The Last Maharajan (Romantic Thriller/Women's Fiction) (5 page)

CHAPTER NINE

The tinny buzz whirring from the hospital TV gave a surreal, a fake quality to the seven-year-long war as the Iraqi correspondent explained the circumstances surrounding the latest suicide bombing attack.

“Why must you dwell on the past?” Belle turned her head back to the photo album, the one she intended to bestow on Euly.

“Me? Me dwell on the past? You’re the one passing on photo albums.” Euly shook her head and stopped talking. She was afraid she might say something she’d regret later. One of the nurses hurried past the door, the one with the squeaky shoes. They sounded just as though a person were chewing on rubber bands.

“We’re looking at photos, is all. Can’t you just enjoy that?” Belle returned her attention to another photo. Her nurse walked in with a pitcher of water and two glasses. Euly noticed a fresh aura follow her as though she’d bathed in lavender soap. Her makeup was slight but set off her exotic features even more, her red pouting lips and deer eyes. Her white uniform contrasted her dark skin, as dark as an Ethiopian, Euly thought.

Belle lifted her head as an acknowledgement and then looked back down at the album. The nurse’s nametag read, Artis.

“Look, dear, here’s one of you and Enaya in your ballet clothes. You both were so sweet when you danced.” Artis came around to Belle’s side and looked at the photo. She smiled at Belle and nudged her with the back of her hand. Then, she looked up at Euly and smiled at her.

Before Artis left she began humming a pining gospel tune. Euly listened as the song faded down the hall. She strained when it became nothing more than a whistle in her ear.

She took the photo from her mother. Euly, at age six, was wearing pink tights and pink leotards her arms were high above her head, her smile was wide and her eyes were closed but her lips were pressed together and she posed in first position.

With her eyes closed the way they were you got the feeling the sun was aimed straight into her faces. Her sister, clad in black, made a scrunched face protecting her eyes from the glare. Euly flipped the photo over. In her mother’s hand she’d written 7/4/1963.

Euly felt at a loss what to do next. Her mother obviously was not going to bring up yesterday’s topic without prodding.

“Mother.”

“Yes, dear.” Belle looked at her daughter. Euly could see the muscle in her mother’s jaw tighten when she clenched her teeth, as if she was preparing herself for a punch.

“About yesterday.”

“What about yesterday? See, can’t you just let things go?” She squinted her remark in a dare.

“Mother, this isn’t about me.”

“Well, then, perhaps it’s none of your business.”

Euly felt her demeanor crumble.

Over the intercom, a woman’s voice called out in a subdued plea for Doctor Hamlin to come to guest room 17. Belle, the resident of guest room 11, would not go lightly into yesterdays’ subject, a subject Euly needed to clarify, to understand.

“If it’s about the family, then I suppose it is my business.”

“My, don’t you have a high opinion of yourself. Not every little detail about our lives is something subject to your understanding, Euly.”

“No? Well, you brought it up and I suppose since you did, you might want to explain yourself.”

“And if I don’t?”

“If you don’t? What the hell do you mean by that, mother?”

“Euly, my past, our past isn’t something everyone needs to know about nor do I care to explain. Except it or not. Either way, it’s not my problem.”

“You brought it up!” Euly’s voice echoed off the window and bounced back at both women. They could hear the rustle of usual noises in the hall of the building die down.

“Try to keep your voice down. Seriously, Euly, show some decorum.”

“Fine. Fine.” Euly searched for something to say but was angry and frustrated by her mother’s retreat and refusal to speak. She picked up her purse and found a tissue and wiped the oil from her nose when she folded the tissue back into her purse she found a packet of gum.

“Gum?”

Her mother nodded.

Euly handed Belle a stick of gum. Belle took off the gum’s wrapper and Euly offered her hand to take it and throw it away. They both sat quietly and chewed. With her hands on the photo album, Belle watched Euly who was still fumbling and zipping up a compartment inside her purse. After she was done she latched the purse and set it next to the chair beside her. She looked at her mother and sighed.

“You know, mother. Micaiah was like a brother to me.”

“I won’t do this, Euly.” Belle looked away and out the window.

“When he died, I was crushed. Do you remember?”

“Of course I remember. He was only fourteen. How can I
not
remember?” Belle frowned at Euly.

“It was awful.”

Belle’s chin began to quiver and she anxiously searched the tray for something to wipe her nose. Euly pulled out more tissue and handed it to her mother.

“Why are you doing this to me? Can’t you leave it alone? I won’t talk about it. Not with you or anyone else! Drop it, Euly.”

“This is so unfair, mother. You drop this bomb and then tell me you won’t talk about it?” She gave her mother a moment to respond. “Mother if Micaiah was my brother,” Belle rolled her eyes away, “then I have every right to know about it!” Once again, Euly’s voice arced. But, before Belle could reprimand her, Euly spoke.

“Don’t tell me to keep my voice down. I’m an adult now. Are you going to explain about Micaiah, or not?”

Belle looked stiff and lifted her chin. “Not.”

“Then, I’ll have to find out on my own, I guess.”

“Euly, no.”

“I decided last night that if you weren’t truthful with me today, I’d just have to take matters into my own hands.”

“Euly…”

“I’m leaving for Phoenix on Friday. You have two days to think about it, to come clean.”

