An Illusion of Trust (Sequel to The Brevity of Roses) by Linda Cassidy Lewis Page A

had to poke him. He's not mad at me, just worried, I guess. Our last day in Bahía was strained because I could tell he and Jennie wanted to get me to talk, but I didn't give them the chance. I didn't know what to say, then. Now I do.
    "Jalal?" I wait until he glances over, so I know he's listening. "It's not that I think I
am
a bad mother. I just don't want to
become
one. All new mothers go a little overboard, and I know I'm not a new mother anymore, but most women grew up with an example of a
good
mother, and I grew up with a mother like Becky. I started way in the red, so I had a lot to learn, and I think I have learned a lot. I'm sure I have more to learn, I mean, as kids grow, there's always new stuff, but I think I've caught up for now, so I'll try harder to relax. I think I can do that. I know I can. Plus, we moved, so I had all that stress on top of Mia Graces' birth, and a strange house, and a whole new town to learn my way around. It just freaked me out a little, but I've gotten used to all that now, so I'm fine. I'm really fine. And that's all my mother has to do with anything. Okay?"
    His smile is weak, but he takes my hand. So, that's settled.

Eight

    J alal has planned another dinner party. I'm not as nervous about this as I used to be. Since Christmas, we've exchanged dinners with several couples, not counting Judith and Hank, and gone to as many cocktail parties. I sip one glass of wine and listen a lot. Jalal's friends don't know what to do with me. I'm a curiosity—too young to be their peer, but too old or too mature, to relate to as they do their children. Mostly, they politely ignore me.
    Tonight at our table we have Judith and Hank, Aza and Paul, and Diane and her friend Scott. I've never even heard him mentioned before tonight. Since he's not a writer or poet, but looks at Jalal as moony-eyed as Diane does, I assume he's a fake date. I've watched Diane these last few weeks. I don't know why Aza enjoys her company so much. I don't trust her. Is it obvious only to me that Diane is interested in more than Jalal's poetry?
    "My compliments to the chef," Scott says, turning to me.
    "That would be Jalal," Diane says before I get the chance.
    "
Really
," Scott says, peering at Jalal as though amazed that the luscious mortal sitting at his end of the table could perform such magic with food.
    "The man still can't grill a decent steak, though," Hank says.
    "And how is
your
chateaubriand these days?" Jalal counters. We all laugh and, for a moment, I forget that I don't like Diane.
    After dessert, they all move to the living room while I slip into the kitchen for a minute to listen to the monitor. Kristen is reading to Adam, and Mia Grace imitates her in babbles. When I join the others, they're talking about education. Please don't let anyone ask me where I went to college.
    "Oh, Renee," Diane says, "I've been meaning to ask you, where will Adam attend kindergarten?"
    I'm too surprised at her question to respond, but Jalal doesn't jump in. All eyes are on me.
    "You've started the process, right?" she says.
    "Adam's just turning two," I say.
    She laughs. "
Birth
is not too early to start planning. All the best schools have waiting lists."
    "For kindergarten?"
    "Absolutely. For pre-school too. Surely he's been accepted at your chosen pre-school."
    "We hadn't talked about that yet."
    "Oh my. It's probably already too late then. These schools don't take just any child. They screen the child
and
the parents." She turns to Jalal and smiles. "Your income level is a major plus, of course, and your being a published author will move Adam up a few notches too. They appreciate the draw of celebrity." When she looks back at me, her smile takes on an edge. "And you, Renee?"
    "Me?"
    "What qualifications do
you
have that might benefit your children?"
    I hate this woman. I despise her. And I'm angry at myself for letting her sit here and humiliate me. She'd love it if I gave her the satisfaction of answering with the "none" she