Chapter 5
WHEN SIMON GOT back to the cottage, Blaise and Salima were waiting for him. Blaise was slightly annoyed that Simon had disappeared for half an hour, but she didn’t say anything as he loaded the heaviest bags into the car. Salima normally kept all of her favorite clothes there, but it was impossible to know what Salima would want in the city, so Blaise thought it best to take everything with them. And Blaise’s car was loaded to the gills. There was hardly room for them, and it would be a tight fit. Blaise thanked Lara for everything as she left.
While Simon was out, Blaise had explained to Salima that Simon was going to New York with them, and that Eric had no one else to send. Salima had tried to object, and sensing it was hopeless, she sobbed in despair. Her life had turned into a nightmare overnight.
Parents had been arriving at the school all morning to pick up their children. Blaise was one of the last to drive off the grounds, and Eric showed up at the cottage just before they did to wish them luck, and promise to keep them informed. Everyone was concerned about other kids getting sick, and Eric promised to advise them of the exact date they’d reopen. He didn’t know it yet, other than that it would be sometime in January after the holidays, which made the most sense and worked with the quarantine. It seemed like a lifetime to Blaise. All three of them were silent as they drove the short distance to the bed and breakfast where Blaise had reserved two rooms for the night. She and Salima were going to share a room with a large bed, and Simon had a similar room to himself. They were the two best rooms in the house. When they reached the bed and breakfast, Blaise led Salima inside and upstairs to their rooms. They were small but pretty, and Salima said she wanted to stay there all day and not go out.
“We have to leave the inn to eat,” her mother said gently, as Salima found the bed, sat down on it, and shook her head.
“I’m not hungry,” she said, as she started to cry again. It was going to be a long day in the tiny room. Simon showed up a short time later, and suggested they go to Peterson’s for lunch. Salima just listened and shook her head. He and Blaise exchanged a look, and he nodded and left.
He was back half an hour later with delicious sandwiches on fresh bread, a bag of fruit, and some cheese he had bought at a deli nearby. He was very aware of Salima’s calories and carbohydrates, and only used sugar substitutes, as Salima had to be careful with carbs and anything sweet because of her diabetes. And she tried to be conscious of her weight. But Salima hardly touched any of it, and Simon and Blaise took their sandwiches outside.
“She has to eat,” Blaise said, looking worried. The sandwiches were delicious, and they devoured them while they talked. She was grateful that he’d brought the food back. Salima had eaten very little breakfast that morning and she had to be responsible about what she ate, and not skip meals. She had only eaten the bare minimum required for her since the day before, when her mother arrived, she was too sad.
“She’ll eat more when she’s hungry,” he said calmly. “There’s too much going on. It will do her good to get home tomorrow. The funeral will be rough.” He quietly brought meals to her for the rest of the day. Salima ate them but never said a word to him.
The funeral the next day was worse than rough. When the three of them went to the tiny church just outside town, all the teachers from Caldwell were there, and Abby’s childhood friends, and her mother was pushed into the church in a wheelchair, sobbing uncontrollably, as Abby’s casket sat in front of the altar, and the church was filled with flowers. Blaise led Salima into a pew, and they sat down. The priest spoke glowingly of Abby, he had known her since she was a child, and you could hear people crying all over the church. Salima sobbed throughout, until the moment came when Salima had agreed to sing the Ave Maria, and Blaise led her to the organ. She stood pale and shaking and tore everyone’s heart out with her incredibly pure voice.
With Blaise’s help, she stopped to speak to Abby’s mother on the way out. Salima hugged her when she thanked her tearfully for singing, and all the two women could do was hold each other and cry. And then Blaise led her back to the car. She had to sit in the backseat amid her clothes and bags of belongings piled everywhere. Simon slid into the passenger seat but offered to drive.
“It’s okay. I’m fine,” Blaise said quietly. It was noon when they set off for New York, after the funeral for the young woman Salima had loved so much. The silence in the car was deafening, all you could hear was Salima crying as they got onto the highway and headed south. It was going to be a very long three hours, and a much longer three months.
Simon was silent, as he stared out the window at the scarlet trees, thinking of Megan, and Blaise turned on the radio to drown out the sound of Salima’s sobs. She paid no attention to what station she put on, she was vaguely aware that it was some kind of gospel music, and they drove on, all three of them lost in thought. Blaise was panicking over the next few months. So far Simon had done nothing but stand discreetly aside, while Salima clung to her mother’s arm. She wanted no one else.
As she was driving, Blaise was thinking about the work she had to do when she got back, when there was a soft sound from the back seat. Salima had recognized one of the gospel songs, and was singing softly. Her voice grew as the choir joined the soloist, and Salima hit all the high notes with ease as Simon turned in his seat and stared at her. He had never heard a voice like hers in his life. Her rendition of the Ave Maria at Abby’s funeral had been touching and beautiful but more subdued, but in the car with Simon and her mother, she let her voice soar as a form of release. She sang the next two songs with the radio as well. She liked listening to gospel music sometimes, and she and Abby had kidded around as Salima let her voice fly to the rafters, just as she did now. It was a relief of sorts from the sadness she felt, and then she fell silent again. Simon was in awe of what he had just heard.
