“Well, Mr. Abadi was. Your name isn’t attached to the loan.”
“Wait a minute.” His words didn’t compute. “Just to be clear. You are saying that my husband has been paying a mortgage on a totally separate property and the loan is only in my husband’s name?”
“That’s right,” he chirped. “His, and a holding company by the name of FiveA’s LLC.”
The FiveA’s. That’s what we called ourselves. Ali, Amira, Ayla, and Adam. The fifthAwas for Abadi. A family business, obviously. Being an accountant, Ali must have set it up for tax reasons or some other business purpose. But that didn’t explain why we were paying for a house that I knew nothing about.
“And you are sure the mortgage for that second house is coming out of a joint account?” I asked.
“Itwas. But that account, the one paying the second mortgage, has run out of money. That’s what triggered the notice you received in the mail.”
I blinked. “Could you give me the address of the second property?”
“It’s located at 104 Cozy Glenn Lane.”
“In what city?”
“Durham, North Carolina.”
“Where?” Ali had never been to Durham. As far as I knew.
“North Carolina.”
“When did he get the house?”
“The mortgage was taken out eight years ago. Your husband has made regular payments since then.”
Chapter Five
Before
After that first meeting, Ali and I decided to have lunch the following weekend. That date went on for hours, melting into dinner. The weekend after that, we drove out to Skyline Drive to see the changing of the leaves.
We walked on a trail for a couple of miles before settling on a rock with a view of the mountain range and national forest. The weather was crisp, the fall foliage an explosion of bright reds, earthy browns, and vibrant oranges.
Our conversation flowed. We were discovering that we liked, in broad strokes, the same things—reading, traveling, and trying new restaurants. He was also a movie buff. It was one of those rare perfect days that sticks in your memory.
“One day,” he said, looking out, “I want to bring my kids hiking here.”
Ali loved the outdoors. That was one area where we diverged. I wasn’t a fan of bugs or getting too dirty or sweaty outside of the gym. My hair frizzed and my cheeks got too red. But I was ready to change my ways for this enigmatic man with gentle eyes and a deep, quiet laugh. Fortunately, I quickly came to look forward to the hikes—they were like a meditation—and I didn’t have to pretend anymore.
After we had children, weekend hikes became a family ritual. Ali would pull up a map and select a new place to explore. We’d walk alongthe water at Ball’s Bluff and Ali would tell the kids about the Civil War battle that had raged there. Or we’d reach the top of Sugarloaf Mountain and Ali would say, “Look at that view! Was that worth the effort or what?”
But then the kids got older and sports and school obligations got in the way. Once Ayla and Adam learned to drive, it was all over, except for the reluctant special exception for Mother’s or Father’s Day, or a birthday—one of ours, never theirs.
The pieces of family life loosened and fell away until one day, years later, we wondered how treasured family rituals faded without a proper send-off.
“Why did we stop doing the family hikes?” Ali asked one Saturday morning when Ayla and Adam were in high school. He drank his coffee while scrolling through the news feed on his mobile. The kids were asleep upstairs and wouldn’t emerge before noon.
I stood to get a second cup of coffee. “Your children got better offers.”
The family hikes eventually reverted back to couple outings, just Ali and me again. Like in the beginning.
As we made our way back to the car on that first visit to Skyline Drive, Ali paused after opening my door for me. He did that throughout our entire marriage. Always a gentleman when most men in our generation had forgotten about such things. Or never learned them.
Ali leaned in and gave me the slightest kiss; it was like a feather, just the faint brush of his lips against mine. But it was enough for lightning to flash through me.
“I just wanted to check.”
