laugh, then laughed with her, his own questions still rattling around in his mind. Could he do it? Was it the right thing, after all? Sitting across from her at dinner, it seemed like the answer might be yes.
That night Nadim dreamed about a river of mud.
It had exploded over its banks and seeped through the whole small town, which he didn’t recognize. One wrong step and he lost his footing. There was mud up to his waist, then up to his chest. Nadim swam for his life. Where was the palace? The hulking building far in the distance wasn’t the right palace. Where were Aisha and the baby? From a great distance, he could hear Karyme crying. The mud sucked at his clothes, dragging him down. He had to get out. He had to get out.
He woke up slowly, struggling to free himself from the clutches of the dream. Finally he was able to sit up and rub a hand over his eyes. What about Karyme, though? Had she actually been crying? He listened but heard nothing. He swung his legs out of bed and grabbed his robe, heart still pounding from the adrenaline of the dream. It couldn’t hurt to check on her anyway.
In the nursery, he found Aisha in the corner, face warm in the glow of the small nightlight that sat on the baby’s dresser. She had tied her thick locks back, but a few pieces escaped here and there. They framed her big dark eyes and her face.
“Shh.” Aisha kept rocking, Karyme cradled gently in her arms. “She’s almost back to sleep.”
He heard an odd note in her voice but couldn’t place it. Instead, he pulled up another chair next to her rocker, sat down, and started to sing.
Nadim had meant to sing something else—a silly song, or even a recent pop song turned into a lullaby—but what came out instead was that same love song from the plane. Contentedness shot through with a strange sorrow overwhelmed him, along with a piercing knowledge. He closed his eyes.
He loved her.
He loved them both—Aisha and baby Karyme. They were the two most important women in his life. That knowing jostled all the other factors in his mind into a new arrangement, like puzzle pieces that he knew could fit together, if only he could figure out how. Aisha. Accomplishment. His life plan. Love. He kept singing. Did she still want a loveless marriage, or would she accept something more? What, in the end, was the real accomplishment of life—an achievement to hang around his neck or the triumph of loving a person to the best of his abilities? Could he commit without really knowing his purpose in life, or was that commitment itself his calling?
Aisha’s breathing hitched. He wished he knew what she was thinking. Was it the same feeling that caught her voice earlier, or a response to his song?’
He finished the final few lines. Nadim opened his eyes. Aisha gazed down at Karyme. The baby slept soundly in her arms. He jumped up from his chair and helped Aisha stand, and she put Karyme carefully back into her crib.
They crept out into the hallway together, leaving the door open a crack in case she cried out again. Aisha turned to face him. Even in the low light, he could see that she had been crying.
Shock rang in him like a bell. He hadn’t pictured Aisha as the kind of woman who would cry over anything, and for the last few days she had been the most steadfast and stoic leader he could imagine—never slowing down, never breaking down.
“Aisha.” He couldn’t help himself—he put a hand to her cheek and wiped away her tears, his own heart feeling heavy and light at the same time. “What is it?”
She bit her lip but didn’t turn her face away. She only took a few deep, steadying breaths, almost as if she might shed a fresh round of tears.
“You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to. But I’m here. There’s no rush. I’m not going anywhere.”
Aisha’s eyes flicked up to his, and she took one more long breath. “I’ve just had some news.” She gave a low, rueful laugh, brimming with pain and embarrassment. “Sanaa came to tell me that the park in Liddah is a complete loss.”
Memories rampaged through his head, playing one after the other. Aisha’s face, shining with pride in the sun. The intense draw of her on the bench next to him.