Lost in Thyme

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER FIVE

Back in his hotel room, Sami Skype-called Fareed and brought him up to speed on the details of their father’s will. Easing away from the laptop screen, Sami watched his brother’s face recover from the shock. Fareed’s mouth opened and closed without uttering a word. A twisted sense of relief descended on Sami. His brother didn’t know anything about Petra. The little girl with the red arrow birthmark remained his secret.

“The church?” Fareed finally asked.

“Just the school. Our school.”

“I don’t get it. Mom always complained about the outrageous tuition fees the school demanded from Dad. Why would he give it more money?”

“I guess he liked the way we turned out.” Sami couldn’t prevent bitterness from marring his words. He coughed behind a clenched fist, hoping Fareed didn’t catch it. “It shows how much Dad wanted to pay back his debt.”

“So why not give this woman her money?” Fareed exploded. “The original loan plus a good percentage for the lost years. And donate to the church, for heavens’ sake. Why go about it in this twisted way?”

“To force my hand. This way, I have to make sure she accepts her shares.”

“Dad putting you in charge of sorting out this mess says a lot, Sami. He trusted you to do the right thing.”

“Yeah?” Sami brushed invisible threads off his trouser leg, shielding his eyes from Fareed’s stare for a moment. “I don’t think he ever forgave me for what happened in Chile.”

“You’re still hung up on that?” Fareed raised his voice again. “It’s been years. That son-of-a-gun contractor cut corners. Fortunately no one was hurt and insurance covered our losses. Dad came to understand it wasn’t your fault.”

“I hired the thief contractor. Dad made sure to remind me of that at the beginning of every project from then on.” Sami’s knuckles knocked on the surface of the desk. “This is not about Dad trusting me. He knew I’d never let a penny go to that school.”

“I’ll never understand why you drifted away from the church.” Fareed laced his fingers together under his chin. “Maybe he’s helping you find your way back.”

Something rumbled in Sami’s chest, an entity too angry and volatile to unleash. His brother had got it wrong. He hadn’t drifted. He had run, as fast and as far as he could.

“You have a good life, Fareed. I won’t mess it up.” Sami scooted forward and stuck his face inches away from the laptop screen. “You have my word, I’m not going to let this woman deprive your kids of their rightful inheritance, no matter what Dad intended.”

“All I’m saying is . . . I’ll go along if she decides to walk away. I don’t want you to feel guilty . . . like you failed to convince her or any nonsense like that.” Fareed unlaced his fingers and fiddled with his keyboard. “Lora . . . the twins . . . we’ll be fine, no matter what.”

Sami’s throat tightened. Fareed was a decent man, put together right from the inside, no missing pieces. Unlike him, big chunks of his soul carved out by the school his little brother was so eager to donate to. Could he blame him? Fareed’s experience at the school differed from his, Sami had done his best to make sure of that. He had the scars to show for it. He stretched out his legs and arms to maximize the space his entire body occupied, a ridiculous reflex whenever he thought of that school.

He sat back and joined his hands behind his head. “I wish I had more time. I need to see Mom. Find out if she knows anything about Petra and her father.”

“Then you’d better fly home. I’m not going to try.”

“How is she these days?”

“Took up painting again,” Fareed said.

“That’s a good sign.”

Fareed shook his head. “The paintings? All black. Not a dab of colour. Like being in a tomb.”

“s**t! The beginning of another cycle. Tell Rosa to watch out.”

“Don’t worry! Everyone’s on guard. I asked Rosa to stay weekends for a while. Have to pay her overtime, of course. She’ll keep Mom in check.” Fareed knit his eyebrows. “Can’t you see?”

“What?”

“If Dad hadn’t sent us away, I doubt we would have survived Mom. That school kept us alive.”

In what shape? And at what price? Sami clamped his mouth shut. Old habits were hard to break. He wouldn’t shatter the safety of his brother’s perfect world. How much weight did the truth put on a heaven and hell believing soul? Let Fareed live with his delusions if they made him happy.

Fareed drummed his fingers on the surface of his desk. “Did you rule out the possibility Petra is our half-sister?”

“For sure. The timing is totally off. Besides, Dad would have assigned her shares with no stipulations or conditions if that were the case. No, she’s not his.” Sami’s voice faltered on the last words. Doubt hung about him and buzzed, an annoying fly that wouldn’t shoo away. Under what circumstances had Petra become part of his childhood memories then? And why?

He rubbed his eyes, feeling the combined effect of tension and fatigue. “I’m meeting with Dad’s Kuwaiti partner this evening. See where the guy truly stands.”

“I talked with Sulaiman several times on the phone since we started the branch there. Shrewd businessman.”

