Lost in Thyme E-Book

taha lilas

• Herausgeber: Hamad Bin Khalifa University Press
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2020

Beschreibung

When Sami Amara’s father suddenly dies, he is confronted with a past that he never knew existed: a mysterious girl, now woman, and promises unfulfilled. Single mother Petra Haddad has grown accustomed to a life of routine, predictability and…loneliness. When a lawyer calls her up to discuss the will of a man she never even knew, her world is turned upside down. Thrust together by fate, as their lives and histories entangle and intertwine, will they be able to forge a shared future together or will fate once again intervene?

Leseprobe

To the warm heart of my mother,

Nawal

CHAPTER ONE

Kuwait, 2016

This must be a mistake. He was not the one who should be here.

Sami Amara eased onto the backseat of the black Mercedes-Maybach S600. He studied a lost luggage receipt and gritted his teeth. He couldn’t bear being caged in this car for long, no matter how luxurious the interior. The driver’s slow exit from the airport added to his misery. Stuffing the receipt into the breast pocket of his suit jacket, he stretched his legs as far as he could in the limited space.

Several car horns blared from behind.

Everything around him objected to his presence. He buckled his seat belt, freed his trapped tie and loosened it.

His mobile phone buzzed. He searched his pockets until he discovered the phone had slipped out of his trousers and lay on the seat beside him.

He eyed the caller ID and answered his brother’s call. “What’s wrong, Fareed?”

A red Ford truck in the farthest lane to the right cut sharply into the left lane and screeched ahead of the Mercedes. Sami’s driver slammed on the brakes. Sami’s seatbelt locked and dug into his chest. The Ford sped off. Cars in other lanes honked, burying whatever Fareed said. Sami unlatched his seatbelt and fumbled to adjust it. “Say that again?”

“We really need to get to work.”

“Hell, I just landed.”

“I can’t sign or do anything in Houston until you finalize things with this Haddad woman in Kuwait.”

Sami’s eyes followed the Ford squeezing its way between cars. A bright yellow Maserati speeding up from the left sprayed sand onto his window. He shuffled to the other side away from the dirtied glass and latched his seatbelt. “Don’t worry. I’ll get to the bottom of this.”

Fareed exhaled into the phone. “Who the heck is she? Where did she come from?”

“I have no idea. Haven’t seen anyone yet.”

“Vaughn didn’t meet you at the airport?”

“He sent a limo service. I’ll call you as soon as I have something.” Sami ended the call and braced himself.

Once they reached the highway, the limo driver surprised Sami with his skill, weaving away from careless motorists who drove as if they owned the road.

Sami’s sight adjusted to the yellowness of his surroundings. Small patches of trees and sand-dusted shrubs sprinkled sides of the road that cut through the desert—a black ribbon floating on a sea of sand. Villas and houses, some the colour of dried mud, dotted the horizon in the shimmering distance, their architectural designs varying in degrees of complexity. Lonely palm trees poked their heads above high walls. A concrete one-story cube with small windows stood out. The car turned into its parking lot and cruised to a stop.

Sami planted his feet on the hot ground and gripped the door’s inside armrest to keep his balance. The asphalt under the soles of his leather shoes felt viscous. His sunglasses fogged, and he took them off to check he wasn’t sinking into the molten surface. He used his necktie to clean his lenses, adding smudges with the sweat-soaked silk. He slipped his glasses into his shirt pocket and took in a long breath, inflating his lungs despite the heat, tolerating its swift burn.

This hostile environment did not matter. He could take it. He could take anything but being confined in that car for another minute. He watched the Mercedes drive off and shook his head. His torturous ride was an oddly fitting way to top-off a miserable twenty-three hour trip from Houston.

Sami entered the office building, noting the big sign overhead that spelled Amara & Sons Construction Company in bold red letters. The same was written in Arabic next to the company emblem. Walking into the chilled interior, he faked a cough to hide a shiver brought on by the sudden temperature drop. Where were the restrooms? He felt a sudden urgency.

“Mr. Amara.” A stout, white-haired man met him in the lobby and offered his hand. “Allan Vaughn, chief legal counsel. We spoke on the phone?”

“Right.” Sami matched Vaughn’s strong grip. “Everyone calls me Sami.”

Vaughn clasped Sami’s elbow with his other hand. “Wish we’d met under better circumstances. Your father will be greatly missed.”

