against the wall.
"I thought you were dead," Laila said.
"I know. You told me."
Laila's voice broke. She had to clear her throat, collect herself. "The man who came to
give the news, he was so earnest...I believed him, Tariq. I wish I hadn't, but I did. And then
I felt so alone and scared. Otherwise, I wouldn't have agreed to marry Rasheed. I wouldn't
have..."
"You don't have to do this," he said softly, avoiding her eyes. There was no hidden
reproach, no recrimination, in the way he had said this. No suggestion of blame.
"But I do. Because there was a bigger reason why I married him. There's something you
don't know, Tariq. Someone. I have to tell you."
"Did you sit and talk with him too?" Rasheed asked Zalmai.
Zalmai said nothing. Laila saw hesitation and uncertainty in his eyes now, as if he had just
realized that what he'd disclosed had turned out to be far bigger than he'd thought.
"I asked you a question, boy."
Zalmai swallowed. His gaze kept shifting. "I was upstairs, playing with Mariam."
"And your mother?"
Zalmai looked at Laila apologetically, on the verge of tears.
"It's all right, Zalmai," Laila said. "Tell the truth."
"She was...She was downstairs, talking to that man," he said in a thin voice hardly louder
than a whisper.
"I see," said Rasheed. "Teamwork."
As he was leaving, Tariq said, "I want to meet her. I want to see her."
"I'll arrange it," Laila said.
"Aziza. Aziza." He smiled, tasting the word. Whenever Rasheed uttered her daughter's
name, it came out sounding unwholesome to Laila, almost vulgar.
"Aziza. It's lovely."