Love Edy (12 page)

It was weak, she knew. And he could go; he
would go. Just as he’d gone to Libya, Yemen, Syria, and Iraq. Just
as he’d traversed much of South and Central America, and a handful
of the worst places in Africa. He would go and be thrilled by the
prospect of going.

Edy’s mother groaned. “Must you always
audition for Hollywood, child? Your father’s going. It’s the
opportunity we’ve been waiting for. So, shut up and be grateful,”
she said.

“Rebecca,” her father warned, voice
distant.

“Don’t ‘Rebecca’ me! The girl is impossible.
Spoiled beyond my capacity for tolerance. ‘It’s my birthday’ she
said. Of all the asinine, contrite—” Her mother looked around, as
if the walls or ceiling might calm her. When they didn’t, she
turned back on Edy. “The secretary of state just called your house.
Can you understand that? You don’t shirk opportunity when it comes.
Especially when fear is your rationale.”

Edy’s father cleared his throat.

“When your country calls, you come,” he
corrected.

“But it’s not safe,” Edy blurted. “You
shouldn’t have to go if it’s not safe. They might—”

“Stop it,” her mother snapped. “Stop the
manipulative hysterics. You’re fine and well when he hauls you and
Hassan off with him, no matter how questionable the destination,
but now that he’s going without you, it’s a show. But if you’re
going to perform, why not get serious? Fall to the floor. Kick.
Scream. Go on being an insufferable brat.”

“That’s enough, Rebecca,” Edy’s father said.
“She’s only concerned.”

She looked from husband to Edy, husband to
Edy, face lined with distaste. Still, Edy’s father hadn’t moved. He
sat rooted in contemplation.

“Concerned,” her mother said, as if the word
were bird droppings in her mouth. “For who is the question.”

Edy lifted her head. “I don’t know what you
mean.”

Her mother stepped forward. “You
know
he’ll be fine. And you
know
your only concern is Daddy being
absent for your birthday,” she said. “But you needn’t worry about
what extravagant thing he’ll come up with this year. We all know
how you crave male attention.”

Edy heated through to her bones. Were they
even talking about the same thing? No amount of courage could make
her ask. It was true; she had felt some disappointment at the
thought of her father not being there for her birthday. But it
simmered low. Had it been wrong for her to feel it at all?

“I’ll be home soon,” her father said. “And
I’ll call often. In the meantime, you’ll enjoy your birthday party
at the Dysons’ just as you always do.”

He believed her mother. He believed Edy’s
fears were little more than a child’s worries about Daddy not being
there to spoil her.

Murder. Resistance. Islamofacism. Journeying
to Egypt sounded about as safe as turning donuts on the interstate.
And yet she couldn’t deny the ravenous way her father set about
preparing, as if the sole purpose for which God had created him lay
just outside, a plane ride away.

Edy pushed thoughts of discord and danger
from her mind as she showered and pulled on clothes that might or
might not have been ironed. She brushed her hair up and secured it
with an office rubber band before shooting a single, furtive look
out the window. They would be there for her father soon. The
unmarked sedan, the men in suits, ready to transport him by private
flight to another world.

She decided to focus on breakfast. Chewing
was something to do; something to concentrate on, if she did it
carefully, methodically. So, Edy shoved random books in her bag,
sucked in a shuddering breath, and thundered downstairs into the
hall. Voices in the study stopped her. Her father’s. Ali’s.

“I would love to accompany you,” Ali said.
“In an unofficial capacity, of course. After all, the opportunity
for observation and research is enormous. But it’s far too
precarious a situation for both of us to venture into. That’s our
agreement and I aim to honor.”

“Listen. In the event something went
awry—”

“You needn’t ask,” Ali said. “She’s my
daughter. Hassan’s your son. Hasn’t it always been so?”

“I know. But—”

“Heard enough, yet?” Hassan said.

Edy whirled at the sound of his voice.

“Don’t make it harder on yourself,” he said.
“Nathan’s gotta go. Plain as that.” He reached past her and slipped
the office door closed, eyes never leaving her face.

How could she explain a fear to him that was
both rational and irrational? That she could lose her father, the
only person that had ever been hers entirely, unconditionally? That
there was no way to
not
make that hard on herself?

