A Family Affair (13 page)

She thought then about how gung ho she’d been back in the early days of her marriage, when she tried her best, with no luck, to figure out what Jeff Davis and his band of international lawyers were up to. In the end, she’d let it slide because her own life was more important. She wished now she had done more. Perhaps she could enlist the aid of some computer geeks while she was home and see what they could dredge up on Jeff Davis. With the twenty million dollars in annual payments that had been paid into her Swiss bank account, she would certainly have enough money to do whatever she wanted to do. And that did not take into account the returns on the investments that had been made with that money. So she could spend whatever it would take to find out what the slimeball—that was what Emma had called her ex when she’d talked to her last week—was up to. Ernie might know some computer people wise to the ways things like that were done. It would certainly be something for her to do to pass the time until she decided if she was going to return to Dubai or not. Just the thought of not going back sent chills up Trish’s spine.

If hackers could break into the Pentagon’s computers, surely there was someone out there who could find out Jeff Davis’s secrets. And she knew in her gut there were secrets. She’d ferret them out, then pass them on to Emma. It was the least she could do for her sister.

Emma was so damned stubborn. Trish had lost track of the many times she’d offered financial help. She’d even sent money, cash, by overnight courier, only to have her sister return it. Finally, she’d given up, and their relationship was where it was right now, almost at the freezing point.

“We’re here, miss,” the driver said, pulling into the parking slot assigned to Trish’s town house. It was then that she noticed two things: it was snowing harder, and there was a huge van that had pulled up right alongside the town car. Men hopped out of the van and started carrying bags and trunks up the steps. Trish blinked. And then her heart started to flutter in her chest. So many trunks and boxes. All her things? She’d thought she was bringing just her winter clothes. Had she been kicked out for good?

Trish ran up the steps and opened the door. “Just . . . just pile everything up in the foyer,” was all she could manage to say. She looked around. Everything looked the same, the place smelled clean and fresh, and it was warm. She walked into her living room, and she’d been right. A neat stack of wood rested on the hearth. Before she could think twice, she went over to the fireplace and turned on the gas starter to ignite the logs, which were ready for burning. Connie had outdone herself.

Trish tipped outrageously, smiled, and thanked the men standing in the foyer. The moment she closed the door and shot the dead bolt, she started to cry. She counted the trunks and bags. Eleven in all. She had no idea she had so many belongings. She looked down at the small gold-lacquered chest with the impressive lock that Malik had given her for her birthday in the second year of their marriage. The chest was where she kept her jewelry, her banking records, the statements, and the endearing cards Malik had given her during their marriage. The key to the ornate chest was on her key ring.

It was almost dark outside when Trish meandered into the kitchen, the tears still trickling down her cheeks. She’d been so right. A bright red Crock-Pot, its ON light glowing brightly on the WARM setting, awaited her. She didn’t have to lift the lid to know it was chili. On the counter, alongside the Crock-Pot, was a freshly made apple pie. She could smell the cinnamon. She knew there would be raisins and chopped nuts in the pie. Connie again. Connie loved to bake. The hard rolls were from the bakery, the seal still on the box. What more could a girl want, unless it was someone to share it with?

At that moment, Trish realized she was ravenously hungry. She quickly fixed a bowl of food, got out a tray, and carried it all into the living room, where she turned on the television for the early news. A fire, the news, food, and a flood of tears. What more could a girl ask for?

Sometimes, like then, life was definitely not a bowl of cherries, but a bowl of chili made for her by the loving hands of a dear friend.

T
RISH SLEPT AWAY THE BETTER PART OF THREE DAYS AFTER HER
return to her town house. She woke, showered, ate, and went back to sleep. At sundown on the third day, she woke, finally feeling like her old self. She showered, washed her hair, and dressed in a comfortable old set of sweats that felt like an old friend. She made a fire, scrambled some eggs, and settled down in her living room, the television on low. Outside, it was snowing. She’d been stunned to see the accumulation since her arrival. She’d been equally stunned to see the three notes her friend Connie had left for her during the three days. They were bright and witty, so like Connie, she thought as she read one of them.

