After dinner Abdul asked Mallory to join him on the couch. She offered to help Fozia and Majida with the cleanup, but Abdul said there was no need. To her further discomfort, he asked Fozia to bring a tray of tea and biscuits for him and Mallory.
“I can go get the tea.” Mallory moved to the edge of the couch, but Abdul put a hand on her knee.
“It is fine. Fozia will serve.” Earlier in the evening he had gotten very upset with Fozia because he couldn’t find the newspaper he’d been reading earlier. They’d spoken to each other in Pashto or Urdu, but Mallory had gotten the gist of the conversation. Now she sat quietly and let him enjoy it, knowing he was probably tired from work.
A few minutes later Fozia returned with a silver tray holding a small green pitcher, two white cups, and a plate of biscuits. That’s what they all called them, but to Mallory they looked like Danish cookies. Fozia put the tray on the small coffee table in front of the couch.
“Thank you, Fozia.” Mallory looked up at her and smiled, but as usual received a brief nod in return. She’d tried to talk to her when Fozia returned from the market, before the children got back from school, but Abdul’s ex-wife seemed to have made it her mission to avoid Mallory. And as soon as the children appeared, she sent all three to the basement to study.
“This is kawa,” Abdul said as he poured from the pitcher into both cups.
She took a sip. “It tastes a little like what we call green tea back home, but it’s sweeter. It’s good.” She reached for a biscuit and held it for a moment, again recalling Ismail’s advice. But she took a small bite. “These are good too.”
Abdul folded up the newspaper and put it beside him. He crossed one leg over the other and twisted slightly to face her. “Did you find rest today?”
“I took a nap. It still feels like morning to me right now.” She took another bite of the biscuit. “Oh. Before I forget again, I need the password to get on the Internet. I have e-mails from Soraya, my parents, and my sister.”
Abdul smiled. “And your Tate?”
Mallory could feel herself blushing. “Yes, from Tate also.”
“He is missing his Mallory?” He paused, set his cup on the tray, then stroked his chin. “What does he think of our marriage of next week?”
Mallory put her cup on the tray also, and she took a deep breath. “I—I’m not sure. I mean, I haven’t told him yet.” She paused. “Don’t you think that we should go to talk to someone at the embassy or consulate or whatever, someone who can tell us if our getting married will ensure a trip to the United States for Majida? I tried from home, but I couldn’t find out for sure. If we go there we can get more information.”
Abdul’s expression turned solemn. “To tell those of authority that we do this only for Majida is crime in eyes of them. No trip at all, maybe. Must do marriage, then go to people in charge.”
Mallory nodded. He was probably right. And if they got married and Abdul and Majida were denied access into the United States, at least they tried, and they would get divorced.
“We told Majida of our marriage to be, and she says you are person to save her life.”
“I thought you hadn’t even told Majida about the cancer.”
“Fozia and me gave her word of it last night. But best to not have talks about it.”
“You know, Abdul . . . if this doesn’t work out, maybe I can help Majida in another way.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“Maybe we could see about medical care here. I mean, I know it’s expensive and you don’t have insurance, but maybe I could help with that.” Mallory had a decent savings, but by Peshawar standards she was wealthy. Ten thousand dollars equaled a million rupees. “We could at least check out some facilities here.”
He scowled. “I will not receive your American dollars. There is no honor in that. Marriage will get Majida to your America.” He clapped his hands together. “Now we must rest. Talk more tomorrow.”
Mallory stood up when he did and followed him up the stairs. At the landing, he leaned over to kiss her, but she gave him her cheek. “All will be well, my dear Mallory.” He turned to go to his room.
“Abdul . . .”
He looked over his shoulder.
“Can I have the password for the Internet?”
“Of course. It is ‘peace be upon him.’ ” He smiled.
“Are there spaces in between?”
Abdul shook his head. “Good night, my dear Mallory.”
After she told him good night, she went to her bedroom, took a cold shower, and fell into bed with her laptop. She was surprised that Abdul had been so defiant about taking her money. Her father thought that anyone of Middle Eastern descent was greedy and poor. Or a jihadist. They all fell into one of those categories. He would have blown a gasket if he’d known what Mallory offered, but Abdul had certainly proven Dad’s theory to be incorrect.
No matter how many times she tried, she could not get the Internet to come up. Incorrect password. And there was no sign of the other Internet connection she’d used briefly before.
ISMAIL FOLLOWED SORAYA AROUND LIKE A PUPPY AS she picked out items for their wedding registry. But if Soraya was happy, he would try to be happy.
“Is this the last thing to pick out in the dishes department?” he asked, overexaggerating a smile so he wouldn’t appear as bored as he was.
“The dishes department?” Soraya shook her head. “I know you are bored. Two more things to choose, then we are done here.” She grinned. “Then we will be moving to the bathroom department.”
“I look forward to it.” He flashed her an even broader smile.
“You know . . .” She put down the vase she was holding. “Mallory has not returned my e-mail, and I’m a bit worried.”
“I told you that I talked with Abdul, and all is well.”
Soraya frowned and pulled her purse strap up on her shoulder. “Yes, I know. But I haven’t heard from her.”
