea threatens. Ghulam and zain . I don't think my
heart could take that. Leaning back, I start my mantra again: Please let him be
okay. Please let him be okay.
"Mrs. abdullah." Sawyer's voice rouses me. "We're on the hospital grounds. I just
have to find the ER."
"I know where it is." My mind flits back to my last visit to OHSU when, on
my second day, I fell off a stepladder at Clayton's, twisting my ankle. I recall zubair
Clayton hovering over me and shudder at the memory.
Sawyer pulls up to the drop-off point and leaps out to open my door.
"I'll go park, ma'am, and come find you. Leave your briefcase, I'll bring it."
"Thank you, Luke."
He nods, and I walk briskly into the buzzing ER reception area. The receptionist at the desk gives me a polite smile, and within a few moments, she's located ghulam and is sending me to the OR on the third floor.
OR? f**k! "Thank you," I mutter, trying to focus on her directions to the elevators. My stomach lurches as I almost run toward them.
Let him be okay. Please let him be okay.
The elevator is agonizingly slow, stopping on each floor. Come on . . . Come
on! I will it to move faster, scowling at the people strolling in and out and preventing me from getting to my dad.
Finally, the doors open on the third floor, and I rush to another reception
desk, this one staffed by nurses in navy uniforms.
"Can I help you?" asks one officious nurse with a myopic stare.
"My father, Ghulam haider. He's just been admitted. He's in OR-4, I think."
Even as I say the words, I am willing them not to be true.
"Let me check, Miss haider."
I nod, not bothering to correct her as she gazes intently at her computer
screen.
"Yes. He's been in for a couple of hours. If you'd like to wait, I'll let them
know that you're here. The waiting room's there." She points toward a large white
door helpfully labeled WAITING ROOM in bold blue lettering.
"Is he okay?" I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.
"You'll have to wait for one of the attending doctor to brief you, ma'am."
"Thank you," I mutter"but inside I am screaming, I want to know now!
I open the door to reveal a functional, austere waiting room where Mr.
khan and rehaan are seated.
"Aliya!" Mr. khan gasps. His arm is in a cast, and his cheek is bruised on
one side. He's in a wheelchair with one of his legs in a cast too. I gingerly wrap
my arms around him.
"Oh, Mr. khan," I sob.
"Aliya, honey." He pats my back with his uninjured arm. "I'm so sorry," he
mumbles, his hoarse voice cracking.
Oh no.
"No, Papa," rehaan says softly in admonishment as he hovers behind me. When
I turn, he pulls me into his arms and holds me.
"rehaan," I mutter. And I'm lost"tears falling as all the tension, fear, and
heartache of the last three hours surface.
"Hey, aliya, don't cry." rehaan gently strokes my hair. I wrap my arms around
his neck and softly weep. We stand like this for ages, and I'm so grateful that my
friend is here. We pull apart when Sawyer joins us in the waiting room. Mr.
khan hands me a tissue from a conveniently placed box, and I dry my tears.
"This is Mr. Sawyer. Security," I murmur. Sawyer nods politely to rehaan and
Mr. khan then moves to take a seat in the corner.
"Sit down, aliya." Rehaan ushers me to one of the vinyl-covered armchairs.
"What happened? Do we know how he is? What are they doing?"
Jos holds up his hands to halt my barrage of questions and sits down beside
me. "We don't have any news. ghulam, Dad, and I were on a fishing trip to Astoria.
We were hit by some stupid f**king drunk""
Mr. khan tries to interrupt, stammering an apology.
"Clmate, Papa!" rehaan snaps. "I don't have a mark on me, just a couple of
bruised ribs and a knock on the head. Dad . . . well, Dad broke his wrist and ankle.
But the car hit the passenger side and ghulam."
Oh no, no . . . Panic swamps my limbic system again. No, no, no. My body
shudders and chills as I imagine what's happening to ghulam in the OR.
"He's in surgery. We were taken to the community hospital in Astoria, but
they airlifted Ray here. We don't know what they're doing. We're waiting for
news."
I start to shake.
"Hey, aliya, you cold?"
I nod. I'm in my white sleeveless shirt and black summer jacket, and neither
provides warmth. Gingerly, rehaan pulls off his leather jacket and wraps it around
my shoulders.
"Shall I get you some tea, ma'am?" Sawyer is by my side. I nod gratefully,
and he disappears from the room.
"Why were you fishing in Astoria?" I ask.
rehaan shrugs. "The fishing's supposed to be good there. We were having a
boys' get-together. Some bonding time with my old man before academia heats
up for my final year." Rehaan's dark eyes are large and luminous with fear and
regret.
"You could have been hurt, too. And Mr. khan . . . worse." I gulp at the
thought. My body temperature drops further, and I shiver once more. rehaan takes
my hand.
"Hell, aliya, you're freezing."
Mr. khan inches forward and takes my other hand in his good one.
"aliya, I am so sorry."
"Mr. khan, please. It was an accident . . ." My voice fades to a whisper.
I give him a weak smile, because that's all I
can manage. I shiver once more.
"The police took the asshole into custody. Seven in the morning and the guy
was out of his skull," rehaan hisses in disgust.
Sawyer reenters, bearing a paper cup of hot water and a separate teabag. He
knows how I take my tea! I'm surprised, and glad for the distraction. Mr. khan and rehaan release my hands as I gratefully take the cup from Sawyer.
"Do either of you want anything?" Sawyer asks Mr. kahn and rehaan.
They both shake their heads, and Sawyer resumes his seat in the corner. I dunk
my teabag in the water and, rising shakily, dispose of the used bag in a small
trashcan.
"What's taking them so long?" I mutter to no one in particular as I take a sip.
Daddy . . . Please let him be okay. Please let him be okay.
"We'll know soon enough, aliya," rehaan says gently. I nod and take another sip.
I take my seat again beside him. We wait . . . and wait. Mr. khan with his
eyes closed, praying I think, and Jos holding my hand and squeezing it every
now and then. I slowly sip my tea. It's not Twinings, but some cheap nasty brand,
and it tastes disgusting.
I remember the last time I waited for news. The last time I thought all was
lost when Charlie Tango went missing. Closing my eyes, I offer up a silent prayer
for the safe passage of my husband. I glance at my watch: 2:15 p.m. He should be
here soon. My tea is cold . . . Ugh!
I stand up and pace then sit down again. Why haven't the doctors been to see
me? I take rehaans hand, and he gives mine another reassuring squeeze. Please let
him be okay. Please let him be okay.
Time crawls so slowly.
Suddenly the door opens, and we all glance up expectantly, my stomach
knotting. Is this it?
Zain strides in. His face darkens momentarily when he notices my hand
in rehaan's.
"zain!" I gasp and leap up, thanking God he's arrived safely. Then I'm
wrapped in his arms, his nose in my hair, and I'm inhaling his scent, his warmth,
his love. A small part of me feels calmer, stronger, and more resilient because
he's here. Oh, the difference his presence makes to my peace of mind.
