PERMISSION TO FLY: A Memoir of Love, Crushing Loss, and Triumph
Author: Layng Martine Jr.
Date: 2019-06-11 00:00:00+00:00
Description: PERMISSION TO FLY tells the true story of boy born into a kind and happy family who grows to realize the executive world his father inhabits may not be his destiny. Thanks to his remarkable mother, Layng is given “permission to fly” early on. Armed with optimism, curiosity, creativity, determination and a wry sense of humor, he begins his amazing journey of many painful-but-educational steps and missteps. PERMISSION TO FLY is about love, raising kids, sticking to what matters and paying the price for doing that. It’s about recovering from failure and heartbreak, maintaining friendships, and it

Destined to Love

CARA MARTINE

Copyright © By Quill and Lantern Publishing and Cara Martine 2023

Cover Art: Cerulean 1590 Graphics

Additional Graphics: Pixabay

All Rights Reserved

By Quill and Lantern Publishing

First Edition

Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without written permission from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, events, and incidents are the products of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental or used in a fictional manner.

Contents

1. Visions

2. Campus

3. Desire

4. Holidays

5. Love that Perseveres

6. Friendship

7. Union

8. Torn Asunder

9. Travel to Distant Lands

10. Hope

11. Reunion

12. Uncertainty

Epilogue

About the Author

Dedicated to my children

May love be your guiding light

CHAPTER 1

Visions

“Stan, go easy on dem brakes, man,” Mrs. Rupert cried to her husband. The constant grinding of metal had long since worn her patience thin. “I dought you had dem looked at a’fore dis trip. I’ve been tellin’ you for weeks, man.”

The passengers in the minivan were flung forward and back as the vehicle came to another screeching stop.

He flung his arms in the air, muttering a string of furious patois. “Hacklin’ me for weeks is more like it, ooman. Dis is madness! Dey keep cuttin’ me off left and right and I can’t get into d’ lane.”

“Let’s turn around and go home,” Marissa wailed, nearly passing out from the extreme heat. “Let Esther find her own way to Georgetown.”

It was 1995, and the Rupert family headed to Georgetown University. Raised in the Bronx, Esther Rupert, a young incoming freshman of Afro-Caribbean ethnicity, sat crammed in the rear seat of the minivan. Her belongings surrounded her. Despite the blistering August heat, the air conditioning system was off to conserve fuel. Trapped in bumper-to-bumper traffic on I-95 South from New York City, her only consolation was Marley’s, ‘Could You be Loved?’ blasting away on the stereo. She sang in a desperate attempt to drown out the constant bickering of her companions.

“I dunno girl! How’d you get accepted to such a nerdy, goody-two-shoes school as Georgetown?” Marissa exclaimed, glancing over to Esther, who continued to croon and chew her gum noisily. The combination proved ineffective in tuning out her pesky sibling, snapping her fingers and dancing restlessly in her seat.

“Whatever! Don’t you know when to chill, little sister?” Esther retorted.

“Not in this mad, crazy heat! Why’d I even have to take this trip with you? I could’ve been home with my friends chilling by the poolside!”

“Like I really need you here,” Esther said, thrusting her face into her sister’s with what her mother would call “street attitude.” She withdrew with a loud snap of her fingers under Marissa’s nose and sank back into her seat with the poise of an innocent angel.

Their mother suddenly twisted around in her seat with a stern look. “Now calm down, girls! Can’t you see your father’s dealin’ with dis traffic?”

“Esther wants to know if we’re there yet!” Marissa broke out into laughter as their mother glared, having warned them not to ask that dreaded question.

There was no escape from the stifling heat. Esther leaned back in her seat and fanned herself with the postcard from Gillian McPherson, her new roommate at Georgetown.

With delight, Esther visualized her campus life. Free at last! More than anything, she was eager to savor independence. At nineteen, she was the fourth born in a brood of six. She lived in the domain of a tyrannical Jamaican mother who had no fear of the authorities if any of her offspring required a good lashing and a father who was content to let his wife handle all matters pertaining to child-rearing.

As an incoming freshman, her first order of business was not to decorate her dorm or rush out to purchase school supplies with her parents’ emergency credit card. No! That was not what Esther had in mind. She wanted to experience tattoos and a few well-placed body piercings—everything taboo they had denied her. Then there was the lure of men. Georgetown was certain to offer an enticing selection of males from all corners of the world. She was on the prowl for real men, having had her fill of pimply-faced high school “eejits.”

Despite her egotistical display of femme-bravado, Esther was a hopeless romantic. She never failed to read the daily horoscope while savoring her whole-wheat bagel and sipping a tall, skinny latte. She believed a cosmic force united all beings. To complete the Karmic Circle of Life, one had to unite with the Soul Mate…yin-yang…whatever!

Esther had hopes of attending New York University, however, the acceptance letter from Georgetown crushed her dream. She got into the Studio Arts Program by the skin of her teeth. She hoped one fine day for a career as an artist amid the excitement and glamor of New York City. She wanted to express her creative self, her myriad yet undiscovered talents galore.

At present, Esther had little choice but to complete her studies at Georgetown in compliance with her mother’s wishes. Mrs. Rupert wanted her daughter to experience a new environment and become inspired to pursue a more conventional field of study. After Georgetown, Esther would be free to pursue fame and, hopefully, enough fortune to pay her own bills. Before stepping onto the pastoral campus grounds, she was already counting the months to graduation.

* * *

Chicago native Gillian McPherson was determined to prove her maturity. Transitioning from a pampered life as the sole-surviving offspring of an upper-crust family, she came to Georgetown University as a highly recommended student enrolled in the prestigious Biomedical and Health Sciences Program. At present, she struggled with the awesome humidity through the bustling crowd in competition with hundreds of other arrivals.

“Excuse me, but I’ve been waiting for over twenty minutes, and I was next,” Gillian said, on the point of discarding all civility when a dour woman squeezed her way in, forcing her to take a step back and bump into the person behind her at the Starbucks counter.

“What line?”

“This line,” Gillian quipped, pointing to the ever-growing queue leading out of the air-conditioned store. She gaped in wonder when the woman ignored her and placed her order for a tall and skinny latte grande.

“Next!”

Gillian did not bother ordering and walked out, cutting her way through the crowd until she was back in the main corridor of Dulles airport. The place bustled with the flux of incoming students destined for the various universities populating the Washington, D.C. region. Gillian felt overwhelmed and lost. The ground transportation desk was swamped, and she had overheard it would be hours until anyone could hire a taxi.

“Unless you made prior arrangements, you’ll have to wait or try hailing a car outside in that heat,” the clerk shouted to the impatient arrivals. “I hope you guys all learned your lesson for next year. It’s always crazy like this.”

Gillian stepped back, feeling the full weight of crushing defeat. She was bone weary and alone, having arrived from Chicago O’Hare to be stranded in a strange airport with no recourse but to wait until she could find transportation to the campus grounds. Pushed and shoved by the masses, her determination faltered. She would give anything to be home in her comfortable bed, flipping channels and sipping a bit of claret with her little pug Sammy for company.

With a deep breath, she readjusted her heavy backpack and gathered the fortitude to make her way to the curbside, where she and numerous other arrivals hoped to hail a taxi.

As she waited, she felt a rather forceful tap on the shoulder and a voice. “Excuse miss, do you have a dollar to spare?” She turned to find a shabbily dressed woman with crooked spectacles on her hawk-like nose peering at her. Gillian was in mid-sentence when she felt a large, strong hand take hold of her buttocks. She gasped and lost her balance, stumbling into the strange woman. “Are you hurt?” The woman smiled, revealing a mouth full of gaps where she once had teeth.

“So-so sorry….”

“Never mind. God bless you, miss,” the woman said and slipped away.

Feeling disorientated by the encounter, Gillian stumbled over a stray duffle bag at her feet. A firm grip caught hold of her just in time. Flustered, she turned to glance into the doleful brown eyes of a dark young man.

“I think you need to sit for a while. You look faint,” he said with concern and a noticeable British accent.

Gillian forced a laugh, feeling the beads of sweat gather on her brow. “I’m fine. Really. You can let go of my hand now.”

He complied at once. She followed his gaze down to the floor. The overstuffed bag she tripped over had burst open, spilling its contents on the polished floor. “My apologies for damaging your bag.”

“It’s not mine,” he replied, urging her to step away from the bag before its owner returned.

He reached into his backpack, producing a bottle of water. Gillian brightened at the sight. “Ah! Evian! What a thing of unparalleled beauty.”

He winked. “It’s still icy cold.”

Gillian could not resist and gladly accepted the bottle, thirst overriding commonsense. She twisted the cap open, guzzling down the entire contents. She released a sigh, feeling the cooling effects of the water. “How wonderful was that! Thanks.” She held her breath when she noticed him staring. She felt warm again. He broke into a smile, seeing a deep blush color her face.

“Are you hoping to hail a taxi, or do you already have a ride?”

“Actually, I need a taxi, or to hitch a ride, or better yet, hope for a miracle. I didn’t expect it to be such a zoo!”

“Georgetown?” he asked with dark, raised brows. Gillian nodded with a moment of hesitance. “Me too. I was in alliance with a ‘Debbie from California’, but I think she took off. We had an agreement that whoever hailed a ride first would pay the fare.”

“Just as well.”

Athar Mirzan introduced himself. An Anglo-Iranian transfer student. He was accepted on a full scholarship to pursue a graduate-level specialization in Emergency Medicine.

“Right. She was talking my ear off. I almost rather walk the rest of the way. How far can it be?”

“We’d never make it alive. When did you get in? Heathrow?”

“I was fortunate. I arrived about two hours ago from yes, Heathrow,” he confirmed. “Some of these poor sots have been stranded for over six hours. Can you believe that?”

“I suppose I should be thankful it’s only been three hours for me,” she scoffed. Suddenly, a voice cried out across the multitude.

“Hey, Artie! You owe me. I got a cab waiting outside! Hurry!”

“I presume that would be Debbie from Cali?” Gillian asked as she spotted a tall, slender woman sporting tanned skin, a flowery, skimpy outfit, and long blonde hair waving in their direction.

“Hey, Debbie.” Art pressed his lips together unhappily. Turning, he asked Gillian, “Want a ride?”

“Do you mind… Artie?”

“No! Please.” He offered her his hand.

She gladly accepted the offer to share a cab with Art and Debbie. They made their way through the pressing crowd to where the impatient Californian urged them on. After Art loaded the trunk with their baggage, the trio was at the mercy of a driver with a Death Wish. The man weaved through the hectic, rush hour traffic.

Inside the vehicle, Debbie whined about already missing her laid-back West Coast lifestyle while Art and Gillian smiled in forbearance, holding on for dear life. Art concentrated on the panoramic view outside the window. At some point, he closed his eyes, recalling a hauntingly vivid dream.

He walked alone in a beautiful sunlit garden where he crossed paths with a figure in flowing white.

She ran through tall sunflowers.

He followed as a distant voice echoed his name.

The sky darkened, and he was suddenly lost in a dense fog.

He encountered the woman —

He struggled to see her face and caught a fleeting glimpse of clear green eyes.

Lightning flashed in the sky and thunder crashed ominously, a stormy wind blasted through the forest.

He heard her softly weeping as she continued to elude him.

He was alone….

The vision was so alluring that Athar was reluctant to stir when Debbie announced their arrival.

“What a trip.” Gillian attempted to sound cheerful, but she felt disorientated and shaky from the wild ride. “Beats anything I’ve ever experienced at Six Flags!”

“Like wow! I thought we’d never make it alive! Please tell me you didn’t give that menace to society a crazy tip,” Debbie japed as she fanned herself.

“Truthfully, I paid him generously. He was the type to kill if shorted.”

“Oh please, let me help with the fare.” Gillian reached into the back pocket of her jeans. In an instant, she froze and blanched. “My wallet! Those miserable creeps stole my wallet,” she winced. “A woman tapped me on the shoulder. Someone else fondled me and now my wallet’s gone.”

Art frowned. “It happens. You can make a report, but I don’t know if it will do any good. And thanks for the generous offer, but I wouldn’t accept your money. Maybe some other time, you can buy me a drink.”

“I could sure use a nice cold beer. There must be a bar close by. Oh, back home, the surf is high.” She continued to complain. It reached the point where Art and Gillian ignored the drama queen from Cali.

“Why don’t we hook up for drinks?” Art offered. Debbie was quick to brighten to the suggestion. Gillian immediately noticed Debbie from California was smitten with the dashing med-student and declined the invitation.

“You guys have fun. I’m too worn out to fake it through anything social. I have to cancel all my credit cards, stat.”

Art turned his full attention to Gillian. “Good luck. Hope to see you around.”

On parting, they wished each other the best. The “dally” in Dulles was over.

CHAPTER 2

Campus

The first light of day brought a soft drizzle of rain to the steamy streets of Washington, D.C. By high noon, the summer sun was a ball of fire blazing in the sky, evaporating all traces of moisture as the steady influx of students continued to make their way through Georgetown University’s colossal gates. Esther arrived at the dormitory hall with her entourage of noisy relatives hauling boxes and luggage. Once they located the room, they found Gillian unpacking and settling in.

Esther greeted her cheerfully, quick to notice her roommate’s organized and expensive belongings. She had her laptop computer and a mobile phone. Gillian saw Esther’s obvious embarrassment caused by her loud and colorful family members. Esther tried to hasten them on their way, but it was hours before they seemed to get the message. Gillian made a graceful exit as the Ruperts’ exchanged tearful farewells. She could not help laughing at Esther’s blatantly cruel antics towards her family melodramatics.

“Time to go. Traffic’s going to be terrible and don’t call me. I’ll call you.”

“Na, girl, why you be so fas? Is that any way to treat your lovin’ Mama?”

Esther apologized, none too convincingly, and nudged them across the threshold and into the bustling corridor. “Safe drive home now!” She waved to them and closed the door as if she had just escaped the Angel of Death of the Exodus.

By early evening, Esther and Gillian were alone. With the slower pace, they got acquainted. They lay on their cots, swapping a container of cheap Thai noodles.

“I’ve never been to the Bronx. What’s it like?” Gillian asked in a sweet, droll voice. Esther inwardly laughed, wondering how she got paired with such a prissy-preppie chick,

“No jokes now. I heard them all. I’m from Co-Op City, considered a decent part of the Bronx, with tons of great shopping and a very popular Red Lobster,” Esther answered as she chewed, expecting the usual negative or curious reaction. “And you? What part of Chicago are you from?”

“Beverly, Chicago. I know all about big cities,” Gillian added, slurping up a cold noodle.

Esther doubted her roommate was at all knowledgeable about the “down and dirty” parts of any big city. She envisioned Gillian entrenched in the malls with a cell phone attached to her ear, juggling more shopping bags than any mere mortal could handle.

The conversation inevitably turned to school. Both were undergraduates and would have several classes in common. Esther boasted of her aspirations to become an artist and asked Gillian with a slow grin, “So, what do you want to be when you grow up?”

“My dream is to be a pediatric M.D. Maybe I’ll practice abroad to ease the plight of children in third-world countries.”

Esther gaped in awe as her roommate rambled on about the classes she was “looking forward to” and how many textbooks she had pre-read over the summer.

Jah!

Esther inwardly panicked certain Georgetown University had committed a serious error in placing her with the likes of Gillian McPherson. So much for the detailed survey she had wasted her time completing and sending a post-certified return receipt that practically spelled out Beware party animal!

Esther blamed her mother for sabotaging her plans for a fun-filled freshman year. She had to be in on this. With a heavy sigh, she resigned herself to the thought that all things in life happen for a higher purpose. As Gillian continued to ramble on about the “interesting” implications of the Edict of Milan issued by Emperor Constantine the Great and the Council of Nicaea on western civilization, Esther reassured herself that no one was going to hamper her plans for a wild freshman year.

Almost on the verge of sleep in her cot, Esther suddenly recalled a particular day her sisters invited her to a downtown street fair in the South Village. They convinced her to sit for a Tarot reading before her departure for Georgetown. The reader raised her bushy gray brows with interest, warning Esther she would be pivotal in a passionate relationship between the Queen and Knight of Cups. Esther remembered those colorful cards now, and the lined, leathery face of that old woman with bent, arthritic fingers.

In the meantime, she secretly assured herself she would help her roommate loosen up. Esther curled up with her pillow and glanced across the room to where her roommate slept. She concluded Gillian was not a hopeless case. She had definite fly-girl potential.

Gillian was of average height, with a slender, graceful figure. Her face was lovely, pale, and delicate, like a porcelain doll. Her eyes were large, intelligent, and attentive, a clear bluish-green. Her hair was a reddish-brown hue, cut into a straight, shoulder-length bob. Gillian’s manner of dress was feminine and ultra-conservative, like a model out of the nauseating (to Esther) pages of an LL Bean catalog. There had to be a Hot Topic store somewhere in the D.C. area. She was on a quest to reinvent Gillian McPherson, for both their sakes.

* * *

“Agh,” Esther exclaimed after taking a long, deep sip of her mocha Frappuccino. She furrowed her brows, absorbing the painful shock of instant brain freeze. “Everywhere we go, I see that dude. No. Don’t turn around now.”

Gillian pushed her dark sunglasses from the tip of her nose and lifted the menu to hide her face as she craned her neck to see who he was. She was uncertain at first, but after several moments Gillian recognized the “dude” was Art.

“I know him. Well—we made a brief acquaintance at Dulles airport. His name is Art. Seems like a nice enough person.”

“You must’ve made quite an impression on Artie-boy. He can’t stop staring at you. You haven’t noticed him lurking about?”

Gillian stirred the contents of her frappuccino with an exasperated frown. “I’ve been busy. I spend all day getting ready for school and then all-night partying with you. It’s a miracle I’m coherent at all.”

“Instead of wasting precious time pouring over textbooks, you should have fun. Everyone knows you’re only supposed to skim and cram.”

Gillian shuddered to imagine what Esther scored on the SAT and wondered how she was going to survive one semester at Georgetown having such a complacent attitude toward academics.

Despite profound personality differences, the duo was soon inseparable. Esther and Gillian set out to explore the campus grounds with full vigor. Georgetown was alive and busy with students rushing about. Esther was clever at locating the trendiest student hangouts.

Every morning Gillian dragged Esther out of bed and prod her into doing something—anything productive, but nightfall was the Bronx Diva’s domain. Despite all her yawns and protests, Gillian had no choice but to doll up and accompany her roommate into the college district night scene. They mingled actively with the masses to discover if campus life lived up to its dubious reputation. Esther was in her element, and she loved it.

However, Gillian’s only consolation was in rationalizing the decadent soirées were a form of “networking” and building stamina for her “all-nights” as a student and eventually, a physician.

“Dedication to study is fine, but socializing has its merits. Forming strong bonds of friendship and establishing our reputations as popular women prepares us for leadership.”

“I’m impressed, Esther. You’ve formed a passionate opinion on something. Try out for the debate team.”

“I’ll work on you instead. We’ve come this far and under my guidance, you’ll become quite the irresistible, wild child.”

“If you can scrape my sleep-deprived arse off the ground.”

“Ha.” Esther burst into laughter. “I know who to call for help. Your dashing Arabian prince charming over there.”

Before Gillian could respond, the waiter arrived to take their orders. He was young, dark, and attractive, with a well-groomed goatee and a perfect physique under a snug-fitting black t-shirt. “Ready ladies?”

“I was born ready, sweetie,” Esther purred with a flirtatious wink. “How’s your falafel?”

* * *

Ester’s persistence paid off. She modeled her male domination techniques and advised her protégé not to overlook the beneficial effects of dim lighting and alcohol on the male-female bar room encounter. Ester convinced Gillian to discard her pinstripes and khakis for more risqué fashions. She added multiple stud earrings and experimented with dramatic cosmetics. Under her direction, Gillian became a natural in the saddle, discarding her inhibitions and drinking and dancing like never before. She explored the power of flirtation, wielded her feminine charms, intrigued by the tantalizing effects of her sensuality over the opposite sex.

A dreadlock wild man named Jerry soon formed a romantic attachment with Esther to become “her partner in crime.” Gillian had her pick of college studs but settled on a pompous jock from old southern stock, Dylan O’Sullivan from North Carolina. He was certainly handsome, attracting droves of women to his side not only for his good looks but for the cash he spent so lavishly as if he had a never-ending supply.

Dylan was tall with dark blonde hair and keen blue eyes that did not miss a thing and revealed a sharp, insensitive wit. He had a sensual mouth that contained a sharp tongue. Dylan was not one to mince his words. He was a talented athlete, far more dedicated to a regiment of physical training than class work. He boasted high scores on his college entrance examinations that had won him a partial scholarship to Georgetown.

“You go, girl. Rock on. You’ll have Dylan whimpering for you like a puppy thirsty for a lap of milk,” Esther teased in the crowded, smoky ladies’ room of the second club in their bar-hop schedule. With her pinky, she wiped a smudge of lipstick from Gillian’s lower lip and stepped back to admire the look. “Purrrfect.”

The duo slipped out into the noisy room. When they returned to their table, they were surprised to find Jerry engaged in conversation with a man standing tall and casual, a beer in hand. “Hey, welcome back. I missed you,” Jerry said, rising to his feet to kiss Esther. “Ladies, meet my good friend, Art.”

