A Tear and A Smile: A Love Story

By Nwanganga Shields

Tear and a Smile is a love story of Clint a Washington Attorney whose hobby is searching and learning about lesser known memorials and Cece, a girl he met under an unusual circumstance one spring weekend.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Primix Publishing
• Release date: Feb 24, 2021
• ISBN: 9781954886070

Nwanganga Shields

Nwanganga Shields grew up in Arochukwu, Nigeria, and currently lives in Bethesda, Maryland. She retired from the World Bank and is a widow with four adult children, eight grandchildren, and one great-grandson. Nwanganga studied at University of St. Andrews and American University. Her first book, Ejituru, was published in 2013.

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© 2021 Nwanganga Shields. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, business, places events and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in fictional manners. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead or actual events is purely coincidental.

Published by Primix Publishing 02/24/2021

ISBN: 978-1-954886-06-3(sc)

ISBN: 978-1-954886-07-0(e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2021902698

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by iStock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © iStock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

In loving Memory of Brian Shields.

Beloved husband and father.

The waters of the sea become vapor and rise and come together and are a cloud. And the cloud floats above the hills and valleys until it meets the gentle breeze, then falls weeping to the field and joins with the brooks and rivers to return to the sea, its home. The life of a cloud is a parting and a meeting. A tear and a smile.

~ Kahlil Gibran, A Tear and a Smile

1.

Clint sat on a marble bench in front of the Barnes and Noble bookstore in Bethesda, observing the crowd passing by. He’d arrived there after his early morning run and a quick shower in his apartment nearby, intending to head for the coffee shop inside. The weather, this first Saturday of spring was pleasant, although cold enough for a coat.

Earlier, he’d taken the trail from Bethesda to the C&O Canal and had run along the path to Great Falls on the Maryland side and back to Bethesda, stopping at a strip mall in Cabin John for a coffee and croissant before reaching his apartment to shower. The shower was refreshing, and although he should feel tired after such a run, he felt the exact opposite, and on a whim, he left his apartment—a mere 400 yards from where he was sitting—to find something more substantial to eat. The air was so refreshing that instead of following his original intent to go to the coffee shop inside the building, he sat outside for a while to observe the passersby.

Anyone looking at him would see a tall, light-brown, pleasant, thirtyish young man with cropped hair in cargo pants and a navy-blue sweater over a white shirt with his sneakered feet outstretched in front of him. There were several people either standing or sitting on the benches, enjoying the outdoors on this first whisper of spring. It had been a long winter for the Washington, DC, area, so any sign of the sun, no matter how weak its rays, would bring hordes of people outside either strolling or shopping or go to the many restaurants on this patch of Bethesda. The fountain at the front of the bookstore was inactive because summer was a long way off, and because of the danger of the water freezing if there was another cold snap.

Sitting there and looking around, he was fascinated by the mix of people strolling past him. There were quite a few couples among them, holding hands. He surmised from their body language that they were probably either newlyweds or recently in love. Their love, still fresh, had not faded like the other couples he was observing, hardly touching and the women trying desperately to keep pace while the husbands strode on unconcerned about their safety. Others disagreed loudly on where to go or what direction to take.

There were mothers pushing baby carriages, and some admonishing their precious charges who were howling to stop crying, pushing rubber nipples into their mouths hoping these would soothe them. There were parents with older children, some urging their charges to hurry; young boys in roller skates, young girls in groups chatting and pushing past, full of their own importance and uncaring of other people’s safety.

There were people going into the bookshop and others coming out clutching paper bags with books. Maybe not! he thought. Nowadays, bookshops have diversified, and are now selling many things they think their customers may need. In this book shop, coffee and chocolate were favorite items.

A few people crossed over to the opposite side, and he speculated that some may go to Mon Ami Gabi, a favorite restaurant on the opposite corner, while some were walking purposefully towards the Landmark theater at the end of the opposite block. Those with children must surely go to the ice cream shop next to the Landmark theater.

