Controlling Interest (32 page)

“I want to know, what are your intentions toward my daughter?”

Matt scowled at Charles Wallace, who blinked up at him sleepily. “I don't have any intentions whatsoever. Anyway, this whole thing was your idea. It's a little late to squawk.”

“No, it was not my idea. I told Deb I didn't trust you. Are you in love with Natalie?”

“Why do people keep asking me that?” Did he have some kind of tattoo on his forehead that said
Natalie Tubberville's Ball and Chain
? “That's personal.”

“One day when you have a little girl — if I let you live that long — you'll understand. Let me just say this. If you break her heart, this partnership is over.” Eddie paused for effect. “You got that?”

Matt shoved the swing with his foot. “I got it. Now
you
listen to me, Eddie. I appreciate your fatherly concern, but what's between me and Natalie is just that — between us. It has nothing to do with business transactions. When I gave my life to God, he took it and shook me inside out. Maybe you can't understand that, but trust me, he's capable of straightening me out. I'm listening to
him
for the go-ahead. My career is his, too, which is something I should have realized a long time ago. If he takes this one away, he's got a better one somewhere else.” He found himself smiling. This felt pretty good. Right and true. “So thanks for checking on us, but I recommend you work on your own marriage. Nat and I'll figure this thing out.”

Matt paused, waiting to be blown away.

He could hear Deb's voice in the background. “He's right, Eddie. Natalie's a grown woman. It's time to treat her like one.”

Great. Natalie's mother had heard this humiliating conversation too.

Fortunately, Eddie seemed to have lost some steam. “Okay, well. I'm just saying. Watch your step, mister.”

Matt sighed. “We're spending the night with my friend Cole McGaughan and his wife — that would be Supreme Court Chief Justice McGaughan.” He clearly enunciated every word of Laurel's title.

“That right?” Eddie sounded slightly mollified.

“That's right. Look, Eddie, I've got to go. We're in the middle of dinner here. I'll call you with an update when we get to Pensa-cola. And I'll call Haq to reassure him.”

Eddie hung up, and Matt walked back into the dining room. He grimaced at Natalie. “I wish I'd known your father's a maniac before I took his money.”

Around ten o'clock that night Natalie went out to the car for Yasmine's notebook and brought it inside. Laurel had gone to bed, but Matt and Cole were still up, flipping through the news channels.

She handed the black hardback composition book to Cole. “Here's the journal we found in Yasmine's backpack.”

He flipped through it. “What language is this? Urdu?”

Matt nodded. “We think so. There's a tiny section in English, which is how we found out she's a Christian. We need to get the rest translated, but there hasn't been time or opportunity so far.”

Cole handed the book back to Natalie. “I have a friend, a professor at the university, who could probably translate it for you. He's from Pakistan.”

“That would be awesome.”

“I'll call him in the morning.” Cole stood up. “Natalie, Laurel showed you the guest room, right? Matt's going to bunk on the futon in the attic.” He gestured toward a pile of pillows and blankets Laurel had left on the coffee table. “Y'all know where the bathroom is. Make yourselves at home and let us know if you need anything else.” With a smile he wandered off down the hall, leaving Natalie staring uneasily at Matt.

She backed toward the guest room. “Well. Good night. I'm sorry about my dad. He's a freak.”

“No. Actually, if I were him, I'd say some of the same things.”

“What did he say?”

“Just threatened to break my legs if you shed a tear.” He grinned a little.

“Don't worry. It's all good.” She ducked through the doorway, then stuck her head back around. He was standing there looking at her, as if expecting her to reappear. “Good night, Matt.”

“'Night, Natalie. Sleep well.”

She brushed her teeth, put on a T-shirt she'd borrowed from Laurel, and climbed into the antique four-poster. Then the tears came.

But it didn't matter, because Daddy couldn't see.

CHAPTER
NINETEEN

F
riday morning Natalie woke up sneezing. She pushed a fluffy white tail out of her face and sat up. Through itchy, streaming eyes she met the disdainful gaze of a big, blue-eyed Siamese cat. “Charles Wallace. How'd you get in here?”

A glance at the door standing ajar answered that question. Dabbing her eyes with the sleeve of her T-shirt, she retrieved her jeans from the floor. A trip to the guest bathroom to brush her teeth and comb her hair helped some, but she stared at her red, swollen face in the mirror with disgust. If she didn't find some Benadryl, her whole head was going to burst.

Rubbing her eyes, she wandered into the kitchen, from whence the smell of coffee and bacon wafted like ambrosia. Matt and Cole sat on opposite sides of the breakfast table situated under a sunny window, each engrossed in the newspaper.

“Morning,” she said, yawning. “Anybody got an antihistamine handy?”

Both men looked up. Cole jumped to his feet. “Uh-oh. Looks like Charles Wallace got loose. I'm so sorry, Natalie.” He hurried to a cabinet near the stove and came back with a package of tablets. “There's OJ in the refrigerator. Glasses beside the sink.”

“He's a beautiful sweet guy,” Natalie said, helping herself to the orange juice. “But I've never been able to tolerate cat hair.”

Matt frowned. “You should've said something. You don't look so good.”

Sighing, she snitched a strip of bacon and a muffin off the stove, then sat at the table. “Usually if I keep my hands away from my eyes I'm okay. But he had his, um, tail, right in my face.”

