Chapter Eleven
Now
I was exhausted by the time I arrived home after seeing Nasser, even though it was barely dinnertime.
Everything tired me out these days. Grief was like a computer program that was always running in the background, constantly draining my battery. I drove into the garage, pulling up next to Ali’s old Honda.
I’d cried when I picked up the dark-green sedan from the shop after Ali died. The thought that he’d never drive his car again tore my heart. It had been parked in the garage since. Next year, when Adam was allowed to have a car on campus, I’d let him take his father’s car.
Dragging myself into the house, I toed off my shoes and put on house slippers. I padded around in the darkness, closing the curtains and switching all the lights on. I’d always liked bright spaces, and that was even more true now that I lived alone.
The house crackled, the upstairs floor groaning slightly. Uneasiness slithered through me. When would I get used to being alone at night? Surely I’d lived on my own long enough now to be slightly more accustomed to the symphony of unidentifiable noises.
The floor above me groaned again, followed by the unmistakable sound of muffled footsteps on the upstairs carpet. I stilled. Maybe it was the kids. Had one of them come home in the middle of the week?
“Hello?” I stood at the bottom of the stairs, calling up the dark staircase. “Ayla? Adam?”
Silence met me. Even the house seemed to be holding its breath.
I paused for a few moments and, hearing nothing else, shook my head.
My imagination was getting the better of me.
I scurried up the stairs, turning on all the lights as I went, eager to reach the safety of my bedroom, where I could lock the door behind me.
Entering the primary bedroom, I slammed the door shut and pushed a comfortable stuffed chair up against it, which made me feel a little more protected. I stilled, listening, but the house was quiet.
With a slight breath of relief, I crossed over to the walk-in closet and pulled off my top. That’s when I heard it again. Footsteps creaking along the floorboards. Coming from down the hall. This time, I couldn’t pooh-pooh my fears. The sounds were undeniable.
Someone is in the house.
I froze, fear arrowing up my spine. Fighting the urge to panic, I dragged my shirt back over my head.
There was no way to call for help. My mobile was downstairs, and we didn’t have a landline in our bedroom.
What if I made a run for it? But the primary bedroom was at the end of the hall.
I’d have to go past all the other bedrooms to reach the stairs.
Think, Amira, think. I forced a calming breath, but it was more like a shallow huff. My heart slammed against my rib cage. How should I react if the intruder confronted me? I looked around wildly for something to protect myself with.
My gaze landed on the briefcase-like fireproof safe on the floor of Ali’s closet.
Ali stored titles to the cars and other important documents, like the passports and birth certificates, in the metal box.
I grabbed it, clutching the handle, and imagined swinging the portable safe up to bash the intruder in the head.
Maybe I’d stun him long enough to reach the stairs and escape to safety.
I stood completely still, listening for the intruder, although it was hard to hear anything over the pounding in my ears.
The footsteps had stopped, the silence broken only by my breath sawing in and out of my chest. I crept toward the bedroom door, trying not to make a sound.
Downstairs, a door slammed so hard, the windows shook.
“Help!” I screamed, assuming someone had just come in. It wasn’t logical, but it was the first thought that came to me. “Someone broke in!”
The house was silent again. Offering no help. No hope or comfort. Had the intruder slammed the door on his way out? Maybe he was gone.
My legs were shaky as I shoved the chair away from the door and quietly pulled it open.
I peered out of the window at the top of the stairs.
I couldn’t see much outside in the front yard, but movement near the street caught my eye.
Someone running in the shadows. The intruder?
I could barely make the figure out. No way to tell if it was a man or a woman.
Trying to regulate my breathing, I went to the nearest room, Ali’s office.
The light was on. The drawers were all pulled open, and what few papers had been on the desk were strewn across the floor.
I backed away, shock rippling through me.
This scene had nothing to do with my overactive imagination or paranoia.
Someone had actually broken into my house. But why?
What were they looking for?
“There’s a sensor on every window,” Nasser said a few hours later.
After a couple of uniformed police officers left, he’d gone out to buy a security system.
It was after ten o’clock by the time he finished installing it.
