Exiled Heart Page 14

  “What do you know?”

  Ben sighed and folded his arms across his chest. “A lot I can’t tell you. Except it’s showing up in places all over the state now. Eight here, the one at the ED being the eighth. Some in Columbia. Aiken. Spartanburg/Greenville area. Florence. Myrtle Beach too.”

  “Do you have a timeline for its spread?”

  A smile tipped Ben’s lips upward. “Maybe.”

  “Ben!” Frustration nipped at Ziad for being shut out.

  “I’m sorry, Ziad. But yes, we do. And trust me when we say your find was helpful. We got a whole vial of the stuff from that case. All I can do is say thank you. Nothing else.”

  He might as well have added, “And don’t ask about it anymore.”

  “How’s Claire? Sounds like you spent a lot of time with her last night.”

  Ziad knew when to back off. “It was… a long night.”

  “Em said the thirtieth of April is always hard on her. I’m glad you could be there for her.” Ben stuffed his hands into the back pockets of his jeans. “You’re one of the best people I could think of to support her.”

  That assuaged some of Ziad’s frustration. “Thank you. I am planning on visiting her tonight.”

  A sly grin crossed his friend’s face. “Supper?”

  “Perhaps.”

  The grin turned to another smirk. “Have fun. Shower time, my friend. Get that cleaner.”

  Ziad groaned. At least learning how to clean his apartment, which took the rest of the afternoon, kept his mind from spinning in all directions. Finally, after he bid Ben goodbye and headed upstairs to clean up, his mind latched on to the Zap case. Not his. No, the FBI’s. And that of the task force. Well, he’d help. One way or the other. Until then, he had plans with one very beautiful woman.

  17

  By the afternoon, Claire felt human again. Along with some aspirin, a nap had chased away her hangover. A hot shower had cleansed her. If only she could repair her relationship with Ziad.

  She cringed. As she stood in a pair of jeans shorts and a red T-shirt, she stared at the afghan in a wad on her bed. And her Bible on the nightstand. She closed her eyes. What do I say to someone who I called an idiot and a party pooper? To someone I practically assaulted?

  No words came.

  Maybe cleaning up completely would help. She found the piña colada pitcher in the dishwasher. The counters were spotless, not one sign of the wicked mix she’d spilled the night before.

  She carried the Oriental rugs outside and hung them over the walkway rails leading to the dock. With a broom in hand to beat them, she headed back down the steps.

  “Claire, dear!”

  Claire smiled at her elderly neighbor, who lived next to her on the den side of the house. “Mrs. Chitworth! Good afternoon!”

  “I hope you’re doing well, dear.” The old woman carefully made her way down the stairs and stopped on her walkway so she stood across from Claire. “I saw you had someone over last night.”

  Ziad. She’d probably seen his 4Runner in the carport. “I did.”

  “I was watering my violets in my den when I noticed that young man of yours sitting in your den without his shirt on.”

  Claire’s stomach dropped. Her cheeks flamed. “I’m sorry?”

  In a dramatic whisper, Mrs. Chitworth said, “He didn’t have his shirt on. My, my, he’s a handsome fellow! You should keep that one around.”

  Oh, dear. What could she say to that? “Um—”

  “He’s quite a looker. Reminds me of my Henry when we were young.” Mrs. Chitworth winked. “Well, it’s getting too warm out here for this old woman. Take care, all right? And if you want, bring your fellow over for tea. I’d love to meet him sometime.”

  She shuffled toward her porch.

  Once her screened door banged shut, Claire wielded the broom like a baseball bat. What on earth? Ziad hadn’t been wearing his shirt? Why? Whap! Whap! Dust flew into the air as she beat the rugs with more force than needed. Wham! Slap! What had her neighbor thought? Moreover, why did she even care? Mrs. Chitworth had certainly gotten an eyeful. A smile pushed its way loose as she thought about her neighbor’s “eavesdropping.”

  Just as she spread the rugs on the dark hardwood, the phone rang.

