Farrah got out of the car and waited for the driver to retrieve her bag. She’d just arrived back in Tunis from her latest business trip. The last one until after the baby was born approximately seven weeks from now.
The trip had been successful. In addition to adding more artisans at a new Moroccan village, they’d finalized the hiring of several regional managers, people who would oversee the production and shipment of the products. A preliminary trip to Jordan had also shown the potential there, and she anticipated bringing several small communities on board in the coming months.
The first of the sand art from Western Sahara had arrived in Marrakesh, and it was beautiful. In fact, Cristo’s bank had prepurchased the first five hundred units for display in their branches throughout the world. The thrill Farrah would normally experience, the elation at a marketing success, was absent.
Her belly lurched from side to side as the baby moved within her. No matter what the doctors said or what she’d researched, a sliver of hope refused to die. Everything seemed so normal. The baby was active and responded when Farrah tickled or pushed against a foot or bottom. On the few occasions recently when she shared a bed with her husband, the baby kicked Cristo. He’d respond by rubbing her belly, but he said nothing.
He no longer talked to the baby. And that was the saddest thing of all.
He’d already said goodbye.
The driver placed her bag next to her, but before she could grab the handle, Mario took it.
“I promised Cristo I’d see you safely to your door,” Mario said. Bella stood next to him, twenty weeks pregnant and glowing with happiness. Their love was evident in every look, every touch, every word. Despite her best intentions, envy ate at Farrah’s heart. Each caress and loving glance between the two took another slice off her shriveling organ.
She forced a smile. “You know that’s not really necessary. I don’t get lost, and this area is safe.”
“A promise is a promise.”
There was no point arguing, so she led the way. Cristo was somewhere in Asia, Tashkent or Ulaanbaatar—it was hard to keep up. Wherever he was, he wasn’t here. He was rarely home now. She’d frozen him out so completely that he’d resumed traveling as well. Now they were ships that passed in the night. Or strangers masquerading as roommates. Any close bond they might have shared was like it had never existed.
The weekend loomed long and lonely before her. Her thoughts were an alley filled with razor wire and glass shards, shredding her peace of mind. Her fingers itched to work the clay—to create or destroy as the muse dictated. If she could turn off her brain and let her hands take over, get lost in a world where she crafted the outcome, she might have some hope of retaining her sanity.
She hadn’t spent any time in her studio since Cristo had decided he wanted a real marriage. Now that they were back to a sham living arrangement, she needed an outlet for her frustrations. At least clay didn’t bleed.
She unlocked the door and stepped into the courtyard. Mario and Bella followed. She didn’t feel like being social tonight, but Cristo had probably ordered them to keep her company for a little while. She should feel grateful that he was still concerned about her. But it felt hollow.
A variety of voices speaking Arabic greeted her ears as she moved toward the sitting room area. Were Nura and Hussein entertaining?
She froze, her heart beating a wild rhythm.
No! It couldn’t be.
What would he be doing here?
Her steps slowed as she neared the room, and Bella put a comforting arm around Farrah’s shoulders. At least that’s what she figured was the intent. In reality, it propelled her forward until she stood in the doorway.
The first to stand and greet her was Cristo, who clearly was not in Asia. His smile was wary. His eyes searched hers as he approached.
“Habibty, your family has come to visit,” he said. As if she wouldn’t know who they were. Although aside from her father and oldest sister, she barely recognized them.
The youngest, Ahmad, who had been born when her mother died, was now a lanky boy of nine, all legs and arms and spindly body. Next to him in age was Kareem, who’d been five when she left. He was now the same height as her father. Hadeya, her youngest sister, had been such a sickly child but now, at fifteen, showed signs of good health. Rashid and Jamal, her two brothers, who would now be seventeen and twenty-one respectively, were missing. Perhaps they’d stayed home to care for the land and any animals her father still had. Or maybe they, too, had left home. Layla, her oldest sister, four years younger than Farrah, stood next to a smiling man Farrah had never seen before.
Finally, her gaze settled on Papa. He looked so much older, and the anger she’d expected to see in his eyes was instead warm approval. The rest of the family stood frozen as her father moved toward her.
“Daughter,” Papa said. He kissed her on both cheeks, the only sign of affection she could ever remember receiving from him. “You’ve done well. I’m proud and happy for you.”
Her father’s warm greeting broke whatever spell had been holding the rest of her family captive, and soon she was surrounded. Everyone except Ahmad, who undoubtedly didn’t remember her, was trying to kiss or hug her, asking a million questions at once.
Cristo, in carefully enunciated Arabic, asked everyone to sit. He put an arm around Farrah and led her to the smaller sofa where he placed himself beside her, probably as a buffer. Hussein and Nura bustled in with trays of food and drink, and for the first time, Ahmad’s eyes lit up.