Esther opened her eyes wide and rolled them away when she noted the horrified expression overtake Gillian’s face. Instantaneous sobriety.

“H-hi, Art. How’re you settling in?” Gillian blanched, despite the deep pink rouge on her face.

Art glanced back at her in shock. “Gillian?”

“So, you know each other?” Jerry broke into an ignorant, wily grin.

“I almost didn’t recognize you,” he said, narrowing his dark eyes. “Quite a drastic change. New look?” Art could not conceal his displeasure. He clearly preferred the former Gillian.

“Oh, I usually don’t I don’t look like this. I dress….”

“True. She is a prude during the day and transforms into a slut at night,” Esther chimed in. Unfortunately, Art’s appearance did not have the same sobering effects on her.

Gillian gaped at a complete loss. Then, to add to her disgrace, Dylan appeared at that inopportune moment with fresh drinks. “Sorry for the wait. That bar’s jumping.” He moved behind Gillian to place the drinks down on the table. “Is everything cool? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Dylan, this is Art. We were stranded at Dulles together that day of the heat wave. He’s Georgetown pre-med too.” Gillian recouped her composure. She did not want to stir up Dylan’s suspicions, his envy, or even worse…his violent temper.

“Pleasure Art. Can I buy you a drink?”

Dylan’s haughty and brusque manner, despite his attempted cordiality, signaled it was time for Art to leave. With a gentle smile that melted Gillian’s heart, he wished them all good night and, in a blink, was gone.

* * *

Art’s presence had a profound effect on Gillian for the rest of the evening. As Esther sobered up, her roommate indulged and proved to be a “wild child” to be reckoned with. Art had not left the premises. Esther could sense the power of his presence from across the room. He lurked, like a recluse in the farthest corner of the club, desperately clutching a glass, downing drink after bitter drink. His eyes fixed on Gillian. Her beauty spellbound him despite his heroic attempts to disassemble. Esther grinned as she observed him. Oh, how convincing he was to the untrained eye!

His distant manner and dignified silence could easily be mistaken as aloof disinterest. Concern replaced Esther’s curiosity as she watched Art wrestle to conceal his torment. He watched from a distance, overcome by hopelessness as Gillian flirted with Dylan, sitting astride his lap, with her arms around his neck. Their grinding motion left little to the imagination. The couple laughed, frolicked, kissed, and danced provocatively together throughout the night. They were oblivious that their lewd behavior attracted everyone’s attention. At one point, someone cried out in a tipsy voice, “Get a room!”

Art was a Mount Vesuvius on the verge of cataclysmic eruption, and only Esther seemed to notice. She felt obliged to intervene.

“Jerry, ask your friend to get up on stage with you and sing karaoke. Go on. Look how lonely he is in the shadows.”

“Aw, he’s always like that. He’ll never do it.”

“Come on, try. If not, maybe your antics will cheer him up a bit. There must be a sense of humor in him, longing for liberation. Now would be the best time to encourage it, while the drinks are flowing.”

Jerry moved in close and whispered, “Do I get some kind of reward for this, sweets?”

“You know it,” Esther purred like a tigress, her favorite flirtation ploy.

“Hey, Artie boy! Let’s get down with the karaoke!” Jerry shouted with his usual lack of grace. “Come on, dude. I know you can sing better than that croaking fool up there now.”

She watched him move through the crowd to Art. Jerry urged him on with all his charm, but Art continually refused, shaking his head with a good-natured laugh. They chuckled at the poor soul stutter through Slave to Love. Jerry made a last attempt to lure Art on stage, but he flatly refused.

“My apologies. I’m not that drunk yet.”

“Then pick the tune you want me to sing,” Jerry said.

“Must you sing for us?”

“Yeah. Esther wants me to and…ya know…I want to make her happy so she can make him smile later, ya know, man.”

“Alright. Sing ‘Raise Up Your Hands to Heaven and Pray’.”

Jerry wrinkled his face up in a frown. “Never heard of it.”

“By the group Breathe.”

Jerry leapt on stage as the music played. “This one’s for my good friend hiding in the corner back there! Hey, Artie, they’re gonna come after you, so make sure you find the exit like fast!”

Jerry annihilated the lovely tune, but everyone had a good laugh, including Art, who managed to smile in amused disbelief.

Then, to Esther’s surprise, Gillian, stumbling over her feet from too much drink, rushed on stage announcing that she was going to perform ‘Dancing Queen.’ Esther hurried up to rescue her friend from humiliation, but it was too late. The music started, and she was trapped beside Gillian before a voracious audience. Esther sang and danced together, acting as foolishly as her friend. Then, to Esther’s horror, Gillian began a naughty strip tease, ignoring Esther’s warnings to stop until she was nearly topless.

Quick as a flash, Dylan was on stage, sweeping Gillian off her feet and throwing her over his shoulder like a barbaric Neanderthal claiming his mate. He grumbled and pushed aside anyone unfortunate enough to be in his path. Everyone in the bar could hear the yelling as he forced her into his car and sped away into the stillness of the Georgetown night.

Esther located an aggravated Art, making a swift departure from the frantic scene. Esther cried out to him over the din, but her voice was lost. She attempted to push her way through the crowd to offer consolation but failed to reach him in time. He slipped out of the backdoor without a word to anyone.

After that night, Art maintained a low profile and was difficult to locate. The wild time was almost at an end as the first day of the fall semester approached.

CHAPTER 3

Desire

Gillian felt her eyes cross as she strained to see the screen. Her typing became careless, producing work riddled with mistakes. The paper was due tomorrow. She had to find the energy to finish it. Why did she promise to type Ester’s paper as well? Was she insane? She blinked, tempted to take another dose of Awake.

“Damn. Why did I agree to help Esther? She’s out partying, and I’m tethered to this computer,” she grumbled. “I’m an idiot, that’s why.”

The first day of classes arrived, and most of the student population sobered up and buckled down to meet the academic challenges that lay ahead. Then, of course, several students refused to heed the wake-up call and partied on with zeal. Esther fell into that spectrum, upholding her priority of having fun during her freshman year—no matter the consequences.

Gillian drifted off again. The sound of her phone ringing jolted her into an upright position. She reached out blindly, spilling empty cans of energy drinks and piles of books until she found her phone.

“Yeah?”

“Darling, it’s your lover.” She recognized Dylan’s voice. “I see your light on.”

“What’re you doing up so late?”

“Thinking of you—needing you.”

“It’s after three in the morning.”

“I know how to tell time. Hurry, love. Look out your window.”

She felt a bout of dizziness when she rose to her feet and stumbled to the window. “You look remarkably lucid considering the time.”

“Come on down and let’s have a drink. I miss you.”

“I have a paper due tomorrow. If I don’t hand it in, I’ll lose points. I can’t afford to fall behind.”

“We hardly spend time together anymore. Maybe you’ve lost interest in me and have your heart set on someone else?”

“Maybe you’re imagining things. What makes you think that?”

“Your beautiful face. What man in his right mind could resist you?”

“Right now, I’m not feeling beautiful, Dylan. My eyes are puffy and lined with black circles. I have a zit aching the side of my face, and I’ll spare you the details, but my hygiene’s somewhat neglected.”

Dylan’s laugh was husky with desire. “I’ll take you any way I can get you, sweets. I like full flavor.”

“Thanks. You just turned my stomach.”

“I want an instant replay of that night we left the bar after your crazy striptease. You were hot and insatiable.”

“Please, I don’t want to know what happened that night.”

“I won’t say a word. I’ll show you.”

“I can’t.”

No matter how Dylan pressed, Gillian wouldn’t change her mind. This infuriated him. He stormed into the dormitory and banged on the door; demanding Gillian allow him inside. His antics woke everyone, and campus security arrived to escort him away.

“That’s the second time this week, O’Sullivan. Your drunken behavior has to stop,” the security officer warned.

Dylan proceeded to bad-mouth him. With the help of several men, the security guard dragged him away as Dylan muttered obscenities at Gillian.

The following morning, Esther found Gillian passed out on the bed, the computer still on and the paper unfinished. Concerned, she woke her.

“I heard what that blood clot did to you. You must put an end to it, Gillian. I’ve seen enough. That guy’s a brute and one day he’s going to hurt you badly. I think you should go to the police and file a complaint. If you don’t, I will.”

“Did I miss class?”

“Yeah. It’s eleven in the morning, girl.”

“Oh,” she whimpered.

“No worries. We’ll make it up. There’s nothing like charming the professor and relying on group dynamics to pass. Come on. Get up and let’s get some actual food into you. Enough of this crap.”

* * *

Ester and Gillian made their way to the cafeteria and loaded their plates with hot food: meatloaf, chicken, potatoes with gravy, and buttery biscuits. Gillian wolfed down the food as if she had not eaten for weeks.

“Aw, that was good,” she said, falling onto the cushioned backrest of the seat.

“The chicken could use a bit of jerk, but otherwise it’s passable.”

“Jerk?”

“Speaking of jerk…there goes the pompous ass now,” Esther said, jerking her chin toward the open doors of the cafeteria. Gillian followed in time to see Dylan enter, accompanied by one of his female admirers.

“Jeez. There’s no escaping him.”

“You can if you file that complaint and press charges. They’ll have him out of the school like that.” She snapped her fingers. “It won’t matter how much money his family has.”

“I know. I need to do something soon.”

“And look over there,” Esther whispered with interest. Gillian noted Art seated alone, leaning over an open book. “Romeoooo rising. Jerry keeps saying Art’s a great guy. He’s just like you, studying all the time, hardly hanging out anymore. I think he just applied for an internship at Georgetown Medical Center.”

“Good for him,” Gillian muttered, lowering her eyes. She had wanted to apply, but her grades had sunk, therefore disqualifying her.

“You like him, don’t you?”

“Like? You mean like a high school crush?” Gillian scoffed. “He’s a nice person who’s going places. He’s disciplined, well-mannered, and ambitious….”

“Go on,” Esther teased.

“Stop.”

“What else don’t you like about him? He likes you, that’s for sure. He’s always staring at you. Even Jerry’s noticed.”

“I have no time, no energy…no business getting involved with anyone at present. If Art’s as smart as he appears to be, I’m certain he agrees.”

“Don’t you think he’s handsome?”

Gillian was now flustered by Esther’s constant badgering and gathered her belongings to leave. “I have to finish that paper. You…you just keep having fun.”

She hurried across the floor, headed for the doors when Dylan intercepted her. “My lovely. Miss me?”

“Dylan, please, I have to go.”

“I wanted to thank you for filing that complaint and warn you, if I want you, I’ll have you. Nothing’s going to stop me.”

“Please.”

“Don’t think I’m pining away in loneliness. As you can see, I have obliging girlfriends.”

Gillian glanced at the woman clinging to him. She had a faraway, glazed expression as if she was high as a kite. The rumors had to be true, Gillian guessed. Dylan was fond of an occasional hit of cocaine.

“Let me pass. I never filed a complaint against you. Next time, rest assured I will.”

“Is that a threat?”

“God, Dylan, you set yourself up. It’s not a threat, but a promise.”

Gillian felt Esther slip her arm through hers. “Let’s go.”

“Maybe it was you. Rasta, weed-smoking cunt.”

Esther’s jaw dropped at his insult. “Oh, no you didn’t!”

Again, campus security arrived in time to restrain both Esther and Dylan. The cafeteria was in an uproar, shouting insults at Dylan and cheering Esther on as she released her Jamaican-Bronx Diva temper and refused to let him get a word in edge-wise. Gillian felt muscular hands take hold of her. She closed her eyes and surrendered to tears. She was tired, so tired. When Gillian opened her eyes, she discovered she was in Art’s arms.

He greeted her with a warm smile. “It’s alright. The monster’s gone.” He took her hand and, without another word, walked her back to the safety of her room.

* * *

Her cell phone rang again. Gillian ignored the first call and tactfully attempted to avoid the pesky caller the second time. Art guessed correctly when she uttered his name in frustration. It was Dylan. The third time the phone rang, the sleepy-eyed students in the library grumbled, annoyed by the interruptions. Gillian apologized, her face turning a deep crimson shade as quick fingers pressed buttons that would turn off the phone.

Art attempted to concentrate on work, but thoughts of Gillian distracted him. He observed from afar, noting the long hours she spent in the laboratory and the library. He noticed how often she ate alone in the cafeteria late at night or early in the morning. He dared not approach her, not for fear of encountering Dylan, but for impeding on her personal space.

He dreaded the possibility of rejection. Face to face, they acknowledged each other with standoffish courtesy and respect, but the underlying tension was clear. Art lingered in her presence, always watching, tormented with engulfing desire. The longing and feeling of mute hopelessness wore him down. Each time Dylan took Gillian by the hand and led her away, he felt black despair like a pall of death.

He turned his attention back to his reading, then he heard heavy footsteps approaching, followed by frantic whispers. This drew him back to Gillian. Dylan thrusted his angry face into hers and had a brutal hold on her arm. Many other students gathered their belongings and left the scene. Dylan and Gillian are on and off again, the macho, sadistic relationship was the scandal of the Georgetown University campus.

This time, Dylan pulled Gillian up to her feet and dragged her outside before anyone could call campus security. Art’s reaction was instantaneous. He collected Gillian’s books, stuffing them into her bag, and grabbed her jacket. It was a cold, rainy night.

“Hey man. Maybe you shouldn’t get involved. Call the cops and let them deal with him,” one student said, attempting to hold Art back.

“You do that, but by the time they get here, it might be too late.” Art seethed in quiet rage. “I’m going to confront him and put an end to this abuse.”

“Be careful. When Dylan gets high, he has no control. Don’t ruin your record because eventually, he’s gone.”

“He’s going to hurt her and that will only happen over my dead body.”

Pelted by the rain, Art rushed out to see Dylan shaking the life out of Gillian. She was limp and sobbing as he railed his unbridled anger at her. Art set his lips in determination and moved within inches of the brute.

“Gillian, you should wear your jacket. It’s freezing out here.”

His sudden appearance startled Dylan, and the idiot released Gillian. She fell to the ground. “W—What the hell?” Dylan muttered.

Art and Dylan locked eyes. He could see Dylan was far gone, eyes bloodshot and dilated. The stench of alcohol was overpowering. The veins in his neck were pulsating and his breathing was uneven. “Keep your distance, Arab asshole. She’s mine and I’ll do as I please.”

“Gillian, get up! Get up and run. Run as fast and far as you can from this thing,” Art shouted, not flinching from Dylan.

“No, Art! You go on. I’ll be alright. This was just a misunderstanding. You go.”

“Gillian—stay. I want you to watch as I tear him to pieces,” Dylan commanded, taking a step forward.

“No, no!” she cried, flinging herself between them so that she caught the full force of the blow Dylan intended to inflict on Art. She fell straight down, almost losing consciousness and bleeding from her nose and mouth.

Art thrust all his weight onto the solid linebacker. Both men were on the floor, wrestling for control. Dylan, being under the influence and the burlier in stature, had Art’s neck in a firm death grip. He would have harmed Art, but the police arrived. They ordered Dylan to release him and threatened to use force, but still, he ignored them until a shot rang out in the air. As soon as he released Art, they were upon Dylan as the aggressor. They subdued him with cuffs and shackles and left him on the ground to vent.

“Do you need an ambulance, sir?” an officer asked Art.

“I’ll be fine. I would take her to the ER and take a report. This…creature has been harassing her for months and the violence continues to escalate. She needs to press charges and petition for a restraining order,” Art explained between raspy coughs, struggling to control his breathing.

“Perhaps you should press charges, too. It would help her case and it might not be a bad idea for you to get a restraining order.”

Art saw the rationale in the suggestion and nodded in agreement.

“Wanna ride?”

Art heard the siren of the ambulance and agreed. He sat beside Gillian, who was strapped to a gurney. She opened her eyes to reveal tears of humiliation. Art graced her with a gentle smile. He wiped her face and took hold of her hand. “I have your bag and jacket, but left all my things in the library.” He laughed lightly. “My first stop will be to the lost and found when I get back.”

His soothing manner and modesty put her at ease. He felt her tighten her grip on his hand. “Thank you,” she whispered.

He gazed at her and replied, “I tried to keep my distance, to respect your privacy as a couple, but I can’t abide by the way he treats you, Gillian. I’m not a violent man, but I have only contempt for Dylan, contempt that is steadily increasing to hatred. One day soon, I fear there’ll be terrible consequences.”

“Why? Why Art? Keep out of this nasty business.”

He bowed his head. The moment arrived. Should he confess his heart or keep his silence? “I think you know why. Do I have to say it? Can’t you sense how I feel about you?”

Gillian closed her eyes. “I want no more, no more relationships.”

“You should know I’ll always be there if you need me, Gillian. Together, we’ll go to court and conquer this monster.”

CHAPTER 4

Holidays

Art and Gillian were both granted full restraining against Dylan O’Sullivan. The judge also forced Dylan into counseling and a detoxication program. He was on academic and behavioral probation at Georgetown University, and, for a while, there was peace.

Georgetown University prepared for the biggest event of the fall semester: the Halloween and Autumn Harvest Festival. Somehow, Esther won the student council election and was the new president of the Student Activity Committee. She paraded throughout the campus selling tickets and soliciting support for the anticipated event. Gossip predicted her team to have organized the costume party of the century.

“Great costume. Who are you supposed to be, anyway?” Esther asked, barking orders to her crew as she struggled to adjust her headphones.

“Guess.” Gillian posed demurely and pouted her lips. She wore a wine-colored, crushed velvet gown typical of the medieval era.

“Snow White? No wait…help me out!”

“Mary, Queen of Scots.” She lifted her chin so Esther could see the bloody ring where the executioner’s axe had cleaved through her neck. Paste and powder covered her entire face, giving her a ghastly, zombie look.

“Very convincing,” Esther grimaced. “You must have pals in the drama department.”

“So, I do.” Gillian stepped back to observe her friend. “It’s easy to guess who you’re supposed to be. Princess Leia in Return of the Jedi, judging by the scanty outfit. Very daring.”

“Oh, Jerry’s Han Solo. He’s such a big doof, swinging that lightsaber. It makes that swooshing sound and actually lights up.”

“I saw him. We’d better all watch our heads tonight. You two were dancing earlier, heating up the dance floor,” Gillian laughed.

“What about all the times you and Dylan put on a freak show? Little Miss Pollyanna…yeah right.”

“Please don’t mention his name to me.”

“No date tonight?” Esther asked, ordering the lights to be dimmed with a wave of her hand. “What about Art? He said he’d be here tonight, but I haven’t seen him yet. I thought you two were warming up to each other?”

“You know I have no time or desire to get involved in another relationship. I’m overjoyed to be rid of Dylan. I’m actually caught up with my work, which is why I’m here tonight.”

“Yeah right. I know why you’re really here.”

“Why?”

“To see if Art will come after you.”

“Nonsense.”

“He will. I think I see him now, over there. Have fun. I’ve got my work cut out for me tonight to make this party go off without a hitch.”

Gillian realized Esther was correct when she turned to see Art enter through the gymnasium doors as the music reached full volume. The lights blinked and the disc jockey presided over the excitement with a deep baritone voice booming through the microphone. He encouraged the students to take to the dance floor until there was a frenzied press of bodies.

Art was quite an impressive sight, wearing traditional Moorish attire: a black voluminous hooded cloak and a turban. He brandished a tall shepherd’s crook and a scimitar in an ornate sheath at his waist. To Gillian, it looked real. He stopped several times to exchange cheerful greetings with his friends. Gillian began panicking. Had she gone overboard with the makeup? She hoped Art would pass by without recognizing her.

He walked about the room’s edge, searching for her. Art was no fool. He found Esther. who was more than willing to point her out. Gillian felt his presence ever so close now. Then she heard his voice.

“Happy Halloween, Gillian.”

The lights went down for a moment and with an explosion of music, Duran Duran’s “Hungry like the Wolf” blasted through the speakers, enlivening the dancers.

Art chuckled. “I hate that song,”

Gillian was about to respond when an eerie gong tolled, and Esther took to the microphone. “Ladies and gents…gals and ghouls! The midnight hour’s upon us and it’s time for the main event, the Haunted hayride!”

Deafening cheers drowned out her announcement. The revelers spilled out from the gymnasium into the brisk night air. A sickle moon shone bright and dry as autumn leaves rustled in the cold, crisp air. The night was ominously still and quiet, in contrast to the loud echoing voices of the students trampling along the campus. A wooded park, across from the campus, was transformed into the “Georgetown Haunt.” Scarecrows and jack-o’-lanterns adorned the area, along with skeletons lynched from the treetops and webs strung from the bare branches.

The event of the evening was Monster Hunt 1-2-3. Organized into two teams, each had a designated home base area. The objective was to capture all the members of the opposing team and bring them to the home to be protected by “guards.” Team 1 was called The Georgetown Grave Robbers. Team 2 dubbed themselves the Georgetown Ghostly Wailers.

A loud whistle shattered the stillness of the night, the signal for the players to scatter and hunt down their opponents. Gillian moved from tree to tree. She resembled a pale, wraith-like creature, fleeting and mysterious. Art was not interested in abiding by the rules of the game as he pursued an urgent personal agenda…he hunted Gillian.