Sami gave a curt nod and freed his arm. He had no desire to waste a single minute on small talk. He needed to finalize this business as quickly as possible. He shrugged off his jacket, rolled up his sleeves and told his bladder to calm down. “I’d appreciate an update.”

“Of course.” Vaughn led the way to his office.

The industrial fluorescent lighting and low ceiling pressed onto Sami. He fought the need to hunch his shoulders and headed toward the only window in the room. If he opened it to this sweltering heat, he would look like an imbecile. His eyes sought the air-conditioning vent between the white ceiling panels, and he imagined the ventilation duct opening to the outside world at the other end. He willed his nervous heartbeat down a notch.

Over the years, he had mastered a couple of tricks to suppress his claustrophobia. Up to a point. And today was proving to be a hellish trial. He had endured the arduous flight on tightly-sealed planes to sort out the mess his father had left for him in this place. His control over his body slipped from his grasp.

“Kuwaiti heat getting to you?” Vaughn said in a condescending tone. “You’ve worked in harsher climates than this, haven’t you?”

Out in the open, Sami wanted to say. He clenched his jaw and let the snide remark roll over him. “Just a little tired from the flight. So, where are we?”

“I have the documents ready.” Vaughn produced a folder from the massive desk. “All you need is to have Mrs. Haddad sign them.” He motioned toward one of the leather chairs. “Drink?”

“Water’s fine.” Sami stayed rooted to his spot by the window. Heat radiated from the glass pane and gave him a strange measure of comfort. He took the icy water bottle Vaughn offered. “Have you contacted her?”

“We’ll meet with her tomorrow at nine. Thought I’d give you time to rest. Get over the jet lag.”

Sami decided against taking a sip of water, to appease his bladder, and placed the bottle on the windowsill. “We’re meeting here?”

“I advised her to hire a contract lawyer. Recommended someone I know. She declined and chose someone else.” Vaughn checked a business card on his desk. “Rida Al Faisal. He arranged for the meeting to be at his office downtown.”

“And she has no idea what this is about?”

“Only that it concerns her father. She asked me questions. I had no answers.” Vaughn tapped his index finger on the folder. “Do you?”

Sami shook his head. “I’m in the dark, too.” He pointed at the folder. “I’d like to see those sealed envelopes Dad left in his will.” He studied Vaughn, trying to gain the measure of the older man. Vaughn had come into the company two years ago to oversee the Kuwaiti branch. His eyes shifted like a ferret and landed everywhere except directly on Sami. Would he prove trustworthy?

Vaughn sauntered over, a white envelope in each hand. “Since your father stated you both need to be present to open them, I saw no point giving this woman a heads-up over the phone.”

Sami examined the seals and the handwritten names. Was this his father’s handwriting? Working on construction sites, his occasional correspondence with his father was through emails and typed documents. At thirty-two years of age, he struggled to remember what his father’s handwriting looked like. When was the last time they had spoken? Last summer when he was on assignment in Costa Rica. And what was it about? Nothing personal. He had discussed business details to assure his father the resort project was completely under his control. Ever since the Chile disaster early in his career, Sami scrutinized contractors and worked hard to regain his father’s trust. He had quickly learned to depend on no one.

Sami handed back the envelopes. “Did you find out who this woman is? Is she any relation to Dad?”

“Nothing I could find in any records. Her father Waleed Saba and your father went to the same high school before your father left Kuwait for America.”

“That was more than forty years ago. They didn’t keep in touch?”

“It doesn’t seem so.” Vaughn shrugged. “The school was destroyed during the first Gulf War. No records remain. And your father didn’t elaborate, told me to find Mr. Saba’s daughter.”

“Haddad is her husband’s name, I take it?”

“Therein lies the problem.” Vaughn raised his hand. “Her mother changed her name to Clayton when they moved to the States. When she died, a spinster aunt adopted Petra, and she became Petra Keats. Then she married and returned to Kuwait as Petra Haddad.” Vaughn shook his head. “I spent a number of billable hours searching for Petra Saba.”

“How much time?”

“Since March. Your father asked me to search for her soon after he was diagnosed.”

Vaughn finally looked Sami in the eye. He let his sentence hang in the air for several heartbeats.

Sami maintained eye contact and didn’t flinch, certain Vaughn had known long before he did about his father’s illness. Vaughn had watched his father draw his last breath. Here in Kuwait. Away from his sons, his family. What other secrets did this guy possess?

“And her mother?” Sami asked.

