His Other Wife Read online

  Cautiously, Aliyah pushed the door open and peered inside.

  “You have some nerve!”

  The voice seemed to come out of nowhere, and Aliyah yelped as she lifted her hands to shield her face as she sensed someone coming toward her. A storm of fists landed on Aliyah’s head and back before she could even process what was happening.

  “You better stay away from my husband!”

  It was then that Aliyah recognized Deanna’s voice, and the familiar scent of Deanna’s perfume tickled Aliyah’s nostrils as Aliyah was yanked forward then thrown against the office door.

  “You’re just jealous that he married me instead of you! I couldn’t let him marry someone like you. You wouldn’t be able to take care of him. You were too pathetic to take care of yourself!”

  Aliyah heard the sound of hurried footsteps approaching, but she registered it as only background noise. Deanna seemed distracted from Aliyah momentarily as she shoved at something near the door before coming back at Aliyah.

  “Deeja, wait. Deeja, wait!” Aliyah said desperately, trying to grab hold of Deanna’s arms. But Deanna pulled at Aliyah’s head instead, ripping Aliyah’s hijab from her head and causing the scarf pin to stab Aliyah beneath her chin. “I didn’t know until later that Jacob called your uncle about marrying me! I didn’t know, Deeja!”

  “He called your uncle too?” Deanna recoiled, halting her assault briefly.

  In the sudden silence, Aliyah realized that Deanna had had no idea about Benjamin’s phone call. Then what was Deanna so upset about? But Aliyah didn’t have time to ponder the question because seconds later Deanna was attacking her again.

  “You and Bailey are not going to do this to me!” Deanna’s body was yanked backwards, and her hands were forced behind her back. “You and Bailey are not going to do this to me!”

  Deanna wrestled against the force holding her back as Aliyah was huddled next to her office desk watching the scene as if it were from a movie. Who’s Bailey? Aliyah wondered, her thoughts foggy as her head pounded.

  “Are you okay?”

  Aliyah squinted her eyes and saw a blurry version of Dr. Warren kneeled beside her, a concerned expression on her face. Aliyah nodded. “Yes, I just need to...” She lost her train of thought momentarily. “…get ready f-f-for class…”

  “No, we’re going to take you to the college clinic to make sure you’re—”

  ***

  “She’s fine,” Aliyah heard a man’s voice say. “She just needs to relax and stay off her feet for the rest of the day. It looks like she passed out from all of the commotion.”

  Aliyah’s eyes fluttered open, and she saw a male nurse talking to Dr. Warren.

  “Is Jacob okay?” Aliyah said when Dr. Warren met her gaze. “I didn’t see him earlier.”

  Dr. Warren looked puzzled momentarily. “Dr. Bivens is fine,” she said. “He sends his apologies. It appears his wife had a nervous breakdown. He says not to worry.” Dr. Warren forced a smile and patted Aliyah’s hand. “He’s taking care of it.”

  Aliyah smiled weakly, her heart at ease now that she knew Jacob was okay. “That’s good, Alhamdulillaah,” she said moments before she realized that her supervisor would have absolutely no idea what the Arabic phrase praising God meant.

  Aliyah’s smile faded as she realized that she was supposed to be preparing her students for their computer science final. Oh no, she thought, panicked. She could probably lose her job over this.

  Chapter 11

  The Crazy Muslim Woman

  Jacob bent his knees and held the basketball above his head, poised for a jump shot as he narrowed his eyes and focused on the rim, the net blowing gently in the late Monday afternoon breeze. He released the ball and watched as it hit the backboard then whirled around the metal rim, dipping slightly toward the basket then falling lazily off to the side. The thudding of the bouncing ball on the court was like an apology, a hesitant rhythm out of time with the thumping in his chest. Thoughts incessant and muddled, Jacob walked toward the ball as it rolled to a stop in the grass of his backyard aligning the pavement, and he reached forward to pick it up and try the shot again.