On her trail, Art took cover in the shadows, following stealthily along as she attempted to make her way undetected. Jerry chased her down, but Dylan checked him. She slipped away from them until she imagined herself alone. The voices of the others were far in the distance. When a firm grip grabbed her, it startled Gillian. She cried aloud, but her captor raced mercilessly onwards. A black, windblown cape fluttered before her.

“Art! I know it’s you. Let me go. I can’t keep up with you.”

A few long strides later, they stopped, and he drew her close to him. The gentle warmth of his body soothed her. She peered into the deep cowl and saw twinkling dark eyes searching for her face. A shadow cast from his hood concealed his countenance. He held her as she struggled to regain her breath and break free.

“You’re supposed to take me to base! Weren’t you there when they went over the rules of the game?” She chided in a low whisper. Silence followed. “I’m out of here,” she muttered, continuing to struggle.

His response was a confident, bemused laugh, followed by silence. Suddenly, she broke free from his hold and ran off, her laughter lingering in the air. Art resumed the chase, easily catching up to her again. This time, he seized her by the waist, spun her around, and pressed her tightly against his body. They were still as the world whirled past them. Destiny sealed their fate as they stared deep into the pool of each other’s eyes, heart’s pounding. Her clear green eyes sparkled with moonlight. She no longer struggled to escape from his embrace, captivated by his intense stare.

“Capture me…or let me go,” she challenged in a breathless voice.

“Stay with me, beloved one,” he implored in a seductive whisper. She closed her eyes, enveloped in his warmth.

A strange longing overcame Gillian as her lips parted, moving towards his. Their lips touched. The moment seemed like an eternity in a circle of enchantment. The wind scattered the dry leaves and the indistinct voices seemed far, far away.. Nothing mattered to Gillian at that moment other than being in Art’s arms and losing herself in his warm, deep kiss.

The magic of the moment was shattered when they heard Dylan bellow Gillian’s name. As if stirred from a dream, Gillian recoiled bashfully from Art, pushing him away. Dylan then appeared, stumbling out of the thorny thicket.

“Gillian, please, I need to talk to you,” he pleaded.

“Go away, Dylan. You have to abide by the court order. Leave us alone.” She could smell the alcohol from several feet away.

“Give me a chance to make it up to you.”

“You heard her, Dylan. The judge warned you if there was any more trouble, you’d be out of the school and behind bars.”

“Athar, if I go to jail, I’ll make certain you’re dead first,” Dylan stuttered. “Let them put me away for a good reason because they find my hands stained with your blood.”

“Gillian…go,” Art urged her with a wave of his hand.

She glanced over to Art, who remained steadfast in his position. The contrast between the two men struck Gillian’s heart and soul as they faced each other in the shadows. Art stood tall, dignified, and mysterious, as all the secrets of the east. Dylan was equally tall, vibrant, and bold with golden hair shining brightly under the moonbeams, Son of the West. Dylan lunged forward to take hold of Art, who cunningly used the staff to trip him on his face. He bellowed furiously as he landed with a loud thump.

Gillian prepared to intervene, but Art waved her back. Dylan struggled to his feet, muttering curses and calling Gillian. Art grabbed her hand and dragged her away.

“I’ll find you, you worthless Arab bastard!” Dylan swore. “I won’t rest until I choke the life out of you.”

Dylan returned to home base long after the game was over. He limped and muttered angrily, urged by his companions to keep his distance. Dylan was upset when he learned his team lost because Art had freed his fellow teammates.

“You can wipe that grin from your face before I do you the favor,” Dylan slurred and floundered so that he had to be assisted to a bench. He was so inebriated he proved to be no real threat.

The game was over, and the remaining students lounged in dinghies afloat on the placid waters of the Potomac to await the rising of the dawn. Gillian sat beside Art with her head laid on his shoulder. Her heart ached for him, and his nearness roused her desire. The Grave Robbers emerged victorious as the tides of fate turned for the Queen of Cups and her Knight.

* * *

“Gil, are you seriously not going home for Thanksgiving break? You’d rather stay here and work? You’re mad crazy girl,” Esther rolled her eyes and shook her head in disbelief as she finished packing for her trip home.

“I thought you hated being home. Why are you rushing to go back?” Gillian asked morosely.

“I miss my mama’s cooking and I have a ton of laundry. I’ve no intention of washing it myself. Those are the main reasons.”

“Good for you. I’ve enough work to keep me busy here.”

“Art too. He can keep you busy. He isn’t going back to England. This place will be desolate. You can really get to know him.”

“Stop playing matchmaker and go. Have a great time—take Art with you.”

“I invited him along, but he politely refused me.”

“You’re worrying me, girl. Your family calls and you brush them off. You stay in this room and work, work, work…oblivious to everyone.” Esther learned she declined her parents’ invitation to share the holiday festivities at home, offering the excuse she was too overwhelmed with schoolwork. She was willfully tuning the world out. Esther wondered why? “I thought you’d be cheerful these past few weeks now that Dylan’s gone for good. Jail time should sober him up a bit,” Esther said with a wicked chortle.

“He tried to call me. I’m going to need to change my number. I’ll have to tell my parents I lost my phone and get a new one. They’ll worry and might even show up here to find out what’s going on. Please, Esther, let’s not talk about him. I don’t need my parents to know about Dylan.”

“I hear that.” Esther hugged her stuffed bear close and plopped down on her bed. “Damn Jerry. He’s late as usual. I don’t want to miss the train.”

Esther noticed Gillian ignored their conversation. She sniffled and repeatedly pressed the enter button on her laptop.

“What’s up now? Why don’t you come home with me and meet my crazy family? It would be better than staying alone here.”

“No, Esther. I can’t.”

“Why not, killjoy?”

“I need some time alone. I feel sick….”

“Sick? You mean like lovesick?”

Esther’s teasing did not put Gillian in an improved state of mind. She rose out of her chair and curled up on her bed, clutching a pillow tight. She sobbed bitterly. Esther felt compelled to come to her side.

“Wow. You’re really in terrible shape. Pack and come with me to the Bronx. My family will cheer you up.”

“Esther…,” Gillian said in a small, frightened voice. “I—I think…I’m pregnant.”

“What? No. No—you just didn’t say what I thought you said, right?”

“I’m sure I am.”

“How can that be? You stopped sleeping with him, right? You didn’t use protection?” Esther suddenly remembered two days ago when she and Gillian spent the day at a street fair, and she complained of the horrible smells and nearly retched when Esther offered her a chili dog. “Oh God, please tell me you didn’t sleep with him after all the troubles? Did he force you, or were you just that stupid?”

“I did. I was afraid, and I did.”

“Well, the solution is simple. Get rid of it. I can’t believe this. I’m going to have to cancel my trip. There’s no way I’m leaving you.”

“Art will never love me.”

“Art! Art, Art. I knew you cared for him. You should’ve listened to me from the get-go.”

Just then, Jerry burst into the room, dreadlocks flying. “Ready to go, my sweet? Art’s driving us to the station.”

Esther turned to find the man of the hour standing casually in the doorway. He dared not enter the room but peeked in for a glimpse of her. Gillian remained on the bed, lost in an oversized sweater. She made every attempt to disguise the fact she had been crying, but it was obvious even to the usually clueless Jerry.

“What’s up with Gillie?” Jerry exclaimed, drawing everyone’s attention to her.

“Oh, no big deal. Now that the a-hole Dylan is behind bars, she’s a free agent and feeling rather lonely.” Esther turned to Art with a smile and a sly wink.

“Esther, stop shouting my business from the rooftops,” Gillian groaned. She paled in horror when she noticed Art in the doorway.

Esther could sense the tension between them. Art lingered at the doorway, looking uncomfortable. He avoided Esther’s eyes, but his attempts to hide the truth from her were in vain. Gillian got out of bed and took refuge in the bathroom.

“What’s wrong with Gillian? She’s been crying?” Art asked with genuine concern.

Esther studied him. Art was handsome in an exotic way, sensual, and charismatic. His clear brown eyes turned to her, and she shuddered, not from fear but from the extreme intensity of the passion beneath the reserved surface.

“She’s worried about her grades. You know how that goes with Gillian,” she said in confidence, as Jerry continued to gather Esther’s bags. “She refused to go home and wants some time to catch up with work. She’s really bummed about what she went through with that creep, too. I’m staying with her for the long weekend. She’s going to need a friend. Besides, I have a plan,” she added with a cunning grin. She told Jerry to leave without her and reassured Art all would be well.

Her words sparked his curiosity. “If I can be of any help, please ask. I’m worried about seeing her like this.”

They could both hear the low sobs coming from behind the bathroom door. “Don’t worry, lover boy. You’re the key player in my plans! You’ll hear from me,” Esther assured.

Art closed his eyes and let out a light laugh, realizing Esther was in on his secret. She read him to the core and knew he loved Gillian. Esther gave him a big hug for encouragement and when he was gone, she prepared to help her friend.

* * *

Ester convinced Gillian to confirm her pregnancy. Together, they visited the on-campus medical clinic. Esther agreed to have her blood drawn and tested as well. They waited over two hours and then they were called in. They both paled in discovering the clinic employed Art as a medical assistant to earn his community service credits.

He closed the door with an expression of devastation on his face. “Esther, your test was negative.” He placed her file down on the counter. “Gillian, your test was positive. From the information you gave, we estimate eight weeks gestation with a probable late August due date.”

A crushing silence lingered until Esther spoke. “Art,” she whispered.

Gillian was unresponsive, refusing to acknowledge either of them. She calmly gathered her jacket and backpack and left the room without a word.

“I’m sure it humiliated her—you breaking the news. Why didn’t you send someone else to do it? She loves you, Art.”

“How do you think I feel?”

“She wants to abort, but she’s terrified. She’s frantic about how her parents will react, and she didn’t want you to find out.”

“She’s a woman, not a helpless girl. If she wanted to prevent conception, she should have taken precautions,” Art said in a tormented voice.

“It’s Dylan’s fault. He was a tyrant with her, and I wouldn’t put it past him to have forced himself upon her, and Gillian would never admit to it. He probably had some sick fetish about leaving his mark and wouldn’t allow protection. Some men are like that.”

“What should I do? I love Gillian.”

“Stand by her. If you love her, no matter the decision she makes, your feelings should be constant, and do whatever it takes to support her.”

Pensive for a moment, Art then nodded. “You’re absolutely right. I love her no matter what. I just fear what will happen if Dylan were to discover her pregnancy. He’ll start making demands and complicate everything.”

“I think he’ll eventually do himself in, but if you and Gillian truly love each other, nothing can tear you apart.”

“I’m impressed by your mediator abilities.”

“Ah, thanks. Let me go find her. She’s probably crying her eyes out again. We’ll chat soon.”

“Keep me updated, Esther.”

“I will.”

* * *

Ester returned to the room to find Gillian pale and still as stone. Anxiety weighed upon her face as she stared at the mini-television screen with unseeing eyes. An episode of I Love Lucy was on low volume. After a long silence, she spoke in a hushed tone. “Hi. I know you’re having issues keeping food down, but how about some good ol’ soup?” Esther said, placing the food containers down. “Chicken noodle with good ol’ saltines?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You need to keep your strength up. Eat.”

“I hate Art for what he did today. He had no right to humiliate me like that.”

“He—he loves you. When you’re in love with someone, you should have no secrets between you. I think that was his motivation for doing what he did.”

“So, he must hate me now. I don’t blame him. I hate myself for being such a fool.”

“He doesn’t hate you at all. He wants honesty and whatever you decide, he’ll be by your side. “You need to have a sit-down and keep the lines of communication open.”

“I’m haunted,” she answered without blinking, peering into space as if a phantom lurked in the shadows. “So haunted by him.”

“A few nights ago, I was running to the dorm in a downpour. Remember that night? You lost your favorite scarf. It was so icy cold. Someone appeared out of the dark and covered me with an umbrella. I remember babbling nonsense and fumbling with my keys because my fingers were so numb. Then I looked up and saw it was Art. I just stood there like an idiot, soaked to the bone, speechless as he just stared right through me. I never felt like that before.” Gillian looked towards Esther to find her listening with a sad smile. “He took the keys and opened the door as I remained petrified. He returned the keys, ever so gently, never once saying a word. The moment was surreal, like a dream. Then he was gone.”

“He’s never far from you,” Esther whispered. “Like a true lover.”

“I’m possessed by thoughts of him.” Gillian wept. “I’m so afraid. I’ve fallen so profoundly, so completely.”

“Just go slow. Everything will work out in the end. It always does.”

“What if it doesn’t work out? What if he’s bluffing and breaks my heart? I just couldn’t bear it!”

“Art would never hurt you, Gillian. His love for you is genuine. I’ve seen nothing like it before. It’s right out of a romance movie,” Esther assured her.

“I always felt uneasy around him but tried to downplay the discomfort, laugh it off until that encounter in the rain. I was in denial about these consuming feelings. Is it really love?” She closed her eyes and touched her face, sighing with unmasked desire. “Art,” she muttered the name as if it were forbidden. “I want to be near him, to feel that way again and forever.” In a low voice full of dread, she added, “I’m afraid of how he looks at me and by the way he makes me feel. Now, I’m carrying another man’s child. What can I do? I can’t bring myself to kill it.”

“Art will accept you and this child. He told me so.”

“It’d be unfair to him.”

“Give me him a chance. Let him surprise you.” For the first time in a long while, Esther made Gillian smile. She accepted the soup from her hands and ate contentedly.

“I hope you’re right, Esther.”

CHAPTER 5

Love that Perseveres

Gillian slept for hours while Esther resigned herself to a weekend of reading up and typing long overdue assignments. Eventually, she too drifted off. Gillian stirred shortly after three in the morning and, feeling restless, she put on her coat, hat and mittens and tip-toed out of the room. She wandered the lonely campus grounds under a soft flurry of snow. At last, she came to a bench beneath a wizened tree. She took a seat, huddled in her coat for warmth. She heard footsteps approaching. A tall figure materialized in the light of a nearby lamppost.

Gillian recognized Art in his brown leather jacket. He wore black sweatpants and hiking boots. He continued to move towards her, smiling until they were face-to-face. After what seemed an eternal silence, Gillian started the conversation.

“Do you like the snow so much that you’re out at three in the morning to admire it?” Her voice quivered from the bitter cold and desire rising within her soul. He looked up at the sky as the snow delicately fell upon his face.

“Snow is a gift that can transform the most desolate landscape into one of serene beauty.” After he paused, he asked, “What’re you doing out here?”

“Just another sleepless night for me. I should be cramming. I’ve tests coming up soon,” she answered timidly as her heart continued to race within her. “The snow is a good excuse as well,” she laughed, finally mustering the courage to look into those smoldering eyes, those dark, peering eyes that troubled her.

“It’s a fine thing to walk in the flurries. In England, the snow is so glorious, especially in the northern Yorkshire countryside.” As he spoke, he gazed at her face with unflinching adoration.

“…tranquil…”

Beloved

“…haunting…”

Beloved

With each word he uttered, Gillian fell deeper under his mysterious enchantment, like the Halloween night, when he held her close to his body. She was powerless and hopeless, confused by the stirring of myriad emotions.

“…too beautiful for mere words,” he continued in a voice that faded into a whispered voice, lingering in the night air.

My Beloved One

“Perhaps one day you’ll see it for yourself,” he smiled. “May I walk you back?” He offered quickly, sensing her inner turmoil.

She nodded. They walked side by side through the silent snowfall without another word. The ground was becoming slippery. She struggled to maintain her footing. She felt a tremor race through her as Art took her by the arm, helping her along the icy path. When they arrived at her dorm building’s doorway, she whispered goodnight, holding up her keys with a timorous laugh. He nodded in acknowledgment. Gillian turned from a sudden blast of wind and when she looked back, Art was gone, an indistinct figure fading into the snowy distance.

Beloved….

Once inside, she woke Esther to share the encounter. They were as giddy as two teen girls. Esther reassured Gillian.

“That’s a very good beginning!” Esther reassured Gillian.

* * *

“Why couldn’t we go to IHOP or Friendly’s for dinner? You’ve obviously never cooked a Thanksgiving dinner before and frankly, never have I,” Gillian giggled, watching her friend jump and down from the pain of her burned finger.

“Be quiet, Gil.”

Esther had to work fast to create an icebreaker for the would-be couple. She prepared an intimate surprise Thanksgiving dinner for them. Without letting on to Gillian what she had planned, they put together a store-bought meal, consisting of a ready-to-go turkey breast, a side of potato salad, yam, corn, and a few McDonalds’ apple pies that could be heated in the microwave. She never hinted to Gillian she had invited Art.

Meanwhile, Art was informed to arrive at seven o’clock with a bottle of wine. Thank goodness for the wine! Art was punctual and once Esther had them in the room together, she excused herself, leaving them staring uneasily at each other.

She was gone for hours.

Art and Gillian gaped before they could respond. “Well. Whatever it is you cooked smells wonderful and I’m rather famished,” Art said, removing his coat and tossing it onto the bed.

“Most of it, I have to admit, is nuked, microwaveable food, not proper food.”

“Poor Esther went through a great deal of trouble to prepare all this, and I’d hate to offend her by not eating it. But I don’t think we should eat it.”

Gillian laughed and agreed. “I’ll store it away.”

“I’ll help and then you and I can go anywhere you’d like for dinner. After all, it’s Thanksgiving, so wherever there’s a place open.”

“Lovely idea.”

Gillian had a distinct craving for IHOP. The usually busy establishment was empty, considering it was a holiday. When entering, the hostess seated them right away.

They both ordered the super-duper breakfast. Gillian was so hungry from days of not eating well that she wolfed down her meal. Her voracious appetite alarmed Art.

“I really can’t believe you ate all that.”

“Sorry.” She blushed. “Did I embarrass you?”

“No, not at all. Would you like more?” He teased. “Don’t ever feel intimidated or bashful in my presence, Gillian. You can do no wrong by me.”

“Trust me, I can. No one is perfect.”

“Precisely. We all have our shortcomings.”

“Tell me yours.”

“I’m a fool for love.”

“I suppose we have that in common.”

“I want to apologize for what happened in the office. You should know. Nothing will change how I feel about you, Gillian. I’m there for you if you need…or want me.”

Gillian sighed deeply. Feeling tears sting her eyes. “Oh, Art. I can’t—I can’t kill it.”

“I wouldn’t want you to do that. My only concern is if the O’Sullivans discover the child. They might be capable of something cruel.”

“I hope never to see his face again. No one will have to know he’s the father.”

Art reached for her hand. And after some hesitation, he said, “I‘d very much like to be the father of your child. Will you be my wife?”

“Art!” Taken aback, she replied, “We hardly know each other.”

“I love you and I hope you feel likewise. I think what you mean is that we haven’t experienced intimacy. That’ll come later. ”

Gillian closed her eyes and imagined life in some quaint suburb, children at happy play in a picturesque backyard, everything a woman could want.

“I need time, Art. I still have to face my parents and they will not be thrilled, especially my father. Please, give me time.”

“You have all the time in the world to decide.”

They spent the rest of the Thanksgiving weekend together, studying in the library, and exploring Georgetown and Washington, D.C. They went to the movies together. Art held her hand in the theater’s darkness as they watched a historical romance, Rob Roy. She clung to him for warmth as they walked side by side through the cold streets of Georgetown. It was a perfect beginning.

* * *

Ester rushed into her room, still feeling the biting chill of the frosty night air. She stopped dead in her tracks to see Gillian tossing her belongings into her luggage. She was crying and muttering angrily to herself.

“Now, what’s the problem? “

“Mind your business. If you can, for once in your life.”

“Why are you behaving like a psycho? You come and go without a word. We’re roommates, after all, simple greetings would be common courtesy.”

“I’m leaving, so you don’t need to worry about me any longer. I’m out of this place.”

“Did you fight with Art or something? I thought you guys were great, even considering marriage. What happened?” Esther demanded as she watched Gillian jamming her clothes into her overstuffed bags. “Art is out of his mind for you, and you can’t even be civil to him!”

Gillian threw her bags across the room in a rage and then fell to her knees, sobbing uncontrollably. “I don’t want us to be hurt!”

“He’s a big boy and can handle anything you throw his way.” Esther ducked on cue as Gillian hurled objects across the room. “Unlike me! I’m about to get killed here.”

“What the hell do you care? Maybe you should forget me and attempt to pass a class or something.”

“You insufferable bitch!” Esther sneered as she ducked to avoid being slammed by a heavy textbook.

“I’m so out of here!”

“Psychotic fool,” Esther cried out as Gillian grabbed her coat and prepared to leave. “I should report you to school security for this mess. You’re bugging if you think I’m cleaning it up. You’ll be busy when you get back.” The roommates raged back and forth until finally, Gillian was outside, leaving a confused Esther staring at the considerable mess.

Gillian did not return that night.

* * *

Gillian trudged through the chill, misty night, struggling with her overwhelming inner turmoil and feeling very sorry for upsetting Esther. Cheerful Christmas decorations brightly adorned the campus. Lovely choral music resounded from the chapel as students, eager to escape the cold, rushed by her. She returned to the old tree where she encountered Art several weeks ago, its black branches twisted ominously up into the night sky.