“Deborah Kirkwood was from Milwaukee. Died of breast cancer when Petra was seven. Like I said, the sister adopted her. That’s all I could gather.” Vaughn scratched his head. “As far as I know, Petra never met your father.”

Vaughn went to the long row of metal filing cabinets opposite his desk and pulled out a manila folder. “Everything my detectives discovered is here.” He waved the file in the air, a faint smirk on his face, daring Sami to abandon his spot by the window.

Sami turned his gaze toward the dancing leaves of a lonely tree at the edge of the parking lot. “What line of work was her father in?”

“Partner in an import export company. Mainly household appliances. He inherited the family business as an only son.” Vaughn flipped open the folder. “Company records were destroyed during the war, and nothing else is registered in his name. In May 1990, Petra’s mother reported her husband missing to the American Embassy in Kuwait.”

“Wait, Petra’s father disappeared three months before the Iraqi invasion?”

“That’s right. His wife took Petra to her family in Milwaukee. She was four at the time.”

Sami leaned his shoulder against the window and folded his arms. “When did Petra return to Kuwait?” He stopped shy of asking why.

Vaughn checked the folder. “2013. She teaches at the American School. Math, I believe. One son. Her husband was a teacher, too.”

Sami arched his eyebrows. “Was?”

“Oh, I didn’t mention she’s a widow? Her husband died in 2014. Something to do with his heart.”

“Was he old? Could he be the recent connection to Dad?”

“He was thirty-four. A couple of years older than you. Odd, isn’t it?” Vaughn slanted his pale lips into a side smile. “My sources didn’t find a single connection between her husband and your father. I believe the woman is the common factor here.” Vaughn gathered the folders and slipped them into a leather briefcase. “You can go over these tonight after you’ve rested. My driver will take you to your hotel.”

Vaughn held out the briefcase for Sami. “Your father gave me clear instructions on how to do this. I don’t understand the reasons behind his decisions, but it’s my duty to see them through as he directed.” Vaughn placed his hand on Sami’s shoulder. “I know you were never involved in the logistics side of the company. Your father made it clear he wanted you to oversee this transaction instead of Fareed.”

Sami grabbed the leather briefcase. “What are you talking about?”

“You’ll understand once you read what’s in there.”

Showered and wrapped in the plush hotel bathrobe, Sami grabbed a bottle of Perrier from the room’s mini-fridge to settle his upset stomach. He lounged on the bed, leaned his head to the headboard and closed his eyes. Before he tackled the contents of the briefcase, he promised himself five minutes rest, only to awake hours later, his neck stiff and his feet cold. If it hadn’t been for the bellman delivering his lost-and-found luggage, he would have slept on through the entire afternoon.

He stretched and headed into the bathroom. His thick dark hair flattened at the back of his head and shot out on both sides of his face. He ran wet fingers through his hair.

The luxurious bathroom had no windows, and the marble walls seemed to move closer. Sometimes, his eyes played tricks on him. He lifted his arms to his sides, gaining a good sense of the empty space. To compound his phobia, his more than average height made him perceive enclosed places as smaller than they actually were. He waved his arms around and tried to shake off the illusion.

He checked his laptop for work-related emails. Nothing required immediate attention, and he went through his mobile phone messages. Six were from his brother, his tone escalating in levels of urgency.

He dialled Fareed’s number. “Did I wake you?”

“I’m already up,” Fareed whispered. “It’s five in the morning here.”

“Where’s here?”

“Hold on. Let me get out of the bedroom. Don’t want to wake Lora.”

“You’re still in Houston? I thought you were going to Dallas after the funeral to seal that deal tomorrow?”

“Couldn’t. The twins came down with a cold. I didn’t want to leave Lora by herself.” Fareed yawned aloud. “Besides, everything is frozen until you settle matters.”

Sami spread the files on the table before him. He had to hand it to his younger brother. Fareed was a devoted father, never letting work come before his family. “You sounded more frantic than usual in your last message.”

“Did you find out anything?”

“I have in my hands the file Allan Vaughn prepared about the woman. You’ve dealt with him. What’s your read on the guy?”

“Dad trusted him. And you know how Dad was when it came to assessing people.”

Sami rubbed the bridge of his nose. He knew nothing about his father’s attitude toward people. He didn’t know much about his father’s attitude toward many things.

He scanned the file. “Let’s see. Petra Haddad, born in Kuwait in ‘86, moved to Milwaukee with her mother in 1990, master’s degree in accounting from UW, married in 2010, returned to Kuwait in 2013 with her husband. He died a year later.”

