The Sheikh's Small Town Baby Page 11

  “Thank you,” I say, as a servant deposits a tall glass of iced tea stuffed with lemon wedges to the table. She bows.

  This is unbelievable!

  I pull the citrus infused liquid up through the straw, and flavor bursts through my mouth. If the tea is this good, how delicious will the food be?

  I don’t have to wait long before I find out. Soon there’s an abundance of food in front of me: lamb, pepper, onion and pineapple skewers, sticky rice, lentil salad, fruits of all shapes and sizes, and piles of sweet dates rolled in coconut flakes.

  My lazy lunch extends well into the afternoon. In between nibbles of food, I take out my notebook and sketch the palace grounds from different angles.

  I love drawing the peacocks that wander across the yard, though they do make me miss my eagles at home. The mamma eagle laid her eggs the week before I learned I was pregnant. I could tell by the way she sat almost perfectly still, low in her nest, for hours.

  I’ll see her again soon, I remind myself. For now, I want to enjoy Dalai.

  It’s fun to draw the flowers, the waterfall, and even the white walls and pointed, curving lines of the palace architecture.

  I’m not wearing a watch, so I don’t know what time it is, but eventually I note that the sun is becoming more peach and gold than white hot. It’s sinking low over the one palace wall that I can see.

  It’s time to find out just what kind of a hotel room Jabir has reserved for me.

  I signal to a staff member that I need assistance, and am told that my chauffeur will be waiting for me at the east gate.

  After figuring out where the east gate is, I head out to find my ride. There’s a constant, lingering anxiety inside of me. I want desperately to know what Jabir is thinking. But I also need to honor my offer to give him space to process everything.

  I watch the shining stretch limo coast to a stop before me. The setting sun showers the windows in amber and gold. For now, I’m happy for the distractions that my trip has to offer. If I’m going to have to wait on pins and needles, I can’t imagine a better place to do it. Instead of focusing on what Jabir might decide, I settle into the limo with anticipation for the hotel room that awaits me.

  Chapter 13

  Jabir

  I stare out over the cityscape, which is bathed in the warm pink light of the setting sun.

  Wait a minute.

  The setting sun? How long have I been standing here, frozen in a trance?

  Hours.

  I’ve completely abandoned my work. There’s no way I can concentrate on the new policies that I’m putting together for our Illinois factory when my mind is filled to bursting with Teresa’s news.

  As the sun finally sinks down below the city, I realize just how trapped in my mind, and paralyzed I’ve become. My thoughts seem to be stuck in one repeating loop: she’s pregnant. How can this be? What does this mean, for me? All of my hard work—all of the possibilities and potential that have just opened up within me—are they gone? Crushed? What will happen now?

  I’ve worn a path in the office’s new carpeting, because I’ve paced back and forth so much, my steps just as repetitive as my thoughts. I walk the track one more time, away from the window, towards my desk.

  And yet, no answers come.

  Enough!

  I slam my hand against the desktop, pick up my phone, and call my brother. Maybe he’ll be able to help me escape from this confounded mental loop.

  Within minutes, he’s swinging open my office doors. “Where have you been all day?” he asks. “Why did you miss the meeting with Father at three?”

  “Sit down.”

  He takes a seat. I walk behind my desk and place two palms down on the polished surface.

  He eyes me warily. I know how I must look: my hair’s sticking straight up on end, and I’ve unbuttoned my shirt—the damn collar felt as if it was strangling me—and rolled the sleeves up to my elbows.

  “Is this about that girl… Teresa? What was she doing here?”

  I breathe through my nostrils. It feels almost impossible to voice the scenario that I find myself in, but I open my mouth and speak it because I have to. “She came with news. She’s pregnant.”

  “What? No! You two… Jabir! You didn’t tell me that things were so serious with her!”

  “They weren’t! I mean…I don’t know! That night that I went to her cottage for dinner. One thing led to another, and…”

  “I see.” Hassan folds his arms across his chest. I see that he’s thinking through the implications of my news with lightning speed. His eyeballs dart back and forth. “She’s two months along, meaning the baby will be here towards the end of August. You have to decide. Will you send money, or will you go to Pennsylvania yourself?”