She did not recognize him leaning against the tree, blending into the dimness. Her heart leapt when she caught sight of him out of the corner of her eye. She pretended not to see him, and walked casually by, exiting the campus grounds through the colossal gates leading to the city streets. Gillian continued until she arrived at her favorite coffee shop. She entered, ordered a steaming cappuccino, and took a seat in a secluded corner, prepared to ponder the night away. Her numb fingers tingled from the warmth of the coffee cup as she gazed through the steamy window and despaired.

It horrified Gillian when she noticed Art had followed her in. He searched in every direction and within seconds sat directly across from her. Without hesitation, he took her hands into his warm ones amid the indistinct murmur of voices in the café. There was no hope of escape for her now. He looked at her face as she continued to evade his eyes.

“Are you ashamed of me?” he asked, eager for her reply. His pain was apparent in his voice. “I know our backgrounds are different, but what we feel for each other can overcome any obstacle if we believe our love is worth the risk.”

“It’s not that at all,” she answered, pulling her hands away. Art stared back, wounded, unaware of the power his touch had over her.

“Then please, tell me what’s wrong, and let’s try to work it out. Have I offended you in any way?”

“I’m just afraid.”

“Afraid?” Art whispered. “Is it Dylan? Has he tried to contact you?” Art asked, speaking his rival’s name with contempt.

Suddenly laughter rang through the café as carolers sang a yuletide song in voices, so warm and lovely, ‘Good King Wenceslas’, one of her favorites. The voices were so warm and lovely.

“No, he hasn’t bothered, and I hope it stays—”

“Damn it! I love you,” he cut in before she could finish. “I shouldn’t even have to say it. Can’t you feel it? It’s obvious to all the world but you. How can I convince you of my love?” he implored.

“It’s entirely my fault. I’m the one who’s a coward. I’ve lived with such distrust; I can’t believe in myself. I can’t believe in love.”

“Then where do I stand?” Art pleaded as he tenderly wiped her tears. Her skin was red from the chilly wind. The patrons applauded the carolers for the lovely tune.

“I’m so sorry, Art. No one has ever made me feel the way I do for you. I’m losing myself.”

“Try considering my feelings instead of wallowing in self-pity all the time,” he demanded. “You’ve got a man who loves you, and an innocent life coming soon. I want to be by your side all the way.”

She vented with a sigh of anguish. Art determinedly took her by the hand and led her out of the café.

They walked side by side again in dreadful silence. Without warning, Gillian turned to face him, seizing him like a lost, desperate child. “Please stay with me.” Trembling and sobbing, she fell to his knees. The accumulating frost scratched her palms. Art gently helped her up and kissed her.

“There’s nothing to fear, beloved,” he whispered as his heart ached for her pain. He led her away, shielding her from the glances of curious onlookers.

The sounds of the night faded away as they entered the dark hall of his apartment complex. His was the first apartment on the left. The door was unlocked to a small living room, aglow with the light of several candles. It was warm, a radiator musically hissed steam through the pipes. Gillian removed her woolen cap and her coat handing them to Art. She immediately felt at ease in the dim warmth of the small room.

“Would you like some tea?” he offered in a low whisper.

With a timid nod, she accepted. There was the sound of a light switch clicking on as he disappeared into the kitchen area. Gillian rested on the plush sofa, viewing the low window. The apartment was warm and quiet, quaintly adorned with ivory lace curtains. Her anxiety ebbed, replaced by a sense of security.

Outside, the snowfall increased in intensity. She watched hypnotically as the gusty wind lifted the moonlit snow into a glittering swirl. The aroma of the brewing tea permeated the air. Then Art returned bearing a tray with two steaming cups and slices of carrot cake, which he placed on a nearby table. Gillian’s closed her eyes as she clutched a pillow by the window. She did not stir as he took a seat close beside her and gently touched her hair.

His touch aroused her deepest desire and soul-wrenching anguish. He kissed her lips as longing and desire unfolded. They embraced in the darkness, their mutual passion unleashed as they made love. Gillian fell under his spell as Art held her in his arms. She closed her eyes and dreamed….

A caravan crossed the desert through windswept dunes.

Dim eerie music rose from the distance.

Upon the highest dune stood a figure in dark, fluttering robes.

The sun’s glare created a halo of light around the figure.

Silhouetting the form.

The figure descended slowly, leaning heavily upon a staff.

The mysterious one approached.

She cried in the darkness.

Long after midnight, Art stirred from a deep slumber by Gillian’s restlessness. He soothed her, lovingly whispering an Iranian lullaby. She held on tightly to him and was soon fast asleep. When Gillian awoke, there were two steaming cups on the tray, but Art was gone. She wrapped her nakedness in a blanket and glanced about frantically. She found a brief note he left behind.

Will return soon with breakfast

Beloved one -

Art

Overwhelmed by shame, Gillian decided the best course of action was to dress and leave in haste. She escaped into the cold foggy morning, refusing to believe that she and Art had been intimate. Esther pretended to be asleep as Gillian tiptoed across the room and slipped into bed. Esther smiled to herself, praying that all was resolved between Art and Gillian.

CHAPTER 6

Friendship

At eight o’clock Esther began her usual morning routine. The microwave prompted Gillian to stir, looking bleary-eyed. Esther shoved a cup of her dorm brew under her roommate’s nose.

“You look like you can use this right about now,” Esther teased. “Go on! Its expresso loaded with sugar.” Esther smiled as Gillian accepted and closed her eyes, savoring the shot of caffeine through her veins.

“That’s good!”

“Well?” Esther said with wide-eyed anticipation. “All better now?”

“Yes! This woke me up.”

“No, I mean like with Art. I know you didn’t get back until daylight. That could only mean….”

“Yes…I was with him. Okay, Sherlock?”

“So, it’s all good. You’re back on as a couple?”

A slow smile turned Gillian’s lips, but there was a distant look in her eyes. “It was magical. A part of me will cherish the moment forever. Another part of me wants to disappear, hoping to leave such a perfect moment untarnished by the troubles of a relationship.”

“Oh, you’re such a tiresome bore,” Esther retorted, losing patience with Gillian.

“I shouldn’t try to see him again for a while.”

“Your fears are irrational. Why not savor the magical moments and downplay the difficult times?” Esther advised. “Nothing and no one is perfect in this nasty world. There’s no utopia for us, girlfriend, until we cross those pearly gates.”

Gillian did not respond, her face clouded by doubt and shame. Esther threw her arms up in defeat and had to run to make her morning class on time.

* * *

The knocks at the door woke Esther from a catnap. She strained her eyes to see the alarm clock. It was seven o’clock in the evening. She had dozed off for a little less than an hour.

“Coming! Hold on!”

Esther’s hopes were dashed. For several days, Ester and Gillian went without seeing each other, their schedules crisscrossed. Plus, Gillian’s relationship with Art appeared to be thriving.

Apparently, things were not going well. Art was at the door, looking grim.

“Ewww. You look like hell,” Esther sighed, guessing why Art had come.

“I must speak with her,” he despaired.

“She isn’t here, believe it or not. She’s in the library or the lab. Have you tried any of those places?”

Art nodded, overcome by frustration. “I’ve tried everywhere and every way to reach her, but she refuses to acknowledge my existence. I’m losing hope that she cares for me at all.” He pounded his fists against the wall, disturbing the girls next door. Esther led him by the arm into the privacy of their room. Once inside, Esther made her best effort to calm him.

“Our relationship exploded with passion for several weeks. We spent a lot of time together in public and met at my apartment. Then, without warning, Gillian shifted, dedicating all her time to her work. I don’t understand where I went wrong.”

“I hear you, Art. It’s as if she’s retreated into her private hell. She won’t communicate anything to me at all. Did you say or do anything to upset or pressure her in any way?”

He was silent as he wrestled with the humiliation of being near tears. “I’ve done nothing but worship her. A moment doesn’t go by that I don’t think of her. I can’t sleep but to dream of her. I’m possessed.”

“Oh Art, give her time,” Esther pleaded, feeling her heart break as he bore the pain in his soul. “She’s so uncertain of herself, terrified that she’s fallen in love.”

“She’s cruel and foolish. The heartache she’s caused is very real and unnecessary.” His quivering voice revealed the rage within his heart. “I’m willing to do whatever it takes, Esther. If she wants me to beg, I will. I’ll wait. I’ll leave her forever in peace if only she’d tell me what to do.” Shaking his head, he stifled the violent tears. “I love her completely and truly and was certain she reciprocated my love. Now I’m alone and back in the dark.”

“Art, please….”

He reached for a framed picture placed beside Gillian’s bed. She sat alone on the sand by the surf, smiling serenely at the camera. The glass showed a crack, inflicted when Gillian threw the picture across the room in her recent fit of rage. Esther watched sympathetically as he struggled with emotions too profound for expression.

“I’ll try to talk to her.”

“She can’t know I was here. Please, Esther, say nothing to her. Leave matters as they are for now. Perhaps I was simply mistaken about her…about us.”

“Don’t despair.” Esther reached out to take his hand.

“If Gillian loves me, she’ll come around. We both know that,” Art insisted.

“It’s our secret. I won’t tell her you were here tonight,” Esther whispered. Art returned the picture to its spot on the night table and composed himself. He bid her goodnight and went on his sad, lonely way.

* * *

Political science was a bore. Art had a difficult time staying awake during class. The sight of Esther’s heavy lids closing and her head bobbing to her chest always made him snicker. Not seeing Gillian for days distracted him from the lecture. When he saw her, she avoided him at all costs. She refused to respond to any messages he left with Esther and would not answer his calls. Her fickle, aloof behavior wounded him to the soul. He knew she was overwhelmed. He wanted nothing more in the world than to help her, but she shut him and everyone else out.

That afternoon, several hours later, Gillian came to class. She looked pale and haggard. The professor grew indignant when she entered. Many students turned in their seats to glare at her. Gillian struggled to remain composed, but she could not keep up the facade long. She gathered her belongings and stormed out of the lecture hall, causing a murmur to break out, further irking the professor. Art was quick to follow her.

“Gil! Gil, please….” She stopped her frantic escape and acknowledged him. “Darling, please, talk to me. Let me help you.”

“I can’t, Art. I can’t go on like this. I made an appointment to terminate the pregnancy. Then I’m withdrawing from Georgetown to start again. That’s it. No more of this for me.”

“What about us? Think about it. Have the baby and take a semester off. Then, try again. I’ll be by your side always. Don’t give up just like that.”

“My mind is set.”

“No, it isn’t,” he said, reading the uncertainty on her face. “Why the sudden change of heart? Did I do something wrong?”

Gillian broke into a sob. Art took her in his arms to console her with loving words. “Dylan knows. He sent a letter to the school, and they forwarded it to me. He knows about the baby. Someone told him.”

Art did not doubt it. Dylan had many friends on campus, and they were keeping him well informed of her coming and goings. “He’s going to file for custody and make my life a living hell. I have to do it.”

“You don’t have to. We can marry, that would offer some protection. The courts and child protective services prefer to see a baby with its biological mother in a nuclear family unit. You know it as well as I do.”

“It’d be so much easier to terminate…everything,” Gillian responded.

Art did not like her fatalistic tone.

“What about me? You would terminate me too? I love you. No one could ever love you as I do, Gillian, I swear it.”

* * *

Gillian visited the obstetrician unaccompanied, and Esther was terrified that she would make a decision she would regret forever. Yet, when Gillian returned from the doctor, she was smiling and holding up a printout of the sonogram. Esther hugged her as tears of joy filled her eyes.

“You didn’t do it!”

“I heard the baby’s heartbeat, and I realized how much I love Art and how important it is for me to have this child, despite everything,” Gillian replied enthusiastically.

“You’ll tell Art?” Esther asked quietly. “Tell him you’re not leaving and that you love him.”

“Art knows I love him, but I may have no choice but to leave. I won’t have Dylan breathing down my neck,” Gillian replied.

“Why do I have this gut feeling Dylan’s bluffing? All he cares about is himself. I think the last thing he wants is a baby and child support payments to complicate his life.”

“His parents are behind all this, and he’d like nothing better than to see me suffer just because he has paternal rights.”

“Art’s right. You must get married, and I don’t see why you shouldn’t if you love each other.” Esther smiled coolly. “What else is bothering you? I know you well enough by now to see you’re hiding something.”

“I’m confused and afraid. I want to have this child, but what if—what if loving it changes my feelings for Dylan?”

“Jeez…just remember what a flaming bastard he was and how meanly he treated you.”

“You don’t know what it’s like, Esther, to have a living being growing inside you. Sometimes I feel the slightest flutter. I know it’s the baby and I envision Dylan, cradling the little one in his arms. What if becoming a father somehow transformed him?”

“Awww, what bullshit.” Gillian sat on the bed with round, sad eyes in reaction to the harsh outburst. Esther realized her friend was hopelessly lost, confused, and emotionally scarred. She came to her side. “Nothing will ever change a rogue like Dylan. Get all that nonsense out of your head before you lose a good man. Art loves you and will accept this child. Dylan will never change. He’ll never care about anyone or anything but himself. No lie.”

* * *

The Georgetown campus was in full gear for the Christmas celebrations. Gillian seemed to cheer up as she helped the others prepare for the dorm party. Art arrived amid the bustle, offering his help to the volunteers as they collected donations to disperse throughout the community. The students collaborated with professors, working diligently and tirelessly with Esther at the forefront of the operation. Goodwill and the holiday spirit of cheer touched everyone. Art made an extreme effort not to impede Gillian’s space, distancing himself. Keeping busy was an excellent remedy for a broken heart.

“Well, lover boy, is Gillian still playing games?” Esther asked, leaning her back against Art.

“She needs space. What she’s going through isn’t easy.”

“There’s supposed to be a court date soon to establish paternity. Dylan is such a bastard making her through the humiliating DNA testing. I wish I had my granny’s gift for hexing. I’d get him good.”

Art chuckled, imagining Esther performing an ancient voodoo ritual. “I’d never want to piss you off, Esther.”

“Look at her go. She’s done nothing but stuff her face since she arrived here. I think she must’ve gained like ten pounds,” Esther chided. “She’s making up for lost time.”

“Gracious! Lox on pizza,” Art grimaced.

“You should see her down the pickled herring every night, disgusting.”

“She looks so beautiful, vibrant, and alive again,” Art said dreamily, entranced by Gillian’s every movement.

“Well, lover boy, snap out of it. I need a ride to the hospital to drop off these donations.”

“You’re a shrew, Esther.”

“I don’t like the sound of that. Now hurry. I want to get all this work out of the way so we can par-tay hardy. We also need to pick up the gingerbread houses donated by the bakery. Traffic is gonna be such a nightmare,” Esther sighed. As they turned to leave, they unexpectedly came face to face with Gillian. Art concealed his delight.

“Oh, hi, Gillie. What’s up?” Esther said quickly.

Gillian was abrupt, looking past Esther and directing her words at Art. “Art, can you give me a ride to the train station tomorrow morning?” Gillian then added coldly, “I’m going home.”

Art’s eyes fixed desperately on her. The hope dissipated from his face, replaced by anguish. “You’re leaving?” he whispered forlornly.

Gillian revealed apprehension by looking away and tucking her hair behind her ears. “Yes. I need time away to sort matters.”

“What time tomorrow?” he asked in solemn surrender.

“Ten,” she answered with a quick smirk, but her cheerfulness was unconvincing.

He nodded disappointedly. “I’ll be there at ten.”

She tried to smile, “Wonderful, then. I’ll see you in the morning.” His desperate sorrow struck her as they stared longingly at each other.

Esther intervened and dragged Art away as she shot Gillian an angry look and spat, “We have work to do. Let’s not waste our time on lost causes.”

* * *

Ester and Art toiled to complete the errands for the night. Art masked his pain remarkably well, but it was obvious to Esther that he feared the loss of Gillian. She observed how he treated the unfortunate in a gentle, caring manner. He listened patiently to the nostalgic ramblings of the old and played energetically with the children of the pediatric ward donning a Santa hat. Emotion overcame Art as Esther placed a newborn in his arms without warning. He looked upon the tender creature in mute wonder. Esther assisted him in adjusting the squirming babe into a comfortable position. Secretly, she prayed Gillian would acknowledge her affection for Art, and together, they would attempt to resolve all the issues, keeping them apart.

“You look great with that baby…Daddy,” she chuckled.

“This is going to take some practice, I think. I never held such a tiny baby before.”

“Don’t worry, they’re tougher than they appear. You won’t break him.”

“How are you so experienced?”

“Many years of babysitting my cousins, nieces, and nephews.”

Art became glum as he looked at the innocent infant. “I only hope she returns to me. I couldn’t bear losing her.” He despaired as he returned the infant to Esther.

“All’s lost if hope’s lost.” She handed the infant to its mother. Art nodded and distanced himself. Esther watched as he slowly removed the Santa hat and tossed it aside. Without another word to anyone, he slipped out and was gone.

Esther returned later that evening and vented her fury on Gillian for treating Art with such contempt. “You didn’t mention anything about leaving. You’re ruthless and heartless. Art thinks you intend to leave him hanging without even telling him what he did wrong.”

“I have every intention of returning. I love Art now more than ever. Don’t blame me for your assumptions,” she replied, struggling to maintain her composure.

“If we’re guilty of faulty assumptions, it’s based on your fickle behavior.”

“I’ll remedy that tomorrow…hopefully.”

“You’ll tell him what your intentions are? Stop keeping him in the dark.”

“I need time away from this place to sort my feelings out. Everything will change when I return.”

“What about the court date?”

“I had it delayed. I want to tell my mother about what’s going on. She’s going to find out soon enough. I’m hoping she’ll soften the blow when my father hears the news. He’s going to chew me out. He might even disown me.”

“Oh, Gil. Know that my thoughts are with you and you can call me anytime. I’m sure your parents will see the light. They always cave in when they see the face of a grandchild.”

“You haven’t met my father.”

Esther rushed in to hug her. “We’ll be waiting for you, Art and I.”

* * *

Art arrived at ten o’clock in the morning, prompt as usual. He had not slept well and looked weary and perturbed. They all bid each other Merry Christmas. Esther, yawning and disheveled, drew her robe close and shuffled to the window in time to see the couple exchange a few intimate words and a deep kiss. Then Art opened the passenger side door for Gillian and helped her inside.

They sat side by side in silence. 1010 WINS AM rambled on about the world’s news as they made the quick trip to the Metro-North Station. Art assisted Gillian in checking her bags once they arrived, leaving an hour until the scheduled departure time. They strolled along the platform.

“I hope you’ll be back for the spring,” Art said.

“I’ll be back,” Gillian answered.

Art paused and turned to her with a look of desperation in his eyes. “Promise?” he asked, searching her face.

“I promise.” Her voice was calm and reassuring. With a gentle touch, he took the dangling ends of her scarf and tied them about her, for it was a blustery day.

He took her hands. “These past few weeks have been trying for both of us. I don’t want to continue to be apart from you.”

“Forgive me. These past few weeks have been very hard. I need this time away to think and make plans.”

“I hope those plans will include me,” he added gently, lifting her chin to meet his gaze. She closed her eyes, and tears spilled down her face. “I hope you’ll remember our love. I want you to know, if ever you need me, I’ll be there for you.” His words were brave and meant to be comforting, but his voice choked, and tears brimmed in his dark brown eyes. Despite this, a benevolent smile crossed his face. Gillian marveled at his forbearance. It inspired her to endure her heartache.

“Art, I want you to know, I have every intention of returning and then we…we—” she stammered as the trained roared into the station.

He hushed her lips with a kiss and whispered, “When you return, we can make plans together.”

She embraced him. It was a desperate, melancholy moment as they prepared to part.

“Merry Christmas, Beloved One,” Art whispered, reaching into the pocket of his trench coat and presenting her with a small, decorative box. Inside the box was a magnificent diamond ring, sparking with great fire. He gently placed the ring on her finger and kissed her hand. “It’s my hope, that in time, you’ll accept me as your husband.”

Her blue eyes widened in wonder. He quickly pulled out another small gift and added, “This one is for Christmas day.” He handed her a flat parcel wrapped with angelic figures.

The last call to board the train echoed throughout the station, making them rush. Art helped her board the train and waited until she settled into a seat by the window. She watched as he remained standing alone on the windy platform as the train pulled away from the station with increasing speed. Art quickly diminished into the distance. The ring remained on her hand, a sparking reminder of his devotion.

CHAPTER 7

Union

The elegant McPherson residence was the jewel in the crown of their Chicago neighborhood. It was a stately mini mansion decorated with rare ornaments and Martha Stewartesque attention to detail stocked with delicacies, sparing no expense.

Gillian experienced a poignant sense of detachment from her friends and family as they made their annual pilgrimage to her home in Beverly, Chicago, to celebrate the holidays in grand style. There were myriad relatives from all parts of the nation, including many from Canada and Scotland. Rental cars and minivans crowded the driveway, each carting colorful packages and luggage.