“Wow. That didn’t last long.”

“That’s about it. Nothing stands out.” Sami rifled through the rest of the file looking for a picture and found an old, out of focus image. Interesting.

“Could she be . . . family?” Fareed asked.

“Hell, I don’t know.” Sami flipped through another folder, scanning legal documents drawn up and signed by Vaughn.

“Can’t see Dad having a mistress, being unfaithful to Mom.” Fareed drew in a long breath. “That would destroy her.”

“Keep Mom out of the loop for now. Until I find out more.” Sami’s eyes landed on a particular document. He rose to his feet. “Oh, shit!”

“What is it?”

“Look, I’ll get a better idea after I meet this mystery woman and open the sealed letters.” He swallowed. “I’ll call you tomorrow as soon as we’re done.”

“Wait,” Fareed barked.

His raised voice must have woken the twins. Sami heard loud cries in the background and welcomed the interruption. He didn’t know how to explain what he held in his hand.

“Go take care of your kids, Fareed. I got a handle on this. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

Sami set his phone on the table, reached for the grainy photo and studied the hazy image, which looked as if it had been cropped from another snapshot. Vaughn and his detectives couldn’t provide a better picture of this woman?

Sami flipped open his laptop and went online, searching for her name, in all its variations. The same goddamn image popped up on the UW website graduates’ list, showing her standing in a group. He searched social media outlets. Nothing. He slammed the laptop shut. Who in this day and age didn’t have their pictures plastered all over the Internet?

He flopped onto the bed and tossed the photo on the nightstand. Reaching for the lamp switch, he muttered, “Until tomorrow, mysterious Mrs. Haddad.”

CHAPTER TWO

Petra ran to catch the elevator before the doors closed. She edged next to a woman in one corner and dug into her bag for her lawyer’s business card to check the floor number. Twentieth. She addressed the tall man blocking the keypad.

“Eshreen, law samaht.”

Dressed in a finely tailored black suit, the man ignored her request.

Had she not correctly pronounced the Arabic number? Petra connected eyes with the other woman, who asked for the fifth floor.

The man stepped to the side and faced them with unmistakable nervousness, jaw muscles pumping fast, eyes shifting from side to side.

“Sorry! Could you say that again?”

His voice sounded coarse, as if something was stuck in his throat. Judging by his accent, the man was American. Seeing that floor number twenty was already pressed, Petra waited for the other woman to repeat her request in English. She did so, he obliged and the elevator jolted upward. The American inched closer to the doors, his nose almost touching the reflective surface, hands tapping the sides of his thighs. His stance reminded Petra of Elias on his way to a birthday party, ready to bolt from the car as soon as it came to a stop. She winced at the foolish thought, comparing the grown man to her six-year-old son.

Petra shifted her gaze to the woman beside her to see if she, too, sensed something was off with this man. Clad in an Yves Saint Laurenthead cover that matched her bag, the woman kept her eyes fixed on her mobile phone. Petra looked down at her aching feet and suppressed a groan. She must have scuffed her left shoe when she got out of her car. She had bought the pricy pumps just yesterday. No point fretting about it now. She tried to relax.

Over the past two days, she had considered numerous possibilities for this meeting. Ever since receiving a phone call from the Vaughn fellow, she had dug through her father’s papers to figure out the connection. At first she thought it a case of mistaken identity, but when Vaughn insisted on a meeting with her and a lawyer, she felt that she couldn’t afford to brush him off. Vaughn might have news of her father. Was it possible he was alive after all these years?

The elevator stopped at the fifth floor. The American dashed out while the doors pulled apart. He lifted his head and inflated his chest, unclenching his jaw in obvious relief. He stretched out a hand to stop the doors from closing and waited for the other woman to exit.

Petra hid her surprise by feigning interest in her bracelet. He must have been holding his breath the entire time. She dipped her nose to her shoulder and sniffed her cotton dress. She had dabbed droplets of rose water fused with a mix of aromatic oils behind her ears this morning as usual. The mellow scent lingered. And that woman wore oud wood essence, for sure. Many affluent Kuwaiti women used the aroma-rich oil to perfume their clothes and hair. Petra recognized the sweet exotic fragrance as soon as she entered the elevator.

What offended the American’s senses, then? Why did he hold his breath?

