Chapter 39
"Have enough courage to trust love one more time and always one more time."
— Maya Angelou
I wouldn't even have known what to do with a typewriter if it was placed in front of me, talk less of the sleek and modern laptop device. Sensing my apprehension, Jacobi popped it open, showed me how to launch Microsoft Excel, and how to input the required data. Bismillah, I whispered under my breath before placing my fingers on the keyboard.
As I tried it for myself, I realized he hadn't been lying at all. The keyboard was very similar to the typewriters I'd been taught how to use in school, and within the hour, I was comfortably transferring the information from the files to the machine.
As I worked, he proceeded to continue organizing the place, which included unpacking books from a box, deliberating additional modifications with some workmen who came at different intervals, and several discussions on his phone. He was clearly determined to get the hospital off the ground, and I couldn't help but admire his niyyah—his sincere intention.
"Wow! You did all that?" he exclaimed, looking at the large number of files I had successfully converted. "And you say you've never used a computer before?"
"It's just like using a typewriter," I beamed, happy I hadn't let myself down.
"Well, for this purpose. But we're going to have to get you to learn how to really use one. I'll have to take out time to show you the other nifty things a computer can do. But very well done!" He looked at his wristwatch. "It's getting late. Do you want me to call you a taxi?"
I looked at the time. It was only a little past 4 pm, and I was in no hurry to head back home. "I can still do another hour."
"You're sure?"
I smiled and returned my attention to the laptop. He took his seat on the other side of the table and rummaged through an old diary.
From how worn it looked, it probably belonged to his late father, and I was touched by how desperately he wanted to not just fill the old man's shoes but even exceed every expectation.
"So, when is she coming?" I asked. He looked at me confused, confirming my inner suspicion. "Your wife," I added for clarity.
"Oh. Soon," was his vague answer, returning his attention to the folder.
"I remember your wedding. It was so beautiful. Your wife I couldn't help but admire what a beautiful bride she was. You didn't look too bad yourself," I said, trying to make conversation.
"Hmmm," he mumbled, not even looking up from the folder.
"Her dress! I'm sure it cost a fortune. All that lace and all those pearls and stones! She looked like an angel. So lean and tall! Is she still that way?"
This time, he didn't answer, and it made me insistent to press on.
"jacobi, you aren't wearing a wedding ring, and there is no imprint on your finger to show that you've worn one in the recent past. There are no pictures on your desk or anywhere, and I've been here over five hours, but there has been no phone call, neither to nor from anyone that sounds like a wife, or even a child for that matter," I said, looking at him closely. "And I'm sure it's not as a result of time difference."
He looked up from the folder, the emotions on his face ranging from shock to anger to amusement. "Impressive," he conceded. "You're correct. My wife and I are no longer together. We've been divorced for about ten years."
"So, why the lies?"
He shrugged. "It's just easier for the town folk to understand this way. There's no need to go around telling people how my wife of less than three years left because of 'irreconcilable differences.' It's less complicated for them to think I have a wife and brood of kids back in UK."
"What happened?" I asked, saddened that the couple who had looked so much in love hadn't been able to achieve maktub—what was written for them.
He looked at me, as if wondering how much he should disclose to a complete stranger. "We grew apart, I guess. Her ambition was one of the things that made me fall in love with her, and it was the same thing that tore us apart in the end. We realized we wanted totally different things; I wanted more of her, but she wanted more of the world. We separated a few days shy of our third anniversary."
"I'm so sorry to hear that," I said, genuinely meaning it. They had been such a beautiful couple. "That's a long time to have been alone. How come you never remarried?"
He shrugged. "I decided to follow her cue and chase a career as well. I specialized first of all in Family Medicine, and then Endocrinology. Before coming to America, I was an attending physician in one of the biggest hospitals in Houston."
"So, why give that up to come back here? To this dead town?"