Trish smiled. Tomorrow she would get back into the swing of things. She’d rent a car, go to the grocery store, and get down to business. She stared at her cell phone in the charger on the little table next to where she was sitting. She’d checked it once during her three-day sleeping binge. There were forty-two text messages from Malik and four voice-mail messages. Seven text messages from Soraya and nineteen voice-mail messages. All sounded urgent from brother and sister. On the second day, between bouts of sleep, she’d sent one simple text to each: I arrived safely. Will be in touch soon.

The word
soon,
she told herself, meant different things to different people. She allowed herself a small snort of laughter. Where had this shitty blasé attitude come from all of a sudden? From her sleep, from her dreams? She shrugged it off.

Trish finished the last of her eggs and carried her dishes out to the kitchen, where she made more coffee, then turned on the dishwasher. While she waited for the coffee to drip, she downed two glasses of orange juice. She sniffed and wondered if she had a cold coming on.
Damn, this is no time to get sick.

Thinking preventively, she looked in the cabinet, and sure enough, there was a half bottle of cognac. She would lace her coffee with that, down some aspirin, and hope for the best. She moved over to her kitchen door, turned on the outside light, and saw the accumulation of snow on her little deck. She shrugged that off, too. Sooner or later, it would melt. By tomorrow morning, she knew, it would all look like a winter wonderland. Being warm, dry, and well fed was all that was important to her at the moment.

When Trish carried her coffee, which was more cognac than coffee, back to the living room, she stopped in her foyer to stare down at the trunks, suitcases, and the little chest. What was in all of them? Tomorrow was another day. She knew in her gut she needed to be clicking on all cylinders when she opened them. So much stuff for just a short visit. The words
short visit
were her words. The amount of baggage signaled a different phrase,
permanent stay.

Coffee in hand, back in front of the fire, Trish curled her legs under her to settle down for another endless rerun of her favorite television show,
NCIS.
The phone in the charger rang. She craned her neck to see the caller ID. Zack Molton. Aha, Malik was calling in his big gun. Trish let the call go to voice mail. Five minutes later she heard the signal that a text message was coming through. Same caller ID, Zack Molton. She ignored it, too, and before she knew it, she was following the program playing out on the screen. She did love Leroy Jethro Gibbs and his fellow agents and the way they solved everything in sixty minutes.
Life should only be that perfect,
she thought.

The cell in the charger continued to ring throughout the evening. Trish sat engrossed in the continuing episodes she’d missed. At eleven o’clock, without another look at her cell, she got ready for bed. The two cups of coffee and all the cognac had made her sleepy all over again. She drank another glass of orange juice and popped some more aspirin.

Trish was asleep before her head hit the pillow. When she woke at seven the next morning, she lay there for a few minutes, trying to decide how she felt. She yawned elaborately and decided she felt full of spit and vinegar. Time to start the new day.

Trish brushed her teeth and headed for the kitchen, where she brewed coffee. As it dripped, she sent off a text message to Malik and one to Soraya. Both messages were the same. It’s snowing. Looks beautiful. She typed in her name and returned the phone to the charger. She eyed her belongings in the foyer as she made her way back to the kitchen.

Mid-morning, Trish was dressed and ready to head out. Her new rental car was due any moment. She stood in the foyer, watching out the window for the people who had promised to deliver the car no later than ten thirty. She looked down at her watch. Five minutes to go. The building association had done a good job of plowing out the road and the parking spaces. She’d insisted on a vehicle with four-wheel drive, just to be on the safe side.

The car arrived at ten forty. Trish signed the papers, handed over her credit card so the courier could run it, and she was good to go.