“I’ve put the app on your phone. Any time a door or window opens, you’ll get a notification. ”
Still rattled, I tried to focus on his instructions. “Do I have to turn it off and on?”
“No, you can leave it on all the time.”
Needing something to keep my hands busy, I gathered the security packaging and went to the kitchen. “What do you think they wanted?”
“Since the intruder seemed to only focus on Ali’s office, we have to assume they were after something Ali had.”
“But what? He rarely worked from home or brought any business papers home.”
“Maybe the officers who responded tonight will be able to come up with something.”
Pulling open the disposal drawer in the island, I automatically separated the trash from the recyclables.
I was still partially in shock. I couldn’t believe someone had broken into my house.
Had I interrupted a burglary? “This all seems unreal. Ali was just a regular guy, and suddenly I’m caught up in all this craziness. ”
He set a booklet down on the counter. “Here’s the guide to the security system in case you need it. Tomorrow we’ll see about installing a doorbell camera so you don’t have to open the door to speak to strangers. Plus, it might be a good idea to install outdoor cameras.”
I was on board with all of that. “The more security, the better. But I insist on paying you back for the security system you bought me today. I will not take no for an answer.”
He raised his palms toward me. “I know better than to fight with you.”
“Good, and I’m giving you dinner for installing it.”
“That’s not necessary. It’s too late to eat—” he began.
I opened the fridge. “I have leftover maklooba.”
He switched course. “You know I never turn down Arabic food.”
“That’s what I thought.” I made us two plates of the rice, fried vegetable, and lamb dish that was cooked in a lamb broth, and heated it in the microwave.
The doorbell rang.
“Who’s that?” Nasser asked, half standing.
“Why don’t you sit down and eat while your food is hot. I’ll get the door. It’s probably Lulu.”
“Make sure you check to see who it is before you open the door.”
The instant she saw me, Lulu launched herself in my direction, enveloping me in a bear hug. “Are you OK? What the hell! You must have been so scared.”
“It did freak me out,” I admitted, relishing the warm comfort of her embrace. It felt like forever since I’d been held.
“You’ve got to come stay with me.”
I was tempted to take her up on her offer, but moving out of the home Ali and I had shared for most of our marriage would confirm my worst fears about myself: that I was unworldly and dependent and couldn’t make it without a man.
“No, thank you.” I shook my head as I led her into the kitchen. “I like to sleep in my own house.”
“That was before your husband died and someone broke in!” She spotted Nasser eating at the counter. “Maybe you can talk some sense into her.”
He spoke around a mouthful of maklooba. “I agree that it would be safer for her to stay somewhere else.”
I crossed my arms over my chest. “I’m not going anywhere. The kids have a short school break coming up, so I won’t be alone.”
“But you will be after they leave,” Lulu pointed out.
“Nasser just installed a security system. And I’m going to have cameras put up outside.
” Maybe I was in denial, yet again, but whoever broke in didn’t seem to be after me.
The intruder ran away the minute they could, rather than confront me.
Besides, I wasn’t about to draw any potential danger to Lulu’s house. She had young children.
“Aren’t you afraid to sleep here alone?” she asked.
Yes. But I needed to prove to myself that I could stand on my own two feet.
Besides, leaving the house would be like relinquishing another piece of my old life.
Purchasing the house with Ali and making it into our home—a haven for us and our children—was core to our life as a couple.
I wouldn’t allow fear to push me out. I’d lost enough.
“I’ll be OK now that I have a security system,” I said, pretending to be braver than I felt. I looked to Nasser. “And maybe we could put a better lock on the door to the primary bedroom?”
“No problem. I’ll take care of it first thing in the morning.” Nasser rose and rinsed his plate off in the sink. “I’ll leave you two ladies to it.”
I followed him out. “Thanks for the security system.”
“Anytime. Oh, I almost forgot.” He reached into his jacket pocket and produced a small blue canister. “This is for you.”
“What is it?”
“Pepper spray. Just in case,” he said quickly. “It attaches to your key chain, but you can carry it separately in your purse.”
“OK.” I accepted his offering without protest. “Thanks. I’ll keep it with me whenever I go out.”
