about it while we waited in the checkout line. We had to be extremely careful with money back then, because we had just started our business. We worked hard in those early years, we worked very hard, and maybe we should have worked on our marriage, too, like Claudia Corbett said. Listening to her that night in the car, I was thinking that we should try again, stop arguing about everything, learn to forgive ourselves, and especially each other, for our mistakes, but when I walked in, Driss wasn’t home. Usually, he was in his lounge chair doing his crossword puzzles, that was how he improved his English, he was obsessed with finding all the answers, and hardly ever looked up when I walked past him on my way to the kitchen. But as I said, that night the chair was empty, and he didn’t pick up the phone when I called him, so I called Salma instead. It was nine forty. I remember the time because I was looking at the clock on the microwave while I talked to her, and she told me not to worry, maybe he was having car trouble or his cell phone was turned off. An hour later, the police came.
Nora
In sleep, I was lost to a world my father still inhabited. We were together in a bright room and the air smelled of the sprig of wormwood with which he flavored his mint tea. He was doing his crosswords, chewing on his pen cap as he considered each clue. Three letters, Nora. The father of all things, the king of all things. Any ideas? War, I said without looking up from my piano. Aha! Thank you, Nor-eini. Then I opened my eyes, and the walls of my bedroom closed in on me, their bright white an assault on my senses. A weight settled on my shoulders like an unwelcome coat. Waking up was the hardest time of the day now, when I remembered he was gone.
I turned to my side, curled myself up into a ball. Staring from above the dresser was a younger version of me, in a picture of the jazz band taken just before the junior-year recital. Black dress, hair in a severe bun, lips in an impatient pout. How eager I had been to leave home! And yet what wouldn’t I give now for another day here with him. I closed my eyes again, hoping to reenter the dream, but it was useless, I was wide awake. After getting dressed, I put some Coltrane on the stereo, and sat on my bed to send an email to the headmaster at Bay Prep. At the time, I was substituting for an English teacher who was on maternity leave, but I’d left Oakland immediately after hearing about the accident, so I composed a note to the headmaster, explaining what had happened and saying I hoped I would work for him again soon. He would replace me, I knew, and it would be tough to find stable work like that. Then I heard voices down the hallway.
When I walked into the living room later, I found Detective Coleman sitting on the leather sofa, her legs crossed at the ankles, a file folder on her lap. She had dark eyes and long lashes that jutted out like pine needles. A small scar cut across her right eyebrow. My mother had a framed photo in her hand, which she was showing to the detective. “This was in 1980, before we moved to California.”
“Hello,” I said, and the detective stood up to shake my hand.
But the moment Coleman sat down again, my mother continued, “This is my husband, Driss, and this is me. That’s our daughter Salma between us. She was two. And this—Nora, how do you say, the tower that warns the ships?”
“Lighthouse.”
“Right. That’s the lighthouse of Casablanca behind us.”
“You moved here from Morocco, Mrs. Guerraoui?” Coleman asked.
“Yes, in 1981. It’s a long story.”
“Would you like something to drink, Detective?” I asked.
“Coffee, if you have any. But please don’t make it on my behalf.”
I went into the kitchen, tossed out the coffee, and started a fresh pot. Over the years, I had heard the story of the old country many times from my father; I couldn’t bear