Ismail opened the door to his condo and stepped aside for Soraya. She slipped off her heels by the front door and wiggled her toes before she walked to the couch and sat down. Ismail got out of his jacket, tossed it on one of the chairs, and joined her.
“It was a great meal.” He yawned, hoping it would be time for sleep soon.
She twisted to face him. “So, what did you think of Tate?”
Ismail shrugged. “He was okay.”
“I liked him very much. And he is a handsome fellow.” She pinched him gently on the cheek. “But of course, he is not as handsome as my Ismail.”
“I noticed he didn’t even reach for the bill. I mean . . . I planned to pay for it since Mallory is my employee, but still.” He paused as he thought about the evening. “I don’t think he’s good enough for Mallory.”
Soraya laughed. “Now, Ismail. You haven’t even known Mallory very long. How can you possibly say that? I thought Tate was wonderful.”
Ismail shrugged. “I thought he was a little . . . boring.” In truth, Ismail liked Tate. But he didn’t want to like a man whose life he was playing with.
She slapped him gently on the arm. “Ismail. That is not true. I didn’t find him to be boring at all. Maybe he just didn’t have time to get a word in edgewise with the rest of us talking. Or maybe he’s a little shy. Either way, I think he’s delightful.”
That was his Soraya, always finding the best in everyone. The woman never met a stranger, and everyone loved her. But no one could possibly love her as much as he did.
“I’m off to the shower.”
Ismail nodded, and once he heard the water running, he dialed his father’s number. They’d had several conversations today. Ismail was hoping this would be the last one for a while.
“The ball is rolling,” he said after his father answered.
“You found someone to marry your cousin?”
“Maybe. I’ve put him in contact with someone, but the rest is up to Abdul.”
He’d been trying to justify his actions all day long. But Mallory wanted to save a life. And Abdul needed an American wife so he could save his daughter’s life. It was a win-win for everyone if his cousin could woo Mallory to go to Pakistan and marry him in name only. And the timing seemed right. Soraya had told him that Mallory was upset with Tate about a possible move to Chicago. Once Abdul had brought Majida to the United States for treatment of her cancer, Mallory could divorce him.
Ismail hated that his father still had this kind of manipulative power over him. But Shahid Fahim had mentioned Soraya’s name one too many times since their first conversation about finding Abdul an American wife. There wasn’t an outright threat, but the implication was clear. Find your cousin a wife, or Soraya could be in danger.
As bad as he felt about his involvement, Ismail knew that if there had to be a sacrifice, it would have to be Mallory. He knew what his father was capable of. He’d sold his brother’s kidney on the black market for money when Faisal was fourteen. Ismail could still remember how terrified Faisal was. And ultimately, with no post care, his brother had died. Now Ismail sent money monthly to an organization in Pakistan that worked to prevent underground organ transplants.
But Abdul had his work cut out for him. Peshawar was in the tribal belt of Pakistan. If Mallory had any sense at all, she’d know it was one of the most dangerous places in the world—especially for an American—and she wouldn’t even consider a trip there.
MALLORY IGNORED THE VIBRATING CELL PHONE NEXT to her on the bed. She was enjoying her e-mails with Abdul, and Tate could just wait until the morning to hear from her. Besides, she and Abdul had decided to Skype, and she was waiting for his call to come through. Mallory had seen Tate using the video communication software when he talked to his cousin in Virginia. Amazing that you could see someone right on your computer screen and have a conversation.
She lay on her stomach on her bed, propped her elbows in front of her, and cupped her cheeks with her hands as she stared at the screen. She glanced at the clock, thankful that tomorrow was Sunday and she could sleep in. It was the middle of the day, though, for her new friend. Abdul had talked to her via e-mail about his daughter. About his fears and worries. His biggest concern was finding good health care for Majida. Abdul worked at a bank, but he said he didn’t have health insurance, so money was an issue. He sounded like a wonderful father, and about an hour into the e-mails, Mallory told him about her cousin Kelsey and how she’d learned today that she wouldn’t be able to be a kidney donor. He’d been so kind and sympathetic. She jumped when the call came through, and it took a few seconds for Abdul to come into focus.
“My dear Mallory, how good to see you.” Abdul’s voice came through the computer speaker loud and clear. She liked the way he had started each e-mail with, “My dear Mallory.” He smiled, blinking his eyes a few times. “You are most beautiful.”
So are you. Mallory couldn’t believe how handsome this man was, like Ismail, even though they didn’t look anything alike. Mallory was expecting a swarthy older man, probably wearing a turban on his head. This guy looked to be in his late thirties and had kind, dark eyes, black hair, a neatly trimmed goatee, and an amazing smile. He was wearing a white shirt buttoned to his neck. Apparently Ismail and Abdul were both blessed with the handsome gene. She’d been needing a distraction, and Abdul would certainly do. She felt herself blushing even though the man was on the other side of the world.