“Good.” He reached for the door. “I’m glad you’re being reasonable about security.”
“Why wouldn’t I be? I’m not a complete idiot.”
What I didn’t say was that I was my children’s only surviving parent. I needed to stick around for them as long as I could.
After several days of trying, I finally got Fred Perkins on the phone.
“I didn’t realize your husband had passed away,” he said. “Please accept my condolences.”
I asked about the house and whether, as Ali’s spouse, it now belonged to me. After a long pause, Perkins finally answered.
“I have the operating agreement right here.”
“And?” I pressed, my heart pounding hard. “What does it say?”
“I’m afraid I can’t disclose that information. The contents of the operating agreement are private.” He cleared his throat through the phone. “However, I can tell you that the house at 104 Cozy Glenn Lane does not belong to you.”
“But . . . how can that be?” I was speechless. Flustered. Floored. “My husband paid for that property out of our joint savings account. Who gets the house?” I held my breath, waiting for him to utter Carol Darius’s name.
“Unfortunately, that is also confidential. I am very sorry.” And he did sound it. I could hear the sympathy in his voice.
“You’re telling me that my husband used our jointly earned money to buy a house and now that he’s dead I get nothing?”
Since Ali’s death I’d felt mostly shock, followed by a numbness.
I’d experienced the sensation of feeling disconnected from myself, all my emotions muted.
But now, anger and frustration hammered through me.
If there was any question whether I could still feel anything, learning my husband left a secret house that we paid for to someone else answered that question.
“Again, I am very sorry,” Fred Perkins said. “All I can tell you is that another member of the LLC gets the house. There are provisions in the operating agreement that upon the death of one of the members, the other member would get the house.”
The other member. “Does that mean there were only two members in the LLC? My husband and one other person?”
“It would not be appropriate for me to disclose anything further. Again, please accept my most sincere condolences for your loss.”
My phone buzzed right after I hung up with Fred Perkins. I jumped, startled. I’d been on edge since the break-in. Especially whenever I was home alone.
My daughter’s name popped up on the screen. Relief moved through me. I took the call. “Hi, honey.”
“Hey, Mom.”
“How’s school?”
“It’s a lot of work, as usual. What are you up to?”
“Nothing much,” I lied. “Just working.”
“How was that house you went to see in North Carolina?”
I stumbled. “How . . . was what?”
“The house you went to see in North Carolina?”
I swallowed. My throat felt like sandpaper. “How did you know about that house?”
“Mom?” Impatience tinged her words. “Are you OK? You told me you and Auntie Lulu were going to see the biggest house in the United States.”
“Oh, you mean the Biltmore Estate.” The tightness between my shoulder blades eased. “Yeah, it was fine.”
“What else would I be talking about?”
“Sorry, I was in the middle of researching a new exhibit project,” I lied. “I was distracted.”
“Are you busy?” she asked. “Should I let you go?”
“No, no.” I wanted to speak to my baby girl. Hearing her voice in the midst of all this chaos made my heart happy. “I can work on that later. How are you doing?”
“OK.”
I doubted that, so I decided to be honest. “I’m worried about you.”
“Don’t be. I’m fine.”
“You keep saying that, but you don’t seem fine. You’ve lost weight. You’re not yourself.”
“Are any of us the same?” The words were sharp. “How can we be?”
“You’re right. We can’t.” Tears stung my eyes. We’d lost so much, including the sense of safety that Ali provided. And my absolute belief in him as a faithful husband.
I fought to keep it together. The kids didn’t need to know that my world was falling apart for a second time.
As I spoke to my daughter, a crystal-clear thought formed in my mind, possibly the first completely lucid one since my husband’s accident: I had to protect my kids at any cost. The last thing they needed was to share my confusion and growing doubts about their father.
Once I figured out what was going on with the secret house, I’d explain everything to them.
Even if he left a house to his mistress? a voice inside me asked. I prayed I’d never have to cross that bridge. For now, at least, it had to be mentally healthier for our children to continue to believe in their dad.
Even if I wasn’t sure how much I still did.