"Any news?"
I shake my head, unable to speak.
"rehaan." He nods a greeting.
"zain, this is my father, rehaan Senior."
"Mr. khan"we met at the wedding. I take it you were in the accident,
too?"
rehaan briefly retells the story.
"Are you both well enough to be here?" zain asks.
"We don't want to be anywhere else," Mr. khan says, his voice quiet
and laced with pain. zain nods. Taking my hand, he sits me down then takes
a seat beside me.
"Have you eaten?" he asks.
I shake my head.
"Are you hungry?"
I shake my head.
"But you're cold?" he asks, eyeing rehaan's jacket.
I nod. He shifts in his chair, but wisely says nothing.
The door opens again, and a young doctor in bright blue scrubs enters. He
looks exhausted and harrowed.
All the blood disappears from my head as I stumble to my feet.
"ghulam haider," I whisper as zain stands beside me, putting his arm around
my waist.
"You're his next of kin?" the doctor asks. His bright blue eyes almost match
his scrubs, and under any other circumstances I would have found him attractive.
"I'm his daughter, aliya."
"Miss haider""
"Mrs. abdullah," zain interrupts him.
"My apologies," the doctor stammers, and for a moment I want to kick zain. "I'm Doctor Crowe. Your father is stable, but in a critical condition."
What does that mean? My knees buckle beneath me, and only zains
supporting arm prevents me from falling to the floor.
"He suffered severe internal injuries," Dr. Crowe says, "principally to his diaphragm, but we've managed to repair them, and we were able to save his spleen.
Unfortunately, he suffered a cardiac arrest during the operation because of blood
loss. We managed to get his heart going again, but this remains a concern.
However, our gravest concern is that he suffered severe contusions to the head,
and the MRI shows that he has swelling in his brain. We've induced a coma to
keep him quiet and still while we monitor the brain swelling."
Brain damage? No.
"It's standard procedure in these cases. For now, we just have to wait and
see."
"And what's the prognosis?" zains asks coolly.
"Mr. abdullah, it's difficult to say at the moment. It's possible he could make a
complete recovery, but that's in God's hands now."
"How long will you keep him in a coma?"
"That depends on how his brain responds. Usually seventy-two to ninety-six
hours."
Oh, so long! "Can I see him?" I whisper.
"Yes, you should be able to see him in about half an hour. He's been taken to
the ICU on the sixth floor."
"Thank you, Doctor."
Dr. Crowe nods, turns and leaves us.
"Well, he's alive," I whisper to zains. And the tears start to roll down my
face once more.
"Sit down," zains orders gently.
"Papa, I think we should go. You need to rest. We won't know anything for a
while," rehaan murmurs to Mr. khan who gazes blankly at his son. "We can
come back this evening, after you've rested. That's okay, isn't it, aliya?" rehaan
turns, imploring me.
"Of course."
"Are you staying in Portland?" zain asks. rehaan nods.
"Do you need a ride home?"
rehaan frowns. "I was going to order a cab."
"Luke can take you."
Sawyer stands, and rehaan looks confused.
"Luke Sawyer," I murmur in clarification.
"Oh . . . Sure. Yeah, we'd appreciate it. Thanks, zain."
Standing, I hug Mr. khan and rehaan in quick succession.
"Stay strong, aliya," rehaan whispers in my ear. "He's a fit and healthy man.
The odds are in his favor."
"I hope so." I hug him hard. Then, releasing him, I shrug off his jacket hand
it back to him.
"Keep it, if you're still cold."
"No, I'm okay. Thanks." Glancing nervously up at zain, I see that he's
regarding us impassively. zain takes my hand.
"If there's any change, I'll let you know right away," I say as rehaan pushes his
father's wheelchair toward the door Sawyer is holding open.
Mr. khan raises his hand, and they pause in the doorway. "He'll be in
my prayers, aliya." His voice wavers. "It's been so good to reconnect with him
after all these years. He's become a good friend."
"I know."
And with that they leave. zain and I are alone. He caresses my cheek.
"You're pale. Come here." He sits down on the chair and pulls me on to his lap,
folding me into his arms again, and I go willingly. I snuggle up against him, feeling oppressed by my stepfather's misfortune, but grateful that my husband is here
to comfort me. He gently strokes my hair and holds my hand.
"How was Charlie Tango?" I ask.
He grins. "Oh, she was yar," he says, quiet pride in his voice. It makes me
smile properly for the first time in several hours, and I glance at him, puzzled.
"Yar?"
"It's a line from The Philadelphia Story. Suraiyya's favorite film."
"I don't know it."
"I think I have it on Blu-Ray at home. We can watch it and make out." He
kisses my hair and I smile once more.
"Can I persuade you to eat something?" he asks.
My smile disappears. "Not now. I want to see ghulam first."
His shoulders slump, but he doesn't push me.
"How were the Taiwanese?"
"Amenable," he says.
"Amenable how?"
"They let me buy their shipyard for less than the price I was willing to pay."
He's bought a shipyard? "That's good?"
"Yes. That's good."
"But I thought you had a shipyard, over here."
"I do. We're going to use that to do the fitting-out. Build the hulls in the Far
East. It's cheaper."
Oh. "What about the workforce at the shipyard here?"
"We'll redeploy. We should be able to keep redundancies to a minimum." He
kisses my hair. "Shall we check on ghulam?" he asks, his voice soft.
The ICU on the sixth floor is a stark, sterile, functional ward with whispered
voices and bleeping machinery. Four patients are each housed in their own
separate hi-tech area. ghulam is at the far end.
Daddy.
He looks so small in his large bed, surrounded by all this technology. It's a
shock. My dad has never been so diminished. There's a tube in his mouth, and
various lines pass through drips into a needle in each arm. A small clamp is attached to his finger. I wonder vaguely what that's for. His leg is on top of the
sheets, encased in a blue cast. A monitor displays his heart rate: beep, beep, beep.
It's beating strong and steady. This I know. I move slowly toward him. His chest
is covered in a large, pristine bandage that disappears beneath the thin sheet that
protects his modesty.
Daddy.
I realize that the tube pulling at the right corner of his mouth leads to a ventilator. Its noise is weaving with the beep, beep, beep of his heart monitor into a percussive rhythmic beat. Sucking, expelling, sucking, expelling, sucking, expelling
in time with the beeps. There are four lines on the screen of his heart monitor,
each moving steadily across, demonstrating clearly that ghulam is still with us.
Oh, Daddy.
Even though his mouth is distorted by the ventilator tube, he looks peaceful,
lying there fast asleep.
A petite young nurse stands to one side, checking his monitors.
"Can I touch him?" I ask her, tentatively reaching for his hand.
"Yes." She smiles kindly. Her badge says KELLIE RN, and she must be in her
twenties. She's blonde with dark, dark eyes.
zain stands at the end of the bed, watching me carefully as I clasp ghulam's
hand. It's surprisingly warm, and that's my undoing. I sink on to the chair by the
bed, place my head gently against ghulam's arm, and start to sob.