“Is this too much for you?” Cristo asked quietly in her ear. “I can ask them to leave and come back tomorrow.”
“No. I just don’t understand. Why are they here?”
“Two weeks ago, I asked Mario to come with me to your home village. We met with your father. I wanted to be able to tell you that your sisters and brothers were fine. After speaking with him, we asked if he would be receptive to a reunion.”
She glanced at her father, who stared at her and Cristo over his glass of mint tea. “I’m surprised he agreed. I defied him and ran away.”
“I’ll let him explain to you. But rest assured, Farrah, your family loves you.”
Do you love me? She wanted to ask the question but was afraid of the answer.
Over the course of the evening, each took turns telling her about their lives. Leyla had married eighteen months before to a man of her choosing, a man she loved. Jamal had recently joined the army and so hadn’t been able to come with them. But on his first leave, he wanted to meet up with her. Rashid had stayed home to care for the animals but was hoping to attend university next year and study to become a veterinarian. Hadeya was still in school. She was ecstatic that Farrah was an artist and wanted help nurturing her own talent. Kareem and Ahmad were typical boys, more interested in football than a sister they barely remembered. They politely asked Cristo’s permission to watch a match on a TV in the adjoining room.
An hour later, as if by pre-arrangement, all but her father left with Mario and Bella, who had offered to house the family for the weekend. Cristo, too, started to leave.
“Please, stay,” she asked him. If there was a sudden turn of Papa’s temperament, she wanted her husband nearby. No matter what the state of their relationship, she knew Cristo would protect her with his life if necessary.
“Papa, I’m sorry I ran away. I’m sorry if I shamed you. But I couldn’t bear the thought of marrying Nassir al Hamdula.”
“I was only doing what I thought best for you, daughter.”
“By wedding me to a man twenty-two years my senior?”
Her father sighed, suddenly looking much older. “We were so very poor. Providing enough food for the family was impossible. Your mother barely ate so you all could. I was sure one or all of you would die of malnourishment. Nassir is a friend, a good man. He’s more prosperous. If you had married him, you would have had enough food and a solid roof over your head. I told myself that at least one of my children would be safe. He promised to be kind to you…”
She nodded slowly. She’d never stopped to think of it from her father’s point of view. As a teenager, she’d only seen an arranged marriage to an older man. She’d thought her father was getting rid of her, not trying his best to protect her.
“And after I left. Were things bad? As soon as I could, I sent you the money to compensate for the bride price that was forfeited.”
“It is all in the past, Farrah. Nothing you or I can do will change it now.” He wiped a tear from his leathery cheek. “Your mother, my darling Mariem, would be so happy to see you blessed.”
Would she? Or would she shake her head over the mess Farrah had made of her marriage? But as Papa had said, there was nothing she could do about the past.
Tonight, however, was still in her power to fix.
Papa said goodbye soon after that, and Cristo followed her upstairs to their bedroom.
“Did the reunion go well?” Cristo asked, searching her face. She wasn’t surprised he had to ask. Everyone had been talking at once in Arabic; it had been hard enough for her to follow all the conversations.
“Yes. Thank you. You have given me back my family. Even after I took yours from you.” Was there some way she could reconcile Cristo with his parents? Some way that didn’t involve a divorce?
She’d hoped that once the baby was born, the lure of a grandchild would be too much for his parents to resist. Now that wasn’t going to happen. She ignored the stab of pain in her chest and sneaked a peek at her husband in the mirror. He was pulling off his clothes, getting ready for bed. Bella had told her that he’d flown in from Asia earlier in the day. He was undoubtedly exhausted.
“My parents made their choice. It wasn’t your fault. I’m glad it all worked out with your family, though,” he said with a shrug.
As he pulled off his shirt and set to work on his belt, a stirring of desire flowed through Farrah’s blood. It had been so long since she’d felt anything other than grief. She turned and leaned against the doorframe to get a better view.
He caught her staring and raised an eyebrow. “Everything okay?”
She sauntered over to him, putting extra sway in her hips. “I know I’ve been a horrible woman to live with for the past three months.” Cristo opened his mouth, but whether it was to agree or correct her, she didn’t want her current mood to be ruined by his reply. She put a finger on his lips. “You once made me promise not to be embarrassed by asking you to do something.”
His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “Go on.”
“I want to make love with you. I want to feel alive again. I’ve been numb for so long.”
His answer was to lower his head and take her lips in a kiss so sweet it brought tears to her eyes. They evaporated almost as fast as they’d arrived when his hands swept over her body, re-familiarizing himself with her curves.
