Chapter Twenty-Four
“Just let it go,” Lulu advised.
“Please turn over,” her masseuse ordered. Lulu flipped over on her back, tucking the sheet neatly under her arms. I was on my stomach a few feet away getting pummeled by my masseuse, Suzie, a small woman with mighty hands and elbows with pinpoint precision.
It was Saturday, a couple of days after I ran into Lizzie at the cemetery.
Lulu had turned up before I’d even finished my morning coffee, insisting that I needed a self-care day after all I’d been through.
She booked massages and afternoon tea at a quaint shop in Old Town that served the tastiest tiny sandwiches.
The latter was a concession from my sister, who preferred tea at the Ritz but knew I favored the Alexandria waterfront.
Lulu and I were each naked under our sheets, our cots a few feet apart as we received side-by-side massages in the couples room.
Ali and I had never gotten a couples massage, and it occurred to me that now we never could.
Not that Ali would have been into it. I’d never bothered to suggest we get one because I knew he’d dismiss it as a waste of money.
“Let what go?” I asked my sister.
“Try to put that woman in your past. Look forward.”
“Would you just let it go if your husband left a house to an ex-girlfriend?” I winced as the masseuse’s elbow zeroed in on a tender spot near my shoulder blade. “Or would you try to find out everything there was to know about her and why he did that?”
Jenny murmured something in Mandarin. Suzie replied with an affirmative-sounding, “Mmm.”
Lulu released an exasperated sigh. “What do you hope to achieve?”
“Some closure. I really want to talk to Lizzie again.”
“You’re in la-la land if you really think that can happen.”
I opened one eye to look at her. “Why?”
She turned her head to meet my gaze. “Your husband dumped that girl to marry you. She’s not going to be super fond of you.”
This time, Suzie murmured something to Jenny. Then the two women traded a few quiet words back and forth. They were obviously talking about us. In the same way Lulu and I often switched to Arabic for the same purpose. But I didn’t have the energy to care what Suzie and Jenny overheard.
“She doesn’t have to like me,” I told my sister. “I just want to know the truth.”
“Even if she wasn’t sleeping with Ali, she could easily tell you that she was, just to hurt you. To get back at you for stealing him from her.” More words between the masseuses. “You’ll never know if what Lizzie Martins tells you is the truth.”
“I have to at least try.”
“I think you should focus on what was good and real between you and Ali,” Lulu said. “He was a caring husband and father. He made you feel loved and appreciated.”
Tears stung my eyes. I closed them, pretending to focus on the sensations provoked by Suzie’s expert fingers. “I have to make it make sense. I don’t want to wonder about Ali’s involvement with Lizzie for the rest of my life.”
Jenny and Suzie exchanged more quiet words.
“I read somewhere that your life has many seasons,” Lulu said. “Your season with Ali has come to an end. You’re entering a new season. See a therapist. Figure out what that means.”
Her advice made sense. I’d been in constant upheaval since Ali died. Maybe a grief counselor could help me sort out the tangle of emotions clogging my insides. But I felt like I needed to resolve this Cozy Glenn business before doing anything else.
The timer went off, signaling the end of our massage. The masseuses pounded our backs a few more times before leaving us, quietly closing the door behind them. As we were pulling our clothes on, Lulu got a call from Khalid.
“We can take our time and go shopping after tea if you want. I don’t need to get home to the kids,” she said when she hung up. “Khalid was supposed to meet up with Nasser, but Nasser apparently forgot he has a thing with his JMU friends.”
I swung my head toward her. “He’s meeting his college friends?”
“Yeah.” She gave me a wary look. “Why?”
“No reason.”
I enjoyed the tea and happily indulged in warm scones, delicate sandwiches, and tiny decadent desserts.
After we sufficiently gorged ourselves, Lulu and I went shopping.
We sampled different creams and eye shadows at the makeup counter and tried on ridiculously expensive loafers in the shoe department.
By the time I got home at the end of the day, I was happily worn out.
My mood soured as soon as I entered the kitchen. The refrigerator was buzzing. It wasn’t the full-fledged rumble that drove me crazy all those years ago, but it didn’t sound good.
Something about that noise jolted me back to the past. To Ali. And made me think of the time he fixed the refrigerator. These days it was hard to think of my husband without my mind immediately going to why he’d kept secrets from me.
I reached for my phone and called Nasser.
“Are you sure you’re up for this?” Nasser asked as we walked up to a tidy white brick cottage in Arlington. The get-together was at Sara Carr’s place.
“Why not? What could be worse than losing my husband and finding out he had a secret house?”
He cracked a smile. “When you put it that way.”
“Maybe they can give me some of the answers that Lizzie won’t provide. Or, who knows, maybe Lizzie will turn up.”
I was nervous. I’d rarely interacted with this group in the dozen years since Ali and I had left the bar early. Most of the JMU friends had reached out in some way after Ali died. Some made it to the burial; others didn’t because we laid Ali to rest less than twenty-four hours after the accident.
Sara greeted me with a hug. “How are you doing? And the kids, how are they?” I was drawn to Sara and could see us being friends. Her warmth felt genuine. She’d gotten married since we’d last met at the JMU reunion. Her husband was an earnest guy with boy-next-door vibes.
