Margaret’s thoughts jumped to worries. With mounting impatience, she stood up and began to pace. The bag holding the plate, loosely wrapped in newspaper, slipped from her fingers, fell to the steps. The plate shattered.
She had held herself together so far, but now her eyes smarted with tears. What if a soldier had asked to see Ahmed’s identification? An ache spread through her body. The sky darkened, and she told herself to breathe.
What if? her mind kept asking. Her thoughts ran ahead, jumping from one fear to the next, finally landing on Ahmed and the children being detained by Israeli soldiers.
Her worries expanded into a physical pain in her heart. Margaret knew that in the past several years, she had not appreciated Ahmed. She had lost sight of his fundamental goodness and had spent too much time imagining a life without him. Now Margaret was sure of one thing: she wanted to be with Ahmed for another twenty years. Another forty, God willing.
The maghrib call to prayer sounded, and Margaret found herself trembling. There on the steps she prayed. Bring Ahmed and the children back safely. She didn’t make her usual weary promises to be a better wife or mother but simply prayed for their return. She continued to wait until the sky was completely dark.
Then Ahmed and the children appeared.
She stood, and he walked toward her, their three exhausted children dragging behind. He raised his handsome eyes and fixed them on her. She felt so much love for him that her eyes filled. At first, there were no words. They just looked at each other. She was struck by his familiar face, the face she had seen every day for twenty-one years.
“I was so worried about you!”
Ahmed explained, “Sorry. I ran into an old friend in the pastry shop. We chatted awhile. Then I took a wrong turn. I don’t believe it—I can’t find my way around the Old City anymore.”
“Let’s sit and catch our breath,” Margaret said. They all sat and stared at the gate, now flooded with lights. Leena snuggled against her while Jenin and Tariq talked over each other, explaining to Margaret what they had seen. She decided it was time. Ahmed had taken a leap by making his life in a foreign country. Now she would do the same.
When everyone quieted, she put her hand on his. For a moment, her mouth was dry, and her thoughts were blocked. At last, she said, “I’ve decided something.” She searched his face for some reaction. “Okay, I’ll move.” When he didn’t answer, she added, “I’ll move to the Middle East. To the Gulf—wherever you want—well, almost.” The words hadn’t been so difficult after all, even though it had taken her a year to say them.
Ahmed inhaled, visibly bracing himself. He waited for what seemed like a long time, then shook his head. “Now you decide this?”
“Honey, I’ve been thinking about it for months—”
“That job?” He stared at her. “Someone took that job last year.”
“Maybe there’s another job.” Unplanned words tumbled out of her mouth. “It wasn’t the right time last year. Your mother had just moved in.” Margaret stopped. She hadn’t planned to mention the mother. The children, who had been listening, began to speak.
Tariq asked, “What are you talking about?”
“Are we moving?” Jenin asked.
Ahmed and Margaret looked at each other, waiting for the other to answer. Finally, he turned to the children. “We’re just talking. Nothing more.”
“There must be other jobs,” Margaret said.
“You think it’s easy to get a job there?”
She shrugged. “I have no idea.”
“Well, it’s not. I had my chance, and it’s gone,” Ahmed sounded far away. Then a silence fell between them, and Margaret felt like she had stepped into the wrong conversation.
“I’m sure there are other opportunities, other restaurants.”
“It’s about contacts,” he said and then finally: “We’re all tired. Let’s go find the bus.”
On the ride home, they were all quiet. Ahmed held his mouth in a tight line. Not another word came from him toward Margaret, who looked out the window without seeing anything.
That evening at Huda’s house, Margaret played the part of the cheerful visitor, while Ahmed coolly ignored her, not mentioning their earlier conversation. The family asked about every detail of Jerusalem and insisted on pouring over their purchases.
At last, they returned to the hotel. In their adjoined room, Ahmed collapsed onto the bed. “Good night,” he said and flicked off the light.
The next morning, she awoke to find Ahmed awake next to her. The room was still dim, but light entered through a gap in the curtains, illuminating their faces.
He turned toward her. “Sabah al-khair,” he said. Morning of goodness.
“Sabah al-noor,” she replied. Morning of light. “Why won’t you speak to me?”
“I’m speaking to you now.”
“What do you think about what I said?” she asked.
