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A FEW DAYS LATER, SEF’S GANGSTERS still terrorized Cairo, the taggers now added their own tricks, and all Imara could think about were her dinner plans. Dinner with Abe.
And his dad.
She slumped onto the couch in Abe’s apartment fidgeting with her powder blue wrap dress. She tried forcing her fingers to stop tugging at the fabric, but they wouldn’t be stilled. She reached up for the hair on the back of her neck instead.
Abe’s head popped around the corner. “My dad is on his way. He just dropped Keiko’s stuff off at headquarters.”
She tried to smile, but bit her lip instead.
Abe chuckled and went back into the kitchen. “He’s excited about this, by the way,” Abe called from the other room. “For all three of us to have dinner together.”
She jumped to her feet and scurried into the kitchen. “Can I please help? I’m going to go crazy if I don’t do something with my hands.”
He set down his whisk and dropped a hand onto her shoulder. “Don’t be nervous. It’s going to be fine.”
She reached for the short hairs on the back of her head again. She tugged each tuft until her neck burned. “When are you coming to Kenya to have dinner with Naki and my parents?” she asked.
“Agh,” he said as he jumped back, a splash of juice barely missing his pants. He reached for a towel. “I’m sorry it’s been so crazy lately, but I promise we’ll do it soon. When things calm down a little. Before my dad gets here, I wanted to ask you about Keiko.”
Imara clasped her fingers together, forcing them to stay still. “What about her?”
Abe went back to whisking his sauce and said, “You trust her, which is the only reason I trust her. But her mom is the leader of the taggers. Are we sure she isn’t going to...”
“Spy on us to help her mom?” Imara finished.
“Yeah.”
“No.”
Abe poured the finished sauce over a plate of chicken. “You don’t think she would?”
Imara leaned against the wall, tapping her teeth together as she tried to decide how to explain. Finally, she said, “You remember the other day when she flinched like you were going to hit her?”
Abe grimaced so hard, his shoulders jerked. “I don’t know why she assumed I’m that kind of person. I never would have hit her.”
“Abe.” Imara waited until he looked her right in the eyes. “She didn’t assume that about you. It was a reflex. She did that because she’s used to...”
In an instant, his face fell. “She’s used to someone else hitting her?” He shook his head. “Takara.”
Imara nodded, grateful that the conversation had provided her a moment of distraction. But a second later, someone knocked on the door, and her heart seemed to stop. She clutched the wall behind her, and Abe chuckled.
He put his hands on her shoulders, and the warmth from them spread down through her arms. “Relax,” he said. “And remember, no talking about work. This is supposed to be fun.”
She stood behind Abe as he answered the door. Mr. Nazari embraced his son while wearing a wide smile. But when Abe stepped back and reached for Imara, Mr. Nazari’s smile disappeared.
“Imara,” he said with a nod.
“Hi, Mr. Nazari.” She twisted a piece of her blue dress around her thumb while she decided whether or not she should shake his hand. That seemed weird. But it seemed weird to do nothing too. Mr. Nazari stared back with no expression at all. Maybe she just needed to adjust the temperature controls on her underclothing because it suddenly seemed about five degrees warmer.
“Let’s go eat,” Abe said with a smile.
* * *
HOURS LATER, IMARA dropped a pile of dishes into the sink. Abe made her promise she wouldn’t wash them, but he was still outside saying goodbye, and she needed to keep herself busy.
“Hey, you promised,” he said when he walked in a few minutes later.
She scrubbed the last bowl clean and set it in the QuickDry before speaking. “I don’t think your dad likes me very much.”
“What?” Abe said and then chuckled. “Of course he does.”
Imara dried her hands with a towel until they were rubbed raw. “He’s so...” She waved her hand through the air, trying to think of the right word. “Closed. He’s hard for me to read. and it drives me nuts, especially without my hila.”
“He doesn’t hate you,” Abe said, leading her out of the kitchen and back to the couch.
He dropped down next to her and leaned in as if to kiss her, but stopped a few centimeters short. Narrowing his eyes, he said, “You have that stuff in your eye again. You must have allergies or something because it gets worse the longer you’re in Cairo.”
“Did you do this in the catacombs?” she asked, tilting her head up so he could wipe the goop away. She never seemed to notice it herself, and since she was still avoiding mirrors, she appreciated Abe removing it for her. “I’ve been trying to remember” she said. “It seems like ever since we met, you’ve been getting stuff out of my eyes, but I can’t think of a time it happened in the catacombs.”
He wiped the goop onto his shirt and moved his finger toward her other eye. “I can’t remember either. Are you sure you’re not allergic to anything?”
She snickered. “You’re the only one who seems to see it. Are you sure you aren’t just using it as an excuse to be close to me?”
“Maybe,” he said with a sly smile. He leaned in again, this time not stopping until his lips pressed against hers. All the worry about what his dad thought of her seemed to vanish.
When he pulled away, she settled her head on his shoulder and asked, “Who’s Onofria?”
She felt the muscles in his shoulder tense as he pulled away from her. “What?” He swallowed. “What do you mean?”
As she stared, a flash of plum erupted from his skin, wriggling out like a worm. Discomfort. A moment later, it was gone. She stared again, barely noticing how her heart seemed to stop. A plum-colored worm coming out from the skin? She used to see things like that all the time with her hila, but her hila was gone. She shouldn’t have been able to see things like that now.
But now the moment had passed. No more colors, plum or otherwise, came out from his skin. It must have been a trick of the lights, or it must have been in her head. No healer in the world had been able to heal a hila after an eraserfall. It must have been nothing.
“I saw the name embroidered on your dad’s handkerchief at dinner. Onofria Nazari. Does your dad have a sister or something?”