  “I’d definitely marry Aliyah,” Jacob had said to Benjamin and Sayed as they chatted in the masjid lobby after Jumu’ah the Friday before Deanna’s nervous breakdown. “If she would have me. And now that it looks like it might not work out between her and Larry, I might start making some extra prayers,” Jacob said jokingly. “But my wife would kill me, so unless Aliyah agrees to be a secret second wife, I don’t think I’ll be so lucky.”

  It had been a week since Deanna had come to the college and attacked Aliyah, and Jacob still couldn’t figure out how Deanna learned of that conversation after Friday prayers. Jacob’s first guess was that Sayed had talked to his wife who taught Qur’an classes to the women in the community, many of whom were Deanna’s friends. But according to Sayed, his wife wasn’t friends with any of the students except for Aliyah, and of course Aliyah wouldn’t have told Deanna even if the Qur’an teacher had told her. Was it possible that Benjamin had spoken to some brothers who might have told their wives? But that didn’t make any sense because Benjamin, an elder whom many community members went to for advice and marital mediation, was Aliyah’s uncle and was known for being prudent in not discussing Muslims’ personal issues.

  Jacob dribbled the ball as he ran up the court then released the ball in a layup. There was a banging noise against the rim before the basketball fell into the basket, yanking the net back and forth. Jacob stepped forward and caught the ball before it hit the ground, enjoying the fleeting satisfaction of making a good shot. He bounced the ball on the pavement and decided to try a few shots from the three-point range as his mind settled on the only plausible explanation for his predicament: Someone had overheard the conversation while passing through the masjid lobby after Jumu’ah. That person could easily have been the husband of one of Deanna’s friends, or even Deanna herself or one of her friends.

  When the sun was an orange glow at the horizon beyond the trees of his backyard, Jacob made one last three-point shot attempt then let the ball roll to a stop in the grass. Inside the house, he performed wudhoo’ in the bathroom then called his sons from their room to join him for Maghrib prayer.

  “Allaahu’akbar! Allaahu’akbar!” Younus raised his voice as he called the adhaan for prayer. “Allaahu’akbar! Allaahu’akbar!” Thawab stood next to his older brother and mimicked the young muezzin’s words and motions.

  The scene inspired a sad smile as Jacob wondered how his sons would adjust if he decided to divorce Deanna. They hadn’t seen their mother for seven days, and they seemed to be taking it well. They had asked only once where she was, and when Jacob told them she was visiting her parents, they didn’t ask again.

  “Can I be the imam?” Younus asked after he finished the call to prayer.

  “Of course,” Jacob said, smiling.

  A proud grin twitched at Younus’s mouth as he stepped to the front of the living room as Jacob lined up next to Thawab.

  “Can you do the iqaamah, little man?” Jacob said, rubbing Thawab’s head playfully.

  Thawab nodded his head emphatically then began the formal announcement that prayer was about to begin. “Allaahu’akbar. Allaahu’akbar…”

  ***

  “What do you think?” the comedian talk show host said to the three guests at the roundtable discussion. “Is the crazy Muslim woman suffering from a lack of faith in God, or simply a bad marriage?”

  “Based on Dr. D.J. Bivens’s own expert opinion,” one of the female guests said, “I think it’s fair to say it’s a bit of both. Sources say the so-called marriage guru was attacking her husband’s mistress, so that counts for a bad marriage, don’t you think?” The host and the other guests chuckled in agreement. “And since she couldn’t keep her hands to herself like her peaceful religion teaches, that counts for godlessness, I think. Because, and I quote…” The guest smirked as she lifted a paper from the d
esk in front of her, a forefinger raised as she glanced at the camera then back at the paper. “… ‘Only people without a proper understanding of God and the sacred bond of marriage have serious problems in their lives and marriages.’”

  A roar of laughter sounded from the set. “But seriously, Will,” the male guest said to the host, “I think this points to an underlying problem with religions in general. They teach holier-than-thou doctrines about God, peace, and love, but their followers turn out to be the most hypocritical, hateful human beings.”

  “Whoa,” the host said, grinning. “Let’s talk more about that after a short break.” Humor was in his tone as he looked into the camera. “Don’t go anywhere because we’ll be right back with W-T-H. Will’s Truth Hour.”

