Lost in Thyme

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FOUR

The words blurred before Petra’s eyes. She blinked, spilling droplets onto the letter in her hand. She looked at Sami, his face distorted through her tears. “How could this be?”

Sami placed both hands on the table, crumbling a page in his fist. “I don’t know what to say.”

“All those years.” Petra rose out of her chair. Sheets of tear-smudged paper fluttered to the floor. “Do you know the kind of life my mother had? What she suffered?”

His voice came out strangled. “I’m so sorry!”

“What she could have done with that money?” Petra raised her voice, losing control and not caring one bit. Images of her mother’s frail body shrinking in agony flooded her mind. “My mother couldn’t afford treatment. I . . . saw her twist in pain. I . . . c—c couldn’t hold her.” She placed her hands on her ears. “Had to block her screams.”

Sami raised the hand clutching the page and offered it to Petra. “Dad couldn’t find her.”

“My mother died!” Petra shrieked.

Before her, Sami’s body oscillated in sync with the paintings on the walls and the furniture. She gripped the edge of the table. She was the one who was shaking, not her surroundings.

Her shriek sent the legal assistant scrambling to her feet in the glass cubicle.

Petra wrapped her arms around her ribs, afraid anger would eject her heart out of her chest. “My aunt took me in.” She forced her voice down, and the assistant halted at the glass door.

Sami fumbled through his letter. “Dad wanted to make things right. He didn’t know about your mother’s half-sister and spent his last days looking for you.” Sami pointed at the closed doors leading to the lawyer’s office. “They’re going over legalities as we speak.”

Petra couldn’t breathe. A savage storm whipped through her and dumped despair into her lungs. Anger ignited a torch in her chest, bringing more memories of her mother’s torment. Who was this man? And how dare he throw her back to that miserable time?

She snatched her bag and trotted toward the door. “No.”

Sami beat her to the door and placed his hand on it. “What do you mean, no?”

“I cannot accept this. Any of it.”

“Mrs. Haddad, it’s the truth. Think about it. Why would my father invent something like that on his deathbed?”

She sidestepped him and reached for the door handle. “I don’t know.”

“Look, you’re in shock. I’m having a hard time processing this, myself.” Sami tapped the back of one hand to his open palm, just as she did when she wanted to dumb down a concept to her students. “The way I see it, my father borrowed money to start his project from your father. When he was in a position to pay it back, your father had disappeared and your mother didn’t leave a trace. She even changed her name.” Sami tapped his hands again. “Like it or not, we can’t ignore these facts.”

“Oh, I can. And I will.” Petra opened the door, not caring that she was acting childishly. “I’m leaving.”

Vaughn rose from his chair. “I have a duty to see this through, Mrs. Haddad. Everything is in order. Your lawyer and I went over every detail.”

Mr. Faisal looked up from the papers on his desk. “Once you sign, it is all yours. And it has to be done by the end of business hours the day after tomorrow.”

Sami advanced past Petra. “Where does that deadline come from?”

“If Mrs. Haddad doesn’t accept her shares within seventy-two hours of opening the letters,” Vaughn said. “Your father stipulated that one third of the company’s net worth goes to a boarding school run by the church.”

Sami stiffened with an unreadable expression on his face. “Any specific school?”

Vaughn checked his folder. “The Bright Beacon Academy in Chicago. Your father didn’t mention it in his letter to you?”

Sami exhaled. “No.”

Petra sought Mr. Faisal. “He would deprive his family because of me?”

“Your shares are less than a third. Worth only the company assets in Kuwait,” her lawyer stated. “I spoke to Mr. Amara’s Kuwaiti partner, and he is in agreement. Mr. Sulaiman has no objections to the transaction. He much prefers you as a partner instead of ending up entangled with the church.” Mr. Faisal produced a document from a stack of files on his desk. “Mr. Sulaiman has signed and notarized his affidavit.”

“I told you I had everything in order,” Vaughn interjected.

Mr. Faisal shot him a sideways glance before leaning closer to Petra. “It is in everyone’s interest if you accept. Mr. Sulaiman has offered to buy you out if you prefer cash.”

“I won’t take what’s not mine.” Petra pushed past the men. “I need to go.”

Sami followed her. “My brother has children, Mrs. Haddad. Refusing this arrangement will mess with their future. Please don’t do that.”

Petra’s steps faltered. She would fight dragons if they threatened her son’s future. She faced Sami, unable to mask the hesitation that crept into her voice. “And you? You don’t care about losing so much to a complete stranger?”

A muscle ticked under his right eye. “I want my father to rest in peace.”

The anguish in his voice struck hard. She knew all about that compelling urge. Had her father gone to his final resting place? Had it been peaceful? She straightened her shoulders, lifted her chin in defiance, and fought the inclination to soften her attitude. “I need time to think, look things over. I’ll give you my answer tomorrow.”

The assistant appeared and handed her a thick folder. “Copies of all the documents.”

Petra hurried out before anyone had a chance to object.