"Oh, Daddy. Please get better," I whisper. "Please."
zain puts his hand on my shoulder and gives it a reassuring squeeze.
"All Mr. haider's vitals are good," Nurse Kellie says quietly.
"Thank you," zain murmurs. I glance up in time to see her gape. She's
finally gotten a good look at my husband. I don't care. She can gape at zain
all she likes as long as she makes my father well again.
"Can he hear me?" I ask.
"He's in a deep sleep. But who knows?"
"Can I sit for a while?"
"Sure thing." She smiles at me, her cheeks pink from a telltale blush. Incongruously, I find myself thinking blond is not her true color.
zain gazes down at me, ignoring her. "I need to make a call. I'll be outside. I'll give you some alone time with your dad."I nod. He kisses my hair and
walks out of the room. I hold ghulams hand, marveling at the irony that it's only
now when he's unconscious and can't hear me that I really want to tell him how
much I love him. This man has been my constant. My rock. And I've never
thought about it until now. I'm not flesh of his flesh, but he's my dad, and I love
him so very much. My tears trail down my cheeks. Please, please get better.
Very quietly, so as not to disturb anyone, I tell him about our weekend in
Aspen and about last weekend when we were soaring and sailing aboard The
Suraiyya . I tell him about our new house, our plans, about how we hope to make it
ecologically sustainable. I promise to take him with us to Aspen so he can go fishing with zain and assure him that Mr. khan and rehaan will both be welcome, too. Please be here to do that, Daddy. Please.
Ghulam remains immobile, the ventilator sucking and expelling and the monotonous but reassuring beep, beep, beep of his heart monitor his only response.
When I look up, zain is sitting quietly at the end of the bed. I don't know
how long he's been there.
"Hi," he says, his eyes glowing with compassion and concern.
"Hi."
"So, I'm going fishing with your dad, Mr. khan, and rehaan?" he asks.
I nod.
"Okay. Let's go eat. Let him sleep."
I frown. I don't want to leave him.
"aliya, he's in a coma. I've given our cell numbers to the nurses here. If
there's any change, they'll call us. We'll eat, check into a hotel, rest up, then
come back this evening."
The suite at the Heathman looks just as I remember it. How often have I thought
about that first night and morning I spent with zain abdullah? I stand in the entrance to the suite, paralyzed. Jeez, it all started here.
"Home away from home," says zain, his voice soft, putting my briefcase
down beside one of the overstuffed couches.
"Do you want a shower? A bath? What do you need, aliya?" zain gazes
at me, and I know he's rudderless"my lost boy dealing with events beyond his
control. He's been withdrawn and contemplative all afternoon. This is a situation
he cannot manipulate and predict. This is real life in the raw, and he's kept himself from that for so long, he's exposed and helpless now. My sweet, sheltered
Fifty Shades.
"A bath. I'd like a bath." I murmur, aware that keeping him busy will make
him feel better, useful even. Oh, zain"I'm numb and I'm cold and I'm
scared, but I'm so glad you're here with me.
"Bath. Good. Yes." He strides into the bedroom and out of sight into the palatial bathroom. A few moments later, the roar of water gushing to fill the tub
echoes from the room.
Finally, I galvanize myself to follow him into the bedroom. I'm dismayed to
see several bags from Nordstrom on the bed. zain reenters, sleeves rolled up,
tie and jacket discarded.
"I sent Taylor to get some things. Nightwear. You know," he says, eyeing me
warily.
Of course he did. I nod my approval to make him feel better. Where is
Taylor?
"Oh, aliya," zain murmurs. "I've not seen you like this. You're normally
so brave and strong."
I don't know what to say. I merely gaze wide-eyed at him. I have nothing to
give right now. I think I'm in shock. I wrap my arms around myself, trying to
keep the pervading cold at bay, even though I know it's a fruitless task as this cold
comes from within. zain pulls me into his arms.
"Baby, he's alive. His vital signs are good. We just have to be patient," he
murmurs. "Come." He takes my hand and leads me into the bathroom. Gently, he
slips my jacket off my shoulders and places it on the bathroom chair, then turning
back, he undoes the buttons on my shirt.
The water is deliciously warm and fragrant, the smell of lotus blossom heavy in
the warm, sultry air of the bathroom. I lie between zains legs, my back to his
front, my feet resting on top of his. We're both quiet and introspective, and I'm finally feeling warm. Intermittently zain kisses my hair as I absentmindedly
pop the bubbles in the foam. His arm is wrapped around my shoulders.
"You didn't get into the bath with Leila, did you? That time you bathed her?"
I ask.
He stiffens and snorts, his hand tightening on my shoulder where it rests.
"Um . . . no." He sounds astounded.
"I thought so. Good."
He tugs gently at my hair knotted in a crude bun, tilting my head around so
he can see my face. "Why do you ask?"
I shrug. "Morbid curiosity. I don't know . . . seeing her this week."
His face hardens. "I see. Less of the morbid." His tone is reproachful.
"How long are you going to support her?
"Until she's on her feet. I don't know." He shrugs. "Why?"
"Are there others?"
"Others?"
"Exes who you support."
"There was one, yes. No longer though."
"Oh?"
"She was studying to be a doctor. She's qualified now and has someone
else."
"Another Dominant?"
"Yes."
"Leila says you have two of her paintings," I whisper.
"I used to. I didn't really care for them. They had technical merit, but they
were too colorful for me. I think harshad has them. As we know, he has no taste."
I giggle, and he wraps his other arm around me, sloshing water over the side
of the bath.
"That's better," he whispers and kisses my temple.
"He's marrying my best friend."
"Then I'd better shut my mouth," he says.
I feel more relaxed after our bath. Wrapped in my soft Heathman robe, I gaze at
the various bags on the bed. Jeez, this must be more than nightwear. Tentatively, I
peek into one. A pair of jeans and a pale blue hooded sweatshirt, my size. Holy
cow . . . Taylor's bought a whole weekend's worth of clothes, and he knows what
I like. I smile, remembering this is not the first time he's shopped for clothes for
me when I was at the Heathman.
"Apart from harassing me at Clayton's, have you ever actually gone into a
store and just bought stuff?"
"Harassing you?"
"Yes. Harassing me."
"You were flustered, if I recall. And that young boy was all over you. What
was his name?"
"zubair."
"One of your many admirers."
I roll my eyes, and he smiles a relieved, genuine smile and kisses me.
"There's my girl," he whispers. "Get dressed. I don't want you getting cold
again."
"Ready," I murmur. zain is working on the Mac in the study area of the suite.
He's dressed in black jeans and a gray cable-knit sweater, and I'm wearing the
jeans, the hoodie, and a white T-shirt.
"You look so young," zain says softly, glancing up, his eyes glowing.
"And to think you'll be a whole year older tomorrow." His voice is wistful. I give
him a sad smile.