“Let’s go,” Hassan said.

Surprised by the dampness of her face, Edy
wiped it with the back of her hand.

“But I haven’t had breakfast yet,” she
said.

“We’ll get it on the way.”

He took her by the hand, led her out the
door.

“On the way?”

“To school. We’ll be a little late, that’s
all.”

Twenty minutes later they grabbed a corner
table at Ted’s Diner and ordered waffles, hash browns, coffee, and
kept heads low in the event of nosy neighbors. There were always
nosy neighbors. How much time passed in silence, Edy couldn’t
say.

“He’ll come back,” Hassan said into his
coffee. “He’ll come back because we need him.”

When he found her staring, Hassan chucked a
bit of potato at her nose.

Edy responded with a boiled egg to the
eye.

He could have blocked it, she knew, but
apparently he’d found the idea of being attacked with an egg too
amusing to pass on. When she followed the egg with a strawberry, he
swatted it, eyes still on her.

“You don’t want to rumble with me, Edy. You
must realize you’re outgunned.”

He gestured to all the food before him,
twice as much as what she’d ordered.

Edy snorted on a laugh. “Rhinecorn would
spazz if we showed up late and filthy.”

Hassan shrugged. “Maybe we won’t go today.
Maybe we’ll just . . . slip back in the house once all is
clear.”

Edy stared at him. This wasn’t funny
anymore.

“Breathe,” Hassan said. “I’m kidding. We’ll
only miss a few periods.”

“We’ll get in trouble,” Edy said.
“Detention, again for starters.”

“Yeah?”

“And your whole team will have to run
laps.”

“Yeah.”

“So why are you doing this?”

Hassan shrugged, gaze on a still full cup of
coffee. “It bothers me to see you upset. That’s all.”

He reached over and pinched her nose,
earning her smile despite her best efforts.

They did indeed earn detention, having
arrived at school one period before lunch. In class and after, she
felt the stares of the masses and bet they all knew that she’d
missed half the day, that she had no excuse, and that she’d arrived
with Hassan—both with food on their clothes.

Hassan, to his credit, found the whole thing
hilarious. The smile faded, however, when he pulled her to join him
in the cafeteria and she insisted on waiting in the hall for Wyatt,
instead. After ten minutes in the corridor at their trusted meeting
place, Edy entered the cafeteria and spotted Wyatt at their table,
shoulders hunched, shoveling food into his mouth as if bent on
first place in a race. Hassan sat a little ways off at his usual
table, eating at a leisurely pace.

He’d let her wait, like an idiot. It
wouldn’t have taken much for him to stick his head out and tell her
to come and join them.

Then again, it was Wyatt who’d blown her off
without saying why.

For three days he’d been too busy to talk in
the halls, always en route to someplace else. For two days he’d
been MIA at lunch.

Edy powered for him, brown bag lunch
swinging. Wyatt looked up, registered her, scanned the room, and
grabbed his lunch tray. He headed straight for the “it” table.
Matthew and Mason made room.

Edy stopped, waited, and watched the boys
resume eating. Only when her arms began to ache did she realize she
still stood there.

“Hey, Cake,” Hassan said as she dropped into
a seat.

Matt tugged her ponytail in greeting. Mason
managed some sort of food spewing greeting around a mouthful of
taco while Wyatt only waved. Edy raised an eyebrow.

“Did we have a fight and you forgot to tell
me, Wyatt?” she asked.

Wyatt studied his chili.

“Leave him alone,” Matt said. “He’s enjoying
the food and hanging with the boys, you know.”

She turned on Wyatt. “What did they do to
you? Tell me and I’ll fix it.”

Red blotched Wyatt’s face. His gaze darted
from each boy back to Edy. “What makes you think anyone did
something to me? Or that anyone could? I’m my own man.”

“Slow down, Slim,” Hassan said.

“I’m sitting here because I want to,” Wyatt
said. He swallowed. “Because I do what I want.”

A pair of blondes at the table snickered.
Wyatt shifted his gaze to Matt.

“Isn’t that right?” he said.

Matt’s spoon hung in midair, halfway to the
chili.