The outfits of some of the girls fascinated him. He noticed that some young girls wore their hair in braids, and he wondered whether hair braiding, which is more common among Black people, now had a universal appeal. He felt he could sit there forever observing the parade of people and concocting stories about each passerby.

He overheard snatches of conversation from those standing nearby, gossiping about their neighbor’s newest miscreant or purchase. Without consciously listening, amidst all the talk about social events and family, he heard someone—obviously an attorney—relating to his companion a case he was working on. It is a difficult case, more so because I especially dislike my client, the man said. He strained to listen, hoping to learn more about the client, but the light changed and they moved across the road. He wished they had lingered so he could get the gist of what was being said.

This struck a chord and brought him abruptly to thoughts about work. He had been trying not to think of it, just to enjoy the outdoors, but with so many attorneys living in Bethesda, he could not expect to not run into them. It had been a rough week at the law firm where he worked and he had brought work home, which he wanted to complete during the weekend. He knew he should not be frittering away his time sitting here gazing at the crowd when he should hunker down in his study, preparing his brief instead. But to heck with it; it tired him that the client was a liar and nothing that came out of his mouth was believable.

For a split second, he thought of Ahmad, charged with possession of cocaine with an intent to distribute. It was a routine examination in Customs at Dulles airport on his return from a vacation in Pakistan that uncovered a large stash of cocaine in his suitcase. At first, Ahmad had said that he was carrying the case for a friend and did not know what was in it. The friend had assured him that the contents of the suitcase were presents for his sister, who lived in Alexandria, Virginia, but on further questioning he had retracted that statement, claiming ownership of the suitcase but saying he had left it open in his grandparents’ house in Islamabad. With so many of his acquaintances asking him to carry presents to their relatives in the US, he had no time to re-check the contents of his suitcase before locking it and leaving for the airport. He swore that he would not knowingly carry drugs, knowing that the chances of being caught were high.

Clint at first believed his story, having temporarily lived in Nigeria; he had experienced firsthand a constant stream of visitors to a home, especially when someone is visiting from overseas. Heck, my grandmother’s house in Nigeria was like a train station with so many people coming and going when I was there several summers ago. There was an incident when he was there when someone barged into the bedroom while he was still sleeping, saying, My brother, I heard you’ve just arrived and I just wanted to see you. I am going to the farm and I did not want to leave without seeing you.

Recollecting this episode, he felt that Ahmad’s story was plausible. But just as the case was up for hearing, the prosecutor revealed that his client was a repeat offender and had used the same excuse before. Clint’s only option now was to get a reduced sentence for his client, who was the son of a very prominent Pakistani with a chain of restaurants in the city.

After several attempts, he had secured an appointment early Monday with the prosecutor to present his case for a reduced sentence. He was not hopeful for a favorable outcome.

Clint’s interest was not in criminal law, so his mind was not really in it. He was glad this would be his last criminal case since his wish to work in his preferred field had come through and in the next two months, he would move to a position in the Environmental Protection Agency.

Clint stretched his shoulders and cast his eyes around. He thought of moving. As he pondered whether to move on, he spied a Nigerian couple in traditional costume. He noticed the tribal mark on the man’s cheeks and deduced that he must be in his 70s since he was told that tribal marks were no longer in fashion. His flowing, white gown dazzled against his beautiful, dark skin. His wife had on a light-blue, long-sleeve damask blouse, a skirt of the same color wrapped around it, and a long scarf of the same color thrown over her shoulder. They were obviously going somewhere important. They stood near the fountain, casting their eyes around as if looking for an address or presumably deciding their next step. The surrounding people were either trying not to pay attention to them or whispering among themselves.

Seeing them standing there brought back memories of his Nigerian interlude. He had spent almost a year in Nigeria after college, living with his grandmother in Arochukwu. He’d seen people similarly dressed the one time he left Arochukwu to visit Calabar, where, unlike Arochukwu, there was a mix of people from different tribal groups and where the picture differed totally from what one would expect to see from the same crowd in any gathering in the United States. He remembered how alone he felt and how frightened he was that if something were to happen to him, nobody would know who to contact.