After months without touching each other, she figured he’d go for a quick coupling. Instead, he lingered in each touch, each kiss. He caressed her enlarged breasts, gently plucking at her nipples to excite and not pain her. Her belly he covered in butterfly kisses until he ended up between her thighs. Then all thoughts fled as he took her on a journey of passion and ecstasy that ended only when they were both covered in perspiration and too exhausted to move.
If she could have frozen time at that moment, she’d be happy for the rest of her life.
***
“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” Cristo searched Farrah’s eyes for reassurance that she wasn’t sinking back into deep depression. She’d been so much better since reuniting with her family. She cried less, smiled more. He’d even caught her humming twice while in the shower.
The physical side of their relationship had also resumed, although not with the same frequency. But that was to be expected given that Farrah was in the later stages of the pregnancy. With just three weeks before her due date, they’d moved back to his apartment in Rome.
If there were complications with the birth, some threat to Farrah’s life, he had to be able to understand what was going on.
He prayed the change in location, being away from all that was familiar to her, wouldn’t be a setback in the meantime.
Tough times were still ahead. The birth and inevitable passing of their little girl was something they both dreaded. But maybe not having the constant reminder of what was around the corner would help Farrah start to heal.
He’d managed to come to a sort of resigned acceptance. But every once in a while, especially when the baby would kick him as he cuddled with his wife, the shock of the first diagnosis would hit him all over again. He could only imagine it was worse for Farrah, who never got a break from remembering.
“I’ll be fine,” she said. The smile she gave him had half the wattage of six months ago, but he’d take it.
“I’ll just be in London. I can fly back at any moment.”
“And I’ll just be in that fabulous art studio you found for me. I’ll probably forget you even exist.” She said the last with a cheeky grin and a wink.
Next to finding her family, getting her hands stuck in clay had proved to be the most therapeutic. Still, when her youngest sister had asked if she could come stay with them during her next school holidays, Farrah had hesitated, saying she didn’t know where she’d be then. Was she going somewhere? The plan had always been to move into their new house in Tunis after the birth. It should be ready sometime in the next two weeks.
He kissed her until she clung to him. “Don’t forget me, habibty. Because I’ll spend every minute we’re apart thinking of you.”
“Then your audience will be very confused. Aren’t you giving a speech at some conference about risk-benefit analysis of emerging market investment?”
“You’ve got it. Do you want to give the talk? I’m sure they’d much rather listen to you.”
“I can’t even see my feet. My current risk-benefit analysis is about the shoes that are the most comfortable versus the ones easiest to put on.”
“See, you do need me to stay. I can be your personal shoe fitter.”
She smiled. “Go, you silly man.”
He did, but he didn’t want to. After this three-day trip, he’d arranged for a month of paid leave, and more unpaid if required.
He phoned his cousin Sabrina on the way to the airport. She’d left a message for him the day before, saying she was on the mainland and hoped to catch up with him if he had time. Unfortunately, trying to get everything done before he went on leave meant he’d been working almost around the clock since his return to Italy.
His call was answered with an unhealthy groan. “What’s happened?” he asked.
“Food poisoning. Remember cousin Santino? He got married again. Bad catering. Everyone who was at the wedding got sick.”
“Is the family going to be okay?” Santino had always been an idiot. And a cheap ass. He’d probably told the catering company to cut corners.
“I think so. We’re all staying at the same hotel. A dump out in Ciampino. Trust me, you do not want to be anywhere near here right now.”
“I’m headed in the other direction. Off to London for a global banking conference.”
“And Farrah?”
“She’s staying in Rome.” He hadn’t told any of his family about the baby’s diagnosis; most didn’t even know Farrah was pregnant. Sabrina had probably guessed but was too polite to say anything.
“Well, give her my love. I’d hoped to see her again. But as soon as I feel I can keep water in me, I’m off for home to recover in my own bed.”
“Okay. Say hi to Carlos.” He heard retching in the background and an invocation for a quick death.
“He says hi back,” Sabrina lied. “Have a good flight. And come to Sicily when you can. Your mother misses you.”
“I’m not visiting until she accepts my wife.” He’d tried three times to speak to his mother over the past six months. The conversations had gone like this: “Are you still married to her?” “Yes.” Call terminated.
“Understood. But remember, you have more family on your side than against, and we’d like to see you too.”
“Noted.” Once he and Farrah were in their new house in Tunis and he could actually direct people how to get there, he’d invite select members of his family over so they could get to know his wife better. It might help in her recovery. If they never knew she’d been pregnant in the first place, they weren’t likely to ask after the baby.
“Have a good flight.”
“I hope you recover quickly.”
“Dio, me, too. Ciao, Cristo.”
Well, at least being outside the family circle meant he’d avoided that debacle.
Unfortunately, that was his only piece of luck that day. His flight was delayed two hours. Not enough time to go back home. Just enough time to get really annoyed.
Almost enough time to convince himself to stay.