The Sheikh's Small Town Baby Page 7

  I set my mug down, suddenly concerned that Hassan’s going to rush us out onto the road before Teresa’s shift starts.

  “How long is the drive to the airport?” I ask.

  I glance at the bedside clock, and relief hits me as I see that it’s already a quarter after ten. Teresa mentioned that her shift starts at nine thirty, which means she’s already downstairs.

  I spring up out of bed before my brother can answer my question.

  Halfway to the shower, I hear him call out, “It’s a four-hour drive.”

  The hot water feels good on my skin, and once out, I feel refreshed and awake. Hassan and I pack quickly. I’m eager to go downstairs, and don’t allow myself to dwell on the fact that seeing her means that we’ve arrived at my final goodbye—and that tonight, I’ll be soaring across the Atlantic, and will land fourteen hours later, thousands of miles away from her.

  I only think about her smile. Her laugh. Her kiss. The way she felt when I wrapped my arms around her.

  We’re walking down the stairs. Hassan’s dragging his suitcase, and I’ve got my own. I have Neville’s hat clutched in my hand, so that I don’t forget to give it back to him.

  My eyes search the lobby.

  The desk is empty, but as we thump and clunk our way down the carpeted staircase, Teresa emerges from a back hallway. She takes her position behind the desk, and I see mixed emotions sweep across her face. Joy—the same joy that I feel when I see her—comes first, and then sadness, just as I can feel growing somewhere deep within my chest.

  She looks beautiful—even prettier than usual, if that’s possible. Her blond hair frames her heart-shaped face. Her stormy eyes look larger and more alluring than ever.

  As usual, her cherry-red lips stand out as her best feature. I can’t help but stare as she delivers one of her winning smiles, and steps out from behind the desk to greet us.

  She’s dressed in a cream-colored cardigan, and it looks soft and fuzzy to the touch. As if to celebrate the return of the sun, she’s wearing a baby blue skirt that falls just below her knees.

  I want to walk straight up to her and kiss her like I did a few hours earlier. But now that Hassan is with us, and she’s on shift, I hold back.

  I wasn’t expecting it to be so difficult.

  I stop a few feet from her, and she does the same. There’s so much passing between us as we look at each other. I feel that she wishes we were alone, too.

  “Hi,” is all I can think to say out loud.

  “Hi.” She slides one foot behind the other, as if she’s nervous. I don’t want her to be.

  She speaks timidly. “Have you already checked out? I could do your paperwork now, if you—”

  “Hassan handled it already, but thank you. I—”

  “Oh, that’s good, I didn’t know if—”

  “We’re all settled up. Now it’s time to hit the road, I guess…”

  As if Hassan can’t handle the awkwardness of the conversation that’s passing between Teresa and I, he clamps a hand down on my shoulder. “I’ll be out in the car,” he says to me. And then, to Teresa he adds, “It was wonderful to meet you.”

  I’m not sure that Hassan even knows Teresa’s name, and I’m amazed at how he could have missed out on experiencing the best thing that New Hampstead had to offer. The instant he’s gone, Teresa and I embrace. It’s quick, and as she pulls away I note that she looks quickly around. I wonder if she’s nervous about her bosses walking in on us.

  I feel the familiar need to make her smile.

  “You look beautiful,” I say. “And I wanted to tell you… I had a wonderful time with you, last night.”

  Though my intention was to ease her mind, I see that I’ve only made her more nervous. Her cheeks turn a pale version of cherry red, matching her lips perfectly.

  “Thank you… I mean, yes. I did, too. I wasn’t expecting—”

  I’ll never know what she wasn’t expecting, though I can guess that it has to do with the way we ended up in her bed together. At that moment, there’s the sound of movement beyond the inn’s front entrance. The door bursts open with a startling crash of bells.

  Teresa and I spring farther apart, and I turn my body to see what the commotion is.

  “Derryl!” I hear Teresa say in shock.

  “Are you Jabir Abdullah?” a man asks. Several more men are piling into the inn’s lobby behind him.