“You know how the electricity is there. It goes off all the time. And the Internet is just as bad, so she wouldn’t even be able to use Wi-Fi on her phone.”
Soraya huffed. “Tonight we will call Abdul and you tell him to put Mallory on the phone. I want to hear her voice.”
Abdul was the last person on earth Ismail wanted to talk to, but he just shrugged and said, “Yes, dear.” Although it would give him peace of mind, as well, to hear Mallory’s voice.
TATE TOOK THE PIZZA OUT OF THE OVEN WHILE Verdell sat patiently at the kitchen table.
“We don’t eat healthy at all,” Verdell observed.
From his tone of voice, a person would have thought Tate was feeding the kid ET’s food for every meal. Then Tate stopped to think how many times they had gotten burgers in the last week. Three.
“Yeah, I know. I never realized how often Mallory used to cook for me. I think I kind of took her for granted.”
He wondered if she was cooking for Abdul and his family. Even though she hadn’t come out and said it, Tate was pretty sure she would end up marrying Abdul in order to get him into the United States with his daughter. If that happened, they’d just have to deal with it. Mallory would get a divorce, and the two of them could get on with their lives. He glanced at Verdell. Because Mallory wasn’t the only one who was complicating their future. He wasn’t ready to ship off Verdell. He was getting attached to the kid.
Tate cut the pizza into eighths and put it on the table and handed Verdell a paper plate. Then he sat down and bowed his head to pray, and Verdell did too.
“I don’t understand why we thank God for the food.” Verdell nodded toward the empty pizza box on the counter. “Red Baron made it.”
Tate finished chewing, then dabbed at his mouth with a paper towel. “Ultimately, God made everything.”
“That’s not true.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because . . .” Verdell started to talk through his pizza. “There are seven billion people in the world, and—”
“Verdell. Swallow your food, then talk.” Tate heard the words come out of his mouth. He sounded like his mother. How weird was that?
Verdell chewed for what seemed like forever, then swallowed. “There are all these people in the world, and lots of them were born at the same second on the same day in the same year. How could God make all those people at the very same time?”
“Because He’s God, and He can.”
Well, that didn’t sound very parental. Tate smiled to himself. He recalled Verdell telling him months before that he would make a good father, which even at the time had seemed to him a strange thing for a ten-year-old to say.
“I don’t believe in God.”
Tate’s hand halted on the way to his mouth as he watched Verdell stuff the last of his crust in his mouth, eyeing Tate, challenging him for an answer. Tate had no idea how to handle this, but one thing was for sure . . . he now knew why this ten-year-old kid was in his life.
MALLORY HELPED FOZIA CLEAN UP THE BREAKFAST area and dishes as she’d done the day before. She didn’t really want to talk to Fozia, since the woman didn’t seem open to any real conversation, but Fozia was her only way out of the house.
“What do you have planned today?” Mallory dried a clean dish and noticed that Fozia didn’t have her head covering on.
“Cleaning.” She didn’t look up from the soapy dishwater as she handed Mallory a plate.
“Good. I’ll help you.”
Fozia looked up at her finally. “I don’t need your help.”
“It’s a big house. We could do it twice as fast together. Then maybe go somewhere. There’s bound to be somewhere around here that is safe for me to visit. I looked on the Internet, and there are several—”
“I cannot.” She pulled the drain from the sink, then walked to the living room where the plastic was still on the floor. “My brother is coming for a visit today.”
“Oh.” Mallory wondered if Fozia’s brother would be as warm and friendly as she was. “Okay.” She picked up one end of the plastic and folded it toward the other end that Fozia was holding. “Abdul gave me the password for the Internet. He said it was ‘peace be upon him.’ But I tried and tried, and I can’t get it to connect. Do you know if maybe he left out part of the password or something?”
Fozia folded the plastic up, sighing. “I’m sure I don’t know.”
“You don’t use the Internet?”
“No.”
Fozia headed toward the stairs, and Mallory knew she was wasting her time trying to communicate. The woman clearly hated her being here, no matter the reason. But Fozia was only halfway up the stairs when she stopped and turned around.
“Tomorrow I will be going to the village to visit my aunt and uncle. You can come along if you’d like.”
“I’d love to. Thank you, Fozia. And my offer still stands to help you clean.”
Fozia sighed and shook her head as though Mallory had asked for the moon. “The second-story terrace hasn’t been washed down since the last sandstorm. It was swept but not washed. You’ll find the supplies on the terrace.”
“Great.” She gave a little wave and smiled, but Fozia just shook her head again. Mallory had noticed that Fozia was a little more cordial when Abdul was near, but when it was just the two of them, the woman didn’t seem to care what Mallory thought about her. Mallory didn’t really blame her. What woman would want to serve the potential new wife?
She started up the stairs to the second story to clean the terrace. It was something to do, and she’d have tomorrow to look forward to. And maybe she would meet Fozia’s brother today.
After she swept the terrace, she filled up a bucket near the faucet and began sloshing water over the area. From the second story she could see over the sixteen-foot wall that surrounded the house, but there wasn’t much to look at. Barren, dry, and dirty. And chilly. She wondered what the weather was like at home.