“I didn’t know you can sing like that,” he said in amazement. And then he vaguely remembered that she had been in the choir and dropped out when she started college.
“I used to be in the choir,” she confirmed his recollection. “Miss Mayberry is tone deaf,” she said wryly, and he laughed.
“That explains some of the performances we’ve had at school. Have you ever taken lessons?” She shook her head in answer. “Maybe you should.” At Eric’s request, he had called the community college for her that morning, and informed them of what had happened at the school and that they were closing for three months. They had agreed to let her follow a course of independent study for credit while she was in New York. “That might be a fun way to pick up credit for college. It would be a lot more fun than a math class.”
“I don’t want to go to school,” she said, and Blaise could sense that she didn’t like him. She wasn’t sure about him herself. He seemed very confident and self-assured. He was polite, but he was a big presence, and because he was a man and sure of himself, Blaise felt like he was in her face, and she guessed that Salima did too.
He had opinions about everything and he wasn’t afraid to voice them. And he had already said to Blaise in Eric’s office that he thought Salima should become more independent, now that Abby was gone. Blaise didn’t want him pushing her too far, particularly now. And she suspected that Salima would be mourning the gentle young teacher for a long time. Simon was already trying to draw her out. No one in the car said a word for the next three hours. Blaise felt as if it were the longest drive of her life, and she was relieved when she turned to glance at Salima and saw that she had fallen asleep. She was exhausted from the emotions of the past two days, and constant crying.
“She’ll be all right,” Simon said softly, trying to reassure her, and Blaise looked as if she didn’t believe him.
“It’s going to take a long time,” Blaise said sadly, wondering if they would ever find someone like Abby. Simon was not what she had in mind, as a teacher maybe, but not as the kind of caretaker Abby had been, nurturing and loving, and protecting Salima from everything. Simon was very much a man, and seemed like a bull in a china shop to her. She wasn’t looking forward to living with him for the next three months, and hoped that Eric would find someone else. She had asked him to continue looking for a woman.
“We need to keep her busy,” Simon responded, looking out the window as they crossed the bridge into upper Manhattan. He hadn’t been there in a year, and hadn’t realized how much he’d missed it. He had grown up in Boston, while his father taught at Harvard, but he didn’t get there often either. He hardly ever left the school, and for the past three years, he’d been spending all his free time with Megan, lately in cheap motels. It depressed him to think about it. He suddenly realized the seamy life he had been living with her, while he waited for her to leave her husband. And he strongly suspected now that she never would. He was grateful for the opportunity to come to New York, and take a break. He was still thinking about her and how much he already missed her, while Blaise pulled up in front of their building. Simon was staring out the window, with a blank look, still thinking of Meg.
“We’re here,” Blaise said firmly, to catch his attention, and Salima stirred in the backseat, as the doorman began unloading their bags. He recognized Salima immediately but had never seen the man before. They looked like a motley crew, entering the building a few minutes later with all of Salima’s things, as she held on to her mother’s arm for guidance, after Blaise asked the doorman to take the car to the garage. And without prodding, Blaise saw Simon tip the doorman, who tipped his hat to him. She was pleased he had thought of it himself. “Thank you,” she said to him, and Simon looked startled. To him, it had been the obvious thing to do. To Blaise, it was evidence that he had been well brought up and did the right thing. At least he knew how to tip. It was one thing less for her to think about, and he made himself useful. He carried all the bags into the apartment for them as Salima felt her way around, getting acclimated again. She was far less familiar and at ease here than she was at school—she didn’t come home often.
Blaise showed Simon to Salima’s room, so he could bring her bags in. There was hardly space for all of them in the small sunny room that was empty most of the time.
She pointed out her own suite then so he could carry her suitcase, and then she walked him into the kitchen and escorted him to one of the two tiny rooms behind it, the maids’ rooms they never used. Looking at his size, with his long legs, and the narrow bed, she suddenly realized how inadequate it was for him, but she had nothing else, except her own room and Salima’s.
“I’m sorry. I know this room is really small for you. We’re just not set up for guests.” And even less so for men, she almost added, but didn’t. But he looked perfectly content as he set down his two small bags and tossed his laptop case onto the bed. He never went anywhere without it.
“I must have been a monk in a past life. I don’t mind small spaces. My room at Caldwell isn’t much bigger than this,” he said with an easy smile, and she was relieved. At least he wasn’t demanding. She had expected him to have a fit when he saw the room. And now her housekeeper would have to sleep in the other room whenever Blaise went away, so there would be a woman in the house to help Salima bathe and dress.