  I puff out my chest, standing a bit taller. “I am Sheikh Jabir Abdullah, yes.” My voice is firm, and fills the room. Through the front door, which has been left wide open, I see Hassan hurrying up the steps. In an instant he’s at my side. “And this is my brother, Sheikh Hassan Abdullah.”

  Though we’re by far outnumbered by the dozen-strong mob of men, I feel better with Hassan beside me. The men are facing us, glaring. The man in the lead, the one Teresa called Derryl, forms two fists at his side. I’m glad that he doesn’t raise his meaty fists as he starts to speak. “We want answers!” he says gruffly.

  “I understand,” is my response. I try to breathe evenly. The way they’ve burst into the lobby, and the way their eyes glint with anger has me on edge. But I don’t want things to escalate. I feel Teresa’s eyes on me, as I continue. “Tell us what you want to know.”

  “Why are you here? What is the meaning of your visit? And, most importantly, why are you leaving town without giving us answers?”

  Derryl seems to be the leader of the group, and as he finishes talking, several others standing behind him chime in. “Yeah!” “We want some answers.” “What’s this all about?”

  “Look,” I say. “We aren’t trying to hide anything from you.” My voice is metered and professional. I spread my hands wide, and look Derryl in the eye. He looks away. “We made this visit because there have been some issues, which stem from this transmission factory. We wanted to see for ourselves what the problem was.”

  “Problem?! There’s no problem. The only problem is you coming unannounced, threatening to take away our jobs without notice.”

  “Yes, there is a problem” Hassan says, stepping forward. His tone is more aggressive than mine, and I hear a hint of anger in it. “There have been many problems: late deliveries, delays all the way down the production line, because of this factory.”

  An angry grumbling rises up from the men. I see Derryl pump his fists. Open, closed. Open, closed.

  “That’s no reason to come here out of blue and threaten to put us out of work! We have rights. This is our livelihood!”

  “No one’s threatening you,” Hassan says hotly.

  “Yes, you are. How’d you feel if we came over to wherever you’re from, and said you might not have a job to go to tomorrow? You feel like that’d be a threat then, huh? Would you?”

  Derryl steps forward. “We want straight answers!” he glares at Hassan, and my brother glares back.

  Now it’s my turn to intervene.

  “Derryl,” I say, drawing his attention away from my brother. “That’s your name, right?”

  He nods in affirmation.

  “Good. It’s nice to meet you. Derryl, we know that the problems that are happening at this plant are out of your control. You’re dealing with really tough conditions up here—not enough workers, and poor roads. Right now, we’re trying to figure out what we can do about that. You guys work hard. We were really impressed by what we saw on our visit. We need to take some time now to try to troubleshoot and see what can be done.”

  I see the redness in his face dissipate, and I know that my words have lowered his blood pressure. He still holds his aggressive stance, his hands clenched at his side, his body leaning forward, but now there’s less energy behind it. He meets my eye and nods.

  “We’ll, do what you gotta do,” he says, after a moment. “But don’t think that we’re gonna stand for this lying down. We have families. We have homes here. That factory is our livelihood, and we’re gonna fight for it.”

  “I understand,” I say. I don’t flinch. I don’t avoid t
he pain or fear in his eyes. I just stand there, looking at him. “I would do the same, if I had a family.”

  The tension in the room is lifting, easing off of us like a hot iron being lifted off of a just-pressed shirt.

  I can still feel adrenaline coursing through me, but I try to say something light, to keep things moving in the right direction.

  “Hassan and I are really very thankful to you—all of you—for welcoming us into your town. We know how important the Canarra plant is to New Hampstead, and I promise you, we don’t take the decision that lies before us lightly.”

  There’s more grumbling and grunting. Soon, the men are shuffling out the door. One of them apologizes to Dawn—now standing by the front desk—for interrupting the morning. Derryl even steps forward and gives my hand a quick shake, and then Hassan’s.

