Chapter 13. Return #8
“What do we do now?” Rania asks. She sits on the couch, her face lit with awe as she takes in the living room. “There.” She points to a bookshelf. “Nuhad’s father built that. It used to have little items from her mother. Tiny little souvenirs in between books.”
Haifa laughs again, filled with the joy and wonder of it all.
“Amazing,” she breathes.
“Let’s move in,” Marina says suddenly. “Really, I mean, why not? It’s ours.”
“Even with everything—” Haifa shakes her head. “I want to. Somehow, I want to live here. But can we? Legally?”
“Legally? Are you serious?” Marina asks. Khaled laughs under his breath.
Haifa doesn’t speak for a moment. She leans against the door of the closet and stares through the window, her thumb rubbing absentmindedly over the healed skin of her arm.
“It tried to kill us. Both of us.” She shakes her head.
“But somehow, I understand. It was lonely. Grieving. When we returned, it just—it wanted us to stay. And honestly, now that we’re here, I do want to stay.
I feel at home here. I can feel Tata here.
I can feel my own grandparents. I can’t explain it. ”
“Whatever was here is gone. I’ve known this home long enough—it’s empty,” Rania says. “So it’s yours. If you want it.”
“It’s ours,” Marina repeats gently, but whether it is this revelation or the kindness in her voice, Haifa slides against the door to sit on the floor. She pulls her knees in. Silent tears fall, pooling on her face and dripping into her still-wet hair.
“It does feel like home. It does,” Haifa repeats.
“We’ll help however you need,” Khaled says softly. He kneels beside her.
“We can stay here,” Marina urges. She sits beside her mother, nudging her shoulder with her own. “Tariq told us to take care of it. It’s our job to protect the house now. It’s our responsibility.”
“Maybe. Maybe,” Haifa says, but she’s nodding. “Yes. Yes. Maybe.”
“We’ll change the locks. Barricade the doors.” Marina doesn’t know where this voice is coming from, but it is full-throated in its seriousness. Heat flushes her cheeks and she breathes heavily, an abundance of air flowing into her lungs with the idea. “What can they do?”
Haifa finally smiles. “Why not?”
“Yes,” Marina says, leaning her head against Haifa’s shoulder.
“Use your American passports,” Rania says. “Tell them you’re American.”
“But we have to bury Tariq first. Before we can say it’s ours.
We’ll bury him next to your grandparents.
His parents.” Marina holds her breath, but the house doesn’t move.
She exhales. “I don’t care if they don’t let us.
I don’t care if they need permits and paperwork first. We’ll just show up with shovels and they can try and stop us. ”
“And I’ll change the locks.”
Marina sits back up and smiles at her mother. Haifa, for the first time in her life, doesn’t appear to be frazzled. Her cheeks are red and her eyes are still wet, but she looks surer about this than she ever has been about anything. Haifa pats her cheek.
“I need to take a bath. Get out of these wet clothes,” Marina says, standing. The weight of the storm leans heavily against her bones; there are sure to be robes in one of these closets.
“We need to get home,” Rania says, motioning to Khaled. “Are you sure you don’t want to stay with me?”
“We have to be here. There’s already a For Sale sign up in the window. We’ll rip it down, but they’re going to come back.” Marina shrugs. The plan is half formed, but the stones feel solid beneath her feet. “We’ll be prepared for whatever. We can buy it. We can squat here. Whatever.”
Haifa stands beside her. “I don’t think it’ll be that easy.”
“Yes, but you have us now. You have a home here.” Rania reaches for her hand. “We’ll figure it out together.”
“Do you want me to stay here tonight? Just in case?” Khaled looks between them, concern etched into his features.
“No. No, I think we’re safe here now.”
Marina and Haifa walk together to the door and bid Khaled and Rania good night. Though Marina knows she should feel some fear about staying in the house, she doesn’t. It really, truly is finally quiet. The haunted house of Haifa is no more.
“Good night,” Rania says over her shoulder. She takes Khaled’s arm as they descend the staircase, and in this departure, her lungs are finally weightless. There is no need to hold her breath as she walks from the house.
“Good night,” Marina says. “And … thank you.”
Haifa comes to stand beside Marina and through the open door streams the first light of dawn.
It’s a new day.
She watches as Rania and Khaled leave, and soon the taillights of their car sink into the soft blue.
As they turn at the intersection, the car illuminates a man leaning on his cane.
He brightens, then fades as the car disappears around the bend.
Haifa is still haunted, but their home remains.
For now, the storm has passed. The door clicks shut.
“I’m going to take a bath, okay?”
Haifa nods and lets go of her daughter. She walks to the kitchen and stands before the wallpaper. One hand reaches up and she pulls the thin material down, revealing the yellow underneath.
“I’ll be here,” she says.
Without knowing what she is looking for—but she does know, she does, it’s the same as when she went into the sea—Marina walks to the cupboard at the far end of the kitchen.
On the empty shelves stands a single item: an industrial-sized container of salt.
Marina hoists it down into her arms, and tiny flakes come off on her fingertips.
She carries it to the bathroom, and in the hallway shines the small glow of ghosts.
Nuhad and Tariq, Basel and Victoria. They breathe, and fade. The walls are finally quiet.
As warm water fills the tub, she watches the salt fall like snow into the basin. It clouds the water at first and then clears as it dissipates.
She strips, examining herself in the mirror. She doesn’t recognize the girl in the mirror anymore. Her skin is still flushed with warmth; her face is more gaunt, with lines chiseling the angles of her chin and cheeks. But she doesn’t just look different. Marina feels different.
Her wavy hair is still partially weighed down by water and the drying streaks have left chalky imprints against her complexion.
Everything looks heavy and yet feels light—her reflection melts before her eyes.
She locks eyes with this person, rubbing a thumb over her lips, feeling familiarity and yet seeing strangeness.
In this mirror, looking at her most raw and vulnerable self, Marina feels complete. She takes a deep breath and lets her shoulders fall, satisfied with the amount. The dyspnea is gone, for now.
Marina steps into the tub. The water is still hot; steam rises from its surface and her skin reddens further as she submerges herself fully. Beneath the surface, everything is quiet. She opens her eyes in this cocoon, allowing the saltwater to consume her from the inside out.