“Thank you,” she finally said. “It’s good to see you too.”
“I overflow with wonder at such beauty.”
A warm and welcome glow flowed through her at the sound of his voice. “You’re very kind. Thank you again.”
“I enjoy starting to know you. How does beautiful woman like you have no husband or children? Are you not of age for this?”
“Uh . . . yes, I am of age.” She paused as she latched onto a strand of hair and twirled it around her finger. She opted not to tell Abdul that she couldn’t have children. “I do have a boyfriend though.”
Abdul nodded. There was a slight delay on Skype, but overall she could see him quite clearly.
“He will marry you then?”
Her “distraction” was treading into waters Mallory didn’t want to wade in. She coughed, clearing her throat. “I think that we’ll get married someday.”
Abdul grinned. “Be good for him to hurry before another takes someone so lovely for wife.”
“Abdul, you really are very kind.” Mallory was realizing what a rut she and Tate had fallen into after four years together. She could recall a time when Tate was this adoring. She saw a woman’s hand slide a cup of coffee in front of Abdul, along with a small plate of something that looked like cookies. “Is that your wife?”
“She is my before wife. ‘Ex-wife,’ you say.”
Mallory wondered what his ex-wife was doing bringing him coffee and cookies.
Abdul took a sip from the cup. “Fozia still brings tea and biscuits to me each day. Fozia and my children live on third floor. I stay on number two floor.”
Mallory’s eyes widened. “You and your ex-wife live in the same house?”
Abdul raised his chin slightly but smiled. “Yes. Of course. It is my job for taking care of Fozia and my children always, no matter if we divorce.”
“Really?” Mallory blinked her eyes a couple of times. “Hmm . . .” She thought about her sister’s divorce from Nelson and what a war zone it had been.
Abdul lifted an eyebrow, grinning. Mallory smiled back at him, still surprised at how handsome he was—though she didn’t know why she should be.
“Is it not the job for a husband to take care of his family in your country?” Abdul reached for a cookie but just held it as he waited for Mallory to respond.
“I guess you could say that it is the husband’s job to help support the children financially after a divorce, but in most cases he wouldn’t be required to take care of the wife.” She wondered if Abdul understood all this, but she went on. “It would be unheard of for the husband and wife to still live in the same house after they’re divorced.” She paused. “Can you understand my English?”
Abdul was still holding the cookie, frowning. “I don’t know if understanding. Man does not take care of family for lifetime?”
Mallory shook her head. “No. He will help support the children until they go off to college, sometimes through college, but he has no responsibility to take care of the wife. Sometimes he is required to give her money, if they had a prior agreement before they got married. And in some states there is alimony, which is an amount the man pays to the woman because maybe she never worked, or for other reasons.” She paused, shrugging. “But most of the time, no spousal support.”
Abdul narrowed his eyebrows as he put the cookie back on the plate. “How will wife who is no more eat? What would she do?”
Mallory gave another slight shrug. “In most cases, the ex-wife would work. Some don’t, if they have a lot of money.”
Abdul shook his head. “There is no honor in that. Women are treasure, even if not good marriage. It is man’s job to provide and care for her. Forever.”
“Really?” Mallory had read enough to know that women didn’t have a lot of rights there, and she didn’t think they were treated very well either. She decided to test her new friend. “What if your wife—or ex-wife—wanted to work, would she be allowed to?”
Abdul smiled as he leaned back in his chair. “Why would she want work when I will give care to her?”
Mallory knew she would work, even if her husband was a millionaire. She thought about Tate. Chances were he’d never have a ton of money, and Mallory couldn’t care less. “Even . . .” She grinned. “Even if my husband wanted to take care of me, I would still want to work, to keep my mind sharp, to learn new things, and . . . so I didn’t get bored.”
Abdul nodded. “There are some ladies whose thoughts are like yours. And it is accepted.”
Her new friend seemed willing to talk about anything, so she took a step further out of the box. “What do most people in your country think of Americans?”
Abdul’s face went solemn. “Much like you think of people in my country. You know not who to trust. Many terrorists in Northwest Territory. Home to the former Bin Laden. I think you mostly think we are all terrorists.” He paused. “But we are as afraid of Americans as you are of us. Who to trust? Your mechanic planes with no people bomb our villages, killing children and those who have no war with you.”
“Drones.” Mallory didn’t care for the drones either. Although her father had a completely different opinion and saw the air strikes as necessary. Mallory knew it was an effort to kill the bad guys, but so many innocent lives were lost in the process.
Abdul had mentioned in an e-mail that he also had two boys.
“Tell me about your other children, your two sons.”