  We both say goodbye to the workers. Hassan is stiff, his face still red. I can see how upset the intrusion has made him. I have to admit that I’m ruffled, too, to say the least.

  I realize that I’m still holding Neville’s hat. As the last of the workers exits and shuts the door behind him, I hold it up to Dawn. “Here’s Neville’s hat.” I set it on the desk, which she’s stepped behind. “Please tell him thank you for letting me borrow it. I can’t tell you what a difference it made.” I slide it towards her.

  She slides it back. “Jabir, please keep it. It’s yours. Think of it as a little souvenir. We’ve so enjoyed having you stay here at the Mountain Laurel. Haven’t we, Teresa?”

  “Thank you,” I say, and then glance at Teresa. I can’t help it. I walk over to her, and wrap her up in a hug. “Goodbye,” I whisper in her ear, before we pull apart. She says nothing, but I read her goodbye in her eyes.

  “Goodbye,” I say to Dawn.

  I join Hassan, who is already at the door. He exits, and I follow him.

  The sunlight has transformed the town. It’s hard to believe that the thick blanket of whiteness has had so much power over us for the past few days.

  Despite the bright, sparkling sunlight which is bouncing off of every surface as we cruise down Main Street, it feels as if a gray cloud is hanging over the sports car.

  I’m driving, but my mind isn’t on the road.

  It’s on the men’s angry faces, the pain and fear in Derryl’s eyes. It’s on the way Teresa felt when I hugged her, so fragile in my arms, and the way she stayed silent when I said goodbye.

  Chapter 9

  Jabir

  The first time I catch sight of the coast, it’s through a gap in the clouds, from a thousand feet in the air.

  Is that my city? I wonder. It looks so small.

  Though I’ve flown many times before, my perspective has never felt as shifted as it does now. This row of skyscrapers—downtown Dalai City, the capital of my country and the location of my father’s palace—has really been my whole world until now. All that I thought mattered.

  Now, everything feels different.

  The city looks like a toy model, insignificant compared to the feelings that have ricocheted through me over the past few days.

  For the entire plane ride, I’ve been thinking about the factory, and now, as the plane zeros in on the airport, my thoughts continue. I replay Teresa’s words for the hundredth time. “The factory is New Hampstead’s lifeblood.” Her face looked so drawn as she said this; the complete opposite expression to how she looked when she was telling me about her town.

  She loves it there—not just her cottage, but the whole community. There wasn’t one inch of New Hampstead that didn’t make Teresa light up with happiness.

  I’m not going to be the one that takes that light away from her; I’m not going to be the man that dims her glow. I can’t be. It would hurt too much. But the fact is, Hassan and I weren’t lying to the workers when they stormed the inn. We didn’t have any straight answers for them, because we didn’t have the answers ourselves.

  We still don’t. And we won’t, until we go over every detail with our father. Ultimately, as the founder and CEO of Canarra, he will make the final decision on whether or not the plant stays open.

  I push my hand through my hair as the plane rumbles onto the landing strip. The vibration of the wheels hitting the tarmac disrupts the small plastic cup of water that I’m holding in one hand, and I curse bitterly, louder than I should.

  “You okay?” Hassan asks, eyeing me.

  I gulp down the remaining water, crush the cup, and stuff it into the seat pocket in front of me.

  “You seem tense,” says Hassan.

  “I’m fine,” I growl, wiping water off of my sleeve with a paper napkin. I simply can’t talk about the guilt that I feel over leaving the town in the way that we did. The fact that my family’s interests might stand in the way of an entire town’s wellbeing—a town that Teresa cares about so deeply—makes me feel worse than I can put into words.

  “You don’t look fine.” The seatbelt light above turns off, and Hassan swiftly unfastens his. The first class cabin is only sparsely filled, and Hassan doesn’t have to wait before standing up into the aisle. “You look…terrible.”

  “Thanks,” I mutter sarcastically.

  Hassan reaches for his suitcase and heads down the aisle before saying another word. He knows me well enough to pick up on when I don’t want to talk.

