Lost in Thyme

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER THREE

Sami cupped his hands under running water and splashed his face, trying to get a grip. He held the edges of the sink and let water drip down his nose. He had finally done it. Lost control.

A little girl of no more than five ran between the sinks giggling, her voice ringing like bells in the tiled room. Frozen to his spot, his eyes chased her until she ducked under his sink and flashed him a bright smile. Freckles on her left temple aligned in an arrow and pointed to big hazel irises. The red dots on her forehead stood out, prominent in her round face.

His hand shaking, he reached out to trace the arrow with his thumb.

Vaughn stormed through the door. “What the hell just happened in there?”

The girl put a chubby index finger to her lips and faded into the tiles.

Sami straightened and loosened his tie. “Had to get out of there.”

“You’re sick? You should’ve told me. I would’ve rescheduled the meeting.” Vaughn approached from behind. “You know how rude you were in doing that?”

“Couldn’t help it.” Sami snatched paper towels and dabbed his chin. He was not insane, after all. The girl with the arrow birthmark wasn’t a visiting apparition. She was real, and she sat in that office a few steps away from him. Nature’s stamp branded her, made her unique. Now he could give a name to the images which had plagued his world ever since he was a child.

A home video of him chasing the little girl around a dining table played in his head, he a boy of seven or eight. A memory? Or was it his imagination inventing the event to make sense of her sudden appearance? Who was she? And why had she stuck to his soul and muddled his mind all those years?

Vaughn checked the calendar on his mobile. “I’ll see if they can meet this afternoon.”

“No don’t. I want to get this over with.” Sami balled the towels and dumped them into the trash bin. “Must be something I ate on the plane. I’m sure they’ll understand.” To shut Vaughn up before he had a chance to ask questions, he left the restroom and hurried back. He wouldn’t waste any time. He wanted to know more about Petra. Did she have a memory of him?

Sami pulled the office door open, bolted inside and almost knocked Petra off her feet. He shot a hand to her arm until she regained her balance.

“Sorry! Didn’t see you there.” He dropped his hand. “You okay?”

“I was on my way out.” She lifted the strap of her bag onto her shoulder. “Obviously—this was a mistake.”

“Allow me to explain.” He stepped aside to give her more room and crushed something under his shoe. They both looked down. In the commotion, her sunglasses had slipped off her head. s**t! He had destroyed them.

Vaughn caught up with them and addressed Petra. “This is about the legal will of this man’s deceased father, and you are mentioned by name.”

“Sorry about that.” Sami collected the mangled frame. Pieces of broken lenses dangled from the splintered plastic. “Please come back inside. The livelihood of many people is on hold until things are finalized.”

Her lawyer stepped in. “You have moral and legal obligations to hear Mr. Amara’s last wishes, Mrs. Haddad.”

“Half an hour.” Petra glanced at her watch. “Then I’m gone.”

They returned to the big office. Petra eased into a chair, keeping her back stiff and straight.

Sami deposited her broken sunglasses on the coffee table and stood by the window opposite to where she sat. “Allow me to apologize for my behaviour. I’m afraid airplane food doesn’t sit well with me.”

Petra crossed her legs, careful to tug the hem of her dress over her knees. “Where did you fly from?”

“Houston.”

“If you don’t mind me asking.” She brushed hair off her eyes, exposing the tip of her arrow. “What sort of name is Amara?”

“Palestinian. My father is . . . was from Ramallah, originally. My mother, as well.”

His slip must have caught her off guard, for she winced. “My condolences for your loss.”

“You’re very kind.” He tried not to stare at the part showing her natural tattoo. It sat higher on her temple than the child’s in his mental images, the redness less sharp with the passing of years.

“My father’s family is from Palestine, too. Nazareth.”

“I see.” Sami filed their mutual background as a clue to the puzzle that was Petra.

“Have you been to Palestine?” she asked.

“Not yet.”

“I hope to go someday.”

“When I was a child, my father talked about taking me and my brother every summer. Never happened. And I haven’t had the chance myself.” Focused on trying to find out if she possessed any memory of him, Sami kept his position by the window. He gave her ample time and a clear view to recognize him.

“I’m certain I’ve never heard the name Amara before. Am I supposed to have known your father?”

“I honestly don’t know. This is the first I’ve heard of you.” He released a long breath, disappointed and uncomfortable with his statement, even if it were the truth.

He knew her—a young version of her.

Vaughn cleared his throat, reminding Sami there were other people in the room. “Mr. Amara was adamant on how to do this. He left two letters. You are to open them at the same time.” Vaughn handed Petra one of the sealed envelopes first, then gave Sami his. He turned to her lawyer. “Mr. Faisal and I will go over other documents while you read your letters.”

The female assistant marched into the room and opened a connecting door to a spacious conference room. She motioned with her hand. “This way.”

Clutching her unopened letter, Petra strode over and sat at the head of a long, polished table. Sami went straight to the window and drew the mini blinds open, letting sun rays brighten the room.

A young man from South Asia in a white uniform stood behind a side bar. He set a water jug and glasses on the big conference table.

The assistant closed the doors and pointed at the office boy. “Coffee? Tea?”

Petra shook her head, turning the envelope in her hands.

“This is fine. Thank you.” Sami filled two glasses with ice-cold water, set one before Petra and emptied the other in a single gulp.

The assistant dismissed the office boy and stepped into a glass cubicle at the other end of the room. She sat at a small desk, offering privacy, yet not leaving them alone.

Sami glowered at the assistant. In this conservative society, there were rules and restrictions to adhere to. He wanted to be alone with Petra, to grasp a sense of the kind of person she was in the hope it might trigger more memories. His discomfort grew disproportionally to the space around him. He took in deep breaths and tried to brush aside creeping anxiety. This was no time for his aggravating condition to strike. He had business matters to focus on rather than worrying about circulating air and seemingly shrinking rooms. He needed to find out who this woman was.

Petra waved her envelope in the air, looking serious with her brows knit together. “Shall we?”

Sami sagged to a chair two seats away. “On the count of three.” He tried to dilute the heaviness that descended on him with a buoyant tone, “One, two, three. Go.”

They opened their envelopes and started reading. Sheets of paper shuffled and landed on the table one after another. Several minutes passed in silence.

Petra gasped and slammed her hand to her chest.

Sami jumped to his feet, shoving his chair against the wall. A sound escaped his throat, guttural and contorted. He faced Petra.

“On my father’s grave, I swear I knew nothing about this.”