  There. He’s cut through the tangled maze and laid things out clearly before me. This is what I needed. I knew I could count on Hassan’s logical mind.

  I slump down into my seat. “I can’t go to Pennsylvania, Brother. That’s not an option. My life is here.”

  “Your life is here now,” he says slowly, carefully. “But Jabir, in just seven months, you will have a child. Where will your life be, then?”

  I don’t understand what he’s getting at. “Still here,” I say.

  “Are you sure?”

  I’m quiet. Thinking. “I think so,” I say.

  “Teresa and your child will be in the States.”

  “So?”

  “Jabir, look. Before I was married, I thought that I had things figured out. I thought that if I worked hard enough, I would earn Father’s respect, my country’s respect, and ascend to the throne. I thought I would beat you to it, and that was the most important thing to me.”

  “We both know the best man will win,” I say. “That’s how it should be.”

  “Yes, I agree,” says Hassan. “And that used to be my whole ‘life’, as you say. That was everything. Everything.” He slices one hand through the air. “But then, I met Sirah, and fell in love. We had our son. And slowly, every day, pieces of my old life fell away.

  “They were replaced, brick by brick, by a new life. The way Sirah kisses me goodbye in the morning, and greets me in the evening. The look in Jamal’s eyes when I hold him. The joy of seeing his first step. The way it feels to lie in bed at the end of the day, knowing that I was a good father. Steadily, a new foundation was built for me. Tall, towering walls. An entire new life.”

  “That’s you, Hassan. You’re a family man. I’m… I’m just not.”

  “Because you don’t have a family, yet,” He says. “But you will, this summer. When your child is born, you will become a father. You don’t know what it is like to have a family until you experience it. But trust me, Jabir, it is the best feeling in the world.”

  This is not how I expected our talk to go. It’s no wonder these thoughts did not occur to me. How could I imagine something that I’ve never experienced?

  My brother continues. “Your family becomes your whole world, Jabir. Everything else fades into the background, to the point of almost being insignificant. You have a whole new center. A new axis to revolve around.”

  “But Hassan… I will have to give up so much.”

  I’m thinking of the throne, of course, and Hassan knows it. Of course he is well aware of the increased responsibilities that Father has been placing on me, and the ease with which I am handling them. He sees how Father treats me. He knows that I have a good chance of being chosen as his successor.

  Hassan speaks. Again, his tone is slow and diplomatic. “You are correct. Father will probably pass you over for the succession because of an illegitimate child. But that’s not the right way to look at it.”

  “How else can I look at it?” I arch my eyebrows up.

  “Instead of thinking about what you are giving up, you could think about what you stand to gain. A son or daughter. A woman who loves and respects you. A family, Jabir. The best gift that God has to offer on this earth.”

  I place both elbows on the
desk, and hang my head down low, cupping the back of my skull in my hands. My brother’s words are scaring me. “I thought you might advise me to get a lawyer, or give me tips on how to keep the situation quiet with the press,” I mumble. “You’re not saying what I thought you would say.”

  “Jabir, in the thirty years that you have been my brother, you have always followed your heart. I can’t tell you what to do—I never could. But I’m telling you, as a father myself, that you should seriously consider all possibilities.”

  “Okay, then what are my other possibilities?” I yank my head up, staring at him wild eyed.

  “You could hire a lawyer, like you said. You could draw up paperwork that will help you and Teresa reach a financial agreement. Include some clauses about confidentiality, and keep the whole thing quiet. That is one option.”

  My breathing evens out. There are options.

  “But… Jabir?” My brother stands up. I see he’s going to leave. “Don’t rush to any decisions. This might be the biggest decision you make in your entire life. Yes, you might regret forfeiting your chance to be ruler, but in my opinion, you might regret a distant and forgotten child even more.” With that, he walks away from the desk, heading for the door.