When she heard two loud pops, at first her mind couldn’t register what it was. But a series of at least ten more sent her to her knees, covering her head. She could hear the bullets whizzing by, and it seemed to go on forever. Unable to move and shaking uncontrollably, she actually screamed when someone grabbed her arm.
“Come, come, come!” Fozia had a tight grip on Mallory’s arm as they both stayed bent at the waist and ran into the house.
Mallory started to cry. “It was like a gunfight! I could hear the bullets going by. Did you hear it?” She brushed away a tear, her lip trembling.
“Yes, I know.” Fozia motioned for Mallory to follow her downstairs. “I will make you some tea.”
Tea seemed to be the cure-all for everything, but Mallory was sure the sweet beverage wasn’t going to make her feel any better. I just want to go home.
“Who was shooting?” she finally asked as Fozia put a pot of water on the stovetop.
“I don’t know. Militants. Radicals.” She turned to Mallory and shrugged. “Maybe your people.”
“My people? Like the military? I doubt that. People were just shooting in the streets.” She brought a hand to her chest, hoping to calm her racing heart. “What time is it? When are the children due home? Do you have to call the school? Will they be on lockdown?”
Fozia gave her a blank stare. “This is our life. We hear and see this all the time.” She frowned. “You shouldn’t have come here.”
“I agree! That is not a common thing to have happen where I come from. I mean, it happens. But most people would be freaked out if they saw it.” She covered her ears when she heard more gunshots.
Fozia leaned against the counter and folded her arms across her chest. “When a bomb goes off or there is an explosion, it rattles our windows, even when it is many miles away.” She pointed a finger at Mallory. “And that . . . is often your people.”
“I know you’re talking about the drones. Abdul and I discussed this. I don’t like them either, but they have killed a lot of the bad guys.” Mallory held up both palms. “I know. I know that lots of innocent people have died also. It’s awful.”
“One of your drones killed my four-year-old niece last year.”
Mallory took a deep breath, still trembling. “Fozia, I’m so sorry. But they are not my drones. Everyone got scared when the planes crashed into the Twin Towers in New York City and the Pentagon. Since then I’ve just been praying for peace . . . for everyone.”
Fozia handed Mallory a cup of tea, then poured one for herself. “If a plane had crashed into a building here and killed thousands of people, it would have made the news worldwide—but there would never have been such focus as there was when it happened in your homeland. Welcome to our world, Mallory. Gunshots, bombings, drones . . . we live with it daily.”
“I know.”
“You don’t know anything.”
Fozia’s eyebrows narrowed, and her expression reminded Mallory of a schoolchild challenging another student to a playground fight. Despite the subject matter and Fozia’s rage, Mallory found herself wanting to say, Are you going to pull my hair now?
“You live in a world with golden streets, a place where your government takes care of everyone, with a safety net around your little piece of the earth. We should all be you.”
Mallory lost her brief moment of giddiness and put her cup on the counter. Her blood started to boil. “Streets of gold? Really? That is not how it is. We have plenty of poor people where I come from, sick people, people in crisis. And I’m no politician, but our government is as messed up as some of the others in the world.”
There was a knock at the door. Fozia mumbled something as she swept past Mallory, but it was in Pashto or Urdu. She hung back as Fozia opened the door to a man and welcomed him inside.
“This is my brother, Yunus Badr.” Fozia glanced at Mallory, then shook her head as she eyed her blue jeans. “This is Abdul’s friend, Mallory.”
Mallory extended her hand. “Nice to meet you.”
“And you.” He shook her hand as he gave a quick nod, then turned to Fozia. “Four are in the hospital. No one we know this time.”
Fozia let out the breath she was holding. “Alhamdulillah.”
Mallory knew that phrase: All praises are due to God.
Fozia cleared her throat. “Mallory, I must talk with my brother. We will be in the basement. If it pleases you, help yourself to whatever you would like in the kitchen for lunch.”
“Okay. Thank you.” Any appetite she’d had before the shooting was gone. And there was no way she was going back out on the terrace to finish pouring water over it. “Fozia, I really need to make a phone call. I’ll pay you whatever it costs, but can I borrow your cell phone?”
“I—I don’t have one.”
Mallory glared at her. She knew that was a lie. She’d heard Fozia on the phone before, even though she’d never seen her. Mallory wondered if Abdul knew his ex-wife even had a phone. Surely he did, since he would be the one to pay for it.
Fozia raised her chin, and she and her brother went down the basement stairs. Mallory sat down on the couch and leaned her head back. As she waited for her pulse to return to normal, she decided to go try the Internet. Again. Maybe the neighbors would be online, although she only seemed to be able to hold that connection for a few minutes at the most.
She moved toward the stairs but stopped when she realized that she could hear Fozia and her brother talking. In English. Tiptoeing closer to the basement stairs, she stood quietly. At first she couldn’t make out what they were saying, but then Yunus raised his voice.
“You cannot keep this secret much longer, sister,” he said. “Abdul is going to find out. There is no hiding it forever.”