He stepped back in and let the doors close. This time, he kept his dark eyes on the ceiling fan. Petra couldn’t look away, fascinated to see if he would hold his breath to the twentieth floor. Small beads of sweat gathered on his creased forehead below short, dark bangs. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down, stretching tanned skin with a copper tint, not the dark brown shade she was accustomed to seeing on most men here. Lighter shades spread out in thin lines from the sides of his eyes, suggesting he spent too much time outdoors without sunglasses.

He pulled back his broad shoulders and stiffened, stretching his white shirt enough to show tight muscles underneath. His build defined raw masculinity. He must have made the gesture to show off. This fellow knew how to highlight his assets. He flexed his hands a couple of times before shoving them into his trouser pockets. The trousers wrapped round him well.

Fearing her cheeks were about to flame, Petra snapped her gaze to her feet. She jerked her bag open and pretended to search for something. Good thing that ceiling fan fascinated him so much—perhaps he hadn’t noticed her shameless gawking.

Why was this elevator so slow? And what was wrong with her today, acting like a lustful teenager? She was a thirty-year-old mother. A respectable teacher, for heaven’s sake.

The doors parted at the twentieth floor. She shot out and hurried down a long hallway, looking for suite 2026. She was a good half-hour early. She picked up her pace anyway, trying to distance herself from the intriguing male specimen behind her. Her senses were on high alert and she needed a clear head for this meeting.

Entering her lawyer’s office, she came face to face with a young woman. Pitch-black hair pulled back from unblemished creamy skin in a tight bun. Kohl-framed dark, intelligent, questioning eyes stared steadily, not a hint of a smile on her stunningly beautiful face.

Petra introduced herself using the few Arabic words she had so carefully practiced. “Sabah elkhair. Ana Petra Haddad.”

“You are early.” The woman spoke English in an accusatory tone. Dismissing Petra’s good morning wishes, she checked her computer screen and clicked the mouse several times. “We are not ready.” She rearranged a stack of papers on the desk. “Do you want to drink something?”

“No thank you,” Petra mumbled, deflated after the effort she had put into correctly pronouncing the difficult Arabic words. This was not her lawyer. She had talked to a man over the phone, and he was nicer, not so bossy.

“I’ll be back.” Petra left the office and followed signs to a public restroom. She checked her reflection in the longest mirror. Nothing out of place. The blue cotton fabric of her dress was thick enough, none of her lingerie showed beneath. The pencil-cut dress was modest and simple, it did nothing to accentuate her figure. Twisting her arm behind her, she felt for the zipper, secure in its place. She never wore makeup during the day, so no mascara, and no eyeliner ran under her eyes. If only she could carry a small bottle of perfume in her bag like every woman she knew, but her allergies deprived her of such indulgence. Her sensitive nose and skin could only tolerate aromatic chemical-free oils, and she smelled the fragrance of her special blend clear enough on her clothes and hair. Using her fingers, she combed down her bangs, making sure they completely covered her forehead. If that woman found offense in what she saw, that was her problem. Petra gave her reflection a firm nod and returned to the office.

Not bothering to hide her rolling eyes, the woman ushered Petra into an inner office this time around and introduced her to the head lawyer. Mr. Faisal fit the image in Petra’s head. Old, fat and loud. He spoke English with a proper British accent. The authoritarian woman turned out to be his assistant. When she left the room, Petra breathed a sigh of relief. She took a chair and followed instructions to sign representation documents explaining how she should deal with Vaughn and his client Sami Amara.

At exactly nine o’clock, two men walked into the office. Petra bit the side of her lip. Sami Amara turned out to be the intense man she had encountered in the elevator. That might explain his odd behaviour. Was he dreading this meeting as well? And what kind of name was Amara?

He extended his hand. “Thank you for meeting with us on such short notice.”

She shook his hand and found herself anticipating the moment he would clear the scratch in his throat. The moment never came. That was his voice, rough and weathered.

Things grew stranger after the introductions. While the lawyers exchanged papers and talked business for several minutes, she withstood Sami Amara’s blatant stare. He didn’t try to hide his visual examination of her, and she squashed her irritation. She had done the same to him during their ride in the elevator. It was only fair to give him a similar chance.

She swept her eyes upward from his polished leather shoes to a slightly oversized silver belt buckle. His tie matched the exact charcoal shade of his Armani suit. This man seemed well put together, but he was far from composed. He radiated tension, and her feminine antennae did not have to be finely tuned to pick it up.