  Just as he’s slipping through the door, I lift my hand. “Hassan!”

  “Yes, Brother?”

  “Don’t say anything to anyone about this, especially Father. Please. I need to think things through first.”

  “I understand. My lips are sealed.”

  He slips through the door and the doors thud closed behind him. I’m left alone in the quiet office. Hassan has freed me from my repetitive loop of thoughts, but now that I’ve escaped I find that I feel more lost than ever.

  Chapter 14

  Teresa

  I steer my truck up the winding, snow-dusted road that leads into town. It’s as though I’m in my personal driveway—I feel like the whole town is my home. Even though I’m tired from the long trip, I have a stop to make before I can go home, shower, and crawl into my familiar, cozy bed.

  I turn onto Colfax and then into my parents’ driveway. My dad’s truck isn’t there, but my mom’s sedan is. Right, It’s Friday afternoon. My dad is at work.

  I don’t bother knocking, and call out my hellos as I walk to the kitchen. My mom’s there, lining a pie plate with a patchwork of dough. She wipes her flour-covered hands on her apron and then meets me in the middle of the kitchen for a hug.

  “Honey! It’s so good to see you!”

  “Mom, I am so sorry for leaving town without telling you and Dad.”

  “Oh, sugar. Dawn filled us in. She said that you were safe and sound.” I wait for her to ask me where I went, but she doesn’t. Instead, she holds me out to arms distance, and looks me over. “Are you all right? That wasn’t like you.”

  “I’m okay,” I say. “I can’t stay long. I’m exhausted.”

  “Are you sure?” My mom travels to the kitchen cupboard and removes two glasses. She fills each with lemonade, even though I’ve already said I can’t stay. She won’t ask me where I was, but the question is implied.

  “I just had to get out of town for a while.” I accept the glass, and gulp down some juice. I’m not ready to tell her about the pregnancy. I still don’t know what Jabir will do. How involved will he be? Will I have to tell my parents that I’m going to be a single mother? I don’t want to have the conversation without knowing more from Jabir.

  “Well, I’m glad you’re back.” she says. “You’re allowed your privacy, Teresa honey. You’re a grown adult. But I want you to know that if there’s ever anything you need—anything that I can help you with—I’m right here for you. You just tell me what I can do to help, and I’ll do it. No questions asked.”

  “Thanks, Mom.”

  I set down the half-full glass and go to her for a second hug. She pats my back. I almost cry, it feels so good to hug her and hear her words. I feel myself collapse into her, letting her hold me up. She moves her hand to my hair and smooths it out.

  “Thanks,” I whisper again.

  “Of course, honey. That’s what moms are for,” she says.

  I stand up straighter. “I better be getting home.”

  Before I leave, she fills my arms with Tupperware full of leftovers.

  When I get home, my cottage looks so small, compared to the expansive, luxurious hotel room I’ve occupied for the past five days. I shower and flop down on my bed, wondering what Jabir will think, when he realizes that I’m gone.

  After waiting day after day for him to inform me of his decision, I’d sketched, eaten, napped and seen the sights of Dalai, but I hadn’t seen Jabir again. Finally, I couldn’t stand it any longer. I called and requested an earlier flight home, and checked out of the fancy hotel.

  I did what I could. I delivered my news in person.

  Crawling under my plaid comforter, I glance over at my sketch of Jabir. “The rest is up to you,” I whisper aloud, and then I click off the light.

  Two days later, I return to work at the inn. Dawn’s sciatica is mercifully absent, and she’s back to her usual bustling self. “You take the desk today, dear,” she instructs me. “I’ll clean the rooms. It’s so good to have you back!”

  She’s said this at least ten times since I arrived back in town, and each time I respond in the same way. I smile. “It’s good to be back.”

  She winks at me. I haven’t offered any more news about my pregnancy, and she’s been sensitive enough not to ask.

  The desk is dusty. I seem to be the compulsive duster around here, and in my absence the mites have had a field day. I take out the feather duster and begin sweeping it methodically back and forth.

