Two months pass, and the only thing that keeps the hole in my heart from ripping me in two is my hope that one day soon, Jabir will arrive back in town.

He has to, right?

He’ll drive up Main Street in his sleek white sports car with the shiny rims, just in time for a meeting with an architect, or an engineer, or a contractor. Right?

Despite my intense hope and detailed daydreams, each day passes without the sight that I’ve been waiting for: a smiling Jabir.

The February sun is hidden behind thick clouds as I pull into the Mountain Laurel and scan the cars in the parking lot. As usual, the white sports car with the flying eagle emblem on the front is conspicuously missing.

I sigh and reach for my purse. I have the top of my woven bag zipped up tight, so no one can see in. I don’t want Dawn, Neville, Joan, or anyone else seeing what I just purchased at the pharmacy.

It was embarrassing enough buying the darn pregnancy test; I don’t need the added embarrassment of letting my coworkers know about the possibility that’s been keeping me up at night for the past two weeks.

Two weeks… That’s how late I am.

And last month, I didn’t get my period either. I allowed that one to slide. There was so much going on anyways, what with Christmas and New Year’s Eve… perhaps all of the sugar, irregular meals, and stress of the holidays got my system out of whack. At least that’s what I told myself. But now, I can’t deny it anymore.

I’m late.

And I have to know.

I enter the inn through the employee entrance at the back, and begin my search for Dawn. Over the last few weeks, she’s been asking me to clean rooms on most of my shifts, while she covers the desk. That’s just fine with me; cleaning is active work and keeps me busy—enough to keep my mind off of Jabir.

I find Dawn at the front desk, her feet up on a stool.

“Back acting up again?” I ask, noting her position.

“Damn sciatica,” she says woefully. “I’m gonna have you on cleaning again today, if you don’t mind. I don’t think I can do it today. There’s just two full cleans—the red room and the yellow room—and other than that it’s just the usual upkeep… You know the drill. The sheets in the drier should be ready to go, just give them a fluff before folding.”

I keep my bag tight over my shoulder. Good. When I clean, I have plenty of time to myself. I can take this darn test and get the whole thing off my mind. Once I get the negative result, I’ll be able to think straight again. I don’t even allow myself to consider the other possibility as I set the drier for fifteen minutes and then grab the basket of cleaning supplies.

Once upstairs, I strip down the beds in the two full-clean rooms, and pile the dirty linens in the hallway. The whole upstairs of the inn feels quiet and empty. I hear the drier whirring down at the bottom of the stairs, and beyond that, the soft tinkle of Dawn’s voice on the telephone.

Now’s my chance.

With my purse in hand, I seclude myself in the bathroom at the end of the hallway. It’s a bathroom that several of our less expensive rooms share, and I know that no one will think to look for me here.

With a shaking hand, I pull out the pregnancy test. It takes me a few times to really understand the directions, because my brain can hardly focus on the words. I just want to get this over and done with.

I manage to pee on the little stick and place the plastic cap over one end. Then, I wait.

The two minutes drag past, feeling more like two hours.

Finally, I lift up the stick to get my reading.

It’s positive.

Freaking positive! A little pink plus sign.

Numbly, I place the stick on one end of the sink, unwilling to throw it out. What if someone were to find it? I wash my hands, and then put the test back in the box, wrap it in the plastic shopping bag, and hide the whole thing back in my purse.

I wash my hands again, mostly because I’m in so much shock that I don’t know what to do. I lift up the liquid soap bottle, contemplating whether or not I need to refill it. My mind is so unwilling to think about the test in my purse that everything else feels worthy of my attention.

Shuffling like a zombie, I make my way out into the hallway. I enter the red room, and pull all of the used towels out of the bathroom. I’ve sprayed down the sink, toilet, bath and shower, and am mid-scrub before my walls of denial and shock start to crumble.

I’m pregnant.

I’m pregnant.

With Jabir’s child, and he’s not here. I’m all alone.

Fear, shock, and sadness flood me, and I drop the rag and spray bottle that I’m holding. I look up into the mirror above the sink, and see myself. There are puffy circles under my eyes because I’ve been tossing and turning so much at night. I have my wavy blond hair pulled up out of my face, and I see a crease line in my forehead, and a frown on my lips.

