We heard a car engine stop. Bilal and Ghassan were hurrying toward us, Bilal almost slipping on the white fire-extinguisher foam. We sprang to our feet, Jumana landing in Ghassan’s embrace and I in Bilal’s. She resumed her sobbing, muffled now against Ghassan’s chest.

“What took you so long?” I asked when I caught my breath.

“There’s a new checkpoint on Abu Hayyan Street. Two sons of bitches in uniform and a couple of boulders in the middle of the road,” he said. Both he and Ghassan were smiling, looking toward the blackened toilet and bathroom walls, all still standing, still hiding our secret.

“What’s so funny?” Jumana pushed Ghassan slightly away.

Ghassan hugged her again and apologized. “Nothing is funny. But you don’t need to worry. Your brothers and Samer are okay, and we’re all going to fix up your salon in no time. I promise.”

I gaped at Bilal, the four of us exchanging looks. What began as a small chuckle of relief swelled into laughter that brought passersby peering in.

Finally Ghassan suggested we get out of there. “Come on, let’s get something to eat. Bilal and I will seal the windows and door with some of this wood.” He pointed to planks from the blackened furniture. “We’ll fill you in on what happened when we get to the house.”

“No, tell us now,” Jumana insisted. “Where are my brothers and Samer?”

“They’re safe. They have the shipment. The truck is parked in a garage overnight. Samer had the sense to rent it for a week, and our contact in Barmal is putting them up for the night,” Bilal said. Jumana looked at Ghassan for confirmation.

“It’s true,” Ghassan said. “We’re coming early tomorrow morning to repair the outside and replace the door and windows. We’ll bring the sofa another day.”

Jumana furrowed her brow. “How are you going to replace windows before anything else? What if the whole place collapses?”

Ghassan again chuckled. “It’s not as bad as it looks. It just needs some cleaning up and a bit of carpentry. Fire doesn’t burn metal and stone, habibti.”

“I’m sure she knows that, Ghassan,” I instinctively snapped. Men have a way of speaking to women as if we’re children.

He looked at Bilal, as though restraining himself on account of their friendship. But I continued, “Just like she knows, as I’m sure you do, that fire can weaken the mortar and make the metal frame shift or even collapse, if it’s not repaired.” I made that up, but it sounded logical, and I figured Ghassan probably didn’t know either. I liked Ghassan, but he had a machismo that provoked me to sarcasm, which provoked him in turn.

“You’re both right,” Bilal and Jumana chorused to ease the tension. But Ghassan would have the last word.