Gillian was tired and lonely, distracted by the memory of Art and the precious secret of the life growing within her. In the privacy of her room, Gillian opened Art’s second gift, wrapped in Christmas angels. It was a compilation of poetry by Persian Mawlana Jalaluddin Rumi. She researched the poet on her laptop. Rumi was born in 1207, inspired in his youth by a wandering Dervish to follow the mystic path. He was the author of many romantic writings, including nearly 3000 ghazals or poems. She admired To Take a Step Without Feet, relishing each word whispered into her pillow.

This is Love: to fly toward a secret sky,
to cause a hundred veils to fall each moment.

First, to let go of life.

In the end, to take a step without feet;
to regard this world as invisible,
and to disregard what appears to be the self.

Heart, I said, what a gift it has been
to enter this circle of lovers,
to see beyond seeing itself,
to reach and feel within the breast.

She spent each free moment lost in the dreamy words, each passage whispered a message of love reaching out from Art’s soul to touch her own.

A lifetime without Love is of no account

Love is the Water of Life

Drink it down with heart and soul

Gillian remained a recluse in her room, weary of the reveling voices in harmony with her mother’s baby grand piano. Eventually, the laughter and song faded into silence as the weary guests retired. Gillian woke later by a quiet knock at the door. Her mother appeared carrying a tray with two steaming mugs of hot cocoa and her favorite, hazelnut biscotti.

“It’s past midnight. Merry Christmas, dear.” Her mother smiled, setting down the tray, then settling comfortably beside her on the bay window. She kissed her sleepy-eyed daughter and sipped her drink quietly.

“Thanks, Mom. It’s so good to be home,” Gillian sighed, taking her mug and a bite out of the crunchy biscotti.

“Everyone’s wondering why you’re so withdrawn. You haven’t been in your usual Christmas spirit. Cousin Missy missed playing charades with you.”

“School has been exhausting. The workload is far more demanding than I ever thought it would be,” Gillian replied unconvincingly. “I almost stayed behind.”

“You should get as much rest in as you can.” She reached for the book of poetry and looked curiously at it. Before Gillian could protest, her mother read the loving words written by Art. With curiosity, she inquired, “Who’s this mysterious stranger who’s left his mark on my girl’s heart? He must be very special.”

“Mom, I’ve never felt this way about anyone. I’m uncertain what to do.” Gillian paused, feeling the sting of tears in her eyes. Her attempts to mask her emotions from her mother had always been futile. “I’ve treated him with such indifference. What makes it hard to show my affection?”

“It’s no simple thing to love someone.”

“I miss him. If I had it to do all over again, I wouldn’t hesitate to prove how much I love him.”

Her mother consoled her with a warm touch and then tenderly asked, “How far along are you, darling?”

A nervous laugh escaped Gillian as she looked at her mother. “I knew you’d guess as soon as you saw my face! I can’t hide anything from you.”

“I did. You have that certain—glow,” her mother remarked, dabbing at her teary eyes.

“I’ve disappointed you.”

“No, darling. As a parent, I’m concerned and have every right to be. You must consider how this will affect your future. Does the young man know yet?”

Gillian shook her head. “It’s far more complicated than you can ever imagine. This baby is not Art’s. I was involved with someone else, and he turned out to be someone I didn’t really know. He was abusive, and an alcoholic. I tried, I did, but he’s violated several restraining orders and is now in jail.”

“Oh, Gillian,” her mother groaned, and reached for her. “My sweet, sweet girl. I never wanted this for you.”

“I should’ve known better, but I was too involved to see I was trapped. His name is Dylan O’Sullivan, and he comes from a wealthy family in North Carolina. I don’t want to talk about him, I just want to leave it behind, to move forward.”

Frowning, her mother asked, “Does he know?”

“After his incarceration, I thought I’d never see or hear from him again. Unfortunately, I was wrong. Someone told him I was pregnant and in another relationship. He’s petitioned for custody with the backing of his family.”

“You considered an abortion?”

“I did but….”

“We’ll get the best lawyers, Gillian. Whatever it takes, we’ll figure something out.” She pressed her lips together in thought. “And what about Art? How does he feel about all this? In over his head, no doubt.”

“He wants me to have the baby and, well, he asked me to marry him,” Gillian said, pulling the necklace from under her sweater, the engagement ring sparkling in the light.

“Oh! It’s a lovely piece. It looks custom,” her mother exclaimed. “Darling, I would love to meet him. Your Art sounds like a wonderful man.”

“He is, he really is. But I’m so worried, mom.” She tucked the ring away. “I need your help. How am I going to tell dad? He’s going to be livid.”

“Yes, he will. And you’ll have to accept that he needs time, but he loves us, and he’ll come around.”

Gillian and her mother sat together on the bay window. She leaned close on her mother’s soft breast as she did when she was a child, the hissing radiator softly filling the room with soothing warmth. They took turns reading the verses of Rumi as the sun rose above the bare, wintry horizon.

* * *

Art met Gillian at the train station. The sight of him overjoyed her.

“Did you have a good time?” he asked cheerfully.

“Oh, just the usual family gathering, gifts galore, gorging and barely making it out of bed for Christmas Day mass!” Gillian smiled, bubbling with happiness. “All I really wanted was to be here with you—I was in mind and spirit. Each time I read a poem, I dreamed of you.”

“I knew Rumi would work his magic on your heart!” he teased, and moved closer, his lips almost touching hers. “You haven’t said those words. Tell me you love me, Gillian.”

“Art, I do love you. I love you more than I ever believed I could love anyone.” She touched his cheek, feeling his warmth against her palm. “I was stubborn and an idiot. Please, forgive me.”

Beaming, he asked, “Does that mean you accept my proposal?”

“Of course! I love you, Art. I do. I do. I do!”

He laughed with joy and they embraced amid the bustling crowd, sharing a tender kiss.

* * *

When the couple returned to campus, they decided Gillian should move in with Art. Their friends gathered to celebrate the good news—an engagement and a baby. The cheer carried over to the next day when everyone assisted with Gillian’s relocation from her shared room with Esther to Art’s on-campus apartment.

By nightfall, Gillian settled into the new place. The sudden move left Esther sad. She lost her roommate and felt separated from her dear sister-friend. The couple shared an intimate meal by the Christmas tree. Art delighted Gillian with gifts for her and the unborn baby.

“Being here with you is the best Christmas gift ever,” she declared.

* * *

Spring unfolded in splendor across the university’s grounds. Art and Gillian were a joy to behold. They were always together, walking hand in hand along the blossoming landscape. They enjoyed peace, devotion, and contentment. The couple planned a May wedding in the University Chapel. When not thinking of the wedding, they worked on the nursery. They scouted the antique district for furniture and layette items to fill the small room.

The looming threat of Dylan O’Sullivan wavered in the background.

As promised, Mrs. McPherson hired an exceptional lawyer, based in the Washington, D.C. area. Gillian and Art arrived at the courtroom after conferencing with their lawyer, Jennifer McAlister, Esq. Honest, she warned the couple that the O’Sullivans had hired an elite team of lawyers. Dylan’s mother, Fran O’Sullivan, was especially determined to set her claim on the unborn child.

Gillian felt lightheaded and grasped Art’s hand in a tight, clammy grip. She rested her other hand on the top of her protruding belly, feeling the pointed kicks and rolling movements of her unborn child. Her heart leapt and pounded in her chest when the door swung open and she saw Dylan enter, handcuffed and shackled.

“Oh, Art,” she winced, pale and nauseated.

“No worries, darling. We’ve nothing to fear. We’re in excellent hands. Have faith.”

Gillian saw Dylan pause and nod to a sour-faced woman. Impeccably groomed and well-dressed, she sat beside an equally impressive man. Gillian assumed they were his parents, the indomitable Mr. and Mrs. O’Sullivan.

“All rise.”

The judge entered, and Gillian got to her feet just as the courtroom settled back into their seats.

“The Honorable Judge Rothstein presiding in the matter of O’Sullivan versus McPherson….” On and on, back and forth, they debated and rambled on. Gillian tuned them out, closing her eyes and breathing unevenly.

When called to the stand, the trial judge swore Gillian in. Following her lawyer’s advice, she was candid in her testimony.

After the judge reviewed all the evidence, including the expensive DNA testing, he confirmed Dylan O’Sullivan as the child’s father. Regardless of Gillian’s repeated declaration of abuse, the judge sided with the O’Sullivan’s on paternal rights.

Defeated, they exited the courtroom. Gillian was dizzy and emotionally exhausted by the ordeal. In the corridor outside the courtrooms, they crossed paths with the O’Sullivans.

“Hello, Gillian. I’m Fran and this is my husband, Richard.” He shook hands with Art and Gillian but promptly excused himself from further conversation. He had no desire to embroil himself with the “dirty business.”

“My son was right. You are beautiful. I understand his infatuation with you.” She turned her cold eyes to Art.

“We have to go,” Art interjected, meeting her gaze with equal distaste.

“You’re due August 28th? I’ve marked my calendar.”

Gillian was shocked the woman knew her exact due date. She must have had access to her medical records via her lawyers. “Yes. Good day.”

“I hope you have no skeletons stashed away in your closet, either of you, because if you do, be assured we’ll sniff them out. I intend to prove we can provide a lifestyle that’s in the best interest of the child and we’ll take back what’s ours.”

“If Dylan is proof positive of your parenting skills, you haven’t a hope in the world of stealing our child,” Art scoffed with contempt. “Your son’s a miserable disgrace and a menace to society and at present, he’s exactly where he belongs. He’s lower than the dust.”

“Your child?” The woman’s eyes widened with a flame of hatred. “No Arab filth will raise our blood. You’re the primary focus of our investigation, Athar Mirzan, and without a doubt, we’ll dig up something interesting enough to have you deported.”

“I’m sure you’ll give it your best effort. Goodbye.”

* * *

“You keep telling me you’re not nervous, but I know better. I see the terror in your eyes.” Gillian sighed as they settled in their rental car and prepared to drive the last leg of the journey, forty-five minutes until they were at the threshold of the McPherson residence.

“Terror? Nah., I think dread is more of an apt description. I’m dreading the meeting, not afraid.”

“My brave Art. I wish Esther were here. She might be able to keep my father at bay with her wild sense of humor.”

“Do I keep going straight or is it a left?”

“Straight on and then make a left at the second light,” Gillian directed. “We’ll stop at my parent’s favorite bakery and bring some goodies. That ought to get us off to a good start.”

“Having cravings again, beloved?”

Gillian blushed. She could hide nothing from Art. “Yes, actually.”

“I packed the pickled herring. Do you want some?” He teased.

“Not now.” She cuddled under his arm. “I need something sweet first.”

“Mmmm, sounds tempting, lovey.”

“Later.”

They stopped at the bakery and purchased two dozen assorted pastries and a key-lime pie, her father’s favorite. They drove on for another twenty minutes until they reached Beverly city on the south side of the city, known also as the “Beverly Hills” of Chicago.

A stately gentleman, tall and dressed as if had just returned from a round of golf, greeted the couple at the end of a magnificent driveway. The grand McPherson mini mansion impressed Art.

“Hello Dad,” Gillian said, giving her father a quick tap kiss. Art could see she was attempting to cover up her impending motherhood. “This is Athar.”

Mr. McPherson greeted his potential son-in-law with the usual firm handshake and a stern look in the eyes. “Welcome to our home, Athar.”

“Thank you, sir. You have a lovely home,” Art replied, remaining composed under the keen scrutiny of the older man’s cold, blue eyes. Gillian did her best to warn Art. Her father was a former Green Beret, trained to be a leader and fearless soldier.

“Just Pete,” her father said. “Is this your first visit to the Windy City?”

“In fact, it is.” Gillian could sense Art’s uneasiness, although he maintained his poise.

“Well…hopefully you’ll find your stay pleasant and have time to see the sights. Please come in. My wife is eager to see the pair of you.”

Art took Gillian’s hand as they followed her father up the porch and into the house. In the family room, Mrs. McPherson greeted them. She wore her hair in a long, graying version of Gillian’s angled bob. Formally dressed, she peered from narrow gold-framed spectacles. Her face lit up with joy at the sight of her daughter.

“Elspeth dear, this is Athar,” Mr. McPherson said in a low, droll voice.

“Please, call me Art.”

“It’s a pleasure to welcome you to our home, Art. Call me Elle. Oh, are those pastries from Eli’s?”

“Excuse me while I fetch refreshments. Art, what do you drink?”

“Just seltzer, please.”

“Seltzer, straight up?” Mr. McPherson smiled with a wicked twinkle in his eye. “Nothing better to quench a parched throat.”

“Art likes his seltzer with a twist, Daddy,” Gillian cut in with a pert grin.

“Bourbon, darling,” Mrs. McPherson requested, inviting her guest to take a seat.

Art sat beside Gillian, who was looking more uncomfortable. She clutched tightly at her shawl, still hoping to conceal her condition, at least until they made the announcement to her father.

Art placed his hand on her shoulder and whispered, “Are you alright?”

Gillian nodded. Her mother seated across from them mouthed, You’ll-be-fine. Mr. McPherson returned, pushing a rolling cart. He handed Art the clear glass of seltzer, a bourbon to his wife, and Gillian asked for a bottle of water.

“Have you done any traveling Art?” Mrs. McPherson began, focusing her full attention on him.

“Some. I’ve traveled throughout the Middle East and Mediterranean Europe, Italy, and Greece. I was raised in England and have seen most parts of the British Isles.”

“How wonderful for you. I’ve traveled through Europe extensively, being an army brat. History was my passion, so I pursued it in college. My studies provided opportunities for me to study abroad. Then I settled down, started a family, and taught middle school for nearly fifteen years. Attempting to motivate young teens to feel some passion for the subject is a challenge few care to take on, but I found it enjoyable.”

“That’s because you’re such a romantic,” Gillian laughed.

“Perhaps. England has always appealed to me, a land with such a rich, albeit violent, history. What part of England are you from?”

“London. I was born in Iran and raised by my paternal aunt. It’s a rather long story—”

“No doubt riveting,” Mr. McPherson added.

“Ah, Persia.” Mrs. McPherson sighed dreamily—diverting attention away from Art and recalling the delightful poems by Rumi she shared with her daughter on Christmas Eve.

“Now, I don’t believe you traveled here to dawdle over history and travel aspirations,” Mr. McPherson interjected, having downed several shots of whiskey and eager to get to the point.

“Actually, sir, we’re here to announce our engagement. We plan a simple wedding in late May. We hope to have your blessings and request your presence at the wedding,” Art replied, anxious when he observed the amount of whiskey Mr. McPherson had imbibed. It was apparent that the conversation was going to take an abrupt downward spiral.

“Marriage?” he scoffed. “You don’t enter marriage on a whim. What’s the hurry?” Just as Gillian was about to respond to his protest, Mr. McPherson silenced her. “Let me guess! My darling daughter is in a family way.”

“Pete dearest, it’s not so unusual now for couples to marry and even start a family while still attending college,” Mrs. McPherson explained as tactfully as possible, coming to the couple’s defense.

“Damn it! That’s not the right way and you know it, Elspeth! They’ve known each other for less than six months. We waited a year before announcing our engagement. It took us three years to make sure everything was in place. We didn’t have our first child until five years later. We were established so our children would lack nothing. Most importantly, children should have parents who have taken the time to know and prove themselves to each other during fair and foul weather.”

Without warning, Gillian shot up to her feet. “Oh, you’re so damned righteous! What of that first child? Where’s that darling son now? In the grave, because he could not take your overbearing, controlling ways and could never live up to your standards! He’s dead rather than daring to risk Daddy’s displeasure. Isn’t that the truth?”

Her father turned beet red as he raged. “You’re out of line!”

“We set the date, like it or not! Your little girl is in a family way by a non-Christian and your grandchild will be a half-breed, like it or not!” Gillian stated, as if Art were the true father of the child. She did not want to bring up any more issues to complicate matters with her father.

“Gillian, please! Your father is only concerned about your happiness and well-being. You’re very dear to us.”

“He’s only concerned whether M.D. will ever be suffixed to my name. I’m happy for the first time in my perfect little life and whether or not you will be a part of it.” Gillian turned in desperation to Art. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

“Please!” her mother cried out, rising out of her seat to come between them.

“Let them go to hell. I don’t want to hear from you when you’re abandoned, homeless, penniless with a fatherless brat,” Mr. McPherson blurted out.

“At least our parenting will spare our child an early grave!”

Art took a hold of Gillian and departed without a word. Her mother rushed to accompany them to the door.

“Please forgive him for his gruff nature. He’s had too much to drink, but he’ll come around. He always does.” Mrs. McPherson wept

“Our invitation remains open to you and your husband, should he reconsider.”

“Here,” Mrs. McPherson said, producing a wad of fifty-dollar bills bound in a rubber band. “Take this and don’t hesitate to call if you need anything. I love you.”

“There’s no need for that, Mrs. McPherson. We’ll manage,” Art refused as politely as he could manage, considering the circumstances. He put his arm around Gillian and helped her into the car. It was a quiet ride as they made a hasty return trip to Georgetown.

* * *

Art commenced a paid internship at the Georgetown University Hospital as Gillian grew rounder and rosier with each passing week. A certain peace overcame her as she focused on the impending birth of her child. She moved at a considerably slower pace, yet she still excelled academically. She made time to swim and volunteer at the same hospital where Art now worked.

Late one summer’s evening, Art awoke to find Gillian was not by his side. He found her seated on the sofa with the window opened wide. A cool breeze fluttered in the sheer lace curtains.

“Are you well?” he asked with concern. He knelt before and looked at her face. She seemed oddly wan and distant.

“What a horrible dream,” she sighed. “It was so vivid. I could feel the hot grit of sand on my feet. The sun was scorching, blinding me. I felt so lost, so alone.”

“Try not to give it too much thought,” Art answered, becoming contemplative. “Get some sleep.” He reached out and placed his hand on her belly to feel the gentle stirring of the child.

“Why do you seem so concerned, then?” she said, stroking his hair lovingly.

“I’m not sure. Sometimes vivid dreams can be an omen.”

“You’re so superstitious.” Her response was an unconvincing attempt to sound cheerful.

“Maybe so, now off to bed.” He helped her to her feet and back to bed. He propped up the pillows and placed them under her legs so that she could rest comfortably. In a few hours, the night faded, and the song of the morning lark heralded in the new day.

* * *

May arrived, and all was ready for the long-awaited campus marriage celebration. A quaint chapel ceremony followed the formal licensing at City Hall. Jerry was the best man, and Esther served as the maid of honor. They had a wonderful catered dinner in the University Hall. Jerry, who worked in the Leavey Student Center Cafeteria, prepared the meal. It was a wonderful time. To the couple’s surprise, Mrs. McPherson appeared at the chapel ceremony. She was teary-eyed but delighted as she congratulated the newlyweds.

“You look wonderful and so happy.” She beamed as she embraced her daughter.

“Rounder.” Gillian blushed, placing her hands upon her protruding belly. “Look at this horrid dress. It was the only thing that would fit.”

“Motherhood agrees with you. You’re lovelier than ever,” her mother added, placing a kiss on her daughter’s cheek. She then offered a hasty apology, stating that she could only remain for a short while. Mr. McPherson was eager to return home from a business trip.

“We’re happy you could share even a moment with us,” Art said in earnest. Mrs. McPherson embraced with pride her son-in-law.

“All I ask is that each of you completes your studies here.”

“Of course, we will,” Gillian assured.

Before she was on her way, the newlyweds gave Mrs. McPherson a tour of their apartment, focusing on the completed nursery. After a cup of tea, she reluctantly bid them a tearful farewell.

“You’ve both made me very proud and soon I’ll be a nana,” she said wistfully. “Slowly and ever so surely, your father is coming around. I know he won’t miss his first grandchild for anything in the world.”

* * *

“Are you sure you’re going to be okay?” Esther asked, full of concern. “I promised Art to check in on you while he’s working.”

Gillian had been on bed rest since her last visit to the obstetrician. She had developed gestational diabetes. The fetus was growing at a rapid pace, causing her blood pressure to rise, bringing on the additional threat of pre-eclampsia. The physician considered the pregnancy high-risk.

“Which is all the time now.”

“He’s such a great guy,” Ester continued. “He wants to make sure he provides for you and the little one.”

“Agh. I feel like a hot-air balloon. I’m so miserable. I can’t wait until all this is over so I can have my body back,” she groaned.

“Ha. I’m sure Art’s going to want some of that and then you’ll be knocked up again.”

“Hilarious. Maybe you should’ve gone back to the Bronx for the summer.”

“What, me miss the big event? No way. You’d best be nice to me, girlfriend; I’m the one organizing your baby shower.”

“Oh, off to work with you. I’m just going to remain trapped in this chair watching television.”

“Poor thing,” Esther moaned. “I can think of worse fates. How would you like to trade places and work at Ben and Jerry’s, scooping out ice cream for snot-faced brats and snooty tourists all day? Eh?”

“Chunky Monkey. Yum, I can taste it now.”

“Art said none of that for you. I’m outta here. Bye.”

While watching CNN, Gillian had drifted off in the recliner. The doorbell woke her. She peeked outside the window, surprised to find a woman in heavy Arab garb, her face partially concealed by the dark head covering. Gillian did not recognize the woman and was anxious about opening the door. She hid behind the shade and waited for the stranger to leave.