He rolled over and stared at the ceiling. “I shoved that dream away for so long—just like you asked me. It’s hard to know what to think.” He shook his head. “I’m not even sure where to look for a job now.”
“Do you still want to live over there?” she asked.
“I do.”
“Well, the timing is better now,” she said. “A year ago your father had died, your mother was in mourning. Nadia was staying with us.”
“I know, I know.” He twisted his mouth in thought, and she kissed him on his forehead and looked at him. The sight of his face in that moment, mulling things over, filled her with certainty. “I’m sure you’ll find a way.”
“We’ll see.” Ahmed threw an arm around her and pulled Margaret close.
She added, “A move like this has to be good for everyone. Even your mother.”
At this, he laughed and his face relaxed. “Yes, even my mother.”
Chapter 33
ONE YEAR LATER
The container was larger than Margaret had expected. It filled the driveway, stretched into the cul-de-sac, and caused a stir among the neighbors. Each of the three J’s came to witness its loading and say farewell. They stood at the end of the driveway, one by one, on that cloudless summer day, asking questions about the move.
Liz dropped by, too, to collect the cat and say good-bye. She opened her arms and hugged Margaret hard. “Don’t go,” she said.
Ahmed’s new employer had sent movers to disassemble their furniture and pack their belongings. As they finished up the last items in the living room, Ahmed asked about the shipping route to the Arabian Gulf. Jenin, her hands on her hips, surveyed the empty space. Margaret recognized the look in her daughter’s eyes—a reflection on her life spent there. Margaret had made her own such peace; now her thoughts skipped ahead to the destination.
She walked down the hallway. The house, bare and exposed, already felt like it belonged to someone else. Tariq and Leena were temporarily staying with Margaret’s parents, and now the rooms filled with unfamiliar echoes. In her bedroom, Margaret paused in the spot where her armchair had stood. She thought of the hours she had spent withdrawn in that corner. She returned to Ahmed and told him, “I better go now.”
“Go,” he said. “I’ll finish here.” He kissed her on the cheek.
Margaret kissed him back. “Salaam.”
She got into their rental car—her minivan had already been sold. As the house slipped away behind her, her eyes skimmed the cul-de-sac. She drove slowly toward the city, the sky an incredible blue and the trees a rich green. Margaret marveled at the colors, trying to fix them in her mind. At the exit, she pulled out the directions emailed from Alison, who had insisted they meet at a particular café in the U district.
Alison’s directions were precise, and Margaret arrived quickly. She parked and sat in her car, stalling. But why? Perhaps because the two of them hadn’t spoken for so long. Although she saw Eman frequently, Margaret had lost contact with Alison when she gave up the Pine View apartment and found her own place on campus. Intending to stay in touch
, Margaret had gotten swept up with planning a new life and dismantling an old one.
From the outside, the café looked plain and uninviting. Margaret entered and glanced around the space: brick walls, colorful art posters, and a barista—tattooed and pierced.
At first, Margaret didn’t recognize Alison seated in the last booth. A year had passed. Alison’s face had rounded, and her trendy haircut had grown out. She waved, and there was a moment when Margaret didn’t know whether to hug or shake hands.
Alison stood. Gone were the fitted clothes. She wore loose jeans, flat sandals, and a T-shirt. She hugged Margaret tightly. “I’m so glad you came.”
“Me, too.” Then Margaret noticed Eman, a rosy-cheeked toddler, clinging to her mother’s leg. Margaret gave her a little wave. “Hi Eman.”
They sat and Margaret said, “Masha’Allah, she’s getting big. The last time Khalid brought her by—” Then she stopped. Without thinking, she added, “My God, she looks like him.” She turned to Alison. “Sorry.”
“It’s true.” Alison shrugged. “She’s a mini-Khalid.”
An awkward pause, then relief when their cappuccinos were ready.
Alison tilted her head. “I cannot believe you’re moving.”
“We fly out this weekend.”
Alison leaned forward. “I remember the advice you gave me. Never give up anything you can’t live without.”
Margaret winced. “That was terrible advice.”
“But it makes sense.”
“People change.” Margaret ran a hand through her hair. She had kept the short cut from her trip to Jordan the summer before. “Relationships evolve. We’re lucky if we just keep up.”