“Thank you for being nice about it,” Blaise said quietly as they went back into the kitchen.
“Do you mind if I cook once in a while?” he asked as he looked around the fabulous kitchen. It was his dream come true.
“You don’t need to,” Blaise said, looking distracted. “My housekeeper leaves things we can heat up. I come home from work pretty late, and I don’t have time to cook. I usually just eat a salad when I’m alone, or don’t bother at all. And we can order in.” She wasn’t interested in his cooking. He was here to help Salima and nothing else. And he didn’t comment on what she said. He just nodded and followed her back to Salima’s room.
“Do you need some help hanging things up?” he asked her. Salima was sitting on her bed, looking glum. “We can put them in your closet by type and color. I can put Braille labels on the hangers for you. I brought my machine. Then you can pull them out on your own and dress yourself,” he said helpfully. Both women looked shocked.
“She doesn’t need to dress herself,” Blaise said with a look of disapproval. “My housekeeper will help her with that. And I’ll do it on the weekends.” They were already off to a bad start, but Simon looked undisturbed.
“Let’s label your toiletries at least, so you don’t get them mixed up and brush your teeth with the wrong stuff.” He sounded firm about that, and it made sense to Blaise, but Salima snapped at him immediately.
“Abby puts my toothpaste on the brush for me.” She didn’t tell him that sometimes Abby even brushed her teeth for her. She knew that would sound lame.
“I think you can do that yourself,” Simon said quietly, gently pushing her with his suggestion, and Salima didn’t like it, and neither did Blaise. The last thing she wanted was for him to upset Salima, and spark a war between the two of them.
Later, Blaise led him into her office off her bedroom, so he would know where to find her, since it was the room where she spent most of her time when she was home. And she looked him squarely in the eye the moment they were alone. “I think we need to get one thing clear right away. You’re not here to rock the boat. All we want to do is get Salima through this incredibly difficult time in her life, without the woman she loved and relied on, until she goes back to school. We’re not planning to reinvent the wheel.”
“I don’t think the wheel has been invented yet,” Simon said just as firmly, meeting her gaze. “Abby and I had very different views about things. Maybe it’s the difference between men and women, but I think being self-sufficient is key. Salima is nineteen years old, not two, and she needs to know how to take care of herself. What if she wants to live alone one day? She can’t stay at Caldwell forever. She needs to get ready for that day. And with Abby gone, this seems like the right time.”
“She’s never going to live alone,” Blaise said in an even stronger tone. She had already provided for that. Salima would have a caretaker forever.
“You never know,” Simon said. “My brother said the same thing. He lived at home after his accident, for several years. My mother babied him, just as Abby did with Salima. Now he has a job, a wife, four children, and he takes care of them. Whatever she does, or however you provide for her, Salima still needs skills. And it will make her feel better about herself,” he insisted.
“She feels fine about herself. What she feels like shit about is losing Abby. Let’s try not to make it any worse.” Simon didn’t answer her, but he nodded, in order to keep the peace. And Blaise could tell that she hadn’t convinced him, which unnerved her. She felt as if she were swimming upstream in her own home, fighting the currents, and she didn’t like the feeling. He wasn’t at Caldwell anymore, he was in her apartment, and she expected her word to be law. And she was getting the strong feeling that Simon didn’t live by other people’s rules. He was courteous and considerate, but he definitely had his own ideas, and they weren’t hers.
He went to check on Salima then, and after a few minutes, she let him unpack for her, and she told him where she wanted her things. He noticed that her closets here at home were almost empty, and he realized how seldom she was there. Caldwell had become her home, and he wondered if Blaise was going to try to keep her there, or at a similar place once she got older. Simon thought that would be a tragedy for Salima, and a terrible waste. She had a bright mind, and was capable of far more than anyone expected of her, particularly Abby. He didn’t want to speak ill of the dead, and he had liked her, but he thought now that with time, she would have crippled Salima. He was beginning to think that it was a blessing Abby was out of her life. And undeniably, everything he had in mind for her would be very different, and even painful at times to make the change from total dependency to freedom. And it was easy to see that Blaise wasn’t on board either. He would have to pull it off on his own. And he intended to try in the next three months. He wasn’t afraid to make waves. It would be for Salima’s good in the end, even if neither she nor her mother understood that.
He put Salima’s voice-activated computer on the desk and plugged it in. She could give it voice commands, and a mechanical voice would respond and read her any material she wanted. Blaise had always gotten her the most up-to-date aids available to assist her, and was constantly searching for new ones. Salima used a software program called OpenBook, with a scanner that read her mail and textbooks to her. And she had something called Oratio that allowed her to use a BlackBerry. Everything Salima had was state of the art, thanks to her mother, and she knew it. And Simon also noticed that she had an excellent stereo in her room. She had all the most expensive devices and aids, and advanced technology, but she still couldn’t brush her teeth alone. And Simon wanted to change that as soon as he could, for her sake.