Perhaps this couple was feeling similarly alone, and perhaps they would welcome a friendship from a total stranger. If he were in Nigeria, no one would think anything of talking to a stranger but here, there was always a certain feeling of holding back, a feeling that you might give offense by assuming that the stranger needed help that in fact, he did not. He looked for them again; they’d apparently crossed the street. He watched as they turned past the restaurant on the other side and entered a shop. Then he saw them come out and enter the restaurant. He breathed a sigh of relief. He’d felt he’d let them down by not approaching them and asking if they needed help.

Getting up, he patted his backside for any dirt he might have picked up and looked around, still unsure of his plans. It was then that he spied the girl. She had on a bright-red coat that matched her lipstick. She wore her auburn hair long, and he noticed her swiveling oval earrings. She was shorter than the girls he normally admired, perhaps 5 feet 4 inches at most. But what the heck, she was beautiful, and the coat showed off her coloring.

As she walked, her coat parted slightly and he could see that she wore a polka dot blouse over an indigo skirt. She walked purposefully towards the door of the bookstore, which opened as an elderly, light-brown-skinned woman wearing a long, black coat over a long, black skirt and red sweater came out and greeted her. Am sorry I’m late, Nana. I hope you’ve not been waiting long, Clint heard her say breathlessly.

Nothing to worry about. It allowed me to glance at magazines I never knew existed. There was an interesting article by someone traveling with her granddaughter. It will be fun to travel with you, my favorite granddaughter.

This was a surprise because he could have sworn she was white. There was nothing to relate her to the woman. He thought about this for a while. Nana must be an endearing name that she had given to the woman. There could not be any relationship there.

He missed the reply. He saw that she was holding hands with the woman as they both walked towards the edge of the street to cross over to the other side. She was very protective of her when the light changed for the crossing. He looked longingly at them, thinking of his grandmother in Nigeria. If she were here, would she agree to accompany me to a restaurant? She’d probably regard it as a waste of money, putting your money in other people’s pockets, and that would be how she would frame it. Her choice of outing would be to go to St. Columbus in Tenley to morning service, or prayer circle, or whatever they do there, or sit at home and read the Bible and pray. She definitely would not be accompanying me to a restaurant.

He longed to find out about this girl and wished for an opportunity to get to know her. No. He shook his head vigorously as his eyes followed their every move. This is a no-no, given my experience, he thought. Just then, the light changed and they walked across.

A few minutes later, his stomach growled, signaling hunger. Rather than go to the coffee shop inside the bookstore, he decided to have a light lunch at the restaurant where the Nigerian couple he saw earlier on had entered.

Crossing the road, he entered Mon Ami Gabi, a French bistro across from where he was sitting. He noticed a large, well-dressed crowd at the back room of the restaurant and deduced the couple he saw early on was among them.

To his relief, there were very few people at the restaurant.

To his surprise, the hostess placed him at a table next to the girl and her grandmother. Smiling, he thought, It must be fate.

The pair, engrossed in their discussion, hardly noticed him. He surreptitiously watched them, wishing for an opportunity to get to know the woman who reminded him so much of his grandmother, and perhaps the girl. He tried to still the beating of his heart.

Then, a thought crossed his mind. He remembered the awful incident during his high school. He could recall that his one attempt to date was a disaster. He was more or less strong-armed by his friend to invite a white girl to the prom. At first, thrilled and excited about the prospect, she accepted the invitation, but as the day drew near she chickened out, using her parents as the excuse. Hurt, he swore that he would never put himself in that situation again. I just hope this will not end the same way, he thought. So he said to himself, I’m jumping the gun. I have no intention of asking this girl out. Then, catching himself, he added as an afterthought, I am just curious to learn about the relationship.

Settled in his seat, he looked around. He carefully studied the menu, wondering what to choose. He’d never eaten in a French restaurant before. His preferred fare had always been American or Chinese, which to his mind was the next best thing to the African stews his mother often prepared.