  As soon as the desk is sparkling again, I move out to the lobby, and then the sitting area. I’m just finishing with the mantel over the fire in the sitting room, when the jangle of bells alerts me to a visitor. I turn, a smile already in place, ready to welcome in a wandering tourist.

  My smile fades. “Jabir?”

  “Teresa!” He’s stopped, just inside the doorway. My arm is frozen midair, the feather duster pointed at nothing. We stare at each other.

  I see that his breath is rapid and shallow. His chest rises and falls quickly. He’s nervous.

  I step forward, just two steps. I lay the feather duster down on the small table beside one armchair. “What are you doing here?” I ask.

  “You left,” he says. “You left without saying goodbye.” He’s not walking towards me. I stop too.

  “I had to,” I say. “I couldn’t wait any longer. I thought you would visit me after a day or two, tops. But after four days in that hotel… Jabir, I couldn’t just keep on hanging around.”

  “I’m sorry,” he says.

  I don’t know what that’s supposed to mean. Sorry, for making me wait? Sorry for not being excited about our child? Sorry that any of this is happening in the first place?

  “What am I supposed to say?” I ask.

  I’m rooted to the spot. I can’t move.

  He starts walking towards me, slowly. “Be honest,” he says. I remember saying those words to him. He repeats more of my words back to me: “I came all this way, so that we could communicate.” He’s closer now, just ten feet away from me. “Tell me what you’re thinking…about this. Tell me how you feel.”

  I place my hands protectively over my abdomen. “I want to have this child,” I say, my voice hushed, suddenly afraid that he’s going to offer me hush money or ask me to put the child up for adoption. “I want to raise this baby,” I say. “I think I’ll be a good mother.”

  “Okay,” he says.

  “Okay? What do you mean by that?!” My voice has an edge of frustration to it, and it rises up, bouncing around the walls of the lobby. My eyes are locked on his. He steps closer. There are only five feet between us now.

  “I mean, okay. I’m with you. I want to help you with this pregnancy. I want to be here for you. And you’re not just going to be a ‘good’ mother.
You’re going to be an amazing mother.” He continues to step closer as he speaks, and soon he’s right in front of me.

  Relief floods me with his words. I wrap my arms around his neck, and he leans down and kisses me.

  I’m still not used to this—kissing him on the lips—and I feel some shock as we embrace. But soon my body remembers what his feels like, and my lips find a natural thirst for his.

  After a moment, he pulls his lips away. His arms are still wrapped around me. He tilts his forehead down, until it’s resting against mine. His deep, gold-flecked chestnut eyes stare into me. “I’m here,” he whispers. “I’m right here.”

  I feel his strong hands against my lower back. I feel his breath tickle my eyelashes. I swear, I can feel blood flowing through his veins at the points where his wrists rest against my hips.

  Instead of speaking, I push myself up onto my tiptoes, and find his lips with my own.

  As we part, he speaks again. “I’m going to make everything right, Teresa. You’ll see. I don’t know how, but I will. Our child will want for nothing.”

  ‘Our child’. His words make my heart leap with joy.

  “I plan on staying in New Hampstead,” he says. “While we figure things out.”

  My heart, already bursting with joy, gives one more elated eruption. “Oh Jabir!” I say. “This makes me so happy!”

  For the first time, his lips expand into a wide grin, and then a full smile. It’s the smile I’ve worked out so carefully on the page in my sketch—the carefree one that makes him look as gleeful as kid on Christmas morning. “Me, too!” he says. “Me too.”

  Over the next few weeks, Jabir and I get into a wonderful routine. He’s staying with me at the cottage, and when I go off to work, he sets up a little office in my living room. Sometimes, he has to drive off to Illinois, or one of the other factories that Canarra owns, for a few days at a time. But for the most part, he’s with me.

  In the evenings, we cook together. And then, at night, the living room transforms from an office to a bedroom. He takes the back cushions off of the couch, and spreads a sheet over the bottom cushions to make a bed.