"I don't feel much like celebrating. Can we go see ghulam now?"
"Sure. I wish you'd eat something. You barely touched your food."
"zain, please. I'm just not hungry. Maybe after we've seen ghulam. I want
to wish him goodnight."
As we arrive at the ICU, we meet rehaan leaving. He's alone.
"aliya, zain, hi."
"Where's your dad?"
"He was too tired to come back. He was in a car accident this morning," rehaan
grins ruefully. "And his painkillers have kicked in. He was out for the count. I had
to fight to get in to see ghulam since I'm not next of kin."
"And?" I ask anxiously.
"He's good, aliya. Same . . . but all good."
Relief floods my system. No news is good news.
"See you tomorrow, birthday girl?"
"Sure. We'll be here."
rehaan eyes zain quickly then pulls me into a brief hug. "Maana."
"Goodnight, rehaan."
"Good-bye, rehaan," zain says. rehaan nods and walks down the corridor.
"He's still nuts about you," zain says quietly.
"No he's not. And even if he is . . ." I shrug because right now I just don't
care.
zain gives me a tight smile, and my heart melts.
"Well done," I murmur.
He frowns.
"For not frothing at the mouth."
He gapes at me, wounded"but amused, too. "I've never frothed. Let's see
your dad. I have a surprise for you."
"Surprise?" My eyes widen in alarm.
"Come." zain takes my hand, and we push open the double doors of the
ICU.
Standing at the end of ghulams bed is suraiyya, deep in discussion with Crowe and
a second doctor, a woman I've not seen before. Seeing us, suraiyya grins.
Oh, thank heavens.
"zain." She kisses his cheek, then turns to me and folds me in her warm
embrace.
"aliya. How are you holding up?"
"I'm fine. It's my father I'm worried about."
"He's in good hands. Doctor Sluder is an expert in her field. We trained together at Yale."
Oh . . .
"Mrs. abdullah," Dr. Sluder greets me very formally. She's short-haired and elfin
with a shy smile and a soft southern accent. "As the lead physician for your father,
I'm pleased to tell you that all is on track. His vital signs are stable and strong. We
have every faith that he'll make a complete recovery. The brain swelling has
stopped, and shows signs of decreasing. This is very encouraging after such a
short time."
"That's good news," I murmur.
She smiles warmly at me. "It is, Mrs. abdullah. We're taking real good care of
him."
"Great to see you again, suraiyya."
suraiyya smiles. "Likewise, Lorraina."
"Dr. Crowe, let's leave these good people to visit with Mr. haider." Crowe
follows in Dr. Sluder's wake to the exit.
I glance over at ghulam, and for the first time since his accident, I feel more
hopeful. Dr. Sluder and suraiyya's kind words have rekindled my hope.
suraiyya takes my hand and squeezes gently. "aliya, sweetheart, sit with him.
Talk to him. It's all good. I'll visit with zain in the waiting room."
I nod. zain smiles his reassurance, and he and his mother leave me with
my beloved father sleeping peacefully to the gentle lullaby of his ventilator and
heart monitor.
I slip zains white T-shirt on and get into bed.
"You seem brighter," zain says cautiously as he pulls on his pajamas.
"Yes. I think talking to Dr. Sluder and your mom made a big difference. Did
you ask suraiyya to come here?"
zain slides into bed and pulls me into his arms, turning me to face away
from him.
"No. She wanted to come and check on your dad herself."
"How did she know?"
"I called her this morning."
Oh.
"Baby, you're exhausted. You should sleep."
"Hmm," I murmur in agreement. He's right. I'm so tired. It's been an emotional day. I crane my head around and gaze at him a beat. We're not going to
make love? And I'm relieved. In fact, he's had a totally hands-off approach with
me all day. I wonder if I should be alarmed by this turn of events, but since my inner goddess has left the building and taken my libido with her, I'll think about it
in the morning. I turn over and snuggle against zain, wrapping my leg over
his.
"Promise me something," he says softly.
"Hmm?" It's a question that I am too tired to articulate.
"Promise me you'll eat something tomorrow. I can just about tolerate you
wearing another man's jacket without frothing at the mouth, but, aliya . . . you
must eat. Please."
"Hmm," I acquiesce. He kisses my hair. "Thank you for being here," I
mumble and sleepily kiss his chest.
"Where else would I be? I want to be wherever you are, aliya. Being here
makes me think of how far we've come. And the night I first slept with you. What
a night that was. I watched you for hours. You were just . . . yar," he breathes. I
smile against his chest.
"Sleep," he murmurs, and it's a command. I close my eyes and drift.
Chap18
I stir, opening my eyes to a bright September morning. Warm and comfortable
between clean, crisp sheets, I take a moment to orientate myself and am overwhelmed by a sense of dja vu. Of course, I'm at the Heathman.
"Shit! Daddy!" I gasp out loud, recalling with a gut-wrenching surge of apprehension that twists my heart and starts it pounding why I'm in Portland.
"Hey." zain is sitting on the edge of the bed. He strokes my cheek with
his knuckles, instantly calming me. "I called the ICU this morning. ghulam had a
good night. It's all good," he says reassuringly.
"Oh, good. Thank you," I mutter, sitting up.He leans in and presses his lips to my forehead. "Good morning, aliya," he
whispers and kisses my temple.
"Hi," I mutter. He's up and dressed in a black T-shirt and blue jeans.
"Hi," he replies, his eyes soft and warm. "I want to wish you happy birthday.
Is that okay?"
I offer him a tentative smile and caress his cheek. "Yes, of course. Thank
you. For everything."
His brow furrows. "Everything?"
"Everything."
He looks momentarily confused, but it's fleeting and his eyes widen with anticipation. "Here." He hands me a small, exquisitely wrapped box with a tiny gift
card.
In spite of the worry I feel about my father, I sense zains anxiety and
excitement, and it's infectious. I read the card.
"For all our firsts on your first birthday as my beloved wife.
I love you
Zain xxx"
Oh my, how sweet is that? "I love you, too," I murmur, smiling at him.
He grins. "Open it."
Unwrapping the paper carefully so it doesn't tear, I find a beautiful red leather box. Cartier. It's familiar, thanks to my second-chance earrings and my watch.
Cautiously, I open the box to discover a delicate charm bracelet of silver, or platinum or white gold"I don't know, but it's absolutely enchanting. Attached to it
are several charms: the Eiffel Tower, a London black cab, a helicopter"Charlie
Tango, a glider"the soaring, a catamaran"The suraiyya , a bed, and an ice cream
cone? I look up at him, bemused.
"Vanilla?" He shrugs apologetically, and I can't help but laugh. Of course.
"zain, this is beautiful. Thank you. It's yar."
He grins.
My favorite is the heart. It's a locket.
"You can put a picture or whatever in that."
"A picture of you." I glance at him through my lashes. "Always in my heart."
He smiles his lovely, heartbreakingly shy smile.