“Well, I obviously couldn’t keep up.” Alison leaned in. “But you sure did. I didn’t see it at first, but I do now—how you manage to make everything work.”
Margaret blinked. “So, what about you and Khalid?”
“We’re talking at least. Whenever he drops off Eman, we usually have a chat. Sometimes even about politics.”
“That’s great.”
“Our divorce is final next month.”
“I’m sorry,” Margaret said.
Alison’s eyes turned misty, and Margaret wondered if she was still in love with him. Then Alison inhaled and gathered herself. “You know, I’m back to the U.”
“I know. Graduate school. We’re all proud of you.”
They ordered sandwiches, and as they waited for the food, Margaret talked about Ahmed’s new job in the Gulf, how they had sold two of the restaurants but kept the third, and how Mona and her family would live in their house.
Alison cradled Eman, who had crawled up into her lap. “That must be hard, letting them live in your house.”
“I never liked that house. Besides, they need the space.”
Eman had fallen asleep, and Alison gently laid her on the bench next to her and turned back to Margaret. “What are you going to do over there?”
Margaret took a deep breath. “Something with my photography. Take some classes, get better, maybe start a business.”
Their food arrived, and Alison asked, “How’s Zainab?”
“She’s fine. At least the last time I saw her.”
“She’s in the West Bank, right? That’s why you’re in such a good mood?”
Margaret feigned a look of shock and explained, “Nadia’s about to have her baby.”
“Why do they have babies so soon?”
“You should talk.”
Alison laughed, and then her expression changed. “What about Cousin Belal?”
“Still in prison.”
Alison clicked her tongue and frowned.
They finished their sandwiches and ordered more coffee. For the next hour, they discussed Alison’s studies and Margaret’s move. She explained her growing excitement—similar to how she felt just before her first baby or opening the restaurant.
Alison said, “Zainab must be happy.”
“She’ll spend summers in Seattle with Khalid and Mona, a few months with her daughters in Jordan and Palestine, and the rest of the year with us.” Margaret took the last sip of coffee from her cup. “Of course, she thinks we’re moving because of her prayers.”
“You never know.”
Their plates were cleared. Alison leaned forward, looking into Margaret’s eyes. “We should stay in touch.” Then her voice turned gentler, as if she were about to confide something. “I have a question for you.”
“Just ask.”
“What do you think if … This may sound odd. What if I visited you over there? Would that be strange?”
“No, it wouldn’t be.” Margaret smiled at the thought. “I would love it, actually.” She reached out to Alison, this young woman who now somehow felt more like a friend than an ex-sister-in-law, and touched her hand.
“I want you to see our new home.” As Margaret said the words, a completely renewed idea of home sprang up in her mind, and a warmth radiated through her—a glow of anticipation so bright, the intensity of it thrilled her.
Acknowledgments
My sincere gratitude to the following:
My Dubai writers group, for their friendship, encouragement, and criticism. Special thanks to: Eileen Bucknall, Kirsten Decker, Susan Dibden, April Hardy, Linda MacConnell, Mary Olson, Tej Rae, Zvezdana Rashkovich, Sharon Shepherd, Carrie Serhan, Sue Tatrallyay, and Karen Young.
Friends and readers along the way: Rima Aburashed and Berna Ramey, for their insightful feedback. Andrea Braun Albalawi, Bharti Kirchner, Christine Mason, and the Marina Book Club of Dubai, for reading early drafts of the novel. Randa Jarrar, for her critique of the opening chapters. Karalynn Ott and Michele Whitehead, for their astute edits.
My writing instructor, Russell Rowland, for his thoughtful criticism on various drafts.
The Pacific Northwest Writers Association and The Writer magazine, for recognizing my work.
Beth Mahmoud Howell and Solimar Miller, for their friendship, laughter, and shared stories. My Tuesday Night Book Club, with whom I’ve been reading, talking, eating, and traveling for the past twelve years.
My agent Priya Doraswamy, for her unwavering confidence and perseverance. My editor Chelsey Emmelhainz, for her wise edits and passion for my book.
My husband’s family, for their hospitality, humor, and grace.
My own family: My father, for his belief in me. My mother, for passing on her profound love of books. Zayd, Leila, and Zak, for their joyful optimism.
And finally Sami, for his feedback, love, and endless support.
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