CHAPTER TWO

Fatima stretched in her bed and looked up at her ceiling. She still smiled every time she saw it. Ali had written a poem on the ceiling in their bedroom when they had bought the house.
She still had no idea how he managed to do it, but he did and it was complete before they had moved in. Whenever he had out of town games it gave her comfort knowing it was there. She always slept peacefully as a result
Today she woke up feeling the weight of the world on her shoulders. How could her best friend have been going through something so terrible and not have confided in her? Yesterday it seemed that she was so angry with Rachel. She definitely was, but she was also angry with herself. If she had been the kind of friend that she should be then she should have known something was wrong. Rachel should have felt comfortable to come to her. She was partly to blame for this whole mess. How could she not have seen the signs? Was she so engrossed in her own family that she had neglected someone so close to her that was in need? She could never let that happen again.

She heard the front door and knew Ali was returning from his parent’s house. Every morning he joined his father for Fajr prayers and often had breakfast with Mama and Papa before returning home. In good weather Fatima would go with him and bring their girls, but on days like today she was so happy that the best place for a woman to pray was her bedroom. She smiled to herself and snuggled under her duvet.
Her room faced the front of the house and with the window open she could clearly hear the birds playing. They were lucky enough to have blue jays nesting nearby. She loved the beautiful bluebirds and had one in particular that she was trying to teach to talk. She imagined them splashing in the backyard fountain in between the trees. Ali had planted a fruit tree each time a child was born. He had planted an apple tree for Masuma, a cherry tree for Laila and pear tree for Batool.

“Ali, should I put Fatima’s food in the fridge?”
Fatima could hear Rahma’s voice. She was Ali’s younger sister and she often came over in the morning to help with the kids or just socialize. Fatima’s house always had more action than hers anyway.
“No, just leave it on the table. I’ll see if she’s up yet.”

“Ali, do you think I’m a good friend to Rachel?” Fatima hit him with the question as soon as he walked in the bedroom door.
At 6 feet 4 inches Ali had an undeniable presence. Many people were intimidated on first meeting him because of his serious demeanour. Only those closest to him knew the warm and loving man that he could be. Though he indeed viewed and approached life seriously, anyone who was fortunate enough to catch one of his smiles knew there was more to him than what appearances revealed.
“Of course, you are, the best, actually. Who else would do all that you do for her?” Ali replied.
“Do you think I’m trust worthy?” Fatima sat up surrounded by white bedding, her current favourite colour. She had become obsessed with the colour lately.
“I trust you with my life.” Ali said as he sat on the side of the bed. “What’s this about?”
“Ok well, do you think I’m too hard on her? You know, maybe I make her feel bad sometimes?”
“Ok, I knew something was up.” Ali leaned back on one arm. “Is Rachel ok? Is it something with Jamie?” His voice flattened. They all felt the same way about Jamie. They had seen how he had treated Rachel over the years, and how much their two sons suffered because of his neglect. No one was a fan of Jamie’s and he and Ali had had more than one run in.
“No. no she’s ok. I just was thinking that’s all.” The look on Ali’s face let Fatima know that he knew there was more to the story. She knew he wasn’t going to press her. He knew when to give a woman her space. He stood up and walked toward the walk-in closet that connected the bedroom to the bathroom.
“How are Mama and Papa this morning?” Fatima asked, with a smile on her face. She loosened the scrunchie she had holding her dark hair and let the long layers fall down her back. She loved those two people so much.
“Oh, they’re great. Mama made her traditional welcome home breakfast.”
“She is so funny. She does that every time. Isn’t it reserved for when people return from long trips?”
“Hey, who’s going to argue with Mama?” Ali titled his head raising his eyebrows over eyes that were the colour of iced tea. He flashed his signature smile revealing a dimple in his left cheek.