He smiled, obviously having answered this question a lot of times. "Apart from it being my father's wish, I had this urge to give back. I was making so much money, but for what really? A group of us doctors came together and decided it was time for us to do something about the state of healthcare back home. We could no longer bear to hear all the horror stories coming from home and knew we just had to do something. I volunteered, mainly because I already had the infrastructure, and the others have also agreed to come periodically to contribute their own quota. The hospital will be run from money we all pooled together, and if we're lucky, we might be able to get a hospital or two over there to support us."
"What about your ex wife? Do you hear from her?" I asked, unable to contain my curiosity. "Did she ever regret leaving you?"
"Regret is such a strong word," he answered. "Yes, she did want us to give it another shot, and we actually tried briefly. But it just wasn't the same. The damage had been done, and I just couldn't love her the way I once had. In the end, she accepted a job offer in Germany and, apart from the odd birthday email now and then, we're not really in touch."
I shook my head. "That's so sad. You two were the perfect couple. Watching your first dance was like seeing love itself. You don't know how much I envied your love."
"Well, these things happen," he shrugged, returning to the folder.
"I remember it was a Whitney Houston song," I continued reminiscing. "I don't know the title, but I will never forget the melody. I hummed it for days afterward."
He nodded absentmindedly, but I wasn't prepared to be ignored.
"Well? What was the song?" I prodded. "And don't pretend you can't remember, because I'm sure you do. You were both singing the lyrics to each other, and I'm sure it meant something to both of you."
He chuckled. "No wonder your husband was eager to dump you here. Is this how troublesome you are?"
The smile on my face waned. If only he knew I was the complete opposite of that.
"The song was i will always love you, and yes, it was, and still is, my favorite Whitney Houston song," he answered. "But no, we both weren't singing the song to each other. I was singing it to her, but she wasn't singing it to me. The song wasn't exactly her cup of tea," he shut his folder. " Zeynep, it is almost 5 pm. Let me call you a taxi before your husband wonders what I've done with you."
Just play the song for me, and I'll get out of your hair. I promise," I pleaded, my hands clasped in supplication.
He looked at me for several seconds, before turning the laptop to face him. After a few clicks, Whitney Houston's sonorous voice filled the room.
I closed my eyes in bliss, the song having the same effect it had on me fourteen years before.
Years before, I'd fallen in love with the melody, but sitting there and listening to the lyrics, hearing the words for the very first time melted my heart.
"I haven't listened to that song in years," Jacobi said, a sad smile on his face. "I guess there are too many painful memories."
"It's beautiful," was all I could manage to say.
"I could send it to you, if you like it so much," he offered. "Give me your phone number and I'll send it."
"I don't have a phone," I answered, ashamed for the very first time of that admission.
He was visibly surprised but chose not to say anymore.
I rose to my feet, feeling suddenly lightheaded.
"Thanks so much for the job. I'll be back again tomorrow."
"Won't you wait for me to at least call you a taxi?" he asked, also standing up. "I would have dropped you, but I'm expecting someone here in a few minutes."
"It's fine. I want to walk anyway. The ranch isn't too far from here."
"And we haven't even discussed your salary," Jacobi said, a cheeky smile playing on his lips.
"Let me know if our small funds can accommodate your demand."
"Getting out of the house is enough payment," I answered. "Thank you so much. See you tomorrow."
I walked out of the room before he could protest further, and as I walked back to the ranch, it felt like I was gliding on air, the song replaying not only in my head…but in my heart. I ignored the cat-calls from some young men smoking under a tree and waved cheerily at other people who greeted me along the way. Getting back to the ranch, I was all smiles and declined the offer of dinner. How could I eat when my heart was overflowing?
As I lay in bed that night, I hummed the parts of the song I could still remember. Alhamdulillah, I whispered, grateful for the day, for the work, and for the strange yet fulfilling feeling blossoming within me.
And I shut my eyes, basking in the realization that I was hopelessly in love with Doctor Jacobi waverson.
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