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“You sure? You looked—I don’t know. Sad.”
She shook her head, brought their joined hands to her own lips and kissed his knuckles.
“How could I be sad when I’m with you? I was just—I was just thinking how beautiful it is here.”
“You’re what’s beautiful,” Karim said.
And Rachel thought, as she had thought just a moment ago, If only lies could be untold. If only time would stand still.
Growing up, she’d loathed the slow passage of time.
Of course she knew time moved at only one speed. Sure, she’d bounced from school to school, but she’d read a lot. She’d read everything she could get her hands on.
“Pay half as much attention to how you look as you do to those books,” Mama would say, “you’ll be a happier girl.”
But knowing time could move like molasses dripping from a cold jug had nothing to do with book-learning.
It had to do with … well, with her life.
Mama meeting a new man. Weeks or months taking on a snail’s pace while she lavished all her attention on him until the new man became old news. Then Mama would haul their suitcases from under the bed. A day later they’d be on the Greyhound again, heading for a new town.
That was the only time things moved fast. After that …
A new town. New school. New kids. Rachel not fitting in. Suki running wild. And, always, a new man for Mama.
And time would once again grind to a halt, until Mama would get that look on her face, make her usual little speech about being tired of Jim or Bill or Art, or whatever man had just dumped her, and the entire sad pattern would start over.
So, no.
Rachel had never hoped time would stand still. She’d wanted it to rush on by …
Because she’d never been happy.
It had taken her twenty-four years to figure it out. When you were happy, time standing still was exactly what you wanted.
The first time she’d felt that way was the day Suki had handed Ethan to her.
And now there was this.
There was Karim.
She loved him. She adored him. There were moments she could hardly breathe for the joy in her heart.
Sitting here tonight, her lover across from her, his big hand clasping hers, seeing him smile, having him feed her bits of his lobster, hearing his rough whisper of warning about what he was liable to do if she parted her lips and showed him the tip of her tongue one more time …
If he’d grabbed her from her chair and carried her from the restaurant she’d have let him do it.
Over dinner, he’d talked about his childhood. Like the time he’d sneaked into the palace stables, selected his father’s favorite stallion, put on the bit, bridle and reins and ridden bareback over the desert until his father’s men caught up to him hours later and brought him back.