Abe stared with his lips parted. She found herself searching for more colors coming off his skin, but she knew, she knew it was hopeless. She went through an eraserfall. Her hila would never come back.
The seconds ticked by, and still Abe stared. His nostrils flared each time he let out a breath. Suddenly, he sucked in a gulp of air and leaned deep into the couch. He glanced at her again, then stared at his lap. “Onofria my mom,” he said.
Her back shot up straight as she turned toward him. “Wait, what?” She shook her head. “How do you have a mom?”
He smirked. “Well, you see. I actually thought you would have learned this from school, but that’s okay. You see, in order to get a baby, you have to have DNA from both a male and a female.”
“Oh, shush,” she said, nudging him in the shoulder. “You know what I meant.”
He snickered and tugged a curl down over her forehead.
She screwed up her face, trying to remember the details of a conversation they’d had weeks ago. “I thought your dad wasn’t into romance,” she said.
“Yeah, he’s not. Not anymore. My mom was the only one he loved like that.” He looked down while he tugged at the bottom of his shirt. “She died when I was three.”
“Abe.” She covered her eyes with one hand and simultaneously used her other hand to grab his forearm. “I had no idea.”
“I know,” he said, each word dropping heavy like rocks. “I don’t usually talk about it. Well, that’s not true. My dad and I talk about it all the time. He’s open with me, but with everyone else, he’s basically learned to turn off all emotion.”
“That explains a lot,” she said, reaching for his hand. He took it willingly, and she noticed at once how much warmer than usual it felt. She wrapped her spare hand around the back of his and traced his knuckles with her fingers. What could she say? What could anyone say in the face of such tragedy?
He ran his other hand through his hair before letting out a sigh. “I don’t remember her. My dad tells me about her all the time, which is good, I guess. I know what kind of a person she was and how much she loved me and everything.” He squeezed her hand and swallowed. “Sometimes I wish I had just one actual memory of her. She was really amazing apparently.”
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered.
He shrugged and said, “It’s okay. It’s horrible, obviously, but I’ve adjusted well. My dad, on the other hand, has never gotten over it.”
She doubted anyone could be completely adjusted after a tragedy like that, but she decided not to voice that particular thought. She dropped her head onto his shoulder, feeling the need to be close. She wanted to support him, but all she could really do was be there for him. At least she would be there in every way she could.
Touching him so he could feel that she was there for him. Talking so he could hear it. “How did she die?” she asked.
She looked up just in time to see him bite the inside of his cheek. “A freak accident. She had a filtered water bottle, but it was mostly empty. She flicked the straw to suck up the last little bit of water. When she did that, part of the filter shot up and lodged in her throat. The chemicals seeped into her esophagus and poisoned her. It was in there for a week, and she didn’t know anything was wrong because she couldn’t feel it. By the time she noticed, it was already too late.”
Imara drew her finger along the inside of Abe’s forearm. His jaw worked as if he had more to say, but the words stayed inside his throat. She looked into his eyes and gave his hand a little squeeze, hoping to coax the words out of him. After a moment, he continued.
“My dad is mashimo, and my mom only had a vague knowledge of her hila. Apparently, if she had known how to use her hila, she would have known the filter piece was in her throat, and she could have gotten it removed before the poison killed her.” He paused. “She died because she didn’t know how to use her hila.”
“What was her hila?”
“She was a healer.”
Imara dropped his hand and sat up straight.
“No,” he said. “I know what you’re going to say, and no. Just because she was a healer doesn’t mean I am.”
She pursed her lips, forcing back the words she wanted to say. Finally, some words burst free despite her restraint. “Hilas can run in the family like that.”
“But they don’t always,” he said, clenching his jaw. “Besides, my dad is mashimo. That runs in the family too.”
She sat up, still wanting to argue, but eventually chose to relax back in her seat. She was still ninety percent certain he was a healer, but this probably wasn’t the best moment to argue about it.
“That’s why my dad started his hila school,” Abe said almost as an afterthought. “My mom died because she didn’t know how to use her hila, and my dad had survivor’s guilt to the extreme. He made it his mission in life to help people learn how to use their hilas as best as possible. It’s a good mission and everything, but at some point he has to accept it wasn’t his fault she died.”
Imara nodded, slowly letting it all wash over her. “Is that why you’re so reckless?” she asked.
Abe jerked his head toward her with one eyebrow raised.
“So your dad won’t blame himself if you get hurt?”
Abe laughed and said, “No.” He shook his head and laughed again. “Maybe I just like being irresponsible.”
“Abe.”
“No,” he said with more insistence. “I said I’m well adjusted, remember? I’m happy. I miss my mom every day, but I’m fine. Why does everyone think I have some mysterious unresolved issues just because my mom died when I was three?”
“Your brain isn’t mature enough to deal with every issue at three, so it stores issues in the back of your mind until you are old enough to deal with them.”
He raised an eyebrow at her. “You’re a psychologist now?”
Her shoulders fell as she dropped her eyes to stare at her lap. “Professor Santini taught me that.” She looked up again, nodding as she spoke. “Yes, I know she was the Judge, and I know she taught me some messed up stuff, but you have to admit it does seem logical. How could you be sad about your mom missing your school graduation when you’re only three and don’t even know school exists?”
He reached for his chin and started rubbing his thumb back and forth along its bottom edge. “I guess that sort of makes sense, but I promise I’m fine. You should be more worried about that goop in your eyes.”
She thought back to the goop while simultaneously thinking if Abe’s mom was a healer, he had to be too. And then the two thoughts connected. No one except Abe ever saw it. And earlier, when he got the stuff out of her eyes, she saw plum worms of discomfort coming off his skin. Maybe it was just a trick of the lights, but what if the goop had something to do with the eraserfall? What if Abe was healing her without realizing it?
It was impossible. Impossible. But what if it wasn’t?