When Art returned late in the evening, he was silent and contemplative, eating very little.

“Is something wrong?” Gillian asked. “Is the food too cold? I can nuke it.”

“No, it’s fine.” Art gave her a weary smile as he forked the food with disinterest.

“Lasagna is on the menu for tomorrow. I can make that better than this mess called stew.”

“It’s too hot to cook and you shouldn’t be on your feet. I’ll order something healthy for you. Try to rest as much as you can. I think you’ll have to go in before your time.”

“I look that terrible?”

“No. You’re beautiful. I’m just concerned by your fluid retention, and this heat wave doesn’t help matters. Keep the AC on.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” she asked quietly.

“Just a bit tired. This humidity can drain the life out of anyone.”

“You know, Art, the oddest thing happened today. A woman I’ve never seen before rang the buzzer today. She was wearing a heavy, whatever it’s called—Arabian head scarf. Imagine that in this heat.”

Without warning, Art pushed his plate away and muttered angrily in Farsi. It was the first time Gillian heard him speak the language. With a deep sigh, he regained his composure and apologized.

“Was she old or young?” he questioned.

“I really couldn’t tell.” His reaction roused her suspicion. “Do you think you might know this person?”

Art shook his head and abruptly left the table, refusing to comment any further. Gillian decided it was best to leave the matter alone. The following morning, Art was running late. He grabbed his coat and rushed out, leaving Gillian with a quick kiss.

“Try to come home early. Bring some Chunky Monkey too!” Gillian called out after him. “Or the works deep-dish pizza!”

“None of that for you,” he warned. “Your blood sugar will go haywire. I’ll try to make it home early, but the ER has been so crazy lately,” he replied, and then the door slammed shut with an ominous, resounding echo.

CHAPTER 8

Torn Asunder

Gillian felt unusually energetic for a hot, humid morning. Against strict doctor’s orders, she took an early morning stroll to the grocery store before the summer heat engulfed the city. She delighted in the cold air-conditioned store and sampled a few tasty morsels from the delicatessen. Gillian paid the cashier and prepared to place her bags into the pushcart. Suddenly, a woman appeared from close behind, grabbing her bags.

“Let me help you.” The woman had a rich voice with a distinct accent.

When Gillian looked up, she saw it was the same woman that stood at her doorway yesterday. She was tall and sturdy, about fifty years of age. She wore a black flowing, full-length khimar with a draped hijab and shayala.

“I can manage,” Gillian protested.

“Nonsense, I’ll help you home. A woman in your condition shouldn’t carry such heavy bags in this heat,” she scolded firmly.

“They’re not heavy at all.”

Before Gillian could resist, the woman simultaneously pushed the cart and led her out of the store. “I’ve come to visit with my nephew, Athar.”

“Oh! Are you the aunt who raised him in England? He mentioned you to me.”

“I’m his Aunt Fatima. I’m surprised he spoke of me,” she replied.

“Not in great depth. Art is very private about certain things.”

“He was always a headstrong child, always hiding things from me,” she continued, a dour look on her face. “As soon as he wouldn’t answer any of my letters or calls, I knew something was amiss.”

Gillian fell silent, sensing the woman’s keen disapproval.

“Now that I’ve traveled all this way, I understand why he’s evaded me. I discover he’s married and soon to be a father,” Fatima said. What Gillian had mistaken for disapproval, she now knew, was sheer disgust. “For all his intelligence, he hasn’t wisdom, or even common sense, no decency in the youth of today.”

Gillian felt shaken and imposed upon as they neared the apartment. She was unsure how to handle the irate woman.

“Art usually returns home late in the evening. Would you like to leave a message for him?” They stopped before the door of the apartment and the woman turned coldly to Gillian.

“I think I’ll wait for him to return. If that doesn’t trouble you much?” Fatima insisted with a sinister smile. With no other recourse, Gillian invited her in and asked her to make herself comfortable.

“So, he works now?” she asked, fanning herself as she took a seat by the sofa.

“Yes. Very long hours, actually.”

“What about his studies? That was supposed to be his priority.”

“He manages very well,” Gillian replied, remaining poised as she handed her guest a cold glass of tea.

“He’s full of surprises, that one. Are you also a student here?” Fatima asked with a hint of sarcasm.

“Yes. I’m pre-med as well.”

“I intend to be here when the child is born,” she announced. How she scoped Gillian from head to foot gave her the chills.

“If you’ll excuse me, I’ll give the hospital a call and try to hurry Art home for you.”

Fatima grinned eerily with a wave of her hand. “You do that.”

Art returned home as soon as Gillian called him. He burst into the apartment like a raging lunatic. “I told you to stay away!” He raged at Fatima.

“I have every right to be here, you ungrateful orphan.”

“I’m a married man and won’t have you interfering.”

“Forget this travesty! You must return home at once,” she demanded. “It was a mistake for you to leave England and seek an inferior education here.”

“This is my home, and you’re not welcome here. I don’t want to hear anything you have to say. I don’t want anything from you. All I want is for you to go to hell!”

Fatima rose from her seat like a storm cloud prepared to burst into full fury. “How dare you! You know you have unfinished business in Iran. I insist you defend what honor you have left.”

“I’m dead to that past. I’m dead to you too! Curses on you all!” Art railed in such a frenzy that Gillian was afraid.

“You fool yourself. You have nothing here.”

“Leave, or I’ll call the authorities to drag you away.”

“You’ll live to regret this day,” Fatima swore vehemently. “Very soon.”

“Keep your threats to yourself and get out,” Art warned.

Without another word, Fatima was out, and the door slammed shut behind her. After her departure, Art was trembling in a silent rage.

“We don’t have the most agreeable relatives, do we?” Gillian exclaimed, attempting to make light of the situation.

Art reached for her and pleaded. “Fatima is dangerous, capable of great harm. Never allow her to come near you again.”

“Why? Tell me. I’m not sure what’s going on?”

“If ever you see her again, don’t hesitate to call the police.”

“Do you think we should report her to the authorities? Is a restraining order too much?”

“Maybe. I don’t know, she’s just dangerous,” Art answered, holding her close. He still trembled.

Visions of the robed figure in the desert haunted Gillian’s dreams. Art awoke her from a fitful state. He soothed her with a gentle Iranian lullaby, watching until they lulled her back to sleep.

* * *

Esther inserted the key into the door and entered the apartment building as usual. She paid little attention to the van parked outside. She waved to several of Art’s friendly neighbors. She stopped dead in her tracks when she noticed the door to Art’s apartment was wide open and entered precariously. A woman in Muslim dress bent over Gillian, who lay unconscious on the sofa, pale and sickly in appearance.

“Who are you, and what are you doing here?” Esther demanded. She pushed her way past a strange man to find items scattered about the place as if there had been a terrible struggle. “My Lord! What the hell is going on here?”

“Poor child is ill. Art is on his way.”

Esther read the lie in the woman’s cruel eyes, and she knew this had to be Art’s vicious Aunt Fatima. Her instinct warned her to seek help for her friend. Esther looked helplessly at Gillian and quickly surmised their peril. She overheard the voices of two men in the adjacent room. With a wild look of horror, she bolted for the door.

“Get her,” Fatima ordered.

The man by the door attempted to hold her back, but she dealt him a savage blow to the shin, and he released her.

Esther ran as fast as she could and hailed a taxi to Georgetown University Hospital, where she located Art and informed him of what was happening at his apartment. Without an explanation to anyone, Art raced out of the hospital, hoping there was still time to rescue Gillian.

When they returned home, the door was still wide open. Fatima was gone—Gillian was nowhere in sight.

Art fell to his knees in despair, crying out for Gillian like a brokenhearted man. Esther called the police to report the abduction. When the authorities arrived, Art could answer none of the questions. Gillian’s parents were notified and were immediately en route from Chicago. The search was on.

* * *

Days passed, and they made no progress in Gillian’s recovery. Her parents grieved as they sat side by side with Art, eager for any encouraging update.

“We suffered the loss of one child already. I couldn’t bear the thought of losing my baby girl.” Mrs. McPherson’s shoulders heaved as she forlornly wept.

The detectives hounded Art for information on Fatima, the accomplices, or a plausible motive for her actions. He could reveal little information to assist them. The situation continued at a standstill for several days until they received a telephone call from Fatima who stated Gillian was alive.

Gillian was safe.

She informed them that Gillian went into premature labor and a “close family physician” delivered the child. She urged Art to be patient, that soon he would be reunited with his wife.

“Why? Why is this happening? What about the baby?” Mrs. McPherson asked frantically. “Where are they?”

“She has no intention of returning the child to us, if it even survived,” Art stated his doubts.

“Why?” Mrs. McPherson asked, overcome by distress.

“Revenge,” Mr. McPherson replied with amazing calm. “It all reeks of vengeance. Art, what have you done to piss off your auntie?”

At that moment, the telephone rang. All eyes were on Esther as she reached her hand out and pressed the speaker on.

“Athar?” The voice of a man spoke in a heavy accent. They all turned quietly to Art, listening in horror to a voice speaking in rapid-fire Farsi. Art shot out of his seat and cried out.

“To the hospital!”

* * *

Mr. McPherson drove like mad with a police escort, leaving the car running at the entrance of the Georgetown University Medical Center’s emergency room. Esther, Mr. and Mrs. McPherson, and the police struggled to keep pace with Art, who raced through the frenzied obstacle course of the emergency room. His co-workers directed him to where Gillian lay, looking pale and lifeless.

“It took a hell of a lot of work to stabilize her. She lost so much blood,” the doctor explained. “All we can do now is hope and wait.”

“How did she get here?” Art asked, taking her lifeless hand in his.

“A concerned citizen called an ambulance. When the medics arrived at the scene, they found her in a tiny motel room, alone and bleeding. We estimated she must’ve been three hours postpartum. She suffered through a long, induced labor. There was evidence of intravenous medications. Police are still investigating over there.” The doctor patted Art on the back. “Man, get copies of the reports and hang the bastards high!”

“No trace of the infant?”

“No. Sorry, ” the doctor added with heartfelt emotion. He then excused himself to make his way to the next patient. Art closed his eyes to utter a prayer to Allah. They relocated Gillian to the Intensive Care Unit, where she remained unconscious for days.

Art was the only one permitted to remain in the room by Gillian’s side. He was there day and night, refusing to relent for rest. Gillian remained on the edge of life and death. Finally, Art heard her stir and call out. Mustering her strength, she opened her eyes and saw Art’s face above hers. Tears filled her eyes.

“I’m here, my beloved.” He smiled bravely. “You’re safe. I need you to be strong so we can leave this place together.”

“Our baby,” she whispered. Her throat was dry and achy.

“We’ll find our baby,” he promised with unshakeable confidence. “Don’t lose hope.” Gillian turned her face away, tormented by horrible thoughts of the fate of her child. “Just rest for now,” he urged her.

Mrs. McPherson convinced Art to take a break while she took her turn to care for her daughter. Art nodded, leaving mother and daughter together, his gait unsteady from fatigue.

Esther took him by the arm, assisting him to the cafeteria to grab a meal and relax. “Do you believe the baby is still alive?” Esther questioned.

“Yes, but not here in the states,” Art replied, weary but certain. “Fatima must be in Iran. It’d be very difficult to trace the child over there,” he continued, running his hands through his thick, dark hair.

“Why would your aunt risk killing Gillian to steal the baby? What’s her motivation? She must be insane,” Esther stated, angry and bewildered.

“She knows I’ll never stop searching for the child. I assume she intends to lure me to Iran and trap me there. I fear for the child. Fatima is convinced I’m the father. I dread to think what will happen if she learns I’m not. She might discard it or kill it.”

“Oh, my Lord. How terrible,” Esther fretted. “What’s the plan?”

“There’s only one option,” Art replied, undeterred by the peril of his intended endeavor. “I’ll search the ends of the world for our child.”

* * *

Several days later, Gillian was transferred to the main wing. Her improvement was slow but steady. Soon, she was coherent and able to speak, although her voice remained low and weak.

“Art,” she struggled to speak. He took her hand. “I know our baby is dead.”

“What makes you so certain?”

“I heard the cry…then the silence.”

“You might’ve passed out. Our baby must still be alive. I won’t give up hope so easily.”

“I don’t know if it was a boy or a girl,” she sobbed.

He held her trembling body and consoled her. “It’ll be a long, dangerous venture, but we must endure. Fatima will pay for this injustice. I swear by all that is holy.”

* * *

“Some coffee with breakfast?” Art said, walking gingerly so that he did not spill the contents of the steamy cup. Gillian sat at the table, staring down at her bowl of oatmeal and blueberries. She felt numb and dizzy from the twenty milligrams of Valium. The only physical sensation she felt was her tender, leaky breasts each time she thought about her lost child.

“Try to eat, my love. You have to regain your strength if we’re going to make this trip.”

“I’m trying Art.”

“Tell me what happened, if you can.”

Gillian sniffled, struggling to remember anything, and when she did recall details, the trauma she suffered made it impossible for her to speak. It was very slow going for Art, who was eager to get to Iran. Each day they delayed would make their mission more impossible.

Art sat faithfully by her side, encouraging her to be strong and gently urging her to remember anything that might help them in their search for the babe. She tossed and turned, lost in a delirium of fear, reliving the nightmare in her mind, disassociated from the present.

“Fatima! Fatima!” she cried out. “Why-why are you here?”

Art was quick to press the record on the tape machine, hoping to create a capture of any useful detail he could present to the authorities.

“Who-who are you? What do you want from me? Get out! Get out of my house!” she demanded, making fighting motions, clawing, and pushing at some unseen perpetrator. “Aghh! Damn it. What did you do?” She reached for her thigh in pain. She gasped and her arms collapsed weakly by her side. “It’s making me sleepy. Art…I need Art. Esther, please, get Art.”

She tossed and turned and then stopped. “Where am I? Who are you? I want to go home.”

She wined and let out a terrible, soul-wrenching cry of agony. “Aghhhhh, My God. The baby is coming. God, help me!” Gillian cried out as if reliving the pangs of childbirth. “Stop…why are you arguing?” She gasped, pushing at a person who was not there. “Give me something for the pain!” She entreated. “My baby, my baby! Give me my baby!”

After uttering these desperate pleas, she woke from the haunting recall of her ordeal to find Art glancing back at her in abject sorrow. He replayed the recording, causing her to break down in sobs. “Anything you can add to this will only help them find the baby. I know it’s difficult, but time is against us.”

She nodded and continued, “Perspiration and tears blurred my vision. The physician quickly lifted my baby and swaddled it in a white blanket. She didn’t bother to look at me again. She took my baby and left me alone. She left me to die.” Gillian despaired, unable to move, and then fell into a cold, numb peace.

“They all left at that point; you think?”

“Yes. I was so weak from the loss of blood and exhausted from hours of pain, I couldn’t scream for help. I shuddered from the cold and then drifted off into the darkness.”

“The bastards. Damn them.”

“They always spoke in Farsi. Oh, Art, why have they done this terrible thing to us?”

“We’ll find our child, but you must recover your strength. You’re going to need every ounce of courage and determination you can muster.” Art promised with calm assurance. “Two things you must never do…lose hope or doubt me.”

CHAPTER 9

Travel to Distant Lands

“Darling, are you sure you’re up to this trip? It’s so far and dangerous,” Mrs. McPherson said, assisting Gillian with last-minute packing. The couple requested a leave of absence from their classes, citing a family emergency.

“I’m physically recovered. If I’m going to heal mentally or emotionally, I must take this trip. There’ll never be closure for me otherwise.”

“I wish you didn’t have to go. I’ll be worried sick about you.”

“I have to, Mom, please understand.”

“I do, sweetheart, but now that you’re a mother, I’m sure you’ll understand my position as well.”

“Nothing matters more to me than finding my baby, dead or alive.”

“I know.” Mrs. McPherson paused. Gillian sensed her mother’s inner panic and pressed to know what troubled her so deeply. “Our lawyer called. Somehow the O’Sullivan’s discovered what happened. They’re up in arms. I think you should know that they’ve initiated their own investigation and if they find the baby first, they’re going to fight for full custody. They’re going to make all this seem as if Art’s to blame—and that you’re an incompetent mother.”

Gillian covered her mouth, overcome by the implications and the tragic consequences that could follow. “Oh my God, no. No, this can’t be happening.”

“Art thought you should know. We discussed this already. I wish your father could go in your place. I’m dreading what you’ll find.”

“My poor sweet baby.”

Mrs. McPherson took her daughter in her arms and allowed her to vent her tears. “We’ll pray. Our love and faith will send angels to tend to that innocent little one. I promise you.”

* * *

“I’m going to miss you guys so much,” Esther wailed, giving both Art and Gillian a big hug as they prepared to leave the apartment. Esther had agreed to take care of the place until they returned. “I’ll be on my knees praying for you guys. Please come home safe and bring that little tyke so I can sniff that sweet baby smell.” Her words were lighthearted, but her face was full of dread.

England was the first stop for Art and Gillian. He questioned friends in London about Fatima’s whereabouts, only to discover that his fears were true. She had departed months ago, relocating to Iran.

“What of Yasmine?” Art asked of his older sister. This was the first time Gillian heard of him having a sibling. According to Art, they were raised apart, and he had a few vague memories of her.

After a brief stopover in Rome, they arrived at last at their destination, Tehran. The city was noisy and overpopulated. Gillian found the heat overwhelming, having to wear the traditional heavy black garb of the women. The glare of the sun blinded her eyes as Art maintained a tight grip on her hand and led her through the bustling crowds and winding streets full of vendors, spicy smells, old cars, and hectic traffic.

By late evening, Art secured a loft rental where they could finally settle down, much to Gillian’s relief. They stood side by side on the balcony overlooking a quiet courtyard where families were busy with their daily routines.

“Are you okay?” Art asked with concern.

She sighed, wiped her brow, and turned back to the room, tearing away layers of clothing. “I hope we’ll learn the truth soon. I feel so out of place and uncomfortable here. I just want us all to be home, together as a family,” she replied.

“Hopefully, we’ll all be home soon enough,” he said, echoing her longing as he poured cool water for her. “Drink. The heat here is stifling and dry during the day and quite cold at night.”

There was a sudden blaring sound that stilled Gillian as she took the glass from Art. “What was that?”

“You’d better get used to the sound. That’s the muezzin, the call to prayer. It’s fard or obligatory for every Muslim to perform the ritual five times a day. They go to the nearest mosque facing east, toward Mecca. This is the Isha, the dusk call to prayer.”

“Why aren’t you praying, then?”

“I should be. We need all the prayers in the world to accomplish our task.”

Allahu Akbar

Allahu Akbar

Allahu Akbar

Allahu Akbar

Allah is most great; we call your name to the skies.

Art approached his wife and took her lovingly into his arms to comfort her. They put aside their concerns as they looked into each other’s eyes. As the moonlight filled the quiet room, desire overcame them, serenaded by the rushing water of the courtyard fountain and the voices of Tehran.

* * *

“Al-salāmu ʿalaykum,” said a deep female voice. “Peace upon you, stranger.” She unhooked her niquab to reveal her face. The tall woman wore a gray jilbab tunic and approached Gillian with a graceful, mesmerizing stride. She was youthful, her skin was quite fair, stark gray eyes peered intently from beyond the shadowy hijab. “The proper response is waʿalaykum al-salām. And unto you also, peace.”

“Please forgive me, I’m unfamiliar with the custom,” Gillian replied warily, unnerved by her sudden appearance.

“Obviously. Then you would know a Muslim should never greet a Christian as I just did.”

Gillian was quick to cover her head as Art instructed whenever in public. She knew she should not be outside the safety of their loft, but when he was away, she felt lonely and insecure in the strange environment. He set out to search the streets of Tehran for any information on Fatima and insisted Gillian not stray far from their room. Despite his warnings, she occasionally ventured out to observe the people in their daily routines and learn what she could of this ancient city.

“You’re a stranger to these parts,” the woman stated with keen curiosity. “Accept my welcome. I’m Zahra, the landlady of this complex.”

“My husband has relatives here. We’re visiting from the United States.”

“Athar? Your husband?” Zahra asked tersely.

Astonished, Gillian could not break the intense gaze of the woman standing across from her. “You know him?”

A slow smile crossed Zahra’s face. “Before he departed for England, we were intimately acquainted with each other. We broke with tradition and announced our engagement, and that was the beginning of the end for us.” Her demeanor was calm, but the pain in her voice was real. Gillian was irked by how the woman described her relationship with Art. Zahra had a seductive beauty. “You must not tell Athar about our meeting. It would only upset matters. Our parting was not a peaceful one.”

Fear engulfed Gillian, but she realized the urgency of remaining composed and probing for as much information as possible. Surely, this strange woman had some connection with Fatima and the kidnapping of her child.

“Athar dishonored our betrothal, much to my disgrace. I was devastated because I loved him. He led me to believe our love was mutual and forever. Athar has a cunning way with women. As you certainly must know. Our hearts melt and become enslaved by that look in his eyes, his touch, his kiss.”

“It’s difficult to overcome a broken heart.”