  Jacob groaned and lifted the remote toward the television as he stood and pressed the power button. His sons had fallen asleep, and though he dreaded the idea of walking into the college with all the judgmental eyes scrutinizing him, he had to go to work in the morning. So he needed to go to bed.

  “Looking at this photo provided by the alleged mistress’s family,” the comedian had said earlier in the show as a picture of Aliyah appeared on the screen, “I can understand the wife’s rage. I mean, who’s the lucky guy that gets a woman like that?”

  The photo was of Aliyah wearing a long, strapless form-fitting dress, heels, and dangling earrings. She sported a short natural hairstyle as she smiled, her head turned slightly away from the camera as if laughing at something off-screen. Rage had swept through Jacob when he saw the picture. It was one thing for the media to drag him and his wife through the mud for the sake of entertainment, but it was another thing entirely to bring Aliyah into this, even if they never mentioned her by name.

  As Jacob settled under the covers in his bedroom, his heart ached at the thought of what Aliyah must be going through right then. Through no fault of her own, she was being accused of having an affair with a married man while pre-Islam photos from her high school and early college years were being posted and shared on the Internet. Though he saw her at work each day, Jacob had been unable to work up the nerve to actually stop by her office and talk to her directly. He was too ashamed of himself. He was barely making it through the workday himself. For two whole days, the hashtags #CrazyMuslimWoman and #HotMuslimMistress were trending on Twitter, the former directed as his wife, the latter at Aliyah.

  And for what? Jacob thought angrily. It wasn’t like Jacob and Deanna were that well known in the media. Yes, Deanna had made a name for herself as a marriage counselor and relationship advice author, but neither she nor Jacob was famous by any stretch of the imagination. So the only thing that made this story newsworthy was that it involved practicing Muslims who were successful and well respected in their communities. Deanna’s actions merely offered fodder for the Islamophobic media to have yet another field day with Muslims.

  Jacob found it particularly bothersome that one of the guests on WTH was from the publishing company that had released Deanna’s book, You Can Have Him All To Yourself, to which Jacob had written an introduction. This left Jacob wondering if all the media attention was being fueled by the publisher itself, perhaps in an underhanded attempt to increase book sales. “All attention is good attention,” one of Deanna’s agents had said after some bad reviews were posted online about the book.

  “You can have him all to yourself, Dr. D.J.?” the host of WTH had taunted, intentionally making a pun with the title of Deanna’s book. “I guess not.”

  Slowly, Jacob shut his eyes and recited Ayat al-Kursy, verse 255 in the second chapter of Qur’an, which was a prophetic custom before going to bed.

  It was a blessing that final exams were starting, Jacob thought as he drifted to sleep. Soon no more classes would be in session, so he wouldn’t have to face his students much longer.

  ***

  “I’m really sorry about all this,” Benjamin said as Aliyah sat across from him at the kitchen table in his home Friday evening, her expression distraught. “Val says your sister sold them the photos.”

  Aliyah nodded absently, but she didn’t respond. For the past week, she felt as if she were walking in a daze. She had expected some passing mention of the incident in the local news since it had occurred on a college campus, but she would have never imagined that the story would gain national interest. And even so, wouldn’t it be Deanna (or Deanna and Jacob) that would provide the media sensation? After all, it was Deanna who was constantly in front of cameras practically rubbing it in everyone’s face that her religion and knowledge were superior to everyone else’s. But Aliyah was a nobody, so what was so fascinating about her? But this was the age of social media, Aliyah reminded herself. So she shouldn’t be surprised. The most insignificant events became newsworthy simply because they went viral online.

  Aliyah drew in a deep breath and exhaled, trying to calm her agitation at the thought of her sister Cassandra sharing uncovered photos of her with the media. The news sites could not have paid more than a few hundred dollars for the pictures. The story simply wasn’t worth more. And that hurt most. How could her own sister sell her out for such a paltry return? Cassie didn’t need the money, so what was the point?