  I stand up, and my legs and back feel stiff from the long journey. It’s a relief to stand, though, and I bend my legs back and forth a few times as I reach up towards my suitcase. When I catch sight of my right hand, it looks bare. My signet ring! Where is it?

  My mind races back to the night at Teresa’s house. I recall taking my ring off, and placing it on the nightstand, as I do every night before I go to sleep. But in the morning, I was too preoccupied to pick it up and put it back on.

  I left it at her house.

  A faint wisp of comfort pierces the thick cloud of sadness and guilt that’s been surrounding me since we left New Hampstead. Maybe Teresa will find the ring, and save it for me. That could be an excuse to see her again, right?

  My mind is filled with thoughts of her as I roll my suitcase down the aisle, towards the airport terminal.

  After Hassan and I are driven to the palace, fed, and given the opportunity to rest for a few hours, I make my way to my father’s office. I’ve ordered a cup of Turkish coffee from the house staff, and I sip it quickly as I approach the mahogany double doors.

  Hassan and I grew up in this palace. Though we each have houses of our own—several, in fact—we often stay here when we’re in Dalai City. My father likes it when we’re here. It makes doing business much easier. He is rarely at the office when I am, because I like to work on my designs late in the evening. When we are both residing at the palace, it’s easier to find time for a meeting.

  I knock on the doors, opening them without waiting for a response. As I expected, my father is behind his desk. He looks up as I enter the room.

  “Ah! You’re up. I thought you might sleep all day.”

  “I just needed a few hours,” I say.

  “How was the flight?”

  “Fine, fine.” I take a seat in one of the high-backed wing chairs positioned near his desk.

  He removes his reading glasses, and I see him study me.

  “What’s wrong?” he asks. “You don’t seem yourself.”

  “I don’t?” I pause, unsure of how to tell him what’s on my mind.

  “Was it the traveling? I know you don’t like to leave the city, Jabir. If you disliked it that much, I won’t ask you to go again. Hassan’s already filled me in on the numbers.” My father looks down at his desk, as if he’s disappointed in me. I can’t stand it.

  “No, Father, that’s not it.” I sit forward, and put my coffee cup on the desk. “Why do you always act as if I’m trying to shirk my responsibilities?”

  “Because, Jabir. I know you’re capable of more than you let on.”

  “I’m the head of design at Canarra! I’ve had a hand in all of the cars we’ve unv
eiled in the past nine years, since I was twenty-one years old! Yet, you act like I don’t do anything.”

  “I appreciate what you do for the company. You have an eye for beauty, Jabir. Always have. Your cars are designed to perfection. But you have more in there—more that you’re not using.” He taps his head. “You’re smart, Jabir, but you let yourself imagine that your brother has all of the intelligence.”

  I take a deep breath, and notice how angry I’ve become. My nerves are on edge; they have been since we got on the plane. Maybe I should have slept more than a few hours before meeting with my father, but it’s too late now.

  “Hassan’s the one who went to business school,” I say.

  “Sometimes, a class can’t teach you how to lead a business. You’re born with it.”

  My chest is rising and falling. I’m sure that he’s saying Hassan was born with more natural leadership abilities than I was. That’s been our dynamic since childhood—Hassan leads the way, and I follow dutifully behind, thoughtful, quiet, distracted by a daydream.

  “Well,” I say, “Why would I have to be involved in the business side of Canarra, when Hassan already has it figured out? I’m sure he’s sent you all of the data on the transmission factory already.”

  My father won’t look away from me. I feel like a child, sitting in the chair under his stare.

  “You’re missing my point, Jabir,” he says quietly. Then, he reaches for the papers in front of him, which he was looking at when I interrupted him. “But yes, in fact, he did send me the numbers.”

  He puts on his reading glasses and leans over the desk, peering at the stack of white sheets. “I see it’s worse than we thought. Your brother gave me a detailed outline of the figures for road maintenance, and it would cost us a significant amount of investment just to get the roads into the condition that they need to be in before we can think about next steps. I don’t think—”