He let his eyes wander around the restaurant and it surprised him to see that now the restaurant was full. He found the listed price rather high for the amount of food served. Heck! In a Chinese restaurant, you can buy twice as much food for what one is paying here. People just like this food, he figured.

He looked at the menu again and, unsure of what to choose, he selected whatever food the girl chose.

As he ate the quiche he ordered—because it was the dish the girl ordered—he felt it was an excellent choice. Leisurely sipping the merlot he had ordered and observing the other diners, he listened to the desultory talk between the girl and her companion. He was glad she had a beautiful, warm, welcoming voice, not the usual whiny voice that he hated or the strong authoritarian voice adopted by the many female students in his law school classes. Her voice was a happy one, and it suited her.

He felt a flutter in his heart that told him he was falling in love. He wanted to join in their conversation but he felt it would be presumptuous on his side to jump in or perhaps to make a comment they would consider inappropriate. This would ruin his chances of ever making a good impression on this girl he did not know but one he would like to know. Oh my God, he thought. I’m behaving exactly like my great-grandfather.

He remembered the story of how his great-grandfather met the girl he subsequently married. On his way to collect a debt from a man in a village, and stopped in a village square where some men were playing games. He had stopped to watch them when he spied a young girl returning from the spring with a pot of water on her head. The young girl only had a strip of cloth as a skirt and had intricate Uri designs covering her body. Smitten, he had inquired about her paternity and eventually married her, despite their different social class.

Clint shook his head in despair, calling himself an imbecile for following them into a restaurant. Eavesdropping on their conversation, he heard the older lady ask, Do you like living in the District?

Oh yes. When I was living in my parents’ house, the drive from there to the Bethesda train station was a killer. Now it takes ten minutes to walk from my apartment to the Metro. I like the area.

Do you like your apartment? her grandmother asked.

Definitely, and I’m sharing it with another person, so that makes it reasonable.

I hope the housemate is someone you get on with.

He is nice. I have known him for ages. My parents helped me with the rent before he moved in.

I presume now you have no need for a car.

Yes, I travel everywhere with public transportation. Besides, all my friends live there so it is easy to get together.

Eavesdropping, he gathered that the girl had just graduated from a New England liberal arts college (not the one he had attended), and had only just some months ago moved out of the parental home to live in an apartment in Washington, DC.

Her safety was a concern for the old lady. She’d dismissed it, saying that she lives on the third floor of a secure building. She talked about her job. She was working in a public relations firm but hoped to soon transfer to a nonprofit organization focusing on global warming.

I assume you dislike your current firm then? the old woman asked.

No, said the girl, shaking her head. I’m just taking precautions. I know that after the election the firm will downsize, and I don’t want a surprise.

As an afterthought, she added, I enjoy working and being on my own, but I also realize that this job is just a stopgap until I decide what to do with my life. My parents want me to have a professional qualification. I’m thinking about it. Shortly after, he heard them ask for the check as they discussed their next move.

"Let’s walk over to the Landmark. I’d like to know when The Theory of Everything is being shown. I want to see it tomorrow," her nana said.

I am also hoping to see it since there are scenes from Oxford and I spent a year study abroad in the UK.

You know they based the film on a book written by his ex-wife, the elder woman said.

Yes, I read that somewhere.

By this time, he noticed that the crowd at the private party was spilling out to the part of the room next to it. He hoped the Nigerian couple he saw earlier on were enjoying themselves. He quickly paid his bill and exited the restaurant before the girl and her companion. He stopped at a nearby kiosk where there was a selection of scarves, hats, and jewelry for sale, examining its offerings. Not having any reason to go home at that time, he decided to walk south on Bethesda Avenue towards the Apple store, where he hoped to examine the new Apple watch and perhaps purchase one as a birthday gift for his sister, who loves such fads. He would never dream of owning such a watch, being content with the iPhone and iPad, which he considered superfluous.

Strolling past Francesca, a store specializing in women’s accessories, he saw the girl and her grandmother inside the shop. He knew that the older woman parked her car at the Giant parking lot because the girl had playfully cautioned her about parking there when she was not shopping at Giant. One day, Nana, you will not find your car; the tow company will have it, she’d said.

