Humbled (13 page)

Joel stayed in the right lane on I-94 as he headed to Detroit. A string of cars shot around him, prompting him to at least get his speed up to fifty. He was consumed by his meeting with Uncle Frank. The tranquility he'd soaked up with Zarah earlier at the café had faded. Joel had driven miles and couldn't recall a single sign, car, or face of a passerby. He was at a crossroads both literally and figuratively, with I-94 splitting into multiple routes. He could go to the Westin, to DMI, or to his house with Zarah. None called out to him with certainty. Although he had planned on having dinner with Zarah later, he would stop by his mother's first. It was a place where he was always welcomed. Belief in him was what he craved, a kind word of support without judgment or demands. Fired up, he pressed the accelerator.

The locks hadn't been changed at the estate. He used the same key his father and Madeline had used when they built the house forty-plus years ago. It was the one constant in the Mitchell family. The occupants of the house had changed over the years—his mother trading places with Madeline, and he with his four siblings—but not the locks. It wasn't much, but the fact that one tiny detail of his existence had remained constant was settling. An eerie calm fell over Joel.

“Mom, are you here?” he called out, walking through the main level of the house.

His mother descended the stairs partway. “I'm here. What are you doing here? This is twice in one week. What's going on?”

He ran up the stairs and gave her a gigantic embrace. She was the other constant in a world spinning out of control. Through the rough spots, she had remained by his side, and he was appreciative. He squeezed her tighter.

“Put me down, mister. Thank you very much,” Sherry said. “Why are you so happy?”

The words startled him. He hadn't truly been happy in months, maybe closer to a year. Maybe he was on the verge of a new beginning, and happy was fine with him. “I'm happy to see you.”

“Sure,” Sherry said, walking the rest of the way down the stairs. “Are you hungry?”

“No, not really.”

“Well, I am,” Sherry said. “Walk with me to the kitchen. The cook made chicken masala and a nice salad before she left. Why don't you join me for dinner?”

“I'll have to pass. I'm meeting Zarah later for dinner.”

“That's wonderful.”

“Don't get your hopes up. We're just having dinner.”

“At least it's a start,” Sherry said. When they reached the kitchen, his mother took a plate from the cabinet. “I guess its more food for me.”

“I'm not going to let you eat alone. I'll grab a bite,” he said. “Let me fix the plates. You have a seat,” he said, gently tugging at the plates. She handed them over and sat at the table.

“I hope you're going to be this attentive to Zarah. Pregnancy is a beautiful experience, but wives need their husband's support.”

Without warning Joel felt the air being sucked out of the room. He slid down the bunny hole to his den of despair and impending failure. “Can we use this visit to talk about us for a change?” Joel said, trying to soften the edge in his voice.

“You sound a little testy. I'm glad you're working out your differences with Zarah. She needs you. There is nothing more important than you being a supportive husband to your wife and a good father to your child, nothing.”

Regret filled him. If he'd passed on the stupid plate of chicken masala and hit the road ten minutes ago, this lashing would have been avoided. Joel spooned a very light serving of food onto his plate, wanting his mother to stop needling him. He wasn't going to be disrespectful, but he had no intention of engaging in a tense discussion about his marriage. He wasn't going to do it, not tonight. Uncle Frank had already put plenty on Joel's mind, and miraculously, he'd been able to keep standing. A conversation about Zarah might be the knockout punch, and so it had to be avoided.

“Can we change the subject and enjoy our visit? What do you say?” Joel set one of the plates in front of his mother and the other opposite her and took a seat.

His mother picked at the plate with her fork.

“Joel, I'm not trying to pester you about Zarah.”

Sure seemed like she was,
he thought.

She lifted her napkin to the corner of her eye and dabbed it. “But you have to understand where I'm coming from. I used to be Zarah, a young, impressionable woman who fell in love with an outgoing, well-known, and highly successful man. You are your father. You're suave and very captivating, just like he was. Before I realized what was happening, I was in love with your father. I revolved around him. I gobbled up every minute with him like he was my oxygen. I couldn't function without him in those early years together.” She dabbed the corner of her eye again, and Joel suddenly felt more compassion for her.

She went on. “Don't get me wrong. Your father was an incredible man, but none of us had one hundred percent of him.” Joel guessed she was referring to the fact that his father's loyalty had been split between her and Madeline, his wife and God, his wife and DMI, and his wife and two sets of children. He let her continue talking without interrupting. “I don't want my grandchild reliving the trauma I watched you endure. And don't forget about what happened to Madeline's children. When Dave moved out, the children didn't have a father in the house, and they suffered.”

“Mom, you told me this a few weeks ago. Do we really have to talk about this again?”

“I do, because Madeline is wrong about me stealing her husband. They had been divorced for over a year when he asked me to marry him. I know he didn't want a divorce. She was the one who ended the marriage. Doesn't matter now. She acts crazy most of the time, but there's some truth in her accusations. After the divorce, those children didn't have a father in the house. Look what happened. Andre raped Tamara. Sam killed him in retaliation and then committed suicide.”

“You can't blame Dad for what happened.”

