Page 118 of Sapphire Spring

“It wasn’t just for that. I worked because I had lost somany things. Your father, Iran. And your father, he was the heart and the soul,the one who felt things. Who cried over songs. When I feltthingsI didn’t like, I worked. I still do. And when that happened with the email andthe coach, I worried that I lost you to something I didn’t see. Because I wasworking. Instead of feeling.”

“Soyou read my journals?” heasked.

She nodded and took a long drink of wine.

“And then?”

“I wrote letters. To the parents of all those boys. Threateningthem.”

“Wait, what?”

She fluttered one manicured hand through the air. “I neversent them. Because every time I wrote them, I would threaten them with tortureand execution and not…you know, the law.”

“What boys, Mom?”

“Don’t play dumb. I got one of your yearbooks and I lookedthem up. There was, what…Morris, I think? With the yellow hair like a pillow?”

“Mason.”

“Right. And then the one with the stupid name like acandle.”

“Chadwick.”

“Right. And what was the other one, with the scary eyes.Tim, I think?”

“He’s dead.”

“Good. I wish they were all dead.”

“Mom.”

Mahin’s eyes flared, and the wine glass froze halfway to hermouth. “They hurt my son. They hurt my son, and I did not do anything about itbecause I talked to all my Persian friends and they said, ‘We don’t do thishere, Mahin. Here we are supposed to give our children their privacy even whenwe are trying to keep them alive.’ Child death has always been more acceptablein America, I guess. Besides, Naser-joon,you stopped writing inthemso I figured you knew Ihad read them.”

Naser’s stomach went cold. He’d forgotten this detail,forgotten what had brought his secret musings to a halt. “That’s not why Istopped,” he whispered. “I didn’t know you’d read them.”

“Why did you stop then?”

Suddenly Naser was blinking back tears and trying to keephis chin from quivering. “One of them did something that was pretty bad, and Ididn’t want to write about it.”

His mother was stone still, but her eyes were blazing. Shecleared her throat. “Do you want to talk about this thing that he did?” Thequestion sounded like a struggle.

“I might need a little time for that. This is happeningpretty fast. This new mother-son honesty thing.”

“We have always been honest.”

“Mostly about other people, though.”

Mahin nodded, but her expression seemed frozen, and when shelifted her wine glass back to her mouth, she used both hands. “I don’t want toblame your father for this, but I blame your father for this,” she said.

“How?” Naser asked.

“He knew.”

“Knew what?”

“He came to me when you were very young and he said, ‘Mahin,you need to prepare yourself. He is different. And we must never take his prideover it.’ And I thought he would understand better because he was a man. He wasnot like you. He was not a man who loved other men. But I thought he wouldknow. Andsoin my eyes, your pride became the mostimportant thing. Why are you crying, Naser-joon?”

“I always thought you knew first.”

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