Page 53 of Good As Hell

“What happened?” I look from her to Fi for answers.

Taking my hand she pulls me to sit beside her in one of the chairs they’ve placed beside the bed to keep vigil. “She was poisoned. Poisoned in a way to make it look like a miscarriage — or an abortion.” She nods towards Lyric.

“Only the assassin didn’t count on her sharing the coffee with Fariq. They both fell ill around the same time. Only because he doesn’t have a uterus the cramps he suffered didn’t lead to massive hemorrhaging though he’s still in discomfort.” Her words are precise but I know she doesn’t want word to spread among the staff about Lyric’s condition.

“A complete man baby.” Fi pipes in from her seat on the other side of the bed.

Trying to process the news and unable to touch her, really see her, I step closer to the bed.

Her cheeks are sallow. The beautiful dark brown of her skin is ashen. Her lips are glossy though and her hair has been braided down each side and tied off at the ends with silk ribbons. I look over at Fi then.

“We made promises.” She quips to which I nod. Lyric told me about the promises they made to each other when I watched her grooming and changing Fi’s nail polish when she was in a coma.

Touching Lyric’s brow to smooth back an errant curl, I wretch my hand back. “She’s burning up.” My tone is almost accusatory towards my mother. Surely she should not be this hot.

“The doctors said it’s her body fighting off the toxins.” She casts a worried gaze over to Fi — one I don’t miss.

“What?” Looking between them I try to tamp down the dread beginning to spiral as it twists my soul. All I know in that moment is I don’t want to lose her. I can’t fathom not coming home to her and Ayaan.

“She was a couple months along. Too early to tell Dr. Bint Aaziz says.” I swing around to face Fi who looks gutted. “There was a lot of bleeding. We almost lost her.” She continues in a rush to get it all out. “She fought like hell, for Ayaan — for you.” She nods emphatically like she believes that.

My heart feels like it’s been vivisected and had acid poured into an empty space. A miscarriage? It must have been from our wedding night.

“They are giving her lots of medicine to help her fight the infection from the miscarriage. She was in a lot of pain, but she’s made it through the worse part.” Umm, quietly reassures me the there is a heavy pause. “They don’t know much damage all this has caused, son, or how it will affect her ability to conceive or carry another child in the future.” She says with a heart breaking gentleness, knowing how much legacy and heirs mean to menlike me. Or should I say meant because the only thing I care about is her waking up.

I don’t voice those words, though. instead I ask, “How am I to care for her?”

“Baba,”my son calls to me from where is playing. His little arms wave for me to join him.

“I’m coming. I have to take care of mommy’s hair first.” Making the last twist on her hair like Fi showed me then tying it off with a silk ribbon, but not too tight to not cause damage.

“Mommy sick?” He asks in a small, frightened little voice, his eyes round with worry.

“Yes, she is still sick.” The words almost choke me seeing how he plaintively asks for her. Something tells me this would be every day should I ever purposely keep him from his mother.

Eventually, the love and trust would turn to loathing if, when he found out, I kept them apart. Our family would be irrevocably broken and all the fault would lie at my feet.

Moving to the other side, I take her hair down, brush then plait her heave thick curls, then again tie off the curled end of her hair with a silk ribbon. I lean over, placing a kiss on her now cool forehead. Her fever broke the day after I returned. Now three days later we still wait for her to wake up. The doctor assured us her body just needed to rest from working so hard. It was initially thought she’d have to undergo dialysis to remove all the poison from her system, but she’s proven far stronger than her small frame indicates.

“Her color is better.” Fi assured me it was not just hopeful thinking on my part when she and Fariq came to check on her earlier in this morning.

Watching over her these last few days has been an honor. My heart feels like it’s sitting outside my chest — open and vulnerable to the point I watch every breath she takes, hoping she wakes fearing she won’t.

I can admit, if only to myself, I don’t know how to do this alone and not only that I don’t want to. I need Lyric here with her soft lullabies, reading African American Folktales with me to our son.

“Baba!” Ayaan’s cheerful smile welcomes me as I sit with my legs crisscrossed beside him on the floor. Today it’s cars and trains he wishes to play with. Each one has its own personality. He’s divided some into family groups. Some speaking English and other Arabic, I notice as he takes time explaining who is who.

We lose ourselves in our play until he demands more than asks to play horsey.

He’s chiming, “Giddy-up, giddy-up,” when I hear a faint giggle.

“You better not let any of your people see you doing that, not very princely.” Comes a scratchy voice from the shadowed recess of the bed that has both of us freezing mid-play.

Easing Ayaan’s excited little body off my back, I stand, pulling him up to my chest so that his feet are dangling and kicking excitedly as he switches between, “Umm and Mommy,” squiggling to get to her.

Carrying him over to where Lyric is sitting upright watching us, my heart trips over itself seeing her finally awake. It nearly breaks seeing how small and fragile she is in our bed. A bed I haven’t shared with her for most of our marriage either by choice — forcing myself to stay away or by the tragedy that struck, requiring me to be away for long hours. Pushing the regret down, I try to focus on the fact that she is back with us now — alive.

Her gaze is steady on us as we sit beside her on the bed. Silently, she reaches for Ayaan.

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