She met his gaze, daring him to back down. She inserted her sunglasses through her hair to pull back her bangs, exposing all of her face, freckles included. Nothing to hide.

A heartbeat passed.

Sami clamped a fist to his mouth and dashed out of the office.

Petra arched one brow at the closing doors. What was that all about?

CHAPTER THREE

Sami cupped his hands under running water and splashed his face, trying to get a grip. He held the edges of the sink and let water drip down his nose. He had finally done it. Lost control.

A little girl of no more than five ran between the sinks giggling, her voice ringing like bells in the tiled room. Frozen to his spot, his eyes chased her until she ducked under his sink and flashed him a bright smile. Freckles on her left temple aligned in an arrow and pointed to big hazel irises. The red dots on her forehead stood out, prominent in her round face.

His hand shaking, he reached out to trace the arrow with his thumb.

Vaughn stormed through the door. “What the hell just happened in there?”

The girl put a chubby index finger to her lips and faded into the tiles.

Sami straightened and loosened his tie. “Had to get out of there.”

“You’re sick? You should’ve told me. I would’ve rescheduled the meeting.” Vaughn approached from behind. “You know how rude you were in doing that?”

“Couldn’t help it.” Sami snatched paper towels and dabbed his chin. He was not insane, after all. The girl with the arrow birthmark wasn’t a visiting apparition. She was real, and she sat in that office a few steps away from him. Nature’s stamp branded her, made her unique. Now he could give a name to the images which had plagued his world ever since he was a child.

A home video of him chasing the little girl around a dining table played in his head, he a boy of seven or eight. A memory? Or was it his imagination inventing the event to make sense of her sudden appearance? Who was she? And why had she stuck to his soul and muddled his mind all those years?

Vaughn checked the calendar on his mobile. “I’ll see if they can meet this afternoon.”

“No don’t. I want to get this over with.” Sami balled the towels and dumped them into the trash bin. “Must be something I ate on the plane. I’m sure they’ll understand.” To shut Vaughn up before he had a chance to ask questions, he left the restroom and hurried back. He wouldn’t waste any time. He wanted to know more about Petra. Did she have a memory of him?

Sami pulled the office door open, bolted inside and almost knocked Petra off her feet. He shot a hand to her arm until she regained her balance.

“Sorry! Didn’t see you there.” He dropped his hand. “You okay?”

“I was on my way out.” She lifted the strap of her bag onto her shoulder. “Obviously—this was a mistake.”

“Allow me to explain.” He stepped aside to give her more room and crushed something under his shoe. They both looked down. In the commotion, her sunglasses had slipped off her head. Shit! He had destroyed them.

Vaughn caught up with them and addressed Petra. “This is about the legal will of this man’s deceased father, and you are mentioned by name.”

“Sorry about that.” Sami collected the mangled frame. Pieces of broken lenses dangled from the splintered plastic. “Please come back inside. The livelihood of many people is on hold until things are finalized.”

Her lawyer stepped in. “You have moral and legal obligations to hear Mr. Amara’s last wishes, Mrs. Haddad.”

“Half an hour.” Petra glanced at her watch. “Then I’m gone.”

They returned to the big office. Petra eased into a chair, keeping her back stiff and straight.

Sami deposited her broken sunglasses on the coffee table and stood by the window opposite to where she sat. “Allow me to apologize for my behaviour. I’m afraid airplane food doesn’t sit well with me.”

Petra crossed her legs, careful to tug the hem of her dress over her knees. “Where did you fly from?”

“Houston.”

“If you don’t mind me asking.” She brushed hair off her eyes, exposing the tip of her arrow. “What sort of name is Amara?”

“Palestinian. My father is . . . was from Ramallah, originally. My mother, as well.”

His slip must have caught her off guard, for she winced. “My condolences for your loss.”

“You’re very kind.” He tried not to stare at the part showing her natural tattoo. It sat higher on her temple than the child’s in his mental images, the redness less sharp with the passing of years.

“My father’s family is from Palestine, too. Nazareth.”

“I see.” Sami filed their mutual background as a clue to the puzzle that was Petra.

“Have you been to Palestine?” she asked.

“Not yet.”

“I hope to go someday.”

“When I was a child, my father talked about taking me and my brother every summer. Never happened. And I haven’t had the chance myself.” Focused on trying to find out if she possessed any memory of him, Sami kept his position by the window. He gave her ample time and a clear view to recognize him.

“I’m certain I’ve never heard the name Amara before. Am I supposed to have known your father?”