“I'm not blaming anyone, only pointing out the facts. Dave and Madeline divorced, and the children paid the price.” She touched his hand. “I don't want heartache for you and your family. Please, fix this with Zarah,” she said, no longer dabbing her eyes but wiping them.

Joel was touched. “Mom, don't let this get you worked up. I hear what you're saying, and I'm listening. I will figure this out, trust me,” he said.

Her story was compelling. He wanted to address his marriage woes, but Joel had to focus on reestablishing a business presence. Letting his wife carry the financial load wasn't the way. But his mother's plea did seep in. He had an obligation to his child.

He gave his mother a hug and a peck on the forehead. “You have me thinking. I have somewhere to be. I'll call you later,” he said, setting his plate in the sink. He stopped in the doorway. “Thank you,” he said and blew her a kiss.

It was his duty to check on Zarah and the baby. When he got outside, Joel pulled out his phone and called Zarah to follow through on the dinner plans. Not feeling well, she declined his invitation. Joel didn't settle for no. He wanted to see her and asked if it was okay to come for a visit. She sounded pleased and agreed. He was pleased too.

Excitement propelled him back to his house in the northwestern suburb of Detroit. There was a sweet and tantalizing flavor on his lips from the simple kiss he'd deposited on his wife's cheek that afternoon. Joel had a key to his house, but he chose to knock. He didn't want to startle Zarah. He raised his fist to knock, and then lowered it. He couldn't explain his hesitation. This was his house, his wife. Yet his emotions were those of a sixteen-year-old boy going on a date. The uncertainty was real. A few more seconds passed, and he was able to shake off the butterflies fluttering in the pit of his stomach.

Zarah came to the door. She had taken off her sari and appeared relaxed in a pair of loose-fitting pants and a blouse.

“Thanks for letting me drop by.” He entered the house and peered around the room. “Are you here alone?” he asked, concerned that Tamara might be there. He did not want to go another round with her. The constant bickering was too exhausting. He was wishing for a nice quiet evening with Zarah, hoping they'd laugh and talk as they'd done at the café earlier. More calm and less stress was the recipe for this visit.

“Yes, I am alone.”

Thank goodness,
he thought. He gave a major sigh of relief. His plans hadn't been foiled by mini-Madeline. “Are we going into the library?” he asked, knowing it was her favorite room.

“I prefer the kitchen.”

“Sure,” he said, following her in close pursuit.

She had a bunch of papers spread across the kitchen table. “What's this?” he asked as they both sat down at the table. He moved his chair closer to her, eager to continue the dialogue they'd begun that afternoon. It was odd being in his house given that he didn't consider the place home.

“Do you remember I was telling you about my meeting with the DMI directors?” Zarah said.

“I do.” He couldn't forget, thanks to Tamara. She'd thrown the meeting in his face. He'd managed to dodge her antics. He snickered silently, because Tamara was on the outside. He was the person sitting within arm's reach of Zarah. His sister had better understand marriage if she was going to beat him at this game. It seemed outlandish that she would even try. Erasing Tamara from the picture, Joel struggled with seeing Zarah in a professional capacity. He had read the article and chatted with her extensively earlier. Belief in her monumental change was slow kicking in.

“There are many papers to prepare for the meeting.”

She sounded stressed, which couldn't be good for the baby. “Do you need help with the presentation?” He genuinely wanted to help.

“I would like your help very much,” she said, letting her gaze meet his.

“Are you nervous?”

“Yes and excited,” she said, her voice tapering off. He wasn't sure why. “I very much want to do a pleasing job for my father and for you.”

“Why me?” Joel asked, stunned by the comment.

“You are a businessman who has done very well. You don't see me as a woman who can do this job.”

Zarah continued startling him with her candor. Previously, she'd allowed him to see only the reserved, needy side of her personality. He had no idea there was a self-sufficient, savvy woman hiding under her sari and scarves. He was continuously drawn to this Zarah. He was drunk in her presence. But every time he let his thoughts drift to their religious differences, Joel sobered instantly. He couldn't be fooled by the air of courtship. They had significant problems. That was certain, but there wasn't any need to dwell on those tonight.

He planned to help Zarah draft a presentation for the directors. He could have said his visit was purely for her sake and out of the kindness of his heart, but that would have been a fib. He was there for his sake as much as hers, and maybe more. He was so mixed up. Sleeping alone night after night at the Westin had grown old, but he wasn't quite ready to make a move. A few more visits or a miraculous move by God would have him out of that temporary space and into the place where he would thrive. He was anxiously waiting for a sign.

In the meantime, he'd see if God was willing to give him direct advice. Instead of praying and waiting, he decided that going to the source might prove faster. He hadn't been to church in a while, but it was sounding better by the second.

Don was exhausted. Friday had taken too long to arrive. He read the abbreviated status report repeatedly. This was his fourth attempt to digest its content. It wasn't difficult to follow, not usually, but this morning he couldn't muster his concentration. Feuding, scheming, and perpetually recovering from one disaster after the next were bound to take a toll. He yearned for a break. Don flung the report onto the desk and tapped his fingertips together in midair, deep in thought.