As the doors closed, Sami Amara’s rugged voice exploded into an elaborate chorus of curses.

***

Petra made it to the faculty and staff meeting on time. With two weeks left before classes started, her workdays were busy with curriculum updates and lesson plans. The session ended earlier than expected, and she had no idea what the outcome of the meeting had been, her mind stuck on Sami Amara and his dead father. Could she believe this revelation, despite the fact that her mother had never mentioned the Amara name? It didn’t appear on any of her father’s surviving documents, either. Did her aunt know about the loan?

She should not have gone to that meeting with the lawyers by herself.

Stubborn woman.

Mouzah had offered to accompany her and she should have accepted. Her friend would have marched past those men and got her out of there before she came unglued, screaming like a little girl. Simple words on a sheet of paper had sent her spinning out of control. Her world anchored by numbers and mathematical logic, she had never truly appreciated the power of the written word. Until now.

Forced to grow up fast in the early absence of parents, she had come a long way and done well considering the circumstances. What an illusion. This bombshell of the past exposed the truth. Lord help her, she was still grieving—not her parents, not her husband, but her lost childhood.

A need to inflict pain took over. She hurried into the restroom to avoid talking to other teachers. She gathered her hair into a tight ponytail and pulled the strands as hard as she could. Her scalp throbbed with a deep twinge. She fought tears and stifled a groan. Years of skirting a path through her aunt’s household as an unplanned addition to it had prompted her to ease anxiety with strange practices, and those old tactics lingered. She was a grown woman now, a mother. No room for unbalanced behaviour. Taking deep breaths, she let go of her hair and set aside the pathetic little girl hungry for parental affection.

Activity died down in the hallway outside the restroom. Petra slipped out and left the school. She got in her car, rolled down the windows, and blasted the A/C. Careful not to touch her back to the hot leather seat, she waited for the first assault of steamy air to blow over. Whatever had possessed her husband to buy this car, decked out in leather, was evil. Bassam hadn’t factored in the effect of sweltering heat on leather seats. The Honda Civic did have an excellent A/C unit, though. She could be thankful for that.

Through the glare of the windshield, she spotted the school principal dismiss a group of teachers and head her way. She slapped the gearshift into reverse and started to pull out of her parking space when he called for her. She bit her lower lip and stopped the car. This better be quick. She needed to pick up Elias from Mouzah’s house before heading home to make her investigative calls.

“My son’s waiting on me, Mr. Frost.”

Richard Frost draped his arms over the top of her car and yanked them back with an audible yelp. “Why so formal, Petra?” He rubbed the scorched spots on his forearms. “There are no students around. Just Richard, okay?”

Two of her colleagues passed by, and she caught their sly glances. She injected a good measure of formality into her tone, “What can I do for you?”

Richard leaned in and stuck his face through the open window. “You seemed distracted today. Anything I should know about?”

Richard had sad eyes, no other way to describe them—there was no lustre in those swamp-water irises. Widowed years before she lost her husband, he conjured a shared connection. But every time she came into his proximity, the fine hairs on her arms shot upward. An instinct screamed to watch out. She had no clue why. Since Bassam passed away, Richard had been kind and supportive, and he paid special attention to Elias. Every six-year-old boy needed a role model.

“Lots of things on my plate now that I’m teaching an upper grade.” Petra forced a smile. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

“The son of the Minister of Finance will be in seventh grade this year. I want him to have the best math teacher in the school.”

She wasn’t looking forward to the added pressure of a high-profile student. The kind of facade she would need during parent meetings alone would be aggravating, not to mention having a spoiled brat for a student. As if dealing with teenagers all day wasn’t trying enough.

She released a long breath. “I hope I won’t disappoint you.”

“You never have, Petra.”

“There are more qualified teachers. I’m not sure I’m the best fit for this.”

“You have advantages others don’t have.”

“I do?”

Richard tested the edge of the window with his fingers before gripping it with both hands. “Youth and beauty. Never underestimate their power.”

She flinched, annoyed by his mischievous tone. If he meant to flatter her, he didn’t just miss the mark, he crashed over the edge. Grappling for control, she fumbled with her bag on the passenger seat, hunting for nothing in particular. It kept her away from Richard’s face glistening with sweat.

“I might need to stop by more often to check on things. No reflection on your work, of course. I have no doubt you’ll do a great job.”

She should be pleased by the professional confidence he showed in her, but damn it, there was a ton of wrong in the way he said it. “Thanks.”

He reached for the A/C vent by the driver’s window and adjusted the blades to blow cool air in his direction, further invading her personal space. “I’m available any time, Petra. Remember that. Whatever you need.”

She snatched her mobile phone and waved it in his face, forcing him to step back. “I really must go. Is there anything else?”

Straightening, he clasped his hands together. “Meeting tomorrow at nine. Say hello to the little guy.”

Petra closed the window, spun her tyres in reverse and drove out of the parking lot as fast as she could manage. She could worry about Richard and his unflattering, adolescent crush later. Right now, she had a muddled past to unscramble.