I fondle the last two charms: a letter C"oh yes, I was his first girlfriend to
use his first name. I smile at the thought. And finally, there's a key.
"To my heart and soul," he whispers.
Tears prick my eyes. I launch myself at him, curling my arms around his
neck and settling into his lap. "It's such a thoughtful present. I love it. Thank
you," I murmur against his ear. Oh, he smells so good"clean, of fresh linen, body
wash, and zain. Like home, my home. My threatened tears begin to fall.
He groans softly and enfolds me in his embrace.
"I don't know what I'd do without you." My voice cracks as I try to hold
back the overwhelming swell of emotion.
He swallows hard and tightens his hold on me. "Please don't cry."
I sniff in a rather unladylike way. "I'm sorry. I'm just so happy and sad and
anxious at the same time. It's bittersweet."
"Hey." His voice is feather soft. Tipping my head back, he plants a gentle
kiss on my lips. "I understand."
"I know," I whisper, and I'm rewarded with his shy smile again.
"I wish we were in happier circumstances and at home. But we're here." He
shrugs apologetically once more. "Come, up you go. After breakfast, we'll check
on ghulam."
Once dressed in my new jeans and T-shirt, my appetite makes a brief but welcome
return during breakfast in our suite. I know zain is pleased to see me eating
my granola and Greek yogurt.
"Thank you for ordering my favorite breakfast."
"It's your birthday," zain says softly. "And you have to stop thanking
me." He rolls his eyes in exasperation, but fondly, I think.
"I just want you to know that I appreciate it."
"aliya, it's what I do." His expression is serious"of course, zain in
command and control. How could I forget . . . Would I want him any other way?
I smile. "Yes, it is."
He gives me a puzzled look then shakes his head. "Shall we go?"
"I'll just brush my teeth."
He smirks. "Okay."
Why is he smirking? The thought nags me as I head into the en suite. A
memory springs unbidden to my mind. I used his toothbrush after I first spent the
night with him. I smirk and grab his toothbrush in homage to that first time. Gazing at myself as I brush my teeth, I'm pale, too pale. But then I'm always pale.
The last time I was here I was single, and now I'm married at twenty-two! I'm
getting old. I rinse out my mouth.
Holding up my wrist, I shake it, and the charms on my bracelet give a satisfying rattle. How does my sweet Fifty always know exactly the right thing to give
me? I take a deep breath, attempting to stem the emotion still lurking in my system, and gaze down at the bracelet once more. I bet it cost a fortune. Ah . . . well.
He can afford it.
As we walk to the elevators, zain takes my hand and kisses my knuckles,
his thumb brushing over Charlie Tango on my bracelet. "You like?"
"More than like. I love it. Very much. Like you."
He smiles and kisses my knuckles once more. I feel lighter than I did yesterday. Perhaps because it's morning and the world always seems a more hopeful
place than it does in the dead of night. Or maybe it's my husband's sweet wakeup. Or maybe it's knowing that ghulam is no worse.
As we step into the empty elevator, I glance up at zain. His eyes flicker
quickly down to mine, and he smirks again.
"Don't," he whispers as the doors shut.
"Don't what?"
"Look at me like that."
"f**k the paperwork," I mutter, grinning.
He laughs, and it's such a carefree, boyish sound. He tugs me into his arms
and tilts my head up. "Someday, I'll rent this elevator for a whole afternoon."
"Just the afternoon?" I arch my brow.
"Mrs. abdullah, you are greedy."
"When it comes to you, I am."
"I'm very glad to hear it." He kisses me gently.
And I don't know if it's because we are in this elevator or because he's not
touched me in over twenty-four hours or if he's just my intoxicating husband, but
desire unwinds and stretches lazily deep in my belly. I run my fingers into his hair
and deepen the kiss, pushing him against the wall and bringing my body flush
against his.
He groans into my mouth and cups my head, cradling me as we kiss"really
kiss, our tongues exploring the oh-so-familiar but still oh-so-new, oh-so-exciting
territory that is the other's mouth. My inner goddess swoons, bringing my libido
back from purdah. I caress his dear, dear face in my hands.
"aliya," he breathes.
"I love you, Zain Abdullah. Don't forget that," I whisper as I gaze into darkening gray eyes.
The elevator comes smoothly to a halt and the doors open.
"Let's go and see your father before I decide to rent this today." He kisses me
quickly, takes my hand, and leads me into the lobby.
As we walk past the concierge, zain gives a discreet signal to the kindly
middle-aged man standing behind the desk. He nods and picks up his phone. I
glance questioningly at zain, and he gives me his secret smile. I frown at
him, and for a moment he looks nervous.
"Where's Taylor?" I ask.
"We'll see him shortly."
Of course, he's probably fetching the car. "Sawyer?"
"Running errands."
What errands?
zain avoids the revolving door, and I know it's so he doesn't have to release my hand. The thought warms me. Outside it's a mild late-summer morning,
but the scent of the coming fall is in the breeze. I glance around, looking for the
Audi SUV and Taylor. No sign. zains hand tightens around mine, and I look
up at him. He seems anxious.
"What is it?"
He shrugs. The hum of an approaching car engine distracts me. It's
throaty . . . familiar. As I turn to find the source of the noise, it stops suddenly.
Taylor is climbing out of a sleek white sports car parked in front of us.
Oh shit! It's an R8. I whip my head back to zain, who's watching me
warily. "You can buy me one for my birthday . . . a white one, I think."
"Happy birthday," he says, and I know he's gauging my reaction. I gape at
him because that's all I can do. He holds out a key.
"You are completely over the top," I whisper. He's bought me a f**king Audi
R8! Holy shit. Just like I asked! My face splits in a huge grin, and my inner goddess does a backflip off the high dive. I jump up and down on the spot in a moment of unguarded and unbridled overexcitement. zains expression mirrors
mine, and I dance forward into his waiting arms. He swings me around.
"You have more money than sense!" I whoop. "I love it! Thank you." He
stops and dips me low suddenly, startling me, so that I have to grasp his upper
arms.
"Anything for you, Mrs. abdullah." He grins down at me. Oh my. What a very
public display of affection. He bends and kisses me. "Come. Let's go see your
dad."
"Yes. And I get to drive?"
He grins down at me. "Of course. It's yours." He stands me up and releases
me, and I hurry around to the driver's door.
Taylor opens it for me, smiling broadly. "Happy birthday, Mrs. abdullah."
"Thank you, Taylor." I startle him by giving him a swift hug, which he returns awkwardly. He's still blushing when I climb into the car, and he closes the
door promptly once I'm inside.
"Drive safe, Mrs. abdullah," he says gruffly. I beam up at him, barely able to
contain my excitement.
"Will do." I promise, putting the key in the ignition as zain stretches out
beside me.
"Take it easy. Nobody chasing us now," he warns. When I turn the key, the
engine thunders to life. I check the rearview and side mirrors, and spotting a rare
moment of clear traffic, execute a huge perfect U-turn and roar off in the direction
of OSHU.