At the last second, Trish ran back to the kitchen for another glass of orange juice and more aspirin. Finally, she was ready to face her old world again. She headed straight for the nearest mall, where she went to the Verizon store and bought a new phone. She signed a one-year contract for it, paid it in full, and was assured that if she returned in two hours, she would have full service. She killed time by walking around the stores. There wasn’t one thing she needed or wanted. Maybe she should get something for Emma, but what? It had been years since she’d set eyes on her sister. She had no idea what size she was these days. She scratched that idea. She stopped at Nordstrom, had a bite of lunch, then headed back to the Verizon store, where she pocketed her new cell phone and headed for home.

Back inside her cozy town house, Trish got down to work at the kitchen table. She opened up her laptop and put her plan into motion. An hour later, she called Connie and asked her if she’d stop by, because she needed to talk to her about something important. Connie agreed and said she’d be by no later than two o’clock. It would be so good to see her old friend in the flesh again.

When the doorbell rang at ten minutes of two, Trish almost killed herself running to the door. She opened it and squealed her pleasure at seeing her old friend. “Come in. Come in. It’s so cold out there!”

They hugged each other, kissed each other, then hugged some more before Trish burst into tears.

“It can’t be that bad, or are you crying with happiness at seeing me?” Connie teased lightly as she eyed the trunks and cases lining the foyer.

“Both, Connie. Come on out to the kitchen. I have coffee on. You look great. You haven’t aged a day since I saw you last.”

“I wish I could return the compliment, Trish. You look terrible. I have this great new makeup that will hide those dark circles under your eyes. And you lost weight. Well, I’m going to fatten you right up. Pour me coffee. Then let’s talk.”

And talk they did until well after five.

“Trish, playing devil’s advocate here, what is it you’re doing here? Are you trying to teach Malik a lesson? Did you try to talk to him, or did you hide in your shell and pretend everything was all right? Think back to when you say his indifference started. Can you pinpoint anything in particular that happened?”

“Just the business of me not getting pregnant. It weighed on my mind. It would on yours, too, if you were in my position. That’s the only thing I can think of. As far as I know, palace business and the other emirates are okay. Malik really doesn’t discuss any of that with me, except maybe in passing. He’s not a worrier by nature. He . . . Something is . . . was on his mind, and he couldn’t hide that fact from me. He tried, but it just didn’t work. The big telling point was that we didn’t go to the cave. We used to do that a lot.

“You know what else, Connie? I don’t even know whose idea it was for me to come home, mine or Soraya’s. All I know was that within hours, the plans had been made, and here I am. As well as all those trunks and bags and boxes. I can’t bear to open them. I guess this is my swan song. But then, another part of me wants to know why all the voice mails and texts from both Malik and Soraya. Maybe it’s one of those things, you know, where you don’t know what you have until you lose it. That kind of thinking. Maybe they’re both sorry about whatever it is they are sorry about. Does that make sense?

“I feel so . . . I don’t know what the word is, Connie. Betrayed, maybe. Ignored? Did Malik fall out of love with me? Did he find a replacement for me, one who will give him an heir? I just don’t know. What I do know is that I am not going to discuss my life, my future, over the telephone or by sending texts. Another thing is I have all this money. On day one I was told it would be mine forever, no matter what happened. And it’s true. With all the successful investments the Swiss bankers have made for me, I have over one hundred million dollars in my name. And guess what? I have no will. I’m going to see to that while I’m here. Is this unbelievable or what? Paid for services rendered. That sucks, Connie.”

“Oh, Trish, you don’t know that for sure. For some reason, it’s not computing for me. There’s something here that isn’t adding up for me. With everything you’ve told me over the years about Malik and your relationship, I just don’t see him kicking you to the curb as you say. I grant you something isn’t right, and I’m starting to think it’s with your husband, not you, and he doesn’t know how to handle it.”

“Like what?” Trish snapped. “We’ve always shared everything from the day we got married.”