When he left her room, it was in good order. She was putting on some music, and she wanted to e-mail some of her friends from school to see how they were. She loved her mother, but she hated being home. And she was beginning to hate Simon even more. He didn’t understand anything.
He went back to his own room then, and put away his things, and then appeared unexpectedly in the door to Blaise’s office. She looked up in surprise. It was strange to see a man in her house. She always wondered now how she had lived with Harry, or thought she would marry Andrew and live with him. The idea no longer appealed to her at all, and the reality of Simon in her home even less. He felt like an intruder to her, and to Salima.
“Would you like a cup of tea?” Simon asked her, and she shook her head, wanting to tell him that he didn’t need to come to her office unless she called for him or there was a problem. No one had offered her a cup of tea in her own home in years. Not since she’d been married to Harry and they had help, more than ten years before. The housekeeper she had now only did laundry and cleaned, and left simple food in the fridge for her. She never offered her tea, or would even have thought of it. If Blaise wanted tea, she made her own. And she didn’t expect Simon to wait on her, any more than she expected him to cook for them, although he had offered. All she wanted was for him to keep Salima happy, whatever it took, and stay out of her way. With Salima’s arrival, her unavoidable needs no matter how much she loved her, and Simon in their midst, Blaise felt invaded in her own home, and they hadn’t been there for two hours. And at the look on her face, he withdrew immediately.
Blaise went to check on Salima an hour later. She was listening to music and lying on her bed, thinking of Abby, and there were tears rolling down her cheeks. Blaise sat down next to her on the bed and stroked her hair, and then kissed her.
“How’s it going?” Blaise asked, but she could see, not well.
“Horribly. I miss her so much.” And Blaise knew she always would. A bond like theirs was irreplaceable, even if they found another competent caretaker in time. She had genuinely loved Abby.
“I know you do, sweetheart. Let’s try to do some fun things while you’re here. I’ll try to get some concert tickets tomorrow.”
“I don’t want to do anything,” Salima said sadly. “And I hate Simon. He’s a pain.”
“Yeah. Maybe. He seems a little pushy to me too, but this is all new to him, the apartment, us, that ridiculous little room we have for him. I think he’s just trying to be helpful. And he’s a guy. We’re not used to guys here.” Blaise smiled at her. There was no point in either of them getting wound up about him, although he annoyed her too. She enjoyed her peaceful home, and even having Salima there was a huge change for her. Having Simon put it out in the stratosphere somewhere.
“Why can’t we just have no one?” Salima said mournfully, sounding five and not nineteen. “You can take care of me,” she said hopefully, and Blaise felt instantly guilty.
“Remember me? I work. Or had you forgotten? And I travel all the time. What would you do if I got sent away on a story? You need someone here with you.” And Blaise couldn’t see herself putting toothpaste on Salima’s brush. She could learn to do that herself now, like a big girl, blind or not. It was the only thing he’d said so far that Blaise agreed with. Salima was used to having everything done for her. Abby had done it all.
Blaise wandered back into the kitchen around eight o’clock that night. None of them had eaten dinner, and she wasn’t hungry. Simon was sitting at the kitchen table with his computer, and looked up when she walked in. Megan had just sent him an e-mail, telling him how much she missed him and how sad she was. He was too, but he had decided not to answer, and he turned off his computer and looked at Blaise.
“Can I make you guys dinner?” he offered, standing up. He felt as though he should be doing something for her, and Salima had made it clear she didn’t want him in her room, so he had nowhere to go, except the tiny maid’s room, and there was nowhere to sit there. So he had set up his computer at the kitchen table.
“I think I’ll order pizza,” Blaise said vaguely. At least Salima liked that, and might eat. “Or sushi.”
“Does an omelet appeal? Or pasta? I can whip that up pretty quickly.” The omelet sounded good, but she didn’t want to admit it, so she shook her head.
“We’re fine,” she insisted. She called for pizza, and he didn’t interfere. She asked him what he wanted, and he said a large with everything on it except anchovies, which sounded good to her too. And she ordered a small pizza margherita for Salima, and she called her when they arrived. Salima came out of her bedroom and sat down at the kitchen table. Simon watched her mother serve her a slice on a plate and set it in front of her, and the three of them ate their pizza and said not a word.
After dinner, Salima went back to her room, and to bed a little while later. Blaise had told him she’d check Salima’s insulin pump herself, so he didn’t go in to see her. And Simon could see the light on in Blaise’s office for a long time, but he didn’t disturb her. He stayed on his computer for a while, read two more e-mails from Megan that sounded increasingly desperate, didn’t answer her, and finally went to bed. It had been a long, stressful day. And he was well aware of just how unwelcome he was in their home.