I look afraid. I feel afraid.

Maybe I misread that test. Maybe there was some kind of a mistake.

I make my way back out into the bedroom, and find my purse. I slide down to the floor, my back against one wall as I unzip my purse and dig through it. I feel my breath coming in irregular bursts, and hot tears welling up in my eyes.

Through a blurry sheen, I find the box. I open it up, and stare at the strip. There was no mistake—there’s the plus sign, clear as day. And not only that, but the truth is, I feel pregnant. I know I’m pregnant.

How can this be happening? Jabir is so far away. I don’t even have a way to talk to him—to tell him this news.

I wipe a tear away, but more stream in behind it.

A noise at my back makes me start.

“Teresa? The dryer timer went off, so I thought I’d bring the—” Dawn stops short when she sees me sitting on the floor.

I look up and see that her arms are piled high with crisply folded white sheets. I reach for the pregnancy test right away, and try to stuff it back into the box, but I’m too late. She sees it.

“What’s wrong, sweetie? Is that a… Are you all right?”

I stand up as fast as I can. “I’m so sorry,” I say, scrambling to stuff the bag into my purse. “I know I’m on the clock. I just had to— I’ve been— I had to—”

Dawn sets the folded sheets on the bed. “Come here,” she says, patting the stripped mattress. “Tell me what’s going on.”

The concern in her face tells me that she’s not mad, and her motherly presence is comforting. I collapse onto the bed next to her, and she wraps one arm around me. I lean into her, and the crying starts in earnest.

“He’s so far away!” I say, through my tears.

“Shh, shh.” She rubs my arm, reaching for the box of tissues on the bedside at the same time. “Who is?” she asks, offering me a tissue.

“J-J-Jabir.” I use the Kleenex to blow my nose.

“And why is that so upsetting to you?” she asks. She’s already seen the test, but I appreciate the fact that she’s giving me a chance to bring it up myself.

“I’m pregnant,” I whisper. It feels surreal to say the words out loud.

She’s quiet as she continues rubbing my arm. The tears stop coming. Somehow, saying the words out loud has taken some of the fear out of me.

“I’m pregnant,” I say again, a little bit louder. I sit up taller. I meet Dawn’s eye. “Jabir is the father; I have no doubt about that.”

“Okay,” she says. “Then you have to tell him, don’t you think?”

I nod. “But Dawn, I don’t know how.”

“Be honest,” Dawn says. “Just give him the facts. He’s a grown man, he can handle it.”

“No, I mean, really, I don’t know how. Email? The phone? I can’t give him this kind of news that way. It wouldn’t be right.”

“You want to tell him in person,” Dawn says, nodding with understanding. “Of course you do, sweetie. That’s only natural.”

“But, I can’t. I wish I could, but…” My voice drifts off as I imagine what it would be like to have Jabir’s arms wrapped around me. Will he hold me again, once he knows about the life that we’ve created? “You know how impossible that is,” I say.

“Impossible? I don’t think so. That’s what planes are for. Get yourself a ticket and go see him.”

“But…”

“That’s what you want to do, isn’t it?”

So many obstacles stand in my way, and I start to voice them, one by one.

As if she’s my guardian angel, Dawn knocks them down, one after the other. She says that they can manage without me while I’m gone from the inn, and that she’ll help me look for tickets. In addition, she offers to give me Friday’s pay check, though it’s only Monday. Within half an hour, I’m logged onto the front desk computer and am searching for plane tickets.

The best deal, a little under eight hundred dollars, would be leaving from Philadelphia that very night.

Dawn brings me a cup of mint tea, and I show her the ticket.

“It looks like a good deal,” I say, pointing to the screen. “Almost five hundred less than the others, isn’t it? Maybe because it’s such short notice.”

She’s leaning over my shoulder to look, and I turn to peer up at her. It’s time to voice my final concern.

“Dawn, how will I tell my parents about this trip? I can’t tell them about…my condition. Not yet, anyway. Not without knowing what Jabir will say. But they’ll worry about me if I just disappear out of town. It wouldn’t be right.”

She bites at her lip, and her eyes go back to the screen. “Only eight hundred dollars… This is what you want, right?”

“Yes,” I say. Now that I’ve wrapped my head around the idea of traveling so that I can deliver my news to Jabir in person, I feel intensely excited about seeing Jabir again.