Mama was from a small village in Rwanda. Papa had been an Italian missionary when they had met. He had spent 15 years in Rwanda building churches and schools and ministering to the people of Mama’s village. He and Mama had married and built a fairly large following. After the massacre in 1994, many people had their faith shaken when they saw Tutsi and Hutus in the same church turn against each other. Some churches had ministers who had preached and supported the killings from the pulpit.
Mama and Papa had been sheltered by Muslim neighbours who had refused to get involved in the violence. Their brotherhood through faith was more significant than ethnicity. Many people were protected in Muslim neighbourhoods until the unrest had ceased. After 100 days, Mama and Papa had emerged to a broken country. They eventually made their way to Canada.
Naturally their interested in Islam had been peeked and after a period of diligent study they had taken shahada, declaring themselves Muslims. Ali had been 10 years old at the time. Rahma was born right after their reversion. Both children were a beautiful combination of their dual heritage. Ali was definitely his father’s son, but with the perfect bronze skin that gave homage to his African ancestry. Rahma had the small neat features of her mother combined with an olive skin tone much closer to her father’s complexion.

“Ok, well I’m going to make some porridge.” Fatima turned down her duvet and started to get out of her bed.
“Don’t bother. I have breakfast for you. It’s on the table.” Ali usually brought her breakfast in the morning. When he was away his parents delivered her food or sent it with Rahma. Mama’s welcome home breakfast was a favourite of Fatima’s because she knew the love and care that went into it. It consisted of traditional Rwandan foods prepared in Mama’s special style.
Fried sweet potatoes, fried plantain, introduced by Fatima, beans and sweet cornbread were always served with fruit salad topped with homemade whipped cream and of course tea. Mama kept a secret mixture of spices for her “save your life” tea. She claimed that if you were on your last leg, this tea would bring you back to life. They had all tried to recreate it but could never get it right. She had promised to reveal the recipe in her will.
“Oh, I’ll eat it. The porridge isn’t for me.”
“Rachel?”
Fatima smiled. Her mother was Jamaican and they had a running joke in the family about the way Jamaicans used cornmeal porridge as an all purpose cure. If you were sick you needed cornmeal porridge. If you were healthy, fat, thin, pre/post surgery, during pregnancy, after childbirth, had an underweight baby, big baby, loss of appetite, digestive problems, hungry or thirsty, all conditions and situations called for cornmeal porridge.
“But she’s ok?” Ali did not sound convinced. “Whatever. I’ll let you ladies have your little secret. I’m going to the gym and I have practice later.”
“Remember Joshua starts soccer tonight.” Fatima stood and started to stretch.
“Of course, I remember. I’ll be back by five.”
Rachel’s oldest son was starting soccer and Ali was coaching the team. They were all so excited to see Joshua growing up. Fatima had always felt a little guilty about the way events had unfolded for her and Ali. The three of them had been best friends growing up. They did everything together. Fatima was an only child and Rachel and Ali were her brother and sister. When she became Muslim and married Ali everything changed. She always felt that she had stolen Rachel’s best friend. Then Jamie turned out to be a dead beat and Rachel was all alone. Fatima just felt obligated to share Ali, at least for the sake of the boys.
“Ali, you’re going to the gym on a full stomach?” Fatima asked.
“Well, I have a few errands to run first. That should give me enough time to digest Mama’s meal.” Ali winked and disappeared into the closet.
Fatima prepared to shower and change into her workout clothes before heading to the kitchen to make Rachel’s porridge and do her yoga routine.