"Whoa!" zain exclaims, alarmed.
"What?"
"I don't want you in the ICU beside your father. Slow down," he growls, not
to be argued with. I ease off the accelerator and grin at him.
"Better?"
"Much," he mutters, trying hard to look stern"and failing miserably.
ghulams condition is the same. Seeing him grounds me after the heady road trip
here. I really should drive more carefully. You can't legislate for every drunk
driver in this world. I must ask zain what's become of the asshole who hit
ghulam"I'm sure he knows. In spite of the tubes, my father looks comfortable, and I
think he has a little more color in his cheeks. While I tell him about my morning,
zain wanders off to the waiting room to make phone calls.
Nurse Kellie hovers, checking ghulams lines and making notes on his chart.
"All his signs are good, Mrs. abdullah." She smiles kindly at me.
"That's very encouraging."
A little later Dr. Crowe appears with two nursing assistants and says warmly,
"Mrs. abdullah, time to take your father up to radiology. We're giving him a CT scan.
To see how his brain is doing."
"Will you be long?"
"Up to an hour."
"I'll wait. I'd like to know."
"Sure thing, Mrs. abdullah."
I wander into the thankfully empty waiting room where zain is talking
on the phone, pacing. As he speaks, he gazes out of the window at the panoramic
view of Portland. He turns to me when I shut the door, and he looks angry.
"How far above the limit? . . . I see . . . All charges, everything. Aliya's father
is in the ICU"I want you to throw the f**king book at him, Dad . . . Good. Keep
me informed." He hangs up.
"The other driver?"
He nods. "Some drunken trailer trash from Southeast Portland." He sneers,
and I'm shocked by his terminology and his derisory tone. He walks over to me,
and his tone softens.
"Finished with ghulam? Do you want to go?"
"Um . . . no." I peer up at him, still reeling at his display of contempt.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing. ghulams being taken to radiology for a CT scan to check the swelling
in his brain. I'd like to wait for the results."
"Okay. We'll wait." He sits down and holds out his arms. As we're alone, I
go willingly and curl up in his lap.
"This is not how I envisaged spending today," zain murmurs into my
hair.
"Me neither, but I'm feeling more positive now. Your mom was very reassuring. It was kind of her to come last night."
zain strokes my back and rests his chin on my head. "My mom is an
amazing woman."
"She is. You're very lucky to have her."
zain nods.
"I should call my mom. Tell her about ghulam," I murmur and zain stiffens.
"I'm surprised she hasn't called me." I frown in a moment of realization. In fact, I
feel hurt. It's my birthday after all, and she was there when I was born. Why
hasn't she called?
"Maybe she did," zain says. I fish my BlackBerry out of my pocket. It
shows no missed calls, but quite a few texts: happy birthdays from yasmin, rehaan,
barkat, and bilal. Nothing from my mother. I shake my head despondently.
"Call her now," he says softly. I do, but there's no reply, just the answering
machine. I don't leave a message. How can my own mother forget my birthday?
"She's not there. I'll call later when I know the results of the brain scan."
zain tightens his arms around me, nuzzling my hair once more, and
wisely makes no comment on my mother's lack of maternal concern. I feel rather
than hear the buzz of his BlackBerry. He doesn't let me stand up but fishes it awkwardly out of his pocket.
"Andrea," he snaps, businesslike again. I make another move to stand and he
stops me, frowning and holding me tightly around my waist. I nestle back against
his chest and listen to the one-sided conversation.
"Good . . . ETA is what time? . . . And the other, um . . . packages?" zain
glances at his watch. "Does the Heathman have all the details? . . . Good . . . Yes.
It can hold until Monday morning, but e-mail it just in case"I'll print, sign, and
scan it back to you . . . They can wait. Go home, Andrea . . . No, we're good,
thank you." He hangs up.
"Everything okay?"
"Yes."
"Is this your Taiwan thing?"
"Yes." He shifts beneath me.
"Am I too heavy?"
He snorts. "No, baby."
"Are you worried about the Taiwan thing?"
"No."
"I thought it was important."
"It is. The shipyard here depends on it. There are lots of jobs at stake."
Oh!
"We just have to sell it to the unions. That's Sam and Ros's job. But the way
the economy's heading, none of us have a lot of choice."
I yawn.
"Am I boring you, Mrs. abdullah?" He nuzzles my hair again, amused.
"No! Never . . . I'm just very comfortable on your lap. I like hearing about
your business."
"You do?" He sounds surprised.
"Of course." I lean back to gaze directly at him. "I like hearing any bit of information you deign to share with me." I smirk, and he regards me with amusement and shakes his head.
"Always hungry for more information, Mrs. abdullah."
"Tell me." I urge him as I snuggle up against his chest again.
"Tell you what?"
"Why you do it."
"Do what?"
"Work the way you do."
"A guy's got to earn a living." He's amused.
"zain, you earn more than a living." My voice is full of irony. He frowns
and is quiet for a moment. I think he's not going to divulge any secrets, but he
surprises me.
"I don't want to be poor," he says, his voice low. "I've done that. I'm not going back there again. Besides . . . it's a game," he murmurs. "It's about winning.
A game I've always found very easy."
"Unlike life," I murmur to myself. Then I realize I said the words out loud.
"Yes, I suppose." He frowns. "Though it's easier with you."
Easier with me? I hug him tightly. "It can't all be a game. You're very
philanthropic."
He shrugs, and I know he's growing uncomfortable. "About some things,
maybe," he says quietly.
"I love philanthropic zain," I murmur.
"Just him?"
"Oh, I love megalomaniac zain, too, and control-freak zain, sexpertise zain, kinky zain, romantic zain, shy zain . . . the list is
endless."
"That's a whole lot of zains."
"I'd say at least fifty."
He laughs. "Fifty Shades," he murmurs into my hair.
"My Fifty Shades."
He shifts, tipping my head back, and kisses me. "Well, Mrs. Shades, let's see
how your dad is doing."
"Okay."
"Can we go for a drive?"
zain and I are back in the R8, and I'm feeling giddily buoyant. ghulams
brain is back to normal"all swelling gone. Dr. Sluder has decided to wake him
from his coma tomorrow. She says she's pleased with his progress.
"Sure." zain grins at me. "It's your birthday"we can do anything you
want."
Oh! His tone makes me turn and gaze at him. His eyes are dark.
"Anything?"
"Anything."
How much promise can he load into one word? "Well, I want to drive."
"Then drive, baby." He grins, and I grin back.
My car handles like a dream, and as we hit the I-5, I subtly put my foot down,
forcing us both back in our seats.
"Steady, baby," zain warns.
As we drive back into Portland, an idea occurs to me.
"Have you planned lunch?" I ask zain tentatively.
"No. You're hungry?" He sounds hopeful.
"Yes."
"Where do you want to go? It's your day, aliya."
"I know just the place."