His face brightened. “Yes. My boys are Waleed at twelve years old. Zyiad is ten. And you’ve already heard about my beloved Majida. A beautiful girl. Like you.”
Abdul complimented so freely, and it made Mallory smile again along with him.
“Children are a gift from Allah.” Abdul’s eyes gleamed as he spoke.
Tate’s mother always said that too—that children were a gift from God.
Allah? God? Mallory wondered sometimes . . . if she’d had Jewish parents, she would have been raised in a Jewish household. If her parents were Mormon, she’d be a Mormon. In Abdul’s country, she’d be practicing Islam. How could some people believe they were the only ones going to heaven when they could have just as easily had different beliefs if they had been born somewhere else? Was this part of God’s plan? To have some people just be born into a family, doomed to burn in hell because they were taught to believe a certain way? And which group was correct? Or were they all wrong?
“Do you believe that Christians will go to heaven?” Mallory held her breath. It was a random question, but before her friendship with this man grew, it was something she wanted to know.
His dark eyes were hooded like a hawk’s, and for a moment he studied her intently. “I believe good Christians will go to paradise.” His eyebrows narrowed. “Why do you ask?”
She could feel her face turning red. “I don’t know. I guess I just wondered.”
“Not all my people believe that those not Islam will go to paradise. Some believe that if not Islam, you will forever be in hell.” He paused. “Me . . . I believe that those of the Book will share time in paradise.”
“Those of the book?”
He nodded. “Muslims, Christians, Jews . . . yes.” Frowning, he shook his head. “Hindu, Buddhist, or nonbelievers . . . no. They will go to hell.”
Mallory swallowed hard, thinking that was rather harsh, but she wasn’t enough of a theologian to argue. “Most Christians believe that you have to accept Jesus as your Lord and Savior to get to heaven, and that anyone who doesn’t will burn in hell.”
He studied her face from the other side of the world, yet only a couple of feet from her. “And what do you believe, my dear Mallory?”
Mallory was wondering if she should have started this conversation. What little she knew about Islam didn’t really qualify her to get into a theological discussion with a man she didn’t know. “Well . . .” She paused and took a deep breath. “My boyfriend is Catholic, and he would disagree with what I’m about to say, but I believe that Jesus died on the cross for us, making a place for us in heaven. But—unlike my boyfriend, Tate—I also think that God will take a good hard look at the lives we’ve lived here on earth. To some extent, I believe that we are responsible for the choices we make. But, like I said, a lot of Christians don’t feel this way.”
Abdul ran a finger back and forth across the short, dark stubble on his chin, and for a long while he just stared at her as if he were assessing her comments.
Then the screen went blank, and he was gone. Mallory wasn’t sure if she’d crossed a line with her questions or if the power had gone off, which he had warned her happened a lot. It took about fifteen minutes before he called back, citing a power outage. But their conversation veered away from religion, and Mallory figured that was probably good.
Her eyes were heavy, but she wasn’t ready to stop talking to him. His passion for life, love for his family, and incredible faith made him even more attractive than his physical beauty. She asked him how long he had been married to his wife, and he freely shared about his marriage of eighteen years and subsequent divorce.
“So, I marry her with hope to love her.” Abdul smiled after telling Mallory about his arranged marriage to Fozia. “And I did fall happily in love with her. But we be not souls united by Allah. Did not feel perfect from beginning. Now, better we stay apart.” He paused, smiling. “You, my dear Mallory, are most beautiful woman. Your heart pulls to my heart. Your soul touches mine.”
She was so angry with Tate that it was easy to fall under Abdul’s spell. Even with all of the man’s troubles and worries about Majida, he was reaching out to her in a way that she needed right now. They had shared a lot with each other in a short time, and in some ways it seemed so incredibly safe. But on a totally different level, there was an air of mystery about Abdul, an edginess that made him interesting, exciting.
“I’m enjoying getting to know you too, Abdul. I’ve really enjoyed talking this evening.” She glanced at the clock on her laptop and stifled a yawn.
He kept his eyes on hers as he rubbed his chin, stubble about the length of Tate’s. “You must sleep.” He paused, a solemn expression returning. “One wish I might make is to touch upon you.”
Mallory blinked a few times, unsure what he was saying, but instead of feeling uncomfortable, she felt . . . something else. “Do you mean . . .” She could feel herself blushing.
He smiled. “I say wrong.” Then he chuckled, which caused Mallory to smile. “Hold.” He wrapped his arms around himself.
“Hug. You mean hug.” She wrapped her arms around herself. “I’m sending you a hug.”
“I send you blessings, my dear Mallory.” Then he kissed the tips of his fingers and pressed them against the computer screen.
Mallory did the same. She watched his face fade from the screen. But she knew that she would be “seeing” Abdul again.