Chapter 14

On Wednesday evening, I ran into Alia in the supermarket. Smiling, I greeted her, stopping in the aisle to chat.

“Philip,” she said with a smile, “What did you do to my daughter?”

“Me? Nothing. Why?” I asked. Had I done something?

“It seems she has a bit of a crush on you.”

“A crush? On me? Why? I didn’t do anything except keep her and Sia entertained.”

“I doubt it’s anything you did. But, it is quite remarkable.”

“How so?” I asked.

Alia smiled slightly. “It’s too long a story to go into in the middle of Safeway.”

“I see. Well, if you ever feel like talking about her, I’m more than happy.”

We chatted for a couple of minutes, discussing the odd palates of young girls, Alia laughing at Sia’s newly discerning sense of smell, and said goodbye. But, as I moved away, she called to me.

“Philip? Would you like to grab dinner together and chat?” She looked pensive.

“I’d love to. When?”

“How about Friday night?”

“Done.”

Shopping was a tad mindless. I wondered what her and Jasmin’s story was. I didn’t feel guilty about having dinner with her. She was perfectly charming. I didn’t need romance. I had Sia in my life and she took all my energy. Still, I missed adult conversation; that probing of minds, growing comfort, and the discovery of interesting trivia about each other’s lives. She was raising a daughter. I was too, if somewhat unconventionally. I wanted to trade war stories.

Sia, when told about my plans for Friday night, didn’t seem upset. I wondered why until she exclaimed, “I’ll have Jasmin come for a sleepover! Yes? What are your thoughts?”

Two teenage girls alone in the house? It sounded ominous. “Okay, as long as her mother agrees.”

“Great! Gotta call her!” Sia announced, dashing out of the kitchen.

“And you do the dishes for a week!” I yelled after her. I smiled when there was no response.

Thus, at seven-fifteen on Friday night, I welcomed Jasmin, or tried to. Sia shoved by me. There was a repeat of the strange hugging dance they’d done before, and Jasmin said, “Hi, Philip,” giving me a brief hug as she passed, causing her mother to raise an eyebrow.

It wasn’t until Alia and I entered Chez Etienne, the best restaurant in town, and Alia removed her coat that I saw another side to her. The serious but fashionable business suit was replaced by a simple dark raspberry deep v-neck dress that flared from her waist ending mid-thigh. It revealed long slender legs and black stiletto-heeled shoes giving her a taller, dignified stature. She’d worn earrings made of shards of silver that dangled and swung as she moved. Alia was a seriously attractive woman.

Over hors d’oeuvres of deep fried calamari with a spicy Sriracha cream dipping sauce, we chatted about work, the town; inconsequential things that helped break the ice, allowing us to gracefully draw closer to more personal topics: she liked football and music; I liked basketball and music; she liked to dance; I couldn’t find my feet. Conversation flowed easily.

The main course arrived, a shared Beef Wellington - succulent beef tenderloin wrapped in pastry and baked to perfect pink. The conversation turned to family.

Like me, Alia was single. Like me, her partner was no longer around. Like me, she was constantly challenged by her newly minted teenager.

Alia laughed when I explained the secret to those mystical teens, “Lay down the law: don’t stab anyone, no playing with matches, and stop kicking boys in their nuts.”

Eventually, the conversation arrived at her purpose for the dinner; Jasmin.

She sipped the white wine I’d selected, an Alois Lageder Pinot Grigio, pale and bright with hints of lime, then spoke.

“So, as I asked you at the supermarket, what did you do to my daughter?”

“Nothing. Why?”

“She hugged you goodbye.”

“Is that unusual?” I asked.

“You have no concept.” Alia took another sip of wine before cutting a small piece of the Beef Wellington and eating it. She looked back up at me and continued. “Perhaps I should back up. Jasmin and I have been on our own for five years. Jerry, my husband, was ... well he was a bully, verbally and physically abusive to both of us.”

She sipped her wine, her fork pushing mushroom caps around the plate.

“I know it’s cliché but I took the abuse. I had a job, a career I was working at, a beautiful daughter, a home. Without them, I had nothing. It was a classical case of me thinking if I could only cook better, dress better, earn more money, be more compliant, Jerry would stop. He’d actually love us, be the loving father Jasmin deserved. I’d loved him once, so maybe I could change him.”

She laughed bitterly and sipped her wine.

“Classic denial coupled with fear of the unknown. Add being terrified he was capable of killing us to the mix and, well...” Her voice trailed off.

“I’m sorry to hear it,” I said. “But he’s no longer in the picture. It must be a relief.”

She gave me a weak smile. “I’m not finished. He started sexually abusing Jasmin when she turned seven. I caught him, grabbed Jasmin and called the police.”

I was feeling distinctly uncomfortable with the direction of her story. “So, he’s in jail?”

“He’s dead. He was killed in prison nine months after being incarcerated.”

Silence fell as we ate. I couldn’t imagine abusing a child. What drove her husband to it? It made me worry about Sia and me all over again. Was I him? Was I a Jerry with a different name?

“Jerry scarred Jasmin,” Alia continued, putting her fork down. “Jasmin became fearful and untrusting of men and it spread to include older boys. She was only comfortable being around younger boys - infants really. She never recovered. She still avoids being around males.”

Alia paused to let the waiter replenish our wine, and took a sip before continuing.

“So, that brings me back to, what did you do to Jasmin last week?”

I wracked my brains. “Nothing, as far as I can tell.”

“Tell me about her stay,” Alia suggested.

“Let me see.” I cast my mind back. “Friday night they stayed up late and slept in the living room, binge watching The Walking Dead with the lights out. I wouldn’t recommend it,” I added with a grin. “They screamed well into the night.

“Saturday morning, after feeding them, I ordered them to straighten up the mess in the living room. They ignored me, as usual, so I resorted to bribes - fast food and a movie at the mall.”

Alia laughed.

“Works every time,” I assured her. “Threats, not so much. At least not with Sia.

“Anywho,” I continued, “Saturday afternoon they interrupted me while I was sprawled on the couch listening to Clannad on the stereo...”