Entering the Apple store, he had difficulty finding a free salesperson since he did not have an appointment. Frustrated, he decided to exit the store.

It was at that moment, outside the Apple store, when he saw the old woman fall. The girl, her companion, tried to break the fall but was unable. He rushed towards them, hoping to help. The girl, in shock, fumbled inside her handbag for a tissue to wipe her tear-strewn face.

Helping the old woman upright, Clint asked, Are you hurt? Should I call an ambulance?

The older woman looked up, straightening her skirt and coat and tidying herself, and with a trembling voice, waved him off. Thank you, no. How inconsiderate of me not to notice that the pavement here is uneven! she exclaimed as she brushed the dirt from her coat.

The girl, clutching the old woman’s hand, stood there, tongue-tied to restrain herself from bursting into tears. The old woman winced as she tried to walk, but the pain must have been such that she turned to the girl and said, Darling, I think I have sprained my ankle. Luckily, it is my left ankle, and I think I can still drive home.

The girl, having by now recovered her composure, said, Nana, let’s find a place for you to sit while I fetch your car. Give me your keys. I will take you to the emergency room.

I’ll not hear of it. It will be a thorough waste of time. The doctors would do nothing but put a cold compress and ask me to rest it. We’ll just amble until we get to the Giant parking lot. It is only a block and a half away. I should be able to drive home after dropping you at the Metro as we agreed, the old lady vehemently replied.

Watching her vigorously straightening her clothes, Clint felt that she was embarrassed that she’d made a spectacle of herself in such a public place, feeling her granddaughter’s distress, and now unsure what to say to him now hovering over her. He heard her sigh.

Young man, thank you for helping me. We both appreciate it, she said dismissively.

Recovering her composure and flattening her rumpled coat again, she added, Not many young people will put themselves out helping some stranger. Thank you.

Taken aback by her accent, which reminded him of his Nigerian grandmother, Clint could only murmur, It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it. I’m glad to help.

He noticed from her slow movement that the old woman was in pain. Undeterred and feeling protective, Clint followed them. Walking beside them, he addressed the elder woman, Ma’am, lean on me and let me at least see you to your car. And I will walk your friend to the station if that is a worry. Right there and then, he wanted to grab the girl’s hand. He’d never experienced such overwhelming physical desire before. He wanted to pull her close, feel her lips and the heat of her body on him; instead, in an unsteady voice, he said to the girl, still shaken by the incident, Don’t worry. Your friend will be all right. I agree with her feeling about emergency rooms. I’m sure that when she gets home and if the pain is severe, she will call her doctor.

Watching the older woman as they slowly made their way along Arlington Boulevard, he thought of his grandmother, Esther, and how she would feel in the same situation. She would be happy with his action.

As expected, the older woman immediately addressed the young woman. Cece! What do you think?

The young woman, full of emotion, nodded.

For a moment, his thoughts again reverted to Esther, his Nigerian grandmother. This old woman reminded him of her so much. She was a no-nonsense religious woman with very strong views. But where this woman deferred to her younger companion, Esther would probably concentrate on doing what she thought was right with no consideration for the feelings of those around her. Perhaps, he thought, I’m not being fair to her. She has so many good attributes that somehow cancel out her strong religious beliefs.

It was not the way he’d intended to spend his Saturday afternoon. He’d left his apartment after his run for a quick lunch, then planned to spend an afternoon watching football, after which he would go to Tenleytown to have dinner with his parents, then meet some friends in a bar there. Funny how fate intervenes and changes your plans, he mused. Fate had intervened and here he was with this girl he admired and the woman who reminded him of his grandmother, having a conversation.

***

The Giant parking lot on Arlington Boulevard was two blocks from the Apple store. The trio ambled towards Arlington, past the Rio Grande Restaurant at the corner of the street, crossing Arlington and walking north on Arlington toward the Giant store and to the extreme end of the parking lot where the car was.

There, Cece said, "Nana! You are lucky your car is still