  “I’ve been worried sick about you!” Sonja’s voice blasted in her ear before she even said hello. “I was so worried that if you hadn’t answered, I was going to come over there. Didn’t Ziad tell you to call me?”

  “I remember now. He told me this morning. I’m sorry I forgot.”

  “Wait. He told you when?”

  “Uh, this morning.” Claire winced and rubbed her forehead. “He stayed over last night.”

  “Claire, you know how that—”

  “Don’t worry. Nothing funky happened.” Talk about embarrassing. She drifted to the island and lightly fingered the petals of the yellow roses she’d found after he’d left.

  “Actually, I’m glad he stayed over. I know the thirtieth is rough for you. Let’s catch up on Tuesday, okay?”

  “Will do.” Claire sighed and placed the phone on its cradle in the family room. A folded towel from her half bath sat on the end table. Ziad must have used it for prayers. A blanket lay crumpled on one side of the couch.

  Guilt hit her. He was too scared to leave me alone. That’s how drunk I was. She shuddered. After folding the blanket and putting it on the bottom shelf of one of the end tables, she plumped the pillows and rearranged them. She set a stack of magazines and a picture of Ben and Emma on the couch so she could dust. A gleam caught her eye.

  “A watch?” Pure silver, it seemed, with its face of rich onyx and some sort of emblem created by tiny emeralds, topazes, and diamonds. A palm tree and two crossed daggers. She smiled and rubbed her thumb across the smooth crystal. “Ziad.”

  She’d take it to him when she ran out to do some errands.

  Now for her bedroom. She folded the afghan and draped it on a chair by the French doors before bending so she could lift the comforter to change the sheets. Wait. What were those black spots? She bent closer and studied the pale blue and yellow fabric. A button. More like three of them.

  Oh, dear. She eased onto the bed as her cheeks heated. Had she tried to kiss him? Maybe. She’d noticed his gaping shirt when he’d sat down beside her on the porch early this morning. Her hand must have caught the fabric. What had she done?

  She flopped backward onto the bed and stared at the rotating ceiling fan. “Lord, can this get any worse?” She held up her hand. “No, don’t answer that.”

  She found a fourth on the carpet. She’d return those along with the watch. Maybe she’d offer to mend his shirt as penance for her stupidity the night before.

  What else could she do? Prepare to have him walk out of her life. He probably thought she was promiscuous. After her behavior the night before, she wouldn’t blame him for that conclusion. Regardless of his reaction, she should at least apologize, and it wouldn’t hurt to dress up when she did it.

  Claire chose a deep blue sleeveless top and a broomstick skirt of cool Caribbean colors shot through with gold. She took her time with her makeup and dried her hair until it fell in soft waves past her shoulders. With purse in hand, she collected the baggie containing the watch and buttons and headed downstairs.

  Just as she opened the door to her Mustang, Ziad’s 4Runner pulled into the driveway.

  Her heart pounded. Sweat broke out on her palms, and the shakes began. Time to face him, and she didn’t even have her apology framed in her mind.

  Expression neutral, he climbed from the SUV and approached her.

  Oh, my… The thought stayed stuck in her head as she surveyed his trim build cloaked in white shirt and blue jeans. “Uh, hi. Um, do you want some iced tea?”

  How dumb could she get? She turned and almost fled up the steps.

  Ziad followed. “Please. Your aunt and uncle always shared with me when I visited with them.”

  “I thought Saudi was more of a coffee
place.” Her hands shook as she poured two tall glasses of tea. Would they stop already?

  “We drink tea as well.” He took his glass. Once more, that dark gaze of his cut right into her soul.

  Escape seemed to be the better option. “Do you want to go to the dock? It’s too nice to sit inside.”

  “Of course.” With a small bow, he stepped aside. “After you, madam.”

  As if facing her executioner, she trudged down the wood to the covered end, where two kayaks sat on a rack. A grill was in the open, and she settled on a bench across from it. What could she say? Oh, to have had more time to prepare!

  She squared her shoulders and bowed her head. “I—I’m sorry about last night.”