When the alarm went off at four o’clock the next morning, Blaise felt like she’d been beaten with a stick. The past few days had taken their toll. The shocking news of Abby’s death, her funeral, the school closing, Simon in the house. And Salima to take care of for the next few months. It was overwhelming. The one thing she was grateful for was that Simon knew all the protocols for Salima’s blood tests, monitoring her insulin pump, checking it at night, and dealing with her diabetes. He knew exactly what he was doing, which was a relief. But everything else he did unnerved her. His very presence in her home felt like an intrusion and rubbed her the wrong way. She was trying not to let it upset her, but it did. And she didn’t want to let Salima know how much. Salima disliked him enough already, and it would only make matters worse. Salima had objected strenuously to Simon moving in with them. And Blaise had told her they had no other option and she had to make her peace with it. She had to please her mother, but grudgingly. And Blaise couldn’t deal with a war in her home and didn’t want to. They were stuck with Simon, for now anyway, and had to make it work, like it or not. And Salima didn’t love it.
Blaise got out of bed slowly, not quite ready to face the day and all the stress she knew was waiting for her at work: Susie Q, and all the projects Blaise was working on and hadn’t finished when she left in a rush three days earlier. She would have to deal with all of it today. She took a shower instead of a bath, trying to wake up, even though she wet her hair. The hairdresser on the set could deal with it when she got there. And her shoulder-length red hair was still wet when she walked into the kitchen half an hour later in a crisp white shirt and gray slacks, and no makeup. She needed a cup of coffee desperately, and had the newspapers in her hand when she walked in, and nearly screamed as she saw Simon at the kitchen table. He stood up and handed her a cup of steaming-hot coffee, just the way she liked it. He had noticed the way she took it the day before. Two sugars, no cream. She wanted to thank him, but she couldn’t as she took the cup from him. She didn’t want to talk to anyone at that hour, and he could see it instantly on her face.
“Sorry,” he said apologetically. “I couldn’t sleep, and Salima said you have breakfast at five o’clock every day. I figured I’d make myself useful.” He didn’t tell her that the bed was much too small and his legs hung off the end. He didn’t want to complain. It was hard enough having him there, and he knew it. Whatever he did, right or wrong, he wasn’t Abby. For Salima, it was a felony. For her mother, an unwelcome invasion. The barbarians were not just at the gate, they were in her home, and her kitchen. He could read it in her eyes.
“I like making my own,” she said simply, as she sat down at the kitchen table, opened the papers, and didn’t say another word. He felt as though he had committed a crime making her coffee. She never thanked him, she didn’t want to encourage him to do it again, and he had gotten the message, he wouldn’t. He planned to stay out of the kitchen in the morning from now on. He had read her loud and clear, and he had to admit it was early. And he was a creature of habit too, so he respected that in her.
He heard the front door close when she left for work, and the apartment was silent. Salima was still asleep. The housekeeper didn’t come till ten. And Eric called him at eight.
“How’s it going?” He sounded optimistic but concerned. He was checking on all his teachers who had gone home with kids. So far, everyone was happy, and the parents were grateful and relieved to have help at home.
“A little rugged,” Simon admitted. “Salima is heartbroken over Abby. And I think her mother hates men, in her house anyway. She’s not used to having Salima here either. It’s a little dicey. We’re all adjusting. And Abby must have treated her like a five-year-old, more than any of us knew. She did everything for her except chew her food. She infantilized her completely. We have a long way to go here, just to get her up to speed. And no one is enthused about that project. Salima’s mother keeps telling me not to rock the boat.” Simon sounded exasperated as he explained the situation to him. He was trying to be zen about it, but it was a challenge.
“I’m sorry, Simon,” Eric said sincerely. “I know she babied her, and they had a very close relationship, so it’s hard to make changes. And it’s very soon. And I think that her mother liked Abby’s style. She never objected to how cocooned she was when Salima went home. I think it assuages some of her guilt for not having her at home, and having a demanding career.”
“Maybe,” Simon said thoughtfully. He was trying to figure it out and be patient. “The apartment really isn’t big enough for me. Or even for Salima. It’s set up very nicely for a single woman. Salima is in Siberia, at the end of a long hall, and pretty isolated, and I’m in a maid’s room behind the kitchen, which is fine, but there’s nowhere for me to sit without annoying someone. I made a major faux pas this morning, and made her coffee at five A.M. before she left for work. She looked pissed. I guess she doesn’t like talking to anyone before she goes to work.” He was walking on eggshells, and Eric could hear it and felt bad for him. He was such a decent, capable guy, he hated to have them make him so uncomfortable, but he’d had no one else to send home with Salima, or he would have. And Blaise was right, a woman would have been easier, in close quarters with Salima and her mother.