Edy raised a brow. “In that case, my
birthday’s coming up,” she said, gaze even with Wyatt’s. “And I
always have a party. Want to be my date?”

“No,” Hassan blurted.

Lawrence choked on his chili. Hassan
burrowed a demonic glare into Wyatt, even as Wyatt stole furtive
glances at the twins. After a thick swath of silence, Mason cursed,
then gave him an indiscernible nod.

“Well, I guess that means ‘yes,’” Edy
announced. “So I’ll see you if your captors permit it.”

She looked from one boy to
the next, conflicted. Not for the first time, an avalanche of
contrary emotions yanked at once. She hated
their swarming, and hated their insistence on meddling. She
wanted to show them that she could thwart all their plans. Edy
could think of no better way, than going out with Wyatt. Yeah, she
didn’t
like him
like him
but it made her point. If
only it didn’t kind of grate her teeth.

Edy stormed from the table, lunch uneaten,
eager to get away from it all.

They were always micromanaging her, always
hovering, with their overcharged masculinity and patriarchal
fixations. She could rule her own mind and her own body, as good,
if not better than one of them. Weren’t they the ones always in
trouble? Drinking at parties, sleeping with girls, driving like
maniacs with the devil on their heels? Edy had always been the
responsible one, the obedient one, the sensible voice, and never
did more than simmer, not even when wronged. At least that’s how
she used to be. She didn’t know what was happening to her just
now.

Anger seized her so much; she needed to rage
right then. She could claw the paint from the walls and shriek at
the ceiling that she-had-her-own-mind. Only, who would hear; who
would care? So, Edy didn’t scream. She never did. Instead, she went
to her locker to get the books for her next class, head low. A
lucky break had her turning up a Tylenol sample on her top shelf.
She didn’t know how they’d be for stomach aches, but something had
to help the grating, churning, roller derby underway in her
abdomen.

By fifth period, whispers drifted through
the halls. By sixth, they’d been replaced by open gaping, wide eyed
staring: the equivalent of shouts at their high school. Word was
that she’d thrown herself at the new boy and even he had rejected
her. Just like the Dysons. Just like Hassan. But just as quickly as
the rumors appeared, they disappeared, crushed behind some unseen
force.

Protection. That was what her boys gave her.
Whether Edy wanted it or not.

Nine

Six days since her daddy left. A few more
till Thanksgiving. Edy’s eyes flew open, and the scent of ocean
water receded with each waking moment.

She turned fifteen today.

Fifteen and without a period, though the
impertinent thumbtacks she passed off as breasts hurt like hell.
She supposed that counted for something.

She’d spent the last three days in
detention. Skipping the first three periods of class with Hassan
had earned her an afternoon for each hour of tardiness. When
compared to Hassan’s punishment of running drills until nightfall,
Edy felt like she should have been able to muster more outrage. She
hadn’t.

Her gaze slid over to the window facing his
room. A shot of blue through the fogged pane caught her eye. She
went over and used the sleeve of her pajama top to wipe a path for
her vision. It was just as Sandra Jacobs scrambled out and made an
unceremonious dump to the ground. Hassan’s head followed her exit,
and he watched her descend, waiting to ensure her safety.

Had she been there all night? Had she kissed
him in the dark and slept on his favorite Patriots sheets? Had he
held her as he held Edy, with her cheek to his heart as they slept?
His sheets, his bedroom, his body, it would all smell of that
cloying fragrance she wore. He’d come to Edy like that; he’d come
to Edy
on her birthday
, smelling like the girl she hated
most.

Hassan’s head snapped up and their eyes
locked.

Edy jerked away from the window.

“Good morning, my
sanam
! I see you’re
up early!”

Edy’s bedroom door flew open and Hassan’s
father marched in. She whirled to face him, heart thumping, back
pinned to block his view. Ali Pradhan, formidable girth that he
was, stood in her doorway, dressed in the simple white button-up
and slacks that he preferred for most everything. He held a clear
Dixie cup of blueberry
lassi
out in one hand, Edy’s favorite
drink.

“Have you seen your dress yet?” he
asked.

The dress. The birthday dress. Edy’s gaze
slid over to the swath of tangerine fabric draping the backside of
her door.