“Okay,” she says slowly. “How about this. You give me your flight information, and promise to call as soon as you can. Get yourself a calling card at the airport before you leave. Let me know where you’ll be staying, and then check in every night. I’ll handle your parents.”

“What will you say?”

“I’ll tell them the truth—that you’re safe and sound, but had to leave town unexpectedly. I’ll tell them that you’ll explain when you get back. They trust you, Teresa, You’re smart and sensible, and they know that. You’re also an adult, these days, though it’s hard to believe it.”

“I am, aren’t I?” I say.

She gives me a smile and nods. “How did that happen? Seems like only yesterday you were thirteen and asking me for cookies and lemonade after your shifts.”

“I still like your cookies and lemonade.”

“I know you do, sweetheart. And we’ll have some when you get back from your trip, to celebrate your news. But for now, I know you want to talk to your man.”

“He’s not my man,” I say. I screw my mouth up to the side, thinking. Then, I turn back to the computer.

I click on the button that will allow me to purchase the tickets. With the paycheck advance, my small savings, plus the three hundred that Jabir gave me for the eagle drawing, I have just enough.

“Let me pack you up a sandwich, so you’re not hungry on the road to Philadelphia.” Dawn shuffles towards the kitchen, and I pull my bank card from my purse.

This is happening!

* * *

It doesn’t take me long to zip home and pack up a small carry-on suitcase, and I get on the road to Philly as quickly as I can. By six p.m., I’m at the airport, and fourteen nearly sleepless hours after that, I’m stepping out of the plane and into the Dalai International Airport.

Foreign words buzz around me, the sing-song, melodic sentences imbuing the scene before me with a dreamlike quality. The polished floor sparkles so brightly, I feel like I’m walking across a mirror as I make my way to the exit.

A blast of heat meets me as I step out into the midday sunshine. It doesn’t take me long to find cab, and to my great delight, the driver greets me with a few words of broken English. As I slide into the back seat, I say that I want to be taken to the residence of the Abdullah royal family.

He turns to look at me.

I catch the word “palace”, and then a string of words that I don’t understand. Then he says, “No, no. Palace not for tourists. Not allowed. Hotel? I take you.”

“The palace,” I repeat. “I know Sheikh Jabir Abdullah.”

“No, no,” he waggles his finger, like I’m a small child caught with her hand in the cookie jar.

How can I make him understand?

I reach into my suitcase, and pull the signet ring from the special inner compartment that I packed it into. I hold it up, so that he can see it. “Sheikh Jabir Abdullah,” I repeat. There’s desperation in my voice.

He looks at the ring, taking in the soaring eagle. Then he looks back at me with curiosity and nods.

Before departing, I hold up a few dollar bills. “This okay?” I ask timidly.

Again to my relief, he nods. “Good!” he says, and I sit back and finally relax into my seat.

Before I know it, the friendly cab driver has deposited me in front of a massive white building, surrounded by a thick, windowless wall. I find the closest guarded entrance, and again use the ring to prove my connection to Sheikh Jabir Abdullah.

Stepping through the gates is like walking into another world. While the streets of Dalai City have so far reminded me of pictures of Los Angeles, I now feel as though I’ve walked into a truly foreign land.

The grounds are bursting with bright orange, yellow, red and purple flowers, of all sorts of varieties that I’ve never seen before. Tall palm trees provide shaded oasis from the blazing sun, and I catch sight of a few peacocks and even a deer-like animal that I’ve never seen before crossing vibrant green grass.

Elaborate fountains and ponds full of fish seem to cool the air. I can’t believe how beautiful this place is!

I walk up a flight of stairs and through massive, bright blue doors into a room with high arched ceilings. The inside of the palace is just as luxurious, colorful, and elaborate as the grounds. Each of the four light pink colored walls have towering, leaf-shaped double doorways in the middle. The floor is wall-to-wall gleaming marble of different hues, arranged in such intricate designs that I feel like I’m walking across a masterpiece in an art museum rather than a floor.

There are red and gold chairs scattered throughout the room, which seems to be a sort of lobby and waiting area in one. A few people are sitting in the chairs, but no one looks up as I enter the room. The tall doors open and close occasionally, as people come and go. It seems everyone has a place to be, and they assume that I belong just as they do.