“See how it goes and keep me posted,” Eric said, sounding concerned. He was wondering if he should say something to Blaise. He didn’t want Simon to quit, or just walk off the job, but he knew Simon wouldn’t do that, he was tenacious, and brilliant at what he did. Eric knew that if anyone could turn it around, he could. But they clearly didn’t appreciate his skills. He was the best teacher Eric had. He was a natural problem solver and creative thinker.
“Don’t worry, we’ll make it work,” Simon said, trying to sound hopeful, but he wasn’t. And the day got off to a bad start when Salima woke up and found her way into the kitchen, and she gave a start when Simon said good morning. She acted as though she didn’t expect him to be there.
“Did you sleep okay?” He tried to sound more casual than he felt. She looked ravaged, and was still in deep grief over Abby.
“Yeah, I guess,” she said, slumped at the kitchen table.
“What would you like for breakfast?” he asked cheerfully, ready to make her anything she wanted. He was a great short-order chef, but she had no reason to know it.
“Poison,” she said glumly, staring into space, and not looking in his direction. With his students, he always made them look in the direction of the person speaking. It was a good habit to get into, even if they couldn’t see them. But he said nothing to her. It was too soon.
“Sorry. I’m fresh out. No poison today. How about bacon and eggs? Or whole wheat pancakes?”
“Abby always made me special waffles. But we don’t have a waffle iron here. My mother doesn’t believe in keeping fattening foods in the house, and she always wants me on a diet for my weight and diabetes,” Salima said unhappily. Simon was aware that Blaise was very slim, but Salima wasn’t much bigger. And he was well aware of the diet Salima needed to follow for her diabetes.
“I can buy a waffle iron today and keep it in my room.” Maybe under the bed or in my closet, or on my head, he thought to himself. Salima looked in his direction then and smiled.
“She’ll get mad if she finds out,” Salima warned him.
“Then don’t tell her.” He was trying to find a way to ally with Salima, and if a waffle iron would do it, he was willing to risk her mother’s ire. “What are we going to do today? After breakfast.” He wanted to get some food into her first. She looked depressed, and he thought food might help.
“I just want to stay here.” She seemed lifeless as she said it.
“I have some errands to do, and I need your help. I don’t know the neighborhood, and I haven’t been to New York in a year.” She didn’t look enthused at the prospect. “Which reminds me, I need a bunch of phone numbers, and things off the Internet. I’d like you to get them for me on your computer.” It was a way to get her involved.
“Can’t you do that yourself? I’m not your secretary,” she said tartly. He didn’t respond or react.
“I need some new CDs too. I forgot all of mine at school.” It wasn’t true, but he wanted to buy music with her and see what she liked.
As he chatted with her, he scrambled some eggs, cooked two slices of bacon, made some toast, and set it down in front of her. She could smell it cooking, and she looked unimpressed when he put a fork in her hand.
“Eat, get dressed. Then we’ll go out.” She didn’t thank him for breakfast, but as she started to eat, he could see from the look on her face that she liked it. She really was a child.
“The eggs are good,” she finally admitted. “What if I won’t go out?” He knew she was testing him, and he didn’t want to react.
“Let’s see, what would be suitable punishment for that?” He took her comment lightly, which seemed to be the best way to handle her. “Set your hair on fire maybe? Steal your favorite CD? Lock you in your room and refuse to feed you? Make you eat brussels sprouts?”
“I like brussels sprouts,” she said, smiling again. She almost liked him sometimes, but not quite. He wasn’t Abby. But she could tell he was smart. She had hardly ever spoken to him at school. He was in a cottage with younger boys.
“Then that won’t work. What food do you hate most?”
“Beans, of any kind.”
“Good. Beans. If you won’t go out with me, you’ll have to eat beans for a week.”
“You can’t make me,” she said, sounding belligerent again.
“Eat beans?”
“No. Go out.”
“Yes, I can. I can force you to do all kinds of horrible things with me. Like advise me about what music to buy. Something tells me you know a lot about music.”
“I just like to sing.” Her face brightened as she said it.
“Like what?”
“Anything. I’ve always loved to sing. It makes me happy.” He was smiling at her as she said it. He had found the key to the secret garden. She had just handed it to him.
“Can you play the piano?” he asked, and she shook her head in answer.
“I never wanted to practice. I’m lazy,” she confessed.
“I can. My mother made me practice every day. But it’s kind of fun to know how.” He didn’t offer to play for her, and she didn’t ask. And a few minutes later she got up and started to walk out of the kitchen, and left her empty plate on the table. She had eaten everything he’d made her.
“Excuse me,” he said, stopping her with his tone of voice, and she looked surprised. “Table service, please. You need to put that plate in the dishwasher.” He sounded casual, and she looked stunned. Abby would never have said that to her, and hadn’t in five years.
“I don’t have to do that,” she informed him in a supercilious tone.