He jumped up and went to the snack room to grab a cup of coffee. Halfway down the hall, he changed his mind and veered toward Abigail's office. He poked his head inside and saw that she was alone.
Perfect,
he thought. He could use her listening ear, someone who could be more objective than his mother. Abigail used to be that person for him. Joel, time, and the DMI battleground had eroded the power of their bond. Don and Abigail were cordial, actually friendly, but their working relationship did not have the same intensity they shared when his father was alive. They used to be inseparable in the office, both having been handpicked to work alongside Dave Mitchell. Back then Don had thought the gesture was a way to prepare him for taking over the business. But he was proven wrong when his father gave the leadership of DMI to Joel, who was barely twenty-one at the time.

Don got it together in Abigail's office and took a seat. He had no intentions of rehashing nearly three decades of ill will. Madeline and Joel could swap stories of woe until they were blue in the face. God had delivered Don from rejection and anger. He wasn't sure where Abigail was in the healing process. He'd soon find out.

“Well, if it isn't Mr. Don Mitchell.” Abigail pecked a few keys on her laptop, peering at him intermittently.

“Are you busy?” he asked since she didn't appear to be paying him any attention.

“A little,” she said, continuing to type.

“Do you have a few minutes for me?”

“Of course,” she said, closing the laptop and letting her glance meet his.

He had her attention. Now what was he going to say?

“You look tired,” she told him.

“Ah, somewhat,” he replied. If she only knew the extent, Don thought.

He didn't bother elaborating. After all, she was a short timer with a handful of weeks remaining before she walked out of DMI for good. He figured Abigail didn't care, which was the very reason Don wanted her opinion about Joel. He could lean on her solid management acumen without Abigail fearing that she was taking sides. There had been a time not so long ago when Abigail would have gladly sacrificed her career to support Joel in his series of poor decisions and selfishness. Apparently, she'd learned guys like Joel didn't understand the concept of loyalty. Too bad her lesson had come at a steep price.

“Your boyfriend asked me for a job,” he revealed.

“Who? Joel?”

Don nodded and smirked.

“He's your brother, not my boyfriend. Don't play.”

“We're brothers in name only. We don't have much else in common except Dad. You know we used to have the Lord in common too, but I'm not sure where he is with religion these days.”

“Especially since he married Zarah, who practices an Eastern religion.”

“Tell me about it. You know that's why I have to off-load Harmonious Energy. Our long-standing clients are making too much noise to ignore.”

“Have you identified any buyers?” she asked, seeming to perk up. Perhaps she did perk up, but most likely, Don was imagining it, in some subconscious attempt to cling to fragments of the past. He missed working with her and had forgotten how refreshing it was to speak with a colleague who knew DMI and him too.

“Zarah wants to buy the DMI majority ownership position.”

“Wow. What did you tell her?”

“I told her I'd think about it, but the offer doesn't require any debate. It's simple. I want to sell. She wants to buy. End of story. It doesn't get any better than this.”

“Then why don't you sound thrilled?”

“I am. Can't you tell?” Don hadn't expected her to psychoanalyze his mood. She was forcing him to drop the facade, but then, that was why he came to her. She knew him, without him having to point out every problem. He relaxed in the seat, willing to let their friendship lift him out of the sea of confusion he was treading in.

“What's bothering you? And don't tell me, ‘Nothing.' You can say you don't want me to know, but please don't act like everything is okay. I can tell it's not,” she implored.

He wasn't going to lie. “I'm confused about what to do with DMI.”

“I don't know why. You're doing a great job. I saw the quarterly numbers. Looks like you've reversed the losses that we realized for most of Joel's last year in charge. You're on the right track. You should be pretty pleased.”

But he wasn't. “I'm content with the numbers, but what about my family?”

“What about them? Madeline has returned to the office. Who knows what your sister is up to? And Joel is out. What's there to worry about?”

Don had to be candid if he wanted honest feedback. “Remember when I went to South Africa?”

“More like abandoned DMI and me.”

“Okay, whatever, but you remember how mad I was at Dad and God for letting Joel take over?”

“How could I forget?”

“I didn't want to leave Africa once I got there. But I came back to help my family.”

“They haven't made the path easy for you,” she said.

“You got that right. They are a handful, but I love them.”

“Including Joel?”

“Yes. This is why I have to think about letting him come back to DMI. The problem is I don't trust Joel. He constantly has an angle.”

“Joel would be a tremendous asset for you. It's unfortunate you can't trust him, but maybe he does deserve another chance. I don't know.”

“That's the real Abigail . . . always jumping to Joel's rescue.”

“Don't go there. Those days are long past.”

Don wasn't so sure. She'd loved Joel until he broke her heart and married Zarah. “You're telling me Joel is finally out of your system?”

“There is nothing between us, not anymore. He's married and that's it.”

“We both know their marriage was doomed from the beginning.”

She nodded slowly, twiddling a paper clip. “He has certainly complicated things.”

Don's secretary interrupted the meeting by ducking in and informing Don that he had a call from Naledi in the South Africa office.

Abigail giggled. “I guess Joel isn't the only Mitchell who dumped me for someone else.”

Don grinned and left to take the call.