Fatima’s kitchen had been renovated to include stainless steel appliances, floor to ceiling cabinets and an over sized doubled sink kitchen island where she dreamed of making bread and pastry. She had just turned off the stove when she heard the door bell.
“Oooh, baby blue, how cute is that? Does that mean you might actually have a boy this time?” Rachel teased Fatima about her blue yoga outfit that barely covered her growing belly as she walked in the door.
“Will you get in here so I can close the door? Fatima stood behind the door, the way she always did when she answered the door with no hijab.
Rachel stepped into the foyer. It was a large space decorated with mature plants. Islamic calligraphy hung on the walls and in the centre of the foyer a vase of flowers rested on a tall round marble table. To the right a winding stair case led to the upper level of the house. “Well, who told you to come to the door exposed?” Rachel joked with Fatima. “Nobody wants to see you anyway. Now that husband of yours, that’s another story.”
Fatima looked at Rachel and almost felt like she was looking at herself. The two were often mistaken for sisters. They often sported the same haircut; though Fatima’s hair grew fast when she was pregnant and was now well past her shoulders. They had similar features and skin tone. The only major difference was height. Rachel was at least 3 inches taller than Fatima. Still on more than one occasion someone actually thought Rachel was Fatima or vice versa. They always got a kick out of that, especially since Fatima wore hijab and Rachel didn’t.
“You don’t stay down long.” Fatima replied. She looked at her friend intently. She certainly looked better than yesterday. Her spirits seemed up. One could never tell with Rachel though, she used her sarcastic humour as a defence mechanism all too often.
Rachel came in and took a seat at the kitchen table. “How are you feeling?” Fatima asked.
“Ok. I really am sorry about yesterday. I just didn’t know who else to call.”
“I know. It was good that you called me, really. We’ll talk about it later, ok?”
“Thanks.” Rachel replied. She then looked down at her hands on the tiled top table. “I know I don’t need to ask, but you didn’t say anything to Ali did you? I can’t imagine what he would think of me.”
Fatima looked shocked. “Of course not. No need to worry, on both accounts. You know he would never judge you. If anything I think it would just make him angrier at Jamie.”
At the mentioned of Jamie’s name, Rachel shifted nervously in her seat. Fatima noticed and changed the subject.
“Are you hungry?”
“What’s cooking?” Rachel tilted her head.
“Porridge.” Fatima said as she tried to suppress a smile.
“Cornmeal?” Rachel asked
“Of course.”
“The two ladies burst into laughter. “Fati, I am so sorry, forgive me?”
Fatima held Rachel’s face and kissed both sides. “Of course. I just wish you had told me everything. I just wished I could have been there for you. I still don’t understand why you did it. It doesn’t make sense to me. And why are you still allowing Jamie so much access in your life?”
I’m not. “Well, it’s over now. We can move on.” Rachel eager to do that, looked back towards the front door and commented on some socks that were stuffed into Ali’s shoes. “What’s with the socks?”
“He always puts his socks in his shoes when he takes them off. Sometimes one pair will become like a storage place. He’ll have three or four pairs of socks in a shoe. You never noticed?”
“No. Have you talked to him about that?”
“A million times. Anyway, that’s nothing, try looking under the couch, beside the bed, in the computer room, you name it. He says it’s an illness he’s had since childhood. Finally he suggested that we each be allowed one bad habit.”
“You actually agreed to that?
“Sure, I used to get so irate about it, then one day Mama was here and after I told Ali off about it, she looked so hurt. I could have died. I actually think the suggestion came from her.”
“So what’s your bad habit?” Rachel leaned over the table.
“I would never tell you!” Fatima was aghast.
Rachel looked back at the socks again. “Girl, that would drive me mad.”
Fatima smiled mischievously. “You have a man that comes around once every six months, doesn’t support his two sons, has you all hospitalized and you’re talking about socks?”
“No, but come on that’s crazy! You know I’m a neat freak.”
“You’re crazy.” Fatima turned away from Rachel and reached for the pot on the stove.
“No girl, that’s crazy.” Rachel insisted as she pointed at the shoes stuffed with socks. “Thank goodness, he has at least one fault. He was making the rest of us look bad.”
Fatima raised her eyebrows. “One? He has many. I just don’t talk about them. You know that as well as I do. You practically grew up in his house.” Fatima served Rachel her porridge and sat down across from her with a cup of herbal tea. She would eat her breakfast after her workout.
“So where is everybody?” Rachel asked.
“The girls are still sleeping and Rahma is in the computer room, as usual. Ali is getting ready to go out.” Rahma was 15 and taking online courses for a semester while helping with her father’s non-profit organization as a co-op assignment.
“Make sure Ali knows I’m here. I wouldn’t want to him to come down indecent or anything.” Rachel started to eat. Fatima’s gaze was steady and she didn’t blink.
“He knows you’re here. He’ll let me know when he’s coming down. Anyway, how are you feeling today? You seemed to be in a lot of pain yesterday. Is that normal?”
“I don’t know. Not that I’m an expert or anything. Anyway, I do feel better, but the cramping is pretty bad.”
“Maybe you should call the doctor just to be sure. How is the bleeding?”
“Heavy.”
“Clotting?”
“Don’t ask. I was brave to come over here. I feel like I should just spend the day in the washroom.”
“Just call them at least. Make sure.” Fatima was concerned.
“Fatima” Ali called from the second floor. Fatima stood and walked to the bottom of the stairs to let him know that it was fine for him to come down. When he arrived in the kitchen he greeted Rachel.
“Rachel, how are you doing?”
“Good.” Rachel eyed him from head to toe. “Where are you off to so early?’
“The gym.”
“You’re not dressed for the gym.” Ali wore casual pants and a knit top.
“I have some errands to run first. Is that ok with you?” Ali joked.
“I’m just saying, you are a ball player. It’s not like you’re not used to going around in sweats. It must be something special.” Rachel continued eating.
“Fatima, I’ll call you later” Ali started to put on his shoes.
Ali opened the door and walked across the stone porch. Rachel stood in the double doorway and called after him, “Don’t be mad Ali, you know Fati is my girl, I just have to make sure everything is on the up and up over here.”
Fatima laughed and shook her head, “Did I mention you were crazy?”