“Yes, you do,” he said simply. “You’re not my secretary. I’m not your maid. That’s how it works.” He didn’t mention cooking as part of the deal, but he wanted to give her good habits, and she had very few. She was polite but used to Abby waiting on her hand and foot. Those days were over, and only for her own good.
“My mother doesn’t expect me to bus dishes. We have a maid.”
“That’s pretty rude, isn’t it? Why should you leave that for her? It takes two seconds to rinse it and put it in the machine.” Salima hesitated for a long moment, and then she picked the plate up off the table, walked to the sink, rinsed it, and put it in the dishwasher. She did it perfectly. And then with a haughty look, she walked out of the kitchen and back to her room. Round one, Simon thought to himself. And she hadn’t had the guts to defy him completely, which was good. She was back in the kitchen half an hour later. She could hear him in the room, and he was pleased to see that she was dressed to go out, in jeans and a red leather jacket. She was a very pretty girl, with her long dark hair, and she had on dark glasses, which she wore when she went out.
“You look nice,” he said admiringly. “I like your jacket.”
“Me too. It’s red,” she said, as though he didn’t know. She was proud that she did. Abby had put a little slip of paper in Braille in the pocket, which told her the color.
“I know. And I like your Ray-Bans. Are you ready to go out?”
“I guess so,” she said, sounding cautious. “Where are we going?”
“Music store first. Did you look it up?”
“I know where the closest one is. I always stock up there. I download music, but I like buying CDs too.”
“Close enough to walk?” She nodded, and he got up, pleased that she was willing to go out. And he glanced at her as they were about to leave. “Do you have your stick?” He meant a white one with a red tip, to identify her as blind and guide her while they walked.
“I don’t use one.” He looked surprised by her response.
“Why not?”
“I don’t need it. I just hang on to Abby when we go out.”
“Wouldn’t you rather have a little more mobility than just hanging on to me?”
“No, that’s fine.” She didn’t want to identify herself as blind, but he thought she should use a stick, since she didn’t have a dog. He wondered about that and asked her about it as they set out down the street toward the music store.
“Why no dog?” She had her hand tucked into his arm as they walked.
“I hate dogs. I got bitten once by a German shepherd when I was a little kid. All guide dogs are German shepherds.”
“That’s not true. Some are Labs. They’re nice, and they don’t bite. That might give you more freedom.”
“I don’t need freedom, or a dog,” she said, shutting down again, but she opened up the minute they got to the music store and spent two hours picking CDs. She introduced him to some bands and singers that he didn’t know, and gave him good advice. And she picked out twenty new CDs for herself, some of them old groups, and others new ones. She had very eclectic taste in music, which Simon found interesting. She had fun and so did Simon. He was getting to know her through music. Whatever worked.
And after the music store, he took her to a lively place for lunch. She said she wasn’t hungry, but he insisted he was starving, which wasn’t true. But she went to be polite, and they talked all through lunch about what interested her, her values, her philosophies, how she felt about her father hardly ever seeing her, her mother’s career. She began to lay the keys to the kingdom at his feet.
For Blaise, the day had gotten off to a bad start. First, she found herself face to face with Simon before she even had a cup of coffee. He was in the kitchen before she’d fully woken up. She hated talking to anyone in the morning, even if she’d slept with them the night before. Early morning was a sacred time to her. And she felt as though her life had been invaded from the moment he handed her the cup of coffee until she left for work.
Then her usual hairdresser didn’t show up for work. Blaise was unhappy with what the replacement girl did to her hair, and she thought she looked a mess when she went on the air.
To make matters worse, after finishing her morning segment, she saw Susie Q sucking up to one of the network executives who was on the set. Watching her made Blaise feel sick. She was so obvious it turned her stomach.
And the rest of the day was a series of annoyances and aggravations. Tully was on vacation so she had a driver she didn’t like. By the time she got home that night, an hour later than usual, due to traffic, all she wanted was to take a bath and go to bed. Instead there was music blaring in the house, on the stereo system she never used. She could tell that it was Salima’s music. She could hear her singing. And Blaise could hear voices in the kitchen. She walked in with a scowl on her face.
“What are you doing?” she said to Simon in a harsh voice. The day was ending as it had started, with Simon in her space.
“Cooking dinner,” he said calmly. He was wearing an apron, and he had Salima handing him ingredients. Their day had gone very well. She was teaching him the difference between reggae and ska. And she also loved jazz and blues, just as he did. They had bought a lot of CDs. However, the one on the stereo just then was not one that her mother loved. “It will be ready in ten minutes,” Simon warned her, “or longer if you need more time.”
“I told you not to cook dinner,” she snapped at him. “And I’m not hungry,” she said rudely.
“We are,” he said simply. “You don’t have to join us if you don’t want.” She stalked off to her room then, and Simon put a soufflé in the oven, as Salima sat nearby.
“What are you making?” She sounded curious, and the smells in the kitchen were delicious.