“Anything I should watch out for?”

“He might seem a bit dry and standoffish. But he’s straightforward and honest. Did you know he comes from one of a handful of Kuwaiti families that are Christian?”

Sami hid a smile behind his closed fist. Did Fareed mean to add a measure of respect to the man’s character by saying that? Fareed’s delusions ran deep. Sami planned his own evaluations of the man’s calibre, regardless of his professed faith. “Maybe he can help me nudge Petra into a favorable decision.”

“And if she walks away? You’ll be okay with the alternative?”

“No one refuses money. She has a son to take care of. Trust me, she’s not going to walk away.”

“Sami, don’t use her child as leverage.”

Sami’s abdominal muscles contracted from Fareed’s unexpected blow. So that was how his brother saw him—a man who would use a child to procure what he wanted. “Thanks for the reminder.” Sami made sure his tone dripped with injured sarcasm.

“You know what I mean.” Fareed waved a hand in the air and brushed aside his harsh comment, either choosing not to see how deep it cut into Sami, or genuinely oblivious to its cruelty.

“I’ll call as soon as I have something solid.” Sami closed the laptop and slid it to the far edge of the desk, needing the physical distance to disengage from the mess of emotions Fareed had stirred. He rose and paced his hotel room. Space shrank with each step.

The hotel overlooked a beach, and the sea beckoned with its openness and caressing breeze. Sami grabbed his wallet and headed out. Once he brought his breathing to normal, he would consider ways to leave Petra no choice but to accept what his father forced him to offer.

Sami took off his sandals and dipped his feet into the waves breaking upon the shore. The warm water didn’t fit the scene around him. The late afternoon sun ready to hide behind the horizon created a restful and calm vibe. Had the water been cool on his skin, tension would have drained from his system, washed away with the retreating waves. He experienced none of that serenity. His mind hopped from one thought to another, chasing childhood memories of the little girl with the arrow birthmark that eluded his grasp.

A young boy ran waist-deep into the water and dived head first into an oncoming wave. His laughter drowned out his mother’s voice. She halted at the shoreline a short distance from Sami, slightly lifted the hem of her long black robe with one hand, and swung a towel with the other. The boy waved and yelled something in Arabic. The mother laughed, took a glance at Sami, and let go of her robe allowing the fabric to get soaked. She took tentative steps forward and called out for her son. The boy dived and swam further away, his green shorts rising and dipping under the water.

Sami set his wallet and watch on the dry sand and prepared to dash after the boy if he didn’t heed his mother’s calls.

The mother threw the towel aside and slammed her hands to her thighs, screaming louder. The boy switched direction and started to swim to the shore, his arms slicing the surface with obvious confidence and skill. Reaching shallow water, he prodded toward his mother with a sheepish grin on his face. His shorts sagged on his slim frame.

Yelling non-stop, the mother wrapped the towel around his shoulders and shook her finger in his face. The boy nodded his head several times and pulled free from her grip. Holding firm, she yanked him to her side, kissed his wet hair, and walked him toward a car parked on the street.

Sami watched, relief mixed with resentment in his chest. The interaction between mother and son triggered an unwelcome memory. He was around that boy’s age cradling his baby brother in his lap and clawing with his bare fingers at the insides of a hardwood box, screaming for Mother to let them out.

Fareed was too young to remember that incident, and the many that followed until their father shipped them off to boarding school. His brother was right. Fareed wouldn’t have survived Mother’s distorted brand of love. But he did. For eight years. He mastered techniques to contort his growing body into mother’s cramped, airtight, cedar chest at the foot of her bed.

And when Fareed arrived, he found ways to nestle his small body in with his to keep from crushing him. A lump of clay stuffed into a mould, those years of mothering had shaped him with such finality and set his life on a complex path filled with fear, loathing and loneliness. His mother made him the perfect target for bullies at that school. It wasn’t enough being harassed for his Middle Eastern background; cruel boys used his specific fear of tight places to showcase their ignorance and impose dominance. Teachers turned a blind eye, let it all happen, and instructed him to toughen up, be a man. And as he grew bigger, he grew meaner; made sure Fareed didn’t suffer the same treatment.

Now he had to endure these flashes from the past, exercise mental games to control panic attacks and hide certain realities from Fareed—the little brother who so casually expected him to use a child as leverage.

A warm breeze ruffled the tails of Sami’s linen shirt. He gulped for oxygen, sensing none of the open space before him. Was he destined to stay trapped in that box for the rest of his life?

He retrieved his sandy wallet and picked up his sandals. Perhaps he shouldn’t dig into Petra’s past. Let buried truths remain buried, lest they trigger more unpleasant memories that threatened to spin him out of control.