“I honestly don’t know. This is the first I’ve heard of you.” He released a long breath, disappointed and uncomfortable with his statement, even if it were the truth.

He knew her—a young version of her.

Vaughn cleared his throat, reminding Sami there were other people in the room. “Mr. Amara was adamant on how to do this. He left two letters. You are to open them at the same time.” Vaughn handed Petra one of the sealed envelopes first, then gave Sami his. He turned to her lawyer. “Mr. Faisal and I will go over other documents while you read your letters.”

The female assistant marched into the room and opened a connecting door to a spacious conference room. She motioned with her hand. “This way.”

Clutching her unopened letter, Petra strode over and sat at the head of a long, polished table. Sami went straight to the window and drew the mini blinds open, letting sun rays brighten the room.

A young man from South Asia in a white uniform stood behind a side bar. He set a water jug and glasses on the big conference table.

The assistant closed the doors and pointed at the office boy. “Coffee? Tea?”

Petra shook her head, turning the envelope in her hands.

“This is fine. Thank you.” Sami filled two glasses with ice-cold water, set one before Petra and emptied the other in a single gulp.

The assistant dismissed the office boy and stepped into a glass cubicle at the other end of the room. She sat at a small desk, offering privacy, yet not leaving them alone.

Sami glowered at the assistant. In this conservative society, there were rules and restrictions to adhere to. He wanted to be alone with Petra, to grasp a sense of the kind of person she was in the hope it might trigger more memories. His discomfort grew disproportionally to the space around him. He took in deep breaths and tried to brush aside creeping anxiety. This was no time for his aggravating condition to strike. He had business matters to focus on rather than worrying about circulating air and seemingly shrinking rooms. He needed to find out who this woman was.

Petra waved her envelope in the air, looking serious with her brows knit together. “Shall we?”

Sami sagged to a chair two seats away. “On the count of three.” He tried to dilute the heaviness that descended on him with a buoyant tone, “One, two, three. Go.”

They opened their envelopes and started reading. Sheets of paper shuffled and landed on the table one after another. Several minutes passed in silence.

Petra gasped and slammed her hand to her chest.

Sami jumped to his feet, shoving his chair against the wall. A sound escaped his throat, guttural and contorted. He faced Petra.

“On my father’s grave, I swear I knew nothing about this.”

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.

CHAPTER FIVE

Back in his hotel room, Sami Skype-called Fareed and brought him up to speed on the details of their father’s will. Easing away from the laptop screen, Sami watched his brother’s face recover from the shock. Fareed’s mouth opened and closed without uttering a word. A twisted sense of relief descended on Sami. His brother didn’t know anything about Petra. The little girl with the red arrow birthmark remained his secret.

“The church?” Fareed finally asked.

“Just the school. Our school.”

“I don’t get it. Mom always complained about the outrageous tuition fees the school demanded from Dad. Why would he give it more money?”

“I guess he liked the way we turned out.” Sami couldn’t prevent bitterness from marring his words. He coughed behind a clenched fist, hoping Fareed didn’t catch it. “It shows how much Dad wanted to pay back his debt.”

“So why not give this woman her money?” Fareed exploded. “The original loan plus a good percentage for the lost years. And donate to the church, for heavens’ sake. Why go about it in this twisted way?”

“To force my hand. This way, I have to make sure she accepts her shares.”

“Dad putting you in charge of sorting out this mess says a lot, Sami. He trusted you to do the right thing.”

“Yeah?” Sami brushed invisible threads off his trouser leg, shielding his eyes from Fareed’s stare for a moment. “I don’t think he ever forgave me for what happened in Chile.”

“You’re still hung up on that?” Fareed raised his voice again. “It’s been years. That son-of-a-gun contractor cut corners. Fortunately no one was hurt and insurance covered our losses. Dad came to understand it wasn’t your fault.”

“I hired the thief contractor. Dad made sure to remind me of that at the beginning of every project from then on.” Sami’s knuckles knocked on the surface of the desk. “This is not about Dad trusting me. He knew I’d never let a penny go to that school.”

“I’ll never understand why you drifted away from the church.” Fareed laced his fingers together under his chin. “Maybe he’s helping you find your way back.”

Something rumbled in Sami’s chest, an entity too angry and volatile to unleash. His brother had got it wrong. He hadn’t drifted. He had run, as fast and as far as he could.