I pull up near the gallery where rehaan exhibited his work and park right outside the Le Picotin restaurant where we went after rehaans show.
zain grins. "For one minute I thought you were going to take me to that
dreadful bar you drunk dialed me from."
"Why would I do that?"
"To check the azaleas are still alive." He arches a sardonic brow.
I blush. "Don't remind me! Besides . . . you still took me to your hotel room."
I smirk.
"Best decision I ever made," he says, his eyes soft and warm.
"Yes. It was." I lean over and kiss him.
"Do you think that supercilious f**ker is still waiting tables?" zain asks.
"Supercilious? I thought he was fine."
"He was trying to impress you."
"Well, he succeeded."
zains mouth twists in amused disgust.
"Shall we go see?" I offer.
"Lead on, Mrs. abdullah."
After lunch and a quick detour to the Heathman to pick up zains laptop, we
return to the hospital. I spend the afternoon with ghulam, reading aloud from one of
the manuscripts I've been sent. My only accompaniment is the sound of the machinery keeping him alive, keeping him with me. Now that I know he's making
progress, I can breathe a little easier and relax. I'm hopeful. He just needs time to
get well. I've got time"I can give him that. I wonder idly if I should try calling
Mom again, but decide to do it later. I hold ghulams hand loosely as I read to him,
squeezing it occasionally, willing him to be well. His fingers feel soft and warm
beneath my touch. He still has the indentation on his finger where he wore his
wedding ring"even after all this time.
An hour or two later, I don't know how long, I glance up to see zain, laptop
in hand, standing at the end of ghulams bed with Nurse Kellie.
"It's time to go, aliya."
Oh. I clasp ghulams hand tightly. I don't want to leave him.
"I want to feed you. Come. It's late." zain sounds insistent.
"I'm about to give Mr. haider a sponge bath," Nurse Kellie says.
"Okay." I concede. "We'll be back tomorrow morning."
I kiss ghulam on his cheek, feeling his unfamiliar stubble beneath my lips. I
don't like it. Keep getting better, Daddy. I love you.
"I thought we'd dine downstairs. In a private room," zain says, a gleam
in his eye as he opens the door to our suite.
"Really? Finish what you started a few months ago?"
He smirks. "If you're very lucky, Mrs. abdullah."
I laugh. "zain, I don't have anything dressy to wear."
He smiles, holds out his hand, and leads me into the bedroom. He opens the
wardrobe to reveal a large white dress bag hanging inside.
"Taylor?" I ask.
"zain," he replies, forceful and wounded at once. His tone makes me
laugh. Unzipping the bag, I find a navy satin dress and ease it out. It's gorgeous"fitted with thin straps. It looks small.
"It's lovely. Thank you. I hope it fits."
"It will," he says confidently. "And here""he picks up a shoebox""shoes to
match." He gives me a wolfish smile.
"You think of everything. Thank you." I stretch up and kiss him.
"I do." He hands me yet another bag.
I gaze at him quizzically. Inside is a black strapless bodysuit with a central
panel of lace. He caresses my face, tilts my chin, and kisses me.
"I look forward to taking this off you later."
Fresh out of my bath, washed, shaved and feeling pampered, I sit on the edge
of the bed and start up the hair dryer. zain wanders into the bedroom. I think
he's been working.
"Here, let me," he says, pointing to the chair in front of the dressing table.
"Dry my hair?"
He nods. I blink at him.
"Come," he says, regarding me intently. I know that expression, and I know
better than to disobey. Slowly and methodically he dries my hair, one lock at a
time. He's obviously done this before . . . often.
"You're no stranger to this," I murmur. His smile is reflected in the mirror,
but he says nothing and continues to brush through my hair. Hmm . . . it's very
relaxing.
When we step into the elevator on our way to dinner, we are not alone. zain
looks delicious in his signature white linen shirt, black jeans and jacket. No tie.
The two women inside shoot admiring glances at him and less generous ones at
me. I hide my smile. Yes, ladies, he's mine. zain takes my hand and pulls me
close as we travel in silence down to the mezzanine level.
It's busy, full of people dressed up for the evening, sitting around chatting
and drinking, starting their Saturday night. I am grateful that I fit in. The dress
hugs me, skimming over my curves and holding everything in place. I have to say,
I feel . . . attractive wearing it. I know zain approves.
At first, I think we're heading for the private dining room where we first discussed the contract, but he leads me past that doorway and on to the far end where
he opens the door to another wood paneled room.
"Surprise!"
Oh, my. yasmin and harshad, barkat and bilal, usman and suraiyya, Mr. khan
and rehaan, and my mother and usman(usman no 2) are all there raising their glasses. I stand gaping
at them, speechless. How? When? I turn in consternation to zain, and he
squeezes my hand. My mom steps forward and wraps her arms around me. Oh,
Mom!
"Darling, you look beautiful. Happy birthday."
"Mom!" I sob, embracing her. Oh Mommy. Tears stream down my face despite the audience, and I bury my face in her neck.
"Honey, darling. Don't cry. ghulam will be okay. He's such a strong man. Don't
cry. Not on your birthday." Her voice cracks, but she maintains her composure.
She grasps my face in her hands and with her thumbs wipes away my tears.
"I thought you'd forgotten."
"Oh, aliya! How could I? Seventeen hours of labor is not something you easily forget."
I giggle through my tears, and she smiles.
"Dry your eyes, honey. Lots of people are here to share your special day."
I sniffle, not wanting to look at anyone else in the room, embarrassed and
thrilled that everyone has made such an effort to come and see me.
"How did you get here? When did you arrive?"
"Your husband sent his plane, darling." She grins, impressed.
And I laugh. "Thank you for coming, Mom." She wipes my nose with a tissue as only a mother would. "Mom!" I scold, composing myself.
"That's better. Happy birthday, darling." She steps aside while everyone lines
up to hug me and wish me happy birthday.
"He's doing well, aliya. Dr. Sluder is the one of the best in the country. Happy
birthday, Angel." suraiyya hugs me.
"You cry all you want to, aliya"it's your party." rehaan embraces me.
"Happy birthday, darling girl." usman smiles, cupping my face.
"S'up babe? Your old man will be fine." harshad enfolds me in his arms.
"Happy birthday."
"Okay." Taking my hand, zain pulls me from harshads embrace. "Enough
fondling my wife. Go fondle your fiance."
harshad grins wickedly at him and winks at yasmin.
A waiter I hadn't noticed before presents zain and me with glasses of
pink champagne.
zain clears his throat. "This would be a perfect day if ghulam were here
with us, but he's not far away. He's doing well, and I know he'd like you to enjoy
yourself, aliya. To all of you, thank you for coming to share my beautiful wife's
birthday, the first of many to come. Happy birthday, my love." zain raises his
glass to me amid a chorus of happy birthdays, and I have to fight again to keep
my tears at bay.