  “Forgiven.” That word came out almost instantaneously.

  Had she heard him right? “What?”

  “I forgive you.” His gaze remained focused on her. No anger behind it. No judgment. Just sincerity. He seated himself and focused on his tea.

  The silence turned awkward. She rushed ahead. “You’ve got to understand. I very rarely drink that much anymore.”

  “You had reason.”

  Huh? How did he know that? Had Emma tipped him off? She hadn’t said anything to her about it. “What do you mean?”

  “I confess I did a bit of snooping after you passed out. I knew something was not right. I am very sorry. I had no idea.”

  For a moment, Claire stared at the water. A stiff wind had come up, and clouds had begun building over the land. Storms were coming and not just over Charleston. She swallowed hard. “The day Sabirah and your family died, did you ever expect it would happen?”

  A pause as if he carefully considered her words. “No. Not at all.”

  “Same here.” She closed her eyes as she remembered that fateful day. Little Jack hugged her good morning, and they cuddled on his toddler bed for a moment. “Jackson had clinic, so he went to work at seven instead of 5:30. He liked to get some time in to catch up on charts. I got Little Jack to preschool. While he was there, I did some errands. I was exhausted by the time I picked him up.”

  She clamped her jaw shut. Before she realized it, she wrapped her arms around her belly, almost the same way she had exactly five years before. It twinged as if to sympathize with her sadness. “By that point, I was about two months pregnant with our second child.”

  “What?”

  She kept her focus on the water, lest she turn her head and see pity in his eyes. “That didn’t make the papers. It’s funny. I called Little Jack my dream child. Hardly any morning sickness. He barely fussed. He was sleeping through the night at four weeks. But this one?” She shook her head. “I had major morning sickness. I was exhausted all of the time. It was almost like some sort of wicked, strange payback.”

  “Did your families know?”

  “We’d told them that Sunday before.” She swallowed hard and picked up her glass. It trembled, this time from nerves rather than adrenaline. “Mama and Daddy had invited us for supper that night.”

  Ziad leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “But you did not go.”

  “No. That day, Little Jack had really gotten on my nerves. He hadn’t wanted to take his nap. He was whiny. By the time Jackson got home, I told him I was going to stay home and sleep while they went.”

  Images from that afternoon flashed before her. Jackson kissing her goodbye and telling her he loved her. Little Jack hugging her.

  She lowered her head and bit her lip.

  “How did it happen?”

  Oh, she really didn’t want to talk about it. She closed her eyes and shook her head.

  Warm hands covered hers.

  She opened her eyes.

  Ziad knelt in front of her. His grip remained firm, but in an assuring kind of way. As if he wouldn’t judge her. “Ziad…”

  “You have nothing to fear regarding last night. No one in your family knows. Not Ben. Not Emma. Not your parents.”

  No, but her neighbor and best friend knew.

  He straightened. “I may not have an answer, but I listen well.”

  Did she trust him? He hadn’t taken advantage of her. Hadn’t hurt her at all. No, he’d protected her, not just her body but her honor.

  She took a deep breath. “It was a drunk driver. Going a hundred down that road where Mama and Daddy live. Jackson didn’t see him because it was racing under a full moon without lights.” She covered a sob with her hand. “They never stood a chance even though the Lexus is supposed to be one of the safest cars out there. They died at the scene.”

  Now tears poured down her face.

  Like he’d done with her almost a month before, Ziad didn’t say anything, only settled beside her again and placed a handkerchief in her hands.

  “It’s so hard.” Her voice broke.

  “I know.”

  She took a deep breath to steady herself. “The funerals were a week later. The night after the services, I… I miscarried.” No need to go into the gory details. “It… it was bad, no, worse than bad. I… I had to have a hysterectomy.”

  She yearned for him to put his arms around her, not in a romantic sense but in one that comforted her when she so badly needed it. She wanted to hear him say she’d see them one day again, that physical death was not the end.

  Hah. Wrong guy for that.