  “Did Aunt Valerie say why she did it?” Aliyah said, finding her voice for the first time.

  “You know Cassie,” Benjamin said, exhaustion in his voice. “She does anything for attention.”

  Aliyah had never thought of her older sister in that way. Cassandra was constantly saying that Aliyah was the attention seeker. Cassandra had always been focused on her photography business more than anything else.

  “Oh my God,” Aliyah said, a realization coming to her just then. “Cassie took all those pictures.”

  Benjamin creased his forehead. “She did?”

  “Yes. subhaanAllah.” Aliyah shook her head as if everything suddenly made sense. “I thought it was strange that she picked only good photos of me.”

  “That’s right,” Benjamin said, nodding. “She has her own photography company now, doesn’t she?”

  Photo credit: Cassie Studios, Aliyah recalled the caption just then. It had been beneath every photo posted of her online. “Yes.” Aliyah coughed laughter and folded her arms over her chest as she leaned back in her chair. “I can’t believe this.”

  “That is something,” Benjamin said. “I’m going to ask Val to sit down and talk to her.”

  Aliyah rolled her eyes. “Don’t waste your time. Cassie doesn’t have a moral compass unless it’s gold-plated and can be sold on eBay.”

  Benjamin forced laughter, shaking his head. “May Allah guide her.”

  “And all of them,” Aliyah added. “Ameen.”

  There was an extended silence.

  “Have you spoken to any of them recently?” Benjamin said. “Your Mom, Dad, or anyone?”

  Aliyah sighed, sadness overcoming her. “No. They refuse all my calls and won’t let me visit.” She decided against mentioning the returned postcards. “I don’t know what else to do.”

  “Maybe you can go visit with Val one day.”

  The thought inspired anxiety. “They’ll probably just keep us both locked out.”

  “Not if they don’t know you’re there.”

  Aliyah felt a headache coming on. “I don’t know…”

  “I know you have a lot going on, but I think your parents are worried about you.”

  Benjamin didn’t say, “…now that they think you’re living as a mistress,” but Aliyah understood his meaning. She imagined she herself would be worried if she were in her parents’ shoes.

  “They didn’t know about the pictures until they saw them posted online,” Benjamin said. “Val said they called her right away to ask what was going on.”

  O Allah. Aliyah slapped a hand to her forehead. “I pray she told them it was all a lie.”

  “She told them she didn’t think it was true,” Benjamin said. “And trust me, that holds more weight with them than telling them outright that it’s
a lie.”

  Aliyah nodded. She could understand that. After all, how could her aunt Valerie know whether or not the story was true? How could anybody, in fact?

  Aliyah groaned. This was beyond humiliating. It took her last bit of energy to just wake up and get out of bed each day. She needed some time to clear her head, but she couldn’t take off work and stay home like she wanted to. She was already on thin ice for allowing a non-employee to have a key to her office. The lock to her office had been changed, as had Jacob’s, and the school had secured a restraining order against Deanna, but Aliyah knew the problem was far from over. She was already starting to wonder whether or not the college would renege on their full-time employment offer.

  In the past, whenever Aliyah had gone through a difficult time at work or in her personal life, she sought refuge in the masjid. But with all the social media gossip about her and Jacob—in which many Muslims eagerly participated—she doubted she could ever show her face in the Muslim community again.

  Like I said before, and I’ll say it again, Juwayriah had posted online, Married ladies! Dump your single girl friends! And whatever you do, DON’T help them get a job working with your husband. That ain’t charity. It’s STUPIDITY. If they need work, pay their bus fare and send them to the Welfare office. That’s charity! #MyTwoCents

  That was the last Facebook status Aliyah had seen before she deleted the Facebook and Messenger apps on her phone. She didn’t want any more notifications about being tagged in someone’s post or photo or receiving yet another message from some career-building media person or some sick, deranged man looking for a “relationship” or a second, third, or fourth wife. Aliyah was tempted to disable her Facebook account entirely, but she knew it would only make matters worse. People would definitely see it as a sign of guilt.