“No, indeed. I never have.” Zahra sighed. “Why has he returned to Iran? He vowed never to come here again.”

“An urgent business matter,” Gillian answered, her voice hard as stone.

“Oh indeed? He may plan a visit to see me. He is just full of surprises, that one. I am certain you know that by now.” Gillian turned away from those taunting eyes, recalling Fatima’s words. “I often come here to watch the little ones. Do you have any children?”

“We have no children.” Gillian’s response was quiet, masking her pain. “Have you any?”

“With the right man, I hope to have a few of my own one day. I’ve found no one to replace Athar.”

“I suppose we’ll meet again,” Gillian said, rising from her seat on the edge of the fountain.

“I look forward to that. May I ask your name?”

“Mrs. Athar Mirzan,” Gillian replied with a hint of defiance and sarcasm, causing Zahra to break out into clear, lilting laughter. She covered her lower face, highlighting her clear almond-shaped eyes. At that moment, a sudden warm breeze fluttered through her black robe, and a wind chime jingled musically in the distance.

“I know, Mrs. Mirzan, that our paths will cross again.” She stepped back and almost immediately vanished into the crowd. Her sweet perfume lingered in the air. Gillian would never forget that scent and those mesmerizing gray eyes.

* * *

In turmoil, Gillian returned to her room. She was fuming with rage, brimming with sorrow and fear. She was certain Zahra was involved in her infant’s abduction. Her motive was apparent, and her desire for vengeance was unmistakable. When Art returned, Gillian informed him of what transpired, describing the woman’s appearance, her bitterness regarding the broken betrothal, and the cruelty in her eyes.

“Zahra,” Art muttered the name with disgust and dread. “She’s far more dangerous than Fatima and no doubt the driving force in this madness. Nothing good will come from seeing her,” he warned.

“Is it true? You were lovers?” Gillian asked.

Art watched the despair in her eyes as she waited for his reply. “I never loved her, as I love you. Fatima used me as a pawn to marry into a wealthy and powerful family,” Art answered, seeing his wife quiver with anguish.

“She’s beautiful. You can’t deny that. Was it so horrible to be with her?” Gillian pressed on.

“Why do you think I escaped Iran? Why do you think I swore never to step foot in my homeland again?”

“Tell me why?”

“Because I despised her. I could never humble myself and endure the life of a husband in shackles. As beautiful as Zahra may be, her heart and soul are black. She is something to be feared, not loved.”

“You lie,” Gillian sobbed. “She said you were full of lies and surprises.”

“You’re my only love. Don’t allow Zahra’s poison to tear us apart.”

“Liar!” Gillian repeated, striking Art across the face. He turned away in anguish. The poison had taken hold of her heart, filling Gillian with doubt and fear.

“You’re the only woman I’ve ever loved or ever will,” Art dismayed.

“Why do you have to hide things from me?” Gillian continued in a rage. “I never knew you had a sister. You never warned me of this woman, Zahra,” Gillian lamented, immediately remorseful for striking her husband. “I don’t know what to expect anymore. Are there any more secrets?”

“Soon, I may be guilty of murder. If ever I cross paths with Zahra again.”

The sunset as silence descended on the couple, and the call to prayer resounded again throughout the city. A chasm of misery and doubt divided them. Art stood on the balcony, intent on finding the child whose fate was a mystery, lost in the vast city of Tehran.

* * *

Art continued to search for any information about the child. Indeed, Fatima had returned to Iran and was living in Zahra’s residence. Art investigated rumors of Zahra pushing an infant’s carriage through her gardens. He traveled where she lived and heard the shrill cry of an infant pierce the silence of the night. It heartened Art. The child was alive!

Using a disguise, he continued to wander the perimeter of the household. He heard Zahra’s voice as she comforted the babe, humming a tender lullaby. She called out a name: Farideh. Gillian had a daughter! Art did not dare enter the grounds as he heard barking dogs picking up the scent of a stranger. He fled, his heart pounding with joy at the discovery. He hurried back to share his findings with Gillian.

“A daughter,” Gillian gleamed with joy. “She’s alive!”

“From what I can tell, she’s being well cared for,” Art said in an attempt to console her.

“What should we do?” she asked, still feeling awkward about striking him.

“Perhaps we should involve the embassy. Zahra will not go down without a fight.” Art lifted her chin and kissed her lips. “I told you, beloved. You mustn’t give up hope.”

* * *

Art watched Gillian with round, sorrowful eyes, leaning over the toilet, retching violently. Soon enough, but too soon for his liking since she was only nine months post-partum, his dread was confirmed. She was pregnant. The news tore Art in two. The prospect of impending fatherhood overjoyed him, but he knew it was imperative Gillian return to the states. Tehran was no longer safe for her, and in fact, it may never have been. The risk was too great.

“Trust me, I want nothing more than for you to always be by my side, but it’s best if you go home. Remember the complications with your first pregnancy? You must go back, for your health and that of our baby.”

“What about my other child?”

“I’ll bring her home. I promise you. She’s my child as well.”

The matter was settled.

* * *

Gillian flew from Tehran to Paris and then to the United States of America. Esther and Jerry greeted her at the airport. Her appearance shocked her friends. She wore her depression like a veil. Disheveled and sad, Gillian refused to comment on whatever progress Art had made in Tehran.

Esther took command of the conversation by informing Gillian of all the latest campus news. “We’ve established the Mirzan Baby Rescue Fund to assist your family with expenses.”

“Please Esther; I don’t want to hear anymore.” Gillian closed her eyes. “My head hurts. I need to sleep. The flights were like infinite hell, especially when I had to barf every half hour.”

“I told you,” Ester said, “you’d get knocked up in no time.”

“Is that supposed to make me laugh?”

Esther and Jerry both raised their brows. “Well, you’re really going to hate hearing this. Maybe I shouldn’t tell you.”

“What can be so terrible? I’ve lived through the worst of it.” Gillian suddenly opened her eyes wide. “Not Dylan?”

“Oh yes…Dylan, girlfriend.”

“What happened?”

“He came to the apartment expecting to talk to you. He nearly flipped when he saw me.”

“How could he? I thought he was still in jail. If not, why risk violating the restraining order?” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “What an idiot.”

“He seemed sober. He wanted to see the baby,” Ester said. “I told him the search was still in progress. But he thought I had a picture.”

“No, he can’t be sober, asking such stupid questions.” Gillian slumped. “I’ll be unable to stay in Georgetown. I just know it. I’m going to have to tuck tail and head for Chicago.” The thought of another flight made her feel queasy.

“Well, check this out. Somehow, he knows the baby is a girl. We just found out. How could he know?

“I don’t know, Esther.” She eyed her friend. “I must be cursed.”

* * *

Zahra’s dispatched her household servants with orders to capture Art. They located him wandering the streets and cornered him. They shoved him into a car, sedated him with an injection, and bound his wrists in handcuffs.

She was laying on a couch, like Cleopatra, in all her glory when Art arrived. He tugged at his bound hands, feeling the ache in his shoulders. She rose from the luxurious chaise lounge chair, moving with all the feline grace of a lioness stalking easy prey. Her face was ominously devoid of any emotion, yet her amber eyes smoldered with intensity. She remained silent as she glared across at him.

At last, she spoke, her words rolling from pomegranate-red lips. “You thought it would be so easy to push me aside and get on with your miserable, petty life?”

“Where’s my child?” he demanded as he shook his head in a struggle to clear the drug-induced fog.

“Did you say your child?” Zahra laughed in wicked delight. She nodded to Fatima, who lingered in the background, and the older woman left the room. She reappeared a minute later with the sleepy nine-month-old in her arms. Her golden-red downy hair framed her round, rosy face. She had clear blue-green eyes.

“Is she not a lovely child?” Zahra sneered with contempt. “In Iran, she is every bit mine. The answer to my prayers! My little angel. I have complete legal custody and she will not leave her alive, and neither will you.”

Art barely heard Zahra’s threats and jeers as he struggled to focus. Moments later, he fixed his sights on the child. The babe smiled sweetly and reached out her arms to the stranger.

“She shares little of your looks. Those blue-green eyes. Are you sure your American wife did not play the harlot with another man?”

“The babe is mine.”

“You would be wise to forget your mistakes in America and settle down here with this bačče and take me as your wife. Forget that American fool.”

“How long do you think you can keep this up? You’re not this child’s mother. When the authorities know the truth, you’ll be behind bars forever.”

“The only truth you and all the world need to accept is that this child is mine and so are you.”

“Zahra, let me and the baby go, or by Allah, you’ll regret this mistake. You may yet regain your honor. Redeem yourself while you can.”

“Never! Never!” She shouted, scaring the child. “We will wed and raise this child as our own. Do not think to threaten me, Art. I do not fear death, nor Allah’s retribution.”

“You’re bloody insane, a creature—a disgrace to all women.” Art sneered, mirroring her contempt.

“Your suffering will be the cure, Athar. I knew it would be difficult for you, but so be it. I’ll have my way in this, as in all matters,” Zahra vowed with venomous fury.

“Why waste your efforts on me? I’m already married, Zahra, to a woman I love. I could never, ever love you. I would rather die a thousand deaths.”

“What about the child? What would you sacrifice for her? You do not know how many times I thought of hurling her into the sea. You do not know how many times I nearly poisoned her formula or relished in the idea of setting a flame to her white, delicate skin.”

Dread filled Art as he thought Zahra was harming the innocent child. She stepped forward and, without warning, struck Art with all her strength.

“I will not be discarded. I will not be refused.” She tore open his shirt with passionate force. “I can kill you now.”

The babe cried out. It startled Art, and he knew what he had to do. He had to submit before this wild, vengeful scourge of a woman. “I’ll do as you wish. I’m powerless against you. I don’t wish to bring harm to—our Habibi.”

“Oh, I am certain you will promise me anything. You’ll not fool me again,” she stated as she placed her hands upon his heaving chest. “Your heart is racing, azziz-am. You quake like a coward.”

“Perhaps it’s too much to be near you. To recall our former passion. The smell of your perfume is intoxicating,” he whispered.

Zahra gazed into his face. Art remained emotionless, refusing to reveal the hatred smoldering in his soul. His heart pounded with rage as she closed in, and passionately kissed his lips.

“There, darling, I know you’re weary. There is time for us to become reacquainted.”

“Yes, we have all the time in the world.”

“Tell me, why have you sent the American away?” Zahra asked with a cunning grin.

“To secure her safety, I knew you’d finish her if she remained here.”

“Wise.”

“Return the child to her American mother,” he bartered. “I’ll remain here by your side.”

Zahra laughed. “No, she will remain here with us, as a reminder of how you shamed me. She is my bargaining chip. I may love you, Athar, but I will not trust you again.”

“Leave them out of this. I’m the one you want. Punish me if you must, Zahra.”

Zahra tapped her chin in contemplation. “You’re in no position to negotiate.” She returned to her chaise and ordered Fatima and the others away. She motioned for Art to sit beside her. “This talk is tiresome. Let us sleep on these matters. Join me. No man has ever refused an invitation to share my bed.”

Art refused to look at her face. He did not know if he could keep up the façade much longer. Zahra led her pathetic captive to her bedroom, where it was dark and warm. She caressed him, and he responded in frantic despair. Cackling, she pulled a pistol from her bedside and held it to his neck. When he heard the gun cock; he stilled with fear.

“You still believe you can refuse me?” Zahra whispered as she brushed her hair from her face. “Perhaps I’ll consider releasing the girl if we conceive a child of our blood.”

“I won’t fail you again,” Art replied as the cold steel of the pistol pressed into his skin.

“I will give you ample opportunity to correct that insult, my love.” She kissed his lips and laid her head on his chest, and drifted comfortably to sleep.

Art remained bound in cuffs, unable to reach for the pistol, powerless to dispose of his enemy. Blackness and despair engulfed him as he drifted off into a nightmarish slumber.

CHAPTER 10

Hope

Gillian remained in Georgetown, perched like a caged bird, awaiting word from her husband. She felt the first subtle stirring of the new life within her womb, cursing the fates that tore her family asunder. She often sat on the bench beneath the ancient oak tree where she had encountered Art that snowy night. Ages ago, she thought. Gillian longed desperately for his return and wondered if they would ever relive happiness again. She stared into the distance, still and as lifeless as a stone, while the students rushed by her. Rarely did she speak with anyone, not even to Esther.

Gillian strolled the campus grounds each morning, like a lost soul, always looking over her shoulder in dread, expecting to find Dylan demanding to see their daughter. One sunny day, a tall, slender woman took her unawares. She was of Arabic ethnicity, yet not dressed in traditional attire. She wore casual clothing, jeans, and sneakers. Her dark hair was cut close, almost in military style, and she wore impenetrable dark sunglasses. She carried a backpack slung over her left shoulder. Gillian did not recognize her and was immediately on her guard.

“Good morning, Gillian Mirzan.” The woman spoke with a clear British accent. A sense of urgency and fear overcame Gillian as she faced the stranger. “My name’s Yasmine Mirzan, and although you’ve no reason to trust me, I’ve information concerning your family.”

“Mirzan? Did Fatima send you?” Gillian stammered, prepared to flee. Yasmine took her hand with astonishing speed, stopping any escape.

“Please, I’ll not harm you. I’m here to assist. Fatima is an enemy to us both.”

“Who sent you?”

“Your father has connections,” Yasmine informed, continuing to scrutinize Gillian from behind sporty dark glasses.

“Do you know where my husband and daughter are? How are you able to assist us?”

“This is a discussion best done in private.” Yasmine convinced Gillian to join her at a nearby diner.

“How do you know about us? How do you know my father?” Gillian asked as soon as they settled into their seats. The waitress handed them laminated, oversized menus. Yasmine ordered two coffees and removed the dark sunglasses. Gillian was awestruck at the woman’s clear brown eyes, so like her husband’s.

“Art is my brother,” Yasmine explained as she took a deep sip of her steaming black coffee. No sugar. Suddenly, the name sparked Gillian’s memory. She recalled Art’s inquiry about a sister, Yasmine, during their stopover in England. “As for your father, we have a co-worker in common. I bet you didn’t know daddy dearest was a CIA man?” Yasmine snickered at Gillian’s astonished reaction. “He was efficient at his job, if you never knew. Good man.”

“And you?”

“I’m involved with that organization. Let’s leave it at that for now,” Yasmine said, pulling out a pack of Pall Mall cigarettes.

“Why are you here? Do you have a message for me?”

“My mission is to assist. My brother is being held against his will. The woman he was once betrothed to is an extremely resourceful, bitter, vengeful creature that will not stop. I’m here to bring Fatima and Zahra to justice and return your family safely to you.”

Gillian exclaimed, covering her mouth, near tears. “Oh, no, my family.”

The waitress arrived at that moment and placed their orders down with practiced grace and a cheerful greeting: pancakes for Gillian and hot oatmeal for Yasmine.

“I’m very good at my job and reaching my brother and your child is my sole objective.” She lit up the cigarette, inhaling deeply, followed by a great puff as she exhaled. Her amber eyes opened wide, remembering her sister-in-law was expecting. She quickly extinguished it with a courteous apology.

“Sorry for the fag…er…cigarette. I see that you’re expecting.”

Gillian nodded affirmatively.

“I suspect bad things if Zahra discovers your pregnancy. My advice is to leave Georgetown as soon as possible.”

“How will Art find me?” Gillian shot back, blinking back tears. She knew leaving Georgetown was inevitable. There were many reasons to leave. Dylan was free and daring enough to visit their apartment. Thinking of the man, she did not want to mention him to Yasmine.

“That should be the least of your worries. I expect to bring a swift resolution to this matter. I’ll return with Art and the child,” Yasmine vowed with confidence. She stared hard at Gillian.

“How can I be sure you’re telling the truth? Why should I trust you?” Gillian asked suspiciously.

“Ask your father. I’ve never failed my organization and I’ll not fail my own blood.” Yasmine’s confidence put Gillian at ease. “Rest assured, when I’m through with that creature and her dog, you’ll never have cause to fear them again.”

Gillian did not doubt this was Art’s sister. She examined her and noticed an old scar above Yasmine’s left eye and an odd black tattoo on the back of her hand. She resembled Art in her intensity and aloof, confident manner.

“There’s always hope. The end of this ordeal is close. Head to Chicago, today. You must safeguard the unborn one. I’ll get word to you through your father. You must tell no one about our meeting today.”

As they ate in silence, Gillian could not resist the temptation to probe further into Art’s childhood. He was so private, he seldom revealed anything about his past. She realized that there was too much emotional pain attached to those memories for him.

“Can you tell me why you were raised apart from your brother? Tell me about your parents and your history.”

Yasmine saw Gillian was genuinely interested. “Art was raised by Fatima, our paternal aunt, and I was raised abroad by my father, moving from place to place. He was a stern, militant man, very set in his ways, not dissimilar to your father. He had many conflicts with his older sister, Fatima. That dog mistreated our mother because she considered her baseborn, a poor servant girl with no education or dowry.

“My mother was a mute, a ward in my father’s household, and Fatima showed her limitless cruelty against her. She was brutal and scornful. When Art was born, Fatima convinced my father to allow her to take charge of his education, since my mother had limited experience. Our mother rarely ever saw him again. She raised Art to believe our mother was nothing but a mere servant, a stranger, but he knew better.

“Art loved our mother deeply. They interacted secretly. Eventually, he developed an art of keeping secrets from Fatima to secure our mother’s survival.” Yasmine pushed aside her plate, having barely eaten anything. “When my father learned the truth of Fatima’s cruelty to my mother, he banished her from the household, and she made her way to Zahra, who took her under her wing. There Fatima pressed for a betrothal between Art and Zahra, hoping to secure her place in that powerful family. Not too long after that, my mother was dead under mysterious circumstances.”

“Was she murdered?”

“They told us she took her own life, but I know the truth. They killed her—murdered by those two. The loss devastated my father and never really recovered from the grief; he died calling out to her from a feverish delirium.”

For a moment, Gillian was certain Yasmine would yield to the emotion in her voice, but she did not break down. She pulled a photograph from her backpack of a lovely, dark woman. The serene look of sorrow that haunted her young countenance struck Gillian.

“Her name was Shadia, which translates to ‘birds singing.’ Odd name for a mute, eh? This is the only picture I have of her. She was such a gentle soul. I certainly didn’t take after her,” Yasmine said with fondness. “Art is more like her.”

Gillian admired the photograph and returned it. With hesitance, she turned the conversation over to the disconcerting subject of Zahra.

“What can you tell me of that woman? Was there mutual affection between her and Art?”

“Hmmm, Zahra. The She-Devil whore had many suitors, but her heart was always set on Art. For one reason only, he wanted nothing to do with her. She desired conquest. Her affection was never wholesome or sincere.”

“What about her wealth, the influence of her family, her beauty? Any man would be tempted by what she has to offer.”

“Art may’ve been briefly in awe of her because of these things, but it wasn’t enough to hold him. Art was wise enough to know that Zahra was sweet, but an alluring poison, and any connection with her would cause misery. She is more of a creature than a woman.”

“How did you learn about our problem?”

“Finding out about people is part of my job. Keeping tabs on my brother is my duty. I missed him so much. Fatima made it very difficult for us to maintain contact with each other. Keeping a low profile will play to my advantage now.” Yasmine studied her brother’s wife over her coffee. “Now remember, leave this place and trust no one—but me—and your father.”

“How will you get messages to us?”

“Art will be my message. You’ll not hear from me again until it’s over.”

Gillian sighed, feeling useless. “I’m privileged to have met you. I pray all goes well and that everyone returns home safely.”

“Leave. lie low and take care of yourself and your pregnancy,” Yasmine said solemnly as dug for her wallet and paid the bill. She declined Gillian’s invitation to return to the apartment.

* * *

Ester and Jerry worked together to stuff Gillian’s baggage into the rear of his car. Gillian had booked a midnight flight from Dulles to O’Hare. She was going home.

“Gillian! Gillian!” a male voice shattered the silence of the night. They were all aghast to see Dylan rushing toward them.

“Quick, get into the car,” Esther cried.

He appeared in seconds. “Gillian…please. I know I’m not supposed to be here, but I need to talk to you. Give me just a moment of your time, I beg you.”

“Why should I bother, Dylan? After how you mistreated me and dragged me to court? I have a life now. I’m married to Art, and I love him more than anything in the world.”

“You and I have a daughter together.”

“Art and I will soon have a child. That’s why I’m here and not by his side.”

Dylan let out a raspy, deep sigh, exasperated by such news. “You were wrong not to tell me about the baby and run off with someone else. I loved you, Gillian. I may have problems, but that doesn’t mean I’m incapable of love. I was angry because you didn’t give me a chance to prove I can be a good father—that I can change. We could’ve worked things out.”

“You had your chance, Dylan. It’s too late now.”

“I can help find our daughter. I want to take responsibility and I want to make amends for the past.”

“I thought your mother was in charge of all that. Does she know you’re here in violation of the restraining order?”

“No. She tells me her leads are good, and she’s very close to finding our daughter.,” he said. “Art doesn’t have a chance.”

“I trust Art. I know he’ll bring my daughter home.”