One by one, Ali’s old friends approached me with hugs and words of support. To be here with Ali so conspicuously absent felt surreal. But surprisingly, it wasn’t awkward. These people embraced me because of the love they’d had for my husband.
There was a lot of talk about Ali at dinner—old college stories I hadn’t heard before that made me smile.
When Muslims bury their dead, there are prayers at the mosque followed by the burial.
We don’t generally do memorial services, but that night at Sara’s, reminiscing with people who loved Ali, felt like one.
Throughout the evening, as I watched them laugh and eat and top off their wine, I couldn’t help but wonder if any of them, or maybe the whole group, knew about Lizzie.
After all, she’d been part of their inner circle since college.
Maybe they all saw me as the gullible wife who fell for every lie Ali fed me.
“Do any of you stay in touch with Lizzie Martins?” I asked as we finished coffee and dessert.
“I was wondering about her too,” Ian said. “I didn’t see her at Ali’s funeral.”
Sara sipped her wine. “I haven’t talked to Lizzie in seven or eight years.”
“What was she up to when you last talked to her?” I asked.
The people at the table exchanged glances.
I was so desperate for information that I decided to be honest. “Ali left a house to Lizzie.”
Sara almost choked on her wine. “A what?”
“A house that I never knew he owned. It’s in North Carolina.” I hated how high and thin my voice got. “I found out about the property after he died.”
The shock in the room was palpable. Everyone went quiet.
“Are you sure?” Ben asked after a long pause.
“Positive.” I pressed my lips inward, trying to keep my emotions in check. “I saw her briefly.”
“Who?” Ian asked. “Lizzie? Where did you see her?”
“At her lawyer’s office and at the cemetery. I found her visiting Ali’s grave site.”
“Lizzie was in town?” Ian set his coffee down. “For how long? Is she still here?”
I shrugged. “I have no idea.”
Sara reached for her wine. “Did you ask her about the house?”
“I tried, but she wouldn’t talk about it.” I blinked back tears. I managed to keep it together most of the time, but now all my emotions were snowballing. “All I know for sure is that she got a house that Ali made payments on from one of our joint accounts.”
“My God,” Sara breathed.
Ben blinked. “That dirty dog!”
Nasser scowled at him. “Watch it, Rodriguez.”
Ian studied me. “Did you have any idea that Ali and Lizzie were still in touch?”
“No.” I sipped the dregs of my decaf coffee to calm my emotions. “Naturally, I have a lot of questions. If anyone here knows anything, please tell me.”
“He seemed so into you,” Ben said wonderingly. “I find it hard to believe Lizzie was still in the picture.”
My heart lifted to hear one of my husband’s oldest friends express his belief that Ali had truly loved me. It gave me a sliver of hope that the caring, faithful version of Ali could still be real.
“I agree,” Sara chimed in after a beat. “I can’t wrap my head around it. Ali wasn’t the cheating type.”
“With all due respect,” Ian said, his tone a little harsh, “all men are the cheating type given the right circumstances.”
Nasser shot him an amused look. “Sounds like someone is speaking for himself.”
“All men and women are the cheating type,” Ian retorted. “It’s human nature.”
“The Ali affair theory has a major flaw,” Ben pointed out.
“Which is?” Sara asked.
“If a man wants to hook up with his sidepiece, he doesn’t buy her a house in another state. He gets her something close by, where he can see her regularly.”
I took a deep breath. “Why else would Ali buy Lizzie a house?”
“Where exactly is this property?” Ian asked.
“In Durham, near Duke University.”
“The last time I spoke to Lizzie, her marriage had just broken up,” Sara told me. “She did mention that she was moving away, but she didn’t say where to.”
“And this was about eight years ago?”
Sara nodded. “About that. Yes.” She paused. “I was shocked to hear she was getting a divorce. I thought that she was happy with her husband.”
I ran a finger around the rim of my mug. “How long was she married?”
“A long time,” Sara said. “Ten, eleven years. We kept in touch back then but, after her divorce, it’s like she vanished.”
Later in the car on the way home, Nasser scolded me. “You do realize that you just violated the terms of the NDA you signed?”
“I didn’t even think about the NDA.” I wasn’t thinking about the nondisclosure agreement because my thoughts were consumed with what Sara had told us. “Lizzie’s marriage broke up about eight years ago. The timeline fits with the purchase of Cozy Glenn.”
I pulled out my phone to see if I could find any details about Lizzie’s divorce. Now that I knew her full name maybe I’d have better luck. “Her marriage breaks up.” I typed her name into my phone as I spoke. “Maybe she was low on money and asked Ali to help her out?”
Nasser kept his eyes on the road. “Without telling his wife?”
“I don’t know if Ali cheated, but we do know that he wasn’t a saint. He lied to me about Cozy Glenn, at least by omission.”
“Please try to remember not to talk about the North Carolina house or its owner in the future. Slipping up like you did could be a very costly mistake.”
“What are your college friends going to do?” I scoffed. “Alert the media?”
“Just be careful, Amira. Please.”