Page 112 of Kiss Her Goodbye

The one thing I’ve never been able to do, no matter how hard I’ve tried.

Genni pulls over at the edge of the main parking lot.Zahra gives us all a questioning look.Roberta and I paste on our brightest smiles.

All good.Nothing to see here.

We slide out.They continue on.

And the show begins.

ROBERTA IS PARTICULARLYexcellent as a nervous nelly.She cowers beside me, tucking beneath my left arm as if there’s no way she could continue without my steadfast strength.I pull myself taller, champion of the downtrodden, as I scan the horizon and scowl fiercely at anyone who dares draw too close.

We traverse the entire length of the massive grocery.Pass a nutrition center, Mexican restaurant, mattress center, nail salon.

Turn the corner.

The storefronts are smaller here, the parking spaces less illuminated.

I can just make out Aliah’s silver compact, parked where she left it two days ago.I feel a pang, fight it.

We’re going to make this plan work.We’re going to save Aliah.We’re going to locate Sabera.

Failure is not an option.

Which bolsters my spirit right until the moment we slide into the front of Aliah’s car.I start the engine and the point of a blade digs into the back of my neck.

Followed by a low, fierce voice growling from behind me: “What have you done with my daughter!”

Sabera Ahmadi materializes in the back seat.She definitely appears worse for the wear.

And based on expression alone, not that terribly sane.

CHAPTER 41

WHEN WE FIRST LAND INthis city called Tucson, Isaad and I are struck by the towering mountains ringing the horizon.For one moment, it almost looks like home.

Then, we disembark into a furnace blast of heat, unlike anything we’ve known.We stagger, take a second step, stagger again.

Your arms, Zahra, are wrapped tight around my neck.I use your weight to center me, focus my footsteps, which are shaky and uncertain.I don’t want to be here.I don’t know why, but ever since the caseworker showed up yesterday with our relocation instructions…

My skin feels too tight, my limbs twitchy, my mind agitated.I feel like there’s something extremely important looming just beyond my grasp.I should know… What should I know?

Isaad, on the other hand, is in full swagger.He practically explodes out of the plane’s hatch and vaults down the stairs.He’s spent the entire night Googling everything there is to know about Tucson.Job opportunities, best neighborhoods for schools, the existing Afghan community.He’s already decided we will do this, and go there, and try that.

The faint echo of musical chords chiming in my ears.A song I might have heard once, but it’s been a long time now.

An older woman appears before us.A fellow Afghan, impeccably groomed with her stylishly short black hair, dark eyes, and beckoning smile.

“Manda Nabashin, Bakhair Amadin,” she welcomes us.She introduces herself as Aliah.She’s a volunteer, works with resettling families, has so many recommendations for us.Next to her stands a pretty blonde, America personified, with her freckled face and earnest gaze.She has secured an apartment for us, will take us to our new home.

Isaad immediately bombards her with questions about the school district and professional opportunities.

Aliah continues to stare at me and you, Zahra, with such quiet intensity, I wonder who she’s lost.

A fresh prickle across my scalp.A shiver running up my spine.

The musical chords sounding louder.Beckoning.Come play with us, they whisper in my ear.

It comes to me.Patterns.The warp and weave of the world.A whirlwind of numbers, a cacophony of words.The shimmer of chaos right before I pluck apart the tumbling bits and string them together in an order of my own making.