Dylan was speechless for a moment, overcome by a swell of emotion. If Jerry and Esther had not been present, he might have surrendered to the brimming tears. His reaction terrified Gillian more so than his bouts of rage. “Our daughter. She’s our child. She’s all that is left of our love.”

“No, Dylan. Get visitations if you must, but she’s mine. If your mother finds her first. I’ll get her back. Nothing in the world but death will prevent me from getting my child from your family.”

He stepped back. “Don’t be that way, Gillian. Don’t be so heartless.”

“Yo, Dylan, leave her alone. We gotta hit the road to get to the airport on time. She’ll be late for her flight,” Jerry suggested as tactfully as possible, but he earned a jab from Esther for volunteering information.

“Hey, do me a favor and stay out of this,” Dylan raged back, causing everyone to start.

“I have to go, Dylan. I hope if you find our daughter, you’d not keep her from me. Then I’d know you’ve truly changed your ways.”

“I’m just as intent as you to get my baby girl back. By the way—I’ve named her Julie. She’s Julie O’Sullivan.”

* * *

Dylan’s tormented eyes haunted Gillian the entire flight from Dulles to O’Hare. She ran to the restroom several times to retch, her stomach convulsing in agony.

“Julie, my sweet baby. Where are you? Come home,” She whimpered, closing her eyes and letting the tears stream down her face.

Gillian was never so happy to see her mother again and rushed into her arms, sobbing for joy. Once home, she went to her childhood room and lay herself down on the canopy bed draped with delicate eyelet lace. She recalled her last night home, as she packed and dreamt of her reunion with Art.

The room would be a haven for her and their unborn child. She curled up under the downy comforter and prayed for her husband and daughter. Her thoughts turned to Dylan. When he begged to see the girl, she pitied him. She wondered if he was capable of change. He was so desperate. Her sympathy for Dylan had been her downfall in their short-lived and ill-fated relationship.

No, she would not pity him again.

* * *

Art lived with growing rage, longing to escape Zahra’s torture, yet forced to abide by her. He had to play her game to ensure his survival and the safety of the child. Adding to her constant cruelty, Zahra threatened to accuse him of murder if he refused her. Because she could. She had the power and influence and money to buy off the judges. The justice system would prove unrelenting against him, and he would surely languish in a vile prison until longing for the mercy of death.

The soft morning shower subsided to the warmth of the hot, hazy sun. Art overheard the servants chattering about Zahra’s new hire, an additional guard for the house. They found it peculiar that the guard was female. Zahra found it necessary to reinforce security in response to the numerous threats she had received from disgruntled workers and tenants.

The guard was a tall, slender woman who wore military garb and always carried an automatic firearm. She patrolled the grounds, shouting ruthless orders to the servants. Art made his way to his daughter’s side, stealing a few moments as her nurse chatted with the gardener. The belligerent presence of the female guard suddenly took aback him. She approached Art and stood silently by him as she watched him whisper to the child.

“Forgive me,” Art stammered anxiously in Farsi. “I’m merely showing her the flowers. She’s my child.”

“Don’t be afraid. You and your child will so be free,” she replied in English.

Art glanced up. She wore dark, reflective sunglasses in the bright sun. “Who are you?” he whispered.

“Carry on as usual. Stay close to the child. You must act when the time comes, no hesitation,” Yasmine spoke quickly as she scanned the surroundings.

Art gave an uneasy nod. “Allah be praised,” he gasped. They were saved.

Later that night, shouts of horror filled the household as Fatima cried, “She’s dead! Murder! Murder!”

Yasmine and her CIA cohorts had created a distraction and cornered Zahra. She shouted for help, but then an explosion of firepower silenced her forever. There was a wild commotion. Servants rushed in to find their mistress dead, sprawled across her blood-soaked bed.

Almost effortlessly, Yasmine ushered Art and the child into a waiting car. Within seconds, they sped away into the night. They traveled until daylight, crossing the border into Pakistan. There they rendezvoused with Mr. McPherson at the American Embassy in the bustling city of Islamabad. They remained for several days until Yasmine returned.

“It all went remarkably well.” Yasmine smiled with triumph. Safe in the embassy, she and Gillian’s father disclosed their complex rescue plan. Putting all the pieces in place took months and required several favors in the CIA. Over the next hour, Art listened to them in awe, amazed at their determination to find him.

At the end, almost embarrassed, Yasmine revealed her identity. Shocked, Art embraced his long-estranged sister with joy. “Allah be praised.”

Yasmine saw the months of struggle on her brother’s face. He was worn, weak, and haunted. She knew, from experience, the ordeal would hang over him for the rest of his life. She wanted more for her brother, and hoped with time and love, he would recover.

As Art sat, almost numbed by the situation, he watched Mr. McPherson hold his granddaughter. The older man cooed at the child, charmed by her beauty. On the brink of tears, Art realized it was finally over. It was time to go home.

CHAPTER 11

Reunion

“It’s time to wake up, Mommy. We have a very hungry little boy who needs you.”

Drowsy, Gillian sat up. The sharp pain of the birth and the episiotomy vanished in an instant as she saw Art enter the room carrying their newborn son in his arms. Yasmine followed with their daughter in her arms. He gently laid the newborn in his mother’s arms while Yasmine placed her sleepy-eyed daughter next to her. Gillian cried out in joy to have her arms filled with both of her children for the first time.

Art and Gillian shared a prolonged kiss full of yearning. “We should give our children proper names,” Art suggested.

“You choose for our son, and I’ll choose for our daughter, fair enough?”

“Stephan Mirzan,” Art said without hesitation, having given the matter much thought.

“Julie for our daughter,” Gillian murmured, avoiding Art’s eyes and ignoring Esther’s crude humph.

* * *

It was a wonderful day when Art and Gillian returned to the campus of Georgetown University with their children. The family moved back into their apartment and the couple began their studies with full vigor. Once again, snuggled in Art’s strong, protective embrace, Gillian experienced the unbidden vision. Closing her eyes as the snow fell outside the window, she saw…

A figure descended from the dunes, robed in black.

She held her arms high.

“Behold your gift.”

A voice spoke in a resounding voice,

Gillian recognized Yasmine.

“The shadows have been dispersed into the void,” she said.

“Allah be praised!”

CHAPTER 12

Uncertainty

Gillian awoke with a start. Art was awake, carrying their infant son. Julie lay sleeping peacefully beside her mother, clutching her favorite Care Bear, Matilda. As she watched her husband in the darkness, she pondered what force brought them together with so few words spoken and with such undeniable passion. Their union was mysterious, fateful. Why had they suffered the pain of separation?

The cruel fate that divided her family still claimed Art’s soul. Only with the children did he seem to find true solace. With Gillian, he had become elusive, as if he harbored a terrible guilt, an unspeakable burden, painfully impossible to bear. Gillian was reluctant to discover the root of his sorrow, or guilt, fearing the unimaginable, losing him forever.

She rose from the bed and went to him. “I know what we suffered has taken its toll, but we need to put it aside and continue with our lives. We’re together, a family.”

“Some things are unforgivable. They can’t be put aside,” Art whimpered, a broken-hearted man.

“Whatever happened is in the past, I understand your choices. I would’ve done the same. I can forgive and forget.”

“Please, I can’t talk about these things,” Art pleaded.

Gillian felt a jab to her heart to see Art turn away from her and sob. He cursed himself and Zahra. He remained unresponsive to her touch and withdrew into a world of regrets.

“Then I’ve lost you,” she stated with a heaviness in her chest. “This is what I’ve always feared most of all.”

Enraged, Art cried, “Leave me alone.”

At the loud noise, Stephan whimpered. Ashamed by his outburst, Art rocked the boy. He hated the idea of his emotions distressing his family.

Beside him, Gillian persisted. “Is this about your pride?”

“I failed.” He closed his eyes and tucked the infant closer to his body. “I betrayed you. How can I live with that?”

“All that matters is that we’re together,” she answered. “We’re together, Art.”

Trouble displayed on his grieving face. “My thoughts always returned to you. I remembered the day I saw you running in the rain. You were like a heavenly vision to me. I knew then I loved you and would not stop until somehow you loved me. It was a moment of perfection.”

“I was so afraid of you then, but I always knew I needed you—desperately.”

“Now we’ve changed.”

“No! I’m the same woman who loved you. Each day I fall even more in love with you.”

Art refused to look at her as she wept.

“Please say that you love me.” She gripped his arm, her fingers digging into his skin. “Please love us! Please, Art, come back to us.” When he pulled away from her, she wiped her eyes and stood taller, as if coming to a decision. “If you can’t love me, remember, we have two innocent children that need us.”

Art had become like a stranger, ignoring her pleas. He placed their tiny son in his cradle and left her.

Alone in the room, Gillian wept. She wasn’t ready to give up on him, on them. She realized the only option was to allow her husband space and time. He needed to reconcile his pain and confusion.

Over the next few weeks, she jumped into her studies and tried to balance the duties of motherhood and school. Art spent most of his time working. They rarely spoke, and when they did, it was almost like a business transaction. He built a wall between them.

Unexpectedly, on a rare afternoon off, Art announced he had accepted an offer to interview for various internship opportunities in New York City. He departed from his family to spend two weeks in New York. Gillian hoped this brief time apart would prove beneficial as she prepared to spend the Christmas holidays alone.

She kissed him as he headed for the door with a small duffle bag. “Have a safe flight,” she said, bouncing Julie on her hip. “We’ll be here waiting. Remember, never give up hope, beloved, and never doubt us.”

He broke into a modest, crooked smile, touched. She used his own words, words he spoke to comfort her, to shine a light on his hour of need.

* * *

Gillian sat on the park bench on a bright fall day with Stephan fast asleep in her arms. Julie played with a group of toddlers in the sandbox. She ran on unsteady feet over to her mother every few minutes to ask for another cracker or cheese cube from the plastic bag. She washed it all down with a slurp from her Elmo sippy cup, then with happy applause, waddled back to play.

She recalled two separate conversations. The first was during a casual lunch date with Ester. Not one to stand quiet, her friend had suggested it was best to let Art work through his “paranoid psycho” stage. Her reasoning—he had suffered through Gillian’s frequent emotional roller coasters, and though it was hard, he would work things out in his own time. Gillian had grinned. Ha! That’s why Esther had failed psychology twice and had to attend summer school to make up the credits.

The second conversation occurred when Yasmine came for one of her frequent check-ins. She had listened to Gillian’s concern over Art’s changed behavior, and her fear that perhaps he did not plan to return from New York.

Yasmine had listened patiently, but she was a woman of action. “Listen. What happened was hard. You’re feeling vulnerable, which I suspect is normal, since you just had a baby! Your body is full of all these surging emotions and hormones. Maybe you need Valium or a good shagging. Have some faith, Art would never abandon his family.”

“He’s miserable with us. I can’t seem to make him happy.”

“He’s miserable with himself. Yes, things in Iran changed him. While not true, he feels like a failure, and it’s humiliating. To him, he let you down, and he’s afraid of doing it again.” She’d taken Gillian’s hand. “Don’t ever doubt his love for you and the children. You should know better.”

“He’s like a stranger. I can’t reach him. He’s gone.”

“You must give him time and trust. He’ll come around. Men always do. Women are perilously fickle.” Gillian remembered how her sister-in-law had raised a single brow in her direction as if she knew a dark secret too terrible to discuss.

As Gillian’s mind continued to wander, she failed to notice the tall man standing by the sandbox. Julie was squinting in the sunlight, craning her neck to converse with the stranger. Gillian sprang to her feet and cried in a shrill voice, “Julie, Julie, come to Mama, right now.”

The toddler started, dropping her plastic shovel, and glanced blankly back at her mother. Gillian’s jaw dropped to see the man take Julie by the hand and lead her back.

“Hello, Gillian.”

She blinked in the bright sun and took several deep breaths before she could speak. “Dylan. What’re you doing here?” Gillian leaned over, reaching for Julie, and pulled her close. The child instinctively clung to the hem of her mother’s coat, sensing something was wrong.

“I live in that building over there.”

“But the restraining order?”

“Don’t be afraid. I’m sorry for the past. I was a foolish boy with serious problems. I wasn’t ready for college or to love a woman like you. I eventually graduated—not from Georgetown, obviously.”

“We have a court date set for next month.”

“I know and I hope you’ll be there, and we can settle this as friends. It may be too late for us, but I want Julie in my life. She’s—” He laughed when he observed the tiny face fixed on him. “She’s wonderful and beautiful…like you.”

“I don’t know what to say.” Gillian was unconvinced.

Dylan sighed. “I don’t know if you’ve heard, but my mother died. She could be tough, and I know you two didn’t get along. Through it all, she only wanted the best for me. Her last words were, go get that little girl. She’ll love you. When she died, it was a wake-up call for me. I hit rock bottom and there was only one way for me to go. I wasn’t ready to die.”

“Mama, his name is D-D-Dylan. D is for Dylan.”

“D is for daddy too,” he laughed, charmed by his daughter.

“May I have a peek?” Dylan asked. Gillian uncovered Stephan’s face. “What a pout. He doesn’t like the sun beaming down on him. He looks like both of you. Congratulations.”

“What of Julie? Do you think she looks like me?” Gillian asked nervously.

“Not really. She looks just like me. That’s undeniable, but she has a sparkling beauty that reminds me of you.”

Gillian lowered her head to hide a blush. “She can be strong-willed and temperamental, like you, too.”

“You should also know—I’m getting married next month, and Julie will have a little brother or sister in a couple of months.”

Dylan’s bashfulness surprised her. She was even more surprised by the way her heart thumped. “That’s great news, Dylan. I wish you all the best and I hope we can make arrangements for you to visit Julie. Please, just don’t surprise me like you always do. Advance notice would be appreciated.”

“And child support will come your way. Always a good thing, too.”

Gillian laughed at his cheerfulness. She had never seen this part of Dylan’s personality. It amused and intrigued her. “Right. I think she’s almost ready for ballet lessons.”

“And T-ball.”

“Maybe your next one will be a boy.” After an awkward silence, Gillian asked, “Does your fiancée know about Julie?”

“Of course. There she is now. Hey, Ella.” Dylan waved at a young woman. She had dark brown hair in two braids and wore a French beret cap. She had freckles and her round belly showed her advanced pregnancy. “Ella, meet Gillian, and the little guy is Stephan.”

“Nice to meet you, Gillian. We’re guilty of watching you and the children in the park several times. We thought it would be awkward for us to approach you.”

“I think everything will work out in time,” Gillian replied. “Congratulations on the baby and your engagement.”

“By the way, how’s Art?” Dylan asked, putting his arm around Ella.

“He’s great.” The unexpected question threw her. “He’s in New York interviewing at hospitals.”

“Oh, it looks like we’ll have to move to New York, Ella. Give him my regards and thanks. He’s a wonderful person and I’m forever indebted to him.”

“New York sounds great. There couldn’t be a more exciting place and we’d have a choice of influential schools.” She rubbed her belly.

Gillian could see why Dylan fell for Ella. She was sweet, bright, and very accommodating. It was obvious she adored him.

“We should go,” Dylan said, bending down on one knee, so he was face to face with his daughter. “I’ll see you soon, sweetheart. You be good to your mommy, promise?”

Julie nodded, displaying her deep-set dimples. Dylan kissed her on the brow and rose tall again. “Maybe we’ll see you again tomorrow if it doesn’t rain.” Dylan blew her a kiss and winked. Then, arm in arm, he walked away with his fiancée. Gillian choked back her tears, her hand on Julie’s soft red-blonde hair, pressing her close. Yasmine was right. Women are fickle creatures indeed.

* * *

Two weeks dragged on without contact from Art. Gillian prepared for the worst-case scenario. Her husband might not return. She made a steadfast decision to remain on campus and complete her two remaining years, intent on graduating from Georgetown University. She would leave the matter to God and Time and trust in Art’s undeniable love and devotion for his family. Finally, at the end of the second week, the telephone rang late into the night.

“Forgive me for not calling sooner,” Art said, instead of greeting her. “It’s been difficult coming here.”

Gillian’s eyes filled with tears when she heard his voice. He sounded so far away. She felt an all-consuming emptiness envelop her, so she uttered a silent prayer, hoping it would ease her pain.

“When will you be coming home?” she braved the question, but her throat ached with an urge to sob and tears streamed down her face.

“The hospitals here are great. I already have several excellent offers. We should decide if you and the children should transfer here,” Art began, but fell silent when he heard her sniffling. “Perhaps I should call tomorrow. I’m sorry. Get some sleep.”

“Art. Listen to me. I don’t want to transfer anywhere. I want us to graduate together. I want us to be settled and remember our blessings, our friends at Georgetown, and our love.”

“We can settle here. There are wonderful opportunities for all of us. It’ll soon be time to move on with our lives.”

“Please come back to us, Art,” she pleaded.

“I’ll see what I can do. Goodnight Gillian. I love you.” With those words, he ended the conversation. She hung up the receiver and despaired, certain that Art would insist on remaining in New York. They reached a heart-wrenching impasse. Love, hope, and trust seemed woefully elusive to her now.

* * *

Gillian was drifting off in the rocking chair with Stephan sound asleep in her arms when there was an unexpected knock at the door. She opened her eyes to total darkness. She rose to her feet and placed her son down on the bed beside his sister. She heard the key turn the lock, and the door opened slowly. Art entered and flipped on the light. Gillian embraced him with glee. Turning to his wife, he smiled that famous, mysterious smile.

“It’s good to be home. Forgive me for ever doubting our love.”

Gillian laughed despite her tears. “There’s nothing to forgive! You’re home. We’re together and no woman could ever love you as much as I do!”

“We’re fulfilled,” he said, gazing into his wife’s clear green eyes, recalling his vision of so long ago. The vision of the mysterious woman lost in the stormy forest. He had rediscovered his treasure, his joyous love to be cherished forever, and realized at that moment, he was the happiest man alive.

Like William Blake’s poem, “Auguries of Innocence.”

To see the world in a grain of sand and heaven in a wildflower

Hold infinity in the palm of your hand

And eternity in an hour

With delight, he succumbed to her mysterious enchantment. In the peaceful darkness of the room, they danced in a heated lover’s embrace. The insecurity and uncertainty had finally been conquered.

Epilogue

FULL CIRCLE

Art and Gillian Mirzan completed their degrees at Georgetown University after much trial and tribulation, sacrifice, and dedication. The speaker announced their names over the microphone and together they made their way, hand in hand, to the platform on a warm, sunny May afternoon. Gillian took small, slow steps with Julie in hand, while Art carried little Stephan in his arms. They received their hard-earned degrees. The deafening cheers of their classmates exploded from the green as the family, beloved by all of Georgetown, reached another joyous milestone in their lives. It was a magnificent day, followed by a wild celebration. Esther jumped up like a child, gleefully waving them on and waking Jerry from dozing off in the warm sun.

“Ha! I beat you, Gillie! I graduated last year,” she teased. “Just barely made it through,” she whispered to Yasmine, seated beside her.

Alone, the couple visited the lone bench near the ancient tree, now blossoming with spring flowers where their paths crossed that fateful rainy day and that unforgettable snowy night. The graduation class packed their belongings and prepared to vacate the dorms that had been the haven for strong friendships. The graduating class would continue to follow their destiny wherever their paths might lead. Many challenges and obstacles lay ahead, followed by achievements, success, and the inevitable unforeseeable. The campus would forever remain to greet freshmen each fall semester, eager for the experiences of a new life.

* * *

Art, Gillian, and their children traveled as a family in their laden, new silver-gray minivan, a graduation gift from Mr. and Mrs. McPherson. They held hands, listening to their song “Visions of Love” play on the radio. Julie and Stephan slept peacefully, safe and snug in their car seats, surrounded by piles of stuffy toys, emptied sippy cups, and crackers strewn about their trays.

The minivan made its way steadily up the interstate in a downpour of summer rain, crossing the George Washington Bridge on I-95 North into the state that would be their home for many years, New York City, New York! It was there they would begin stellar careers in medicine at Montefiore Medical Center, in the better part of the Bronx, Esther’s hometown.

The power of love had conquered their self-doubts, the looming phantoms of a troubled past, and survived unforeseeable peril. The sign for Country Club Road appeared. Art lifted Gillian’s hand in a gesture of victory. They drove down the quiet, winding road that led to the cul-de-sac driveway of their home, a quaint stone single-family home on the waterfront and directly across from the finest private school in the area.

Art smiled, and lifting her hand to his lips, he placed a kiss on her skin. “Home, at last, my beloved.”

They shared a deep, long kiss, the rain pelting the windows of the van as Bob Marley’s “No Woman No Cry” sounded on the radio.

He pulled the blanket over Stephan and smiled. “Ready, my love?”

She took a firm hold of Julie in her arms. “Ready—Set—Let’s go!”

About the Author

Cara Martine is a New York native with an undergraduate degree in Fine Arts and a Masters in Education. As a child, she was captivated by fairy tales and had a fascination for history. She developed an obsession with Richard III, the Wars of the Roses, and Tolkien which led to an interest in Vikings and Celts. She was formally an early childhood education teacher and then served as a coach for family childcare providers. Writing and cooking are her favorite pastimes.

https://www.caramartine.com/

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