“You’ll see. I hope you like it. It’s an old family recipe I learned from a chef in Paris. Just not my family. No one in my family can cook. My mother’s cooking would kill you, except for blood sausage, which I love.”
“Yerghk.” Salima made a face. They had gone to the butcher after the music store, and he was making leg of lamb, “gigot,” with lots of garlic. Blaise could smell it in her room and was annoyed, but she washed her face and hands and walked back to the kitchen, just as he took the soufflé out of the oven. She looked surprised. And the table was set for all three of them. He had Salima do it. She said she hadn’t done that since she was a child. Probably before she went blind, he guessed. For the past eleven years she had done no chores at all. That was clear.
“You made soufflé?” Blaise was stunned, and warmed up a little as they sat down at the table together. And she had to admit, the cheese soufflé was superb. They all had second helpings. And the gigot was just as good, maybe better. He had made mashed potatoes to go with it, and tossed a salad. It was a spectacular meal, with fresh fruit for dessert. “This is like eating in a four-star restaurant,” Blaise complimented him. It was an absolutely delicious dinner, which put all of them in a good mood. They sat around the table afterward, looking relaxed. And he made an infusion of fresh mint for Blaise. “Where did you learn to cook like that?” She was intrigued. He was a man of many faces, talents, and skills, and all of them pleasant so far. She knew she had been less than nice to him. And she noticed that Salima seemed to have eased up on him that day. She hoped she wasn’t falling for him. But at least she couldn’t see his good looks. Blaise was grateful for that. He was a very handsome man.
“I went to cooking school in Paris,” he told her, “after college and before I went to grad school. It’s something I always wanted to do. Cooking is fun.”
“Where did you do it?”
“Cordon Bleu,” he said shamelessly, and she laughed.
“No wonder. You should be opening a restaurant, not teaching at a school.”
“I like both,” he said easily. “I like cooking for my friends. It relaxes me.”
“Well, it certainly was a spectacular meal.” She stood up, as Salima helped him clear the table, and her mother looked surprised. She suspected that was Simon’s doing too, and she didn’t comment. It wouldn’t hurt her to put the dishes in the sink, and she looked happier than she had the day before. Blaise was sure she still missed Abby terribly, but at least she wasn’t fighting Simon, for now.
Blaise was about to leave the kitchen, when he turned from the sink to ask her something. “I see that you have a piano. Do you mind if I play?” She looked surprised again.
“No, that’s fine. As long as you don’t play too late, or my neighbors will have a fit.”
“I won’t.” He finished loading the dishwasher with Salima, and she thanked him for dinner and went to her room, while Simon quietly walked into the living room and sat down at the piano, opened it, and began to play. He didn’t play anything in particular, he started with show tunes, and played some of his favorites from the sixties, including a number of Beatles songs, and by the time he got to them, he saw Salima appear like a ghost. Blaise was listening in her room too. You could hear his playing throughout the apartment, and he was good. Maybe not as good as he was a chef, but it was close. And before she had reached the piano, Salima was singing to what he played. She knew all the songs, which was what he had hoped. He didn’t know her favorites yet. But once she heard the music, she couldn’t stay away. And Blaise could hear her too, and realized how clever he was. He was using the things Salima loved to establish a rapport with her.
They sat together for an hour while she sang and he played, and then with regret he closed the piano, and said they’d better not play too late or they’d get in trouble with the neighbors and her mom would be mad. Salima was sad to see their musical alliance end.
“Have you ever thought of taking singing lessons?” he asked her as they left the room.
“No. I used to want to be a singer when I was a kid. But I don’t want to be Ray Charles or Stevie Wonder when I grow up. And I don’t write music. You kind of have to if you want to be special.” She looked disappointed as she said it.
“You don’t have to be a pro. Why not just do it for fun?” he suggested. “That’s why I cook. Because I enjoy it.”
“Maybe.” Salima thought about it, and then said goodnight. She stopped in at her mother’s room on the way back to her own. Blaise was at her desk, writing an editorial for the next day, with a stack of research beside her.
“You and Simon sounded great. He certainly has a lot of talents. Music, cooking.” And he was handling Salima well.
“Could I ever take singing lessons?” Salima asked her, and Blaise looked surprised again. It was the first time Salima had ever inquired about it, although she’d had a singing talent all her life.
“I don’t see why not. I’ll see what I can find. Someone who can come to the house.” Salima nodded. It sounded good to her. She kissed her mother goodnight then, and drifted back to her own room. She listened to several of the CDs they’d bought that afternoon, and sang along with them.
And in the kitchen, Simon was at his computer, checking Facebook, which gave him something to do. He saw then that Megan had sent him another e-mail. He read it, deleted it, closed his computer, and went back to his room. The one thing he knew was that their desperate, dishonest, twisted illicit affair had to end. But as he lay down on his bed and thought about her, he was sad. At least work was going well.