“Look you’ve got mail.” Rachel took the mail from the box and handed several envelops to Fatima.
“Thanks.” Fatima flipped through the letters and junk mail and stopped at one piece of mail addressed to Ali. It was from a lawyer’s office. She didn’t recognize the name or address. It was not even from their city. That’s strange. What could it be about? “Why don’t you open it?” Rachel had not left Fatima’s side after giving her the mail.
Fatima dropped her hand, removing the letter from Rachel’s line of vision. “Girl, do you always have to be in my business?”
“I’m just saying, I’m standing right here. You want me to pretend I don’t see it? You know I can’t lie. Me, I would open it.” Rachel closed the door behind them.
“I can’t do that. I’ll just give it to him later.” Fatima turned the envelope over in her hand.
“What could it be about?’ Rachel pressed.
“I don’t know.”
“And you’re the wife, so you know I don’t know.” Rachel stepped aside allowing Fatima access to the kitchen.
Fatima continued to look at the envelope as if the answer could come through the paper. “Strange.”
“Fati, are you ok?”
“Sure.” Fatima answered mindlessly.
“Are you sure?” Fatima didn’t respond. She placed the letter with the rest of the mail in the mail holder and returned to finish her cup of tea.
“So, Fatima what plans do you have today?” Rachel asked.
“Well, after I workout I have a meeting with your mom.”
“Really, what’s that about?”
“She’s having some of the ladies from her church group over for lunch, they really wanted to meet some Muslim women and talk about Islam. I guess they have a lot of questions.”
Naomi was a devout Christian who had family roots in Canada for generations. Her great-great-grandparents had travelled through the Underground Railroad to settle in Southern Ontario. Rachel’s father had been from the Caribbean.
Naomi had raised three children by herself since Rachel was 10. She had suffered through depression and had lost her older children to foster care because she had been unable to care for them. Mama had seen the writing on the wall and taken legal guardianship of Rachel just before the CAS was called in. Rachel had lived with her for a few years until Naomi was able to regain custody of her. By then the older children were living on their own. Rachel’s older brother and sister had moved to different cities and rarely kept in touch aside from the occasional phone call.
Naomi had developed diabetes in later years and was legally blind as a result. In spite of all of her problems, she was a ray of light and full of love and happiness. Fatima loved her as much as she did her own mother and Mama.
Fatima’s mother was also a single parent and always busy. She was an archaeologist and her work took her around the world. She had named her daughter Fatima after the famous Portuguese city. She had fallen in love with it on one of her trips. She had also met her husband there. He had been in the city of Fatima working on a project for a British Museum.
Due to her mother’s frequent travel Fatima often turned to Naomi and Mama when she needed that motherly guidance.
Today Fatima was happy to spend time with Naomi’s church sisters and was always thrilled to have the opportunity to talk about Islam, especially if it meant dispelling myth’s and misunderstandings. Mama would attend the meeting with her.

“Remember you need to see the doctor, or at least call or something.” Fatima reminded Rachel.
“Yes, I will for sure. I better get out of here and let you get ready.” Rachel had finished her breakfast and gotten up to leave. “Take care Fatima, thanks for everything.”
“Ok. Let me know what happens.”
After Rachel left the house Fatima cleaned up the kitchen and started her yoga routine. The girls were still sleeping. Fatima was not going to wake them up if she didn’t have to. Rahma would stay with them while she went to Naomi’s.