As she spoke, Euly picked up her purse and stood. “I’m fifty, mother. Do you think that’s old enough to deal with the truth?”

“Do you think I’m old enough to deal with the truth?”

Belle always had a way of pulling rank on Euly.

But, Euly had enough.

“Don’t correct me, mother. We’re not in school.” Euly walked to the door but stopped. “So, what is it? Shall I stay?”

Her mother opened her mouth to speak but stopped short, then turned her head casually back to the photos and began flipping through them.

“God, mother, you’re infuriating!” She grumbled and walked out.

CHAPTER TEN

The sizzling garlic pattered like one million army ants tramping across a forest floor and echoed through the kitchen drifting lightly into the den where Geoff watched golf on the television.

Euly’s mind replayed the conversation with her mother as she chopped with a heavy chef’s knife. She conducted a silent quarrel with herself under her breath after quartering an onion and slicing it into halves, and cubing those crosswise into inch-sized pieces. She then began cutting the smaller pieces into even smaller pieces until she’d diced the onion. As she continued to cut in fast hard strokes, chopping the onion into a mince, its peppery fumes hit her in the nose and her tear ducts and sinuses let loose.

She tried to wipe her eyes on her sleeve near her shoulder and sniffed loudly but continued to chop through it all. As her speed quickened in a race to finish, she nicked her finger with the knife’s sharp blade.

She grumbled out. “Dammit!” And dropped the knife onto the counter, flipped on the faucet, and grabbed a paper towel to hold to her wounded finger.

“Are you okay, honey?” Geoff asked without turning his head from the TV.

“I cut myself.”

“Again?”

“Don’t.” Euly wasn’t joking but Geoff couldn’t tell. His attention was split between Tiger Woods and her. Euly heard Geoff giggle under the drone of a gallery clapping softly and commentators as they gave a blow-by-blow in their typical mundane hushed voice. Euly wasn’t amused and headed past him to the laundry room where they kept a first-aid kit.

“Again, get it?” Euly walked by ignoring Geoff. “Are you okay?”

Euly refused to answer him and thrashed about through the room slamming cupboard doors and setting the kit noisily onto the counter.

“I asked… are… you… okay?”

Euly came out with a bandage on her finger and bruised feelings.

“Why do you want to know? All you do is sit there on your butt, watch TV, and eat.”

“Here we go.”

“Here we go?” Euly nearly gagged trying to keep from saying what she wanted to say. “Forget it. Your dinner will be ready soon.” She stomped back into the kitchen. She wondered if Geoff felt her anger scudding through the airwaves.

“You know, honey, that’s not all I care about. I love,” he paused and then continued to tease her, “I love Jonathan.” His tricks wouldn’t work on her tonight, even when it involved the dog. His voice was happy but Euly wasn’t in the mood for happy.

“You know what Geoff?” She stalled before saying what she wanted, to insult him, to hurt him, instead she said what was really on her mind, “I’m leaving.”

“Geez, Euly. I’m only kidding.” He turned around and stared limp-faced.

“Well, I’m not.” Geoff rose from the couch. “I need to get away. I’m leaving for Phoenix this Friday.”

“What? Good God, Euly. Where did this come from?”

She turned back to her cooking and scraped the onion into the sauté mixture with her knife. As she wiped her hands on her apron, Geoff came over and sat at the bar.

“Talk to me. What’s going on?”

“Nothing, and that’s exactly why I have to leave.”

“What are you talking about? How much is this going to cost us?”

“Christ, Geoff. I’m making money too, remember?” She shook her head and turned away from him, pulled the stems off of three tomatoes and rinsed them trying to avoid water hitting her bandage. “Anyway, your stores make great money. God, Geoff! We have a retirement fund that’s ready to split at the seams and I can’t take a little time to myself? Why do I always have to justify leaving and you just do whatever the hell you want. Go on golf trips, ski trips, all that shit’s okay, but me I have to leave and you give me the third-degree. Why the double-standard?”

“Why do you have to go?” His attention was diverted away from golf and entirely on his wife. “What?”

“You said you have to go, why?”

“I just do. I have to get away.”

“From me?”

“Why does everything have to be about you?” She jutted out her chin daring him to answer.

“Well is it about me? Do I have something to worry about?”

“It’s not about you. It’s about me.”

“Okay, so what about you is this about?”

“Good grief. That is the worst sentence.”

“Come on. You know what I mean.” She refused to engage him further. Euly paused and looked down at the tomatoes she’d been slicing. The sloppy juice ran everywhere and was spilling into the ruts of the cutting board. They were too ripe to put into a salad so she slipped them into the sauté along with the garlic and onions. Within seconds she decided they’d have a red sauce over some pasta, angel hair. The garlic and onion weakened under the heat with an added transparent quality letting her know it was time to season, add the tomatoes and red wine. After sprinkling coarse salt she ground in fresh pepper then stirred. She worked with her injured finger up and unavailable as she cubed more tomatoes for the sauce. Their perfume mesmerized her and she stole one cube and ate it. Its familiar sappy acid slid down her throat and nearly choked her. Grabbing the bottle of cabernet, she pulled the cork out by her teeth. The popping made her worry if she’d bruised the juice. She poured a glass for herself first then Geoff and then added some into the sauté pan. She stirred and watched the mixture bubble. As she worked, she seemed to go inside herself as she stirred. She acted as though she’d forgotten Geoff was even there.