I watch the animated conversations around the dinner table. It's strange to be cocooned in the bosom of my family, knowing the man I consider my father is on a
life support machine in the cold clinical environs of the ICU. I'm detached from
the proceedings but grateful that they're all here. Watching the sparring between
harshad and zain, rehaans ready warm wit, Mia's excitement and her enthusiasm
for the food, bilal slyly watching her. I think he likes her . . . though it's hard to
tell. Mr. khan is sitting back, like me, enjoying the conversations. He looks
better. Rested. rehaan is very attentive to him, cutting his food, keeping his glass
filled. Having his surviving parent come so close to death has made rehaan appreciate Mr. khan more . . . I know.
I gaze at Mom. She's in her element, charming, witty, and warm. I love her
so much. I must remember to tell her. Life is so precious, I realize that now.
"You okay?" yasmin asks in an uncharacteristically gentle voice.
I nod and clasp her hand. "Yes. Thanks for coming."
"You think Mr. Megabucks could keep me away from you on your birthday?
We got to fly in the helicopter!" She grins.
"Really?"
"Yes. All of us. And to think zain can fly it."
I nod.
"That's kinda hot."
"Yeah, I think so."
We grin.
"Are you staying here tonight?" I ask.
"Yes. We all are, I think. You knew nothing about this?"
I shake my head.
"Smooth, isn't he?"
I nod.
"What did he get you for your birthday?"
"This." I hold up my bracelet.
"Oh, cute!"
"Yes."
"London, Paris . . . ice cream?"
"You don't want to know."
"I can guess."
We laugh, and I blush, recalling Ben & Jerry's & Aliya.
"Oh . . . and an R8."
yasmin spits her wine rather unattractively down her chin, making us both laugh
some more.
"Over the top bas***d, isn't he?" She giggles.
For dessert I am presented with a sumptuous chocolate cake blazing with twentytwo silver candles and a rousing chorus of "Happy Birthday." suraiyya watches
zain singing with the rest of my friends and family, and her eyes shine with
love. Catching my eye, she blows me a kiss.
"Make a wish," zain whispers to me. In one breath I blow out all the
candles, fervently willing my father better. Daddy, get well. Please get well. I love
you so.
At midnight, Mr. khan and rehaan take their leave.
"Thank you so much for coming." I hug Jos tightly.
"Wouldn't miss it for the world. Glad ghulams heading in the right direction."
"Yes. You, Mr. khan, and ghulam have to come fishing with zain in
Aspen."
"Yeah? Sounds cool." rehaan grins before he leaves to fetch his father's coat,
and I crouch down to say good-bye to Mr. khan.
"You know aliya, there was a time . . . well, I thought you and rehaan . . ." His
voice fades, and he gazes at me, his dark gaze intense but loving.
Oh no.
"I'm very fond of your son, Mr. khan, but he's like a brother to me."
"You would have made one fine daughter-in-law. And you do. To the
abdullahs." He smiles wistfully and I blush.
"I hope you'll settle for friend."
"Of course. Your husband is a fine man. You chose well, aliya."
"I think so," I whisper. "I love him so." I hug Mr. khan.
"Treat him good, aliya."
"I will," I promise.
zain closes the door to our suite.
"Alone at last," he murmurs, leaning back against the door, watching me.
I step toward him and run my fingers over the lapels of his jacket. "Thank
you for a wonderful birthday. You really are the most thoughtful, considerate,
generous husband."
"My pleasure."
"Yes . . . your pleasure. Let's do something about that," I whisper. Tightening
my hands around his lapels, I pull his lips to mine.
After a communal breakfast, I open all my presents then give a series of cheery
good-byes to all the abdullahs and the khans who will be returning to Seattle via
Charlie Tango. My mom, zain, and I head up to the hospital with Taylor
driving since the three of us would not fit into my R8. usman has declined to visit,
and I'm secretly glad. It'd be just too weird, and I'm sure ghulam wouldn't appreciate
usman seeing him at anything less than his best.
ghulam looks much the same. Hairier. Mom is shocked when she sees him, and
together we cry a little more.
"Oh, ghulam." She squeezes his hand and gently strokes his face, and I'm moved
to see her love for her ex-husband. I'm glad I have tissues in my purse. We sit beside him, me holding her hand while she holds his.
"aliya, there was a time when this man was the center of my world. The sun
rose and set with him. I'll always love him. He's taken such good care of you."
"Mom"" I choke and she strokes my face and tucks a lock of my hair behind
my ear.
"You know I'll always love ghulam. We just drifted apart." She sighs. "And I
just couldn't live with him." She gazes down at her fingers, and I wonder if she's
thinking about Amer, Husband Number Three, who we don't talk about.
"I know you love ghulam," I whisper, drying my eyes. "They're going to bring
him out of his coma today."
"Good. I'm sure he'll be fine. He's so stubborn. I think you learned it from
him."
I smile. "Have you been talking to zain?"
"Does he think you're stubborn?"
"I believe so."
"I'll tell him it's a family trait. You look so good together, aliya. So happy."
"We are, I think. Getting there, anyway. I love him. He's the center of my
world. The sun rises and sets with him for me, too."
"He obviously adores you, darling."
"And I adore him."
"Make sure you tell him. Men need to hear that stuff just like we do."
I insist on going to the airport with Mom and usman to say good-bye. Taylor
follows in the R8, and zain drives the SUV. I'm sorry they can't stay longer,
but they have to get back to Savannah. It's a tearful good-bye.
"Take good care of her, usman," I whisper as he hugs me.
"Sure will, aliya. And you look after yourself."
"Will do." I turn to my mother. "Good-bye, Mom. Thank you for coming," I
whisper, my voice hoarse. "I love you so much."
"Oh my darling girl, I love you, too. And ghulam will be fine. He's not ready to
shuffle off his mortal coil just yet. There's probably a Mariners game he can't
miss."
I giggle. She's right. I resolve to read the sports pages of the Sunday newspaper to ghulam that evening. I watch her and usman climb the steps into the AEH jet. She
gives me a tearful wave, then she's gone. zain wraps his arm around my
shoulder.
"Let's head back, baby," he murmurs
"Will you drive?"
"Sure."
When we return to the hospital that evening, ghulam looks different. It takes me a
moment to realize that the suck and push of the ventilator has vanished. ghulam is
breathing on his own. Relief floods through me. I stroke his stubbly face, and taking out a tissue to gently wipe, the spittle from his mouth.
zain stalks off to find Dr. Sluder or Dr. Crowe for an update, while I
take my familiar seat beside his bed to keep a watchful vigil.
I unfold the sports section of the Sunday Oregonian and conscientiously begin reading out the report about the Sounders soccer game against Real Salt Lake.
By all accounts, it was a wild game, but the Sounders were defeated by an own
goal from Kasey Keller. I grip ghulams hand firmly in mine as I read it through.
"And the final score, Sounders 1, Real Salt Lake 2."
"Hey, aliya, we lost? No!" ghulam rasps, and he squeezes my hand.
Daddy!
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