Page 52 of At the Sheikh's Bidding
She looked up to the thick wooden beam, its cuts and grooves still showing where it had been hewn centuries before. She looked back at him and was shocked by the look on his face of despair and grief.
“I don’t understand.Whatwas there?”
He closed his eyes so he couldn’t see it anymore and clasped his hands to his head, shaking it as if he wanted whatever he saw to go away.
“Amare,” she said, coming up to him and touching his hand. “What is it? What happened here?”
She wasn’t prepared for the look in his eyes when she brought his hand down. Tears tracked down his face and grief was etched in every muscle and line, revealing what lay at the heart of this man—a grief which directed everything he did.
Their gaze tangled before he pulled himself away and went down the stairs and let himself out of the apartment.
Janey listened to the sound of the closing door reverberate around the lofty apartment, leaving an eerie stillness. Slowly she turned around to look at the place which Amare had pointed out.
A woman’s room. A dead cousin. A grieving man.
She backed away and followed Amare. He was standing on the pavement—one unmoving person amidst a shifting crowd.
“Amare!” she called. He looked so far away that she reached out and touched him on the sleeve, needing to connect with him physically. “Shall we get a drink?”
He nodded, and they walked a hundred yards to the nearest bar and went into the dark interior, shunning the sunny outside seats where tourists gathered. She ordered a couple of brandies and they sat in a secluded booth.
They sat in silence, waiting for the drinks to arrive. After they had, she pushed the brandy across to him. “I think you’d better drink that. You look as if you could do with it.”
He forced a smile onto his drawn face.
“I’m sorry, I…” He shrugged.
“You don’t have to be sorry.”
“I can explain.”
“And you don’t have to explain. I jumped to the wrong conclusion. And I think I understand roughly what happened. But you don’t have to go into details.”
His smile slipped. “But, don’t you see? Ido. Ihaveto tell someone what happened that night.”
“You haven’t told anyone?”
He shook his head. “Well, only the police. Only people who needed to know. But they were the facts. I haven’t told anyone the truth.”
“And what is that?”
“That it was my fault.”
She reached out and took both his hands in hers, gripping them tightly. “No. Itwasn’t.”
He didn’t look convinced, only sad. “You weren’t there. You didn’t know how I failed her.”
“I can’t believe you’d fail anyone. But Idobelieve youthinkyou did. Can you tell me what happened?”
He nodded. “I’m going to have to becausenottelling anyone hasn’t worked out.” He shot her a wry smile and sucked in a deep breath. “I told you a little about Layla. What I didn’t tell you was that she took her own life.”
“Her own life.” She racked her brain. How come she didn’t remember this? “But you said something like… life goes on. Yes, I’m sure that’s what you said.”
“If I did, I meant my life, not hers. Hers ended in her bedroom, where I found her.”
She’d imagined something along those lines. But, as he continued to tell her the details of that evening when he’d come home and found her, all she could think of was the devastating effect this act had had on him. As well as the loss of his closest friend and relative, as well as the grief of her absence, he’d had to live with the belief that he’d let her down. That, if he’d only controlled her better, he’d have saved her life.
She let him talk and talk. Once he’d begun, he couldn’t stop. It was like a valve had been turned and all the feelings and emotions and thoughts gushed forth, uncensored. She knew it was what he needed, but it was hard to listen to without interrupting and reassuring and contradicting. Because she knew, deep in her heart, that a lot of what he was saying was wrong. It had changed and twisted within the confines of his mind and grief. She was no therapist, but she suspected all he needed was to be listened to.