  He didn’t say anything. Instead, he remained where he was on the bench, the three feet between them seeming like the Grand Canyon.

  After a moment, he spoke. “Please know I am sorry.”

  “I do.”

  “And I am sorry I so misjudged you last night. I thought you were—”

  “Promiscuous?” She winced. No surprise there when she recollected her behavior.

  “Yes. Now, I know better.”

  What could she say? Nothing. She stared at the harbor, much like she’d done from her French doors during her year of mourning. This time, the water comforted her.

  Ziad rose. He held out his hand. “May I?”

  She offered her tea glass, but he smiled and shook his head. Still the gentleman, something she truly appreciated.

  She took his hand and rose.

  He released her as soon as she was on her feet, then turned to her as they began walking toward the house. “I would like to take you to supper. I was going to yesterday because I could tell Thursday that you were sad. I think it would do you some good to breathe in life.”

  He was right on that count. “I’d love to.”

  “Then let’s go.”

  They wandered toward the house. Claire thought she heard the back door to Mrs. Chitworth’s house shut. A little smile forced its way loose before fading. Ziad hadn’t judged. Maybe, just maybe, they could salvage the evening.

  18

  “May I ask you something?” Three hours later, Ziad shared a booth with Claire at the same open-air restaurant where they’d dined a few weeks earlier.

  She cocked an eyebrow. “About?”

  How should he phrase this without upsetting her in public? “What happened after the funerals? And your miscarriage?”

  Her expression, which had been open, slid into neutral.

  A blunder again, but this time not cultural. Hastily, he added, “Only if you want to.”

  She sipped her iced tea and shifted on her bench. “It was a hard year.”

  “How so?”

  She lowered her gaze. “I didn’t leave the house.” She raised it. “Literally.”

  He stared. “How was that possible?”

  “Okay. I take that back. I went to see my doctor for my post-op appointment. But beyond that, I didn’t leave. My family made sure I ate. So did Mrs. Chitworth, my neighbor. They kept me company when almost everyone else abandoned me.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t think they knew how to deal with a woman who lost a husband and child all at once. I guess it was beyond awkward.”

  He could relate. Only Ben and Sami had been regular visitors during his stay in prison. “What happened? You ob
viously left the house at some point.”

  That got a smile, though those jade green eyes remained serious. “Oh, I did. I still remember that day. It was mid-May. I was staring at myself in my full-length mirror. Suddenly, I realized how skinny I was since I’d lost about twenty pounds. I hadn’t had a haircut in a year, and because I’d barely been eating, my hair was coarse, dull, and plain ugly. I was pale with dark circles under my eyes. Suddenly, I hated the way I looked.” She took a sip of tea. “That’s when it clicked. I wanted out of my prison.”

  This time, Ziad let her continue when she was ready.

  “Delia was visiting us while on vacation from her residency. When she came over, I told her I was going to get a haircut. I called Janie, my hairdresser, and she was so excited she came into the salon even though it was her day off.” Claire ran her hands down those locks, which now shone under the overhead lights.

  For a split second, he imagined himself doing the same thing. I need to focus on her story, not what I want to do. “What else did you do?”

  “Traded my minivan for the Mustang. What?” she asked when he started chuckling.

  “I could never envision you driving a minivan.”

  “I know it seems strange. We headed to the mall, and the makeup lady at Belk did me up nicely. I think I nearly blew Delia’s mind, but it was almost like God had said it was time to dance rather than mourn. I felt as if life was suddenly thrumming through me again.”

  “When did you go back to work?”

  “Fortunately, I’d kept up my continuing ed credits through online courses, so I got a job in the ED at Potter that summer before becoming a flight nurse in 2008.” Her expression closed a bit, but it passed so quickly that he wondered if he’d imagined it.

  Ziad called for the check. As they left, he turned to her. “Ice cream?”

  “I’ll not turn you down. Where we went last time is perfect.”

  So was the company. He took great pleasure in watching her sigh with ecstasy as she licked her cone. “Women here must like chocolate ice cream as much as women in Saudi Arabia do.”