“You have a good life, Fareed. I won’t mess it up.” Sami scooted forward and stuck his face inches away from the laptop screen. “You have my word, I’m not going to let this woman deprive your kids of their rightful inheritance, no matter what Dad intended.”

“All I’m saying is . . . I’ll go along if she decides to walk away. I don’t want you to feel guilty . . . like you failed to convince her or any nonsense like that.” Fareed unlaced his fingers and fiddled with his keyboard. “Lora . . . the twins . . . we’ll be fine, no matter what.”

Sami’s throat tightened. Fareed was a decent man, put together right from the inside, no missing pieces. Unlike him, big chunks of his soul carved out by the school his little brother was so eager to donate to. Could he blame him? Fareed’s experience at the school differed from his, Sami had done his best to make sure of that. He had the scars to show for it. He stretched out his legs and arms to maximize the space his entire body occupied, a ridiculous reflex whenever he thought of that school.

He sat back and joined his hands behind his head. “I wish I had more time. I need to see Mom. Find out if she knows anything about Petra and her father.”

“Then you’d better fly home. I’m not going to try.”

“How is she these days?”

“Took up painting again,” Fareed said.

“That’s a good sign.”

Fareed shook his head. “The paintings? All black. Not a dab of colour. Like being in a tomb.”

“Shit! The beginning of another cycle. Tell Rosa to watch out.”

“Don’t worry! Everyone’s on guard. I asked Rosa to stay weekends for a while. Have to pay her overtime, of course. She’ll keep Mom in check.” Fareed knit his eyebrows. “Can’t you see?”

“What?”

“If Dad hadn’t sent us away, I doubt we would have survived Mom. That school kept us alive.”

In what shape? And at what price? Sami clamped his mouth shut. Old habits were hard to break. He wouldn’t shatter the safety of his brother’s perfect world. How much weight did the truth put on a heaven and hell believing soul? Let Fareed live with his delusions if they made him happy.

Fareed drummed his fingers on the surface of his desk. “Did you rule out the possibility Petra is our half-sister?”

“For sure. The timing is totally off. Besides, Dad would have assigned her shares with no stipulations or conditions if that were the case. No, she’s not his.” Sami’s voice faltered on the last words. Doubt hung about him and buzzed, an annoying fly that wouldn’t shoo away. Under what circumstances had Petra become part of his childhood memories then? And why?

He rubbed his eyes, feeling the combined effect of tension and fatigue. “I’m meeting with Dad’s Kuwaiti partner this evening. See where the guy truly stands.”

“I talked with Sulaiman several times on the phone since we started the branch there. Shrewd businessman.”

“Anything I should watch out for?”

“He might seem a bit dry and standoffish. But he’s straightforward and honest. Did you know he comes from one of a handful of Kuwaiti families that are Christian?”

Sami hid a smile behind his closed fist. Did Fareed mean to add a measure of respect to the man’s character by saying that? Fareed’s delusions ran deep. Sami planned his own evaluations of the man’s calibre, regardless of his professed faith. “Maybe he can help me nudge Petra into a favorable decision.”

“And if she walks away? You’ll be okay with the alternative?”

“No one refuses money. She has a son to take care of. Trust me, she’s not going to walk away.”

“Sami, don’t use her child as leverage.”

Sami’s abdominal muscles contracted from Fareed’s unexpected blow. So that was how his brother saw him—a man who would use a child to procure what he wanted. “Thanks for the reminder.” Sami made sure his tone dripped with injured sarcasm.

“You know what I mean.” Fareed waved a hand in the air and brushed aside his harsh comment, either choosing not to see how deep it cut into Sami, or genuinely oblivious to its cruelty.

“I’ll call as soon as I have something solid.” Sami closed the laptop and slid it to the far edge of the desk, needing the physical distance to disengage from the mess of emotions Fareed had stirred. He rose and paced his hotel room. Space shrank with each step.

The hotel overlooked a beach, and the sea beckoned with its openness and caressing breeze. Sami grabbed his wallet and headed out. Once he brought his breathing to normal, he would consider ways to leave Petra no choice but to accept what his father forced him to offer.

Sami took off his sandals and dipped his feet into the waves breaking upon the shore. The warm water didn’t fit the scene around him. The late afternoon sun ready to hide behind the horizon created a restful and calm vibe. Had the water been cool on his skin, tension would have drained from his system, washed away with the retreating waves. He experienced none of that serenity. His mind hopped from one thought to another, chasing childhood memories of the little girl with the arrow birthmark that eluded his grasp.