Connie threw her hands in the air. “I don’t know, Trish. My best advice, my only advice, is to go back to Dubai and talk it out with Malik. Hog-tie him if you have to and get to the bottom of it. Find out
exactly
where you stand regarding the childbirth issue. The man is the head of his country. He should be able to change a stupid ruling like that.”

“You’re right. I
am
going to go back, but I’ll go back only when I’m ready and not one minute sooner. I’m going to stay a while, try to get my head on straight, and only then will I make my decisions. In the meantime I plan to pretty much ignore both Malik and Soraya. I will send off a text from time to time. It’s Malik’s turn to sweat a little.”

“Sounds like a plan to me. So you haven’t looked into the trunks is what you’re telling me. Plus, you didn’t read or listen to any of the messages that have been left for you. You assume—I want to stress the word
assume
here—that you have been kicked to the curb because you can’t bear a child for your husband. Is that correct?”

“Pretty much, yes.”

“Well, let’s just check it out, because I have to leave shortly. We have an eight o’clock show during January and February, as you know. Are they locked?”

“No.”

Trish and Connie walked from the kitchen to the foyer where Connie dropped to her haunches and opened the first trunk and gasped. “Wow! Would you look at this! I have never in my life seen such gorgeous silk. There are bolts and bolts of it, every color of the rainbow.” After opening two more trunks, Connie exclaimed, “This one has sets of gold-plated dinnerware. And this one is full of gold silverware. Are you planning on opening a store, and you didn’t tell me? How did you get this stuff into this country without going through customs, or whatever it is you have to do?”

Trish threw her hands in the air. “I had no idea what was in the trunks. I thought it was my stuff. I guess it’s gifts for my friends. This must be Soraya’s doing. She oversaw the packing of my things. It was kind of a last-minute decision on my part to come home.”

Connie opened several other trunks and described the contents to Trish. “This one has exquisite wall hangings and brocades. This one has gold figurines. I didn’t know there was that much gold in the world. This has to represent a fortune, Trish. Okay, okay, this case has your winter clothes in it. And there’s a lock on that beautiful little chest. Me thinks, Trish, you misinterpreted things. Perhaps you should spend the evening listening to those messages on your phone.”

Trish chewed on her lower lip. She waved her arms about and said, “This doesn’t mean I haven’t been kicked to the curb. How do you explain Malik’s strange behavior?”

Connie was already on her way back to the kitchen to gather up her notes. “Let’s go through this one more time before I leave. You want me to find a computer hacker who can be trusted to ferret out your sister’s ex-husband’s financials. You know he’s doing something dirty, and your sister got screwed by him.

“Ernie will be a big help on this. His day job is writing software for huge firms, and he knows just about everyone in the field. He is so good at that, but it’s not what he wants to do. He wants to be a choreographer. I’ll do my best. Are you going to wait for me to get back to you, or are you going to go to see your sister first?”

“I was thinking about leaving tomorrow and surprising her. You can reach me on my new cell phone.” Trish ripped off a sticky note from a pad stuck to the fridge and handed it to Connie.

The two women hugged one another again as Trish walked Connie to the door. “Say hi to everyone for me and give Ernie a big hug. Soraya said to give him a kiss.”

Connie laughed all the way out to her car.

Trish’s heart felt lighter as she made her way back to the living room. She picked up the phone and started to scroll through the text messages. Several times she smiled and several times she frowned at her husband’s messages. Soraya’s just made her laugh out loud. The text and voice mail from Zack Molton was a puzzle, with Zack just saying that he wanted to check in to see how things were and that he had not been able to reach Malik in over a month. He went on to say he hoped everything was right as rain, and if she had a chance, to flip him off a text to reassure him that all was right in her corner of the world.

Trish puzzled over the text and voice mail. Malik hadn’t been in touch with Zack, either. Normally, they were in touch several times a week. More puzzled than annoyed, Trish shelved her thoughts about Zack Molton and set about booking an airline ticket to Newark, New Jersey, where she would rent a car and drive on to Princeton. She crossed her fingers that her sister would welcome her with open arms.