The problem is, I don’t know where I’m going. I know that I have to see Jabir, but I don’t know how to make that happen.

A woman in a business suit almost bumps into me as I wander aimlessly towards one of the doors.

“Excuse me,” I say.

To my surprise, she responds in English. “Oh, that was my fault. I should be looking where I’m going.”

“That’s okay. Um…do you happen to know how I can find Sheikh Jabir Abdullah?”

She eyes me in surprise. “Do you have an appointment?”

“Not exactly.”

“Well then, you won’t be able to see him.” There’s an edge of disdain in her voice now. “The Sheikh is a very busy man. Pardon me, I need to get going.”

She’s off before I can say more. I approach several more people. Those who speak English give me the same answer: the Sheikh won’t see me without an appointment. Even showing his ring won’t help me now, though I do try. The sight of the golden signet ring only seems to confuse people, but they stick to the same answer: “You need to set an appointment. There’s no other way.”

Finally, I’m desperate enough to try to make an appointment, though I don’t know how I can possibly last in Dalai while I wait days or even weeks just to get an audience with Jabir. I’ve already given the taxi driver twenty dollars to get me here, which means that I only have eighty dollars left. I highly doubt that that will be enough for a hotel for the night, and even if it is, what will I do for food?

Suddenly, my hasty trip to Dalai isn’t seeming like such a brilliant idea.

I’ve just asked a man how I can set up an appointment. He hands me a business card.

“Call this number,” he says. “You’ll have to leave a message, and then you’ll hear back in a few days from the Sheikh’s public coordinator. You can tell her what the reason for the meeting is, and she’ll decide whether or not—”

“Thank you,” I interrupt him, grabbing for the card. I don’t mean to be rude, but the doors to the lobby have just opened up—and Jabir’s brother is walking through them.

“Thank you, really,” I repeat, backing quickly away from the man, who seems bewildered by my sudden departure, given my desperation to talk to him just a few minutes before.

“Hassan!” I call out, hurrying across the floor to catch his attention.

He’s almost at the exit when he turns. At first, he doesn’t recognize me. I can see it in his blank stare, and the way he looks around the room and picks out one of the many security guards that are positioned around the room.

“Please,” I say. “I need to talk to you.”

He waves the security guard over.

“My name is Teresa,” I say, as fast as I can. I don’t want to be kicked out. Not now. Not after I’ve come so far. “Teresa Johnson. I’m here from New Hampstead, where you have a transmission factory for your cars. I need to talk to Jabir. I need to—”

A flash of recognition crosses his face. “Ah yes! Teresa. You were our waitress.” He lifts his hand, and stands down the guard. “What a surprise to see you here! What brings you to Dalai? You say that you wish to see my brother?”

“Yes,” I say. “Yes, please. I have something that I need to speak to him about.”

“Is it something that I could help you with? I’m just going out to lunch now, but perhaps after? Jabir is tied up in meetings all day, you see. He’s been extremely busy of late. I am able to rearrange my schedule, but it will be much harder for him to do so.”

I shake my head. “I’m sorry. I appreciate that, I really do. But it’s Jabir that I need to speak to. As soon as possible.” Again, I think of my mere eighty dollars. “Today, if I could. It’s important. I’ve traveled all this way to see him.”

“Yes, yes, I see that. Is this about the factory?” he asks.

“It’s…personal.”

“I see. I can give him a call right now, if you can wait just a moment?”

“Yes. Yes, of course.”

Hassan turns his back to me and paces away. I see him make the call, and though I try hard to read the expressions that cross his face, I’m unable to get any sense of how Jabir, on the other end of the line, reacts to the news that I am here.

Hassan returns to me. “He will see you,” he says. “Does two o’clock work for you?”

“Of course.” I have nowhere else to be.

“Okay. You’ll go through those doors, and down the hallway. You’ll see a staircase at the end, which will take you directly up to Jabir’s offices. Two o’clock.”

When he leaves, I sink into an empty red chair. I have an hour to wait, which might normally feel like a long time. But here, in such a foreign place, I simply feel grateful that I’ve secured a meeting.

What will he say when I share my news? How will he react? There’s only an hour to go, until I find out.