Cole laughed. “He used to sleep with Laurel until I came along and booted him out. She's still in bed. This last trimester's been hard on her.”

Natalie watched Matt's face. He was a study in conflict. Curiosity, embarrassment at the intimate topic, and maybe a twinge of envy.
Envy?

She made herself look away. “The baby's due in June?”

Cole nodded. “She'll take a maternity leave and go back to Montgomery in August.” He grinned a little. “We didn't exactly plan to start our family this soon, but . . . well, I'm glad.” His cell phone rang. He looked at the ID and answered quickly. “Dr. Ka-suri. Thanks for calling back.” He listened for a moment. “Yeah, what we need is a translator. If I bring you this thing, have you got time to take a look at it?” He paused. “Well, as soon as possible. Before lunch? Great. We'll bring it over to you. We can be there in twenty minutes.”

“Twenty minutes?” Natalie jumped to her feet. “My face still looks like a birthday balloon.”

Cole looked unconcerned. “Dr. Kasuri is about seventy years old, and he's been teaching political science for forty years. He's seen it all.” He got up and pushed his chair in. “Let me see if Laurel wants to go.”

Matt gave Natalie a brotherly pat on the hand. “Not so much a balloon as . . .” He squinted at her. “You kind of remind me of my sister's Cabbage Patch doll.”

She put her hands over her face. Nothing like putting on the beauty queen act for the man you were falling in love with.

Dr. Kasuri's office was in a long, skinny brick building near the Student Center on the University of South Alabama campus. The three of them — Matt, Natalie, and Cole — barely fit in the tiny space between the professor's desk and the door. Matt was glad Laurel elected to stay home. She and the baby would never have squeezed in.

While the professor pored over the notebook, scribbling notes on a legal pad, Matt glanced at Natalie. He'd tried to convince her to stay home with Laurel, but she'd insisted on coming. Eyes a bit glazed from the medicine, she sat on her hands, eagerly leaning forward in her chair. Fortunately, some of the swelling had gone down.

“This young lady has a most engaging style, even in such a personal piece,” said the elderly but dapper professor. His Americanized accent still sang with the slightly British lilt of his heritage. “She has been trained well. Most of her comments involve her anxiety over leaving Pakistan, leaving her friends, abandoning a satisfying job — for marriage to a stranger.” He tapped the pen against his cheek.

“Honestly,” said Natalie, “I don't know how she could do it. Couldn't she just say
no
? I mean, she had her own money, right?”

“Family honor is much more compelling in Pakistan than here, even in wealthy families like the Patels.” Dr. Kasuri smiled. “Parents have tremendous influence on their children's career choices and on whom they choose to marry.”

“Yeah, we know that,” said Matt. “What else has she got to say?”

“I assume you saw the section in English, where she mentions the Bible, a gift from a man named Zach.” The professor, who according to Cole was Muslim, looked faintly disapproving. “I do not understand this nonsense about finding and losing lives. But it sounds as if she was considering flouting her parents' wishes.”

Matt nodded. “Natalie and I read it. Do you think she's a Christian?”

“I would certainly say she has abandoned the Muslim faith. There is more of that kind of language in the Urdu portions of the journal. She quotes sections of biblical text about abiding in Christ, identification with his sacrifice, and the possibility of suffering persecution of her own.” The professor's expression held a certain amount of reluctant admiration. “She is no doubt sincere in her new faith. She had quite a bit to lose.”

“Good for her,” said Natalie stoutly. “I've never had to really give up anything for my faith. I've always wondered how I'd stand a test like that.”

Dr. Kasuri turned the legal pad around on the desk. “Here is the last entry in the journal. Her ‘test,' as you call it, was a difficult one.”

Matt, seated between Natalie and Cole, held the pad so they could read over his shoulder.

I think about Zach's home in a place called Texas. He grew up there in a large Christian family that loved to travel together. Disney World. The Mississippi River. The Gulf of Mexico. Yellowstone Park, which he visited as a teenager.
The Great Lakes where he was stationed for boot camp. The Florida beach, where he attended college and trained before his deployment to the Middle East. How could I not fall in love with this handsome, educated, gentle man?

Hearing about his faith was like a light being turned on in my heart. The Muslim faith I'd grown up with became a closet of fearful darkness I longed to leave behind. I embraced Zach's Jesus with great joy. He became my Savior and my Lord. I grieve over my family's bondage to their god of anger and fear. I pray they will someday understand and forgive my treason and come to know the Lord. I was horrified when my father visited the capital two months ago and informed me that I was scheduled — scheduled! — to be married this summer to Jarrar Haq. For Abbi, this was a real coup, since the Haqs wield tremendous influence over the oil industry. I suspect the marriage alliance is Abbi's way of assuring familial preference. But I could not sacrifice my faith and my loyalty on the altar of some lucrative business deal. Prepared to swallow my shame and beg Zach to take me with him, I contacted the American ambassador. But I discovered that my sweetheart had suddenly been called away, leaving me only the note.

Heartsick, I hid it. How could I tell my parents I wished to refuse their choice for me — alone, without Zach's stalwart presence? I am no courageous American girl. I have been brought up to revere and obey my parents. Like a woman under anesthesia, I went through the motions of wedding preparations. I was not to meet my fiancé until the day of the wedding, which will take place in Memphis, Tennessee. The irony of the fulfillment of my dream of visiting the United States strikes me cold.