“You see.” Hannah’s father coughs. He knocks his fist against his chest as though it were the door to a place he wants to go. He sweeps his arms open. In his track suit, he is a blue silhouette against a blue sky. “Our country is not only deserts and camels and oil sheikhs and Mercedes-Benzes. We have mountains and family picnics and trees and goats.”

Two young men with the hems of their thawbs tied round their waists, revealing white cotton pants and leather sandals, saunter down the path toward them. Lamees flips her scarf back over her face and walks a few paces behind her husband.

The men stop to talk to Hannah’s father. The three kiss on the cheeks and bring their hands to their hearts.

“How does he know them?” Hannah asks Lamees.

“He talks to everyone, know them, not know them.” Lamees keeps her voice low. “Don’t talk too loud, and cover your hair.”

Hannah tightens her scarf under her sweaty chin.

“I think I’ll go sit with Mary and the kids,” she says.

Walking back, she breathes the scent of pine needles and thinks of forests and Malik.

Branching from the main trail, a little goat path leads down to a cliff that overlooks the valley. Weeds that smell like basil grow along the path. Hannah removes the abayah, folds it, and stuffs it under her armpit. She slides sideways down the incline. Rocks tinkle under her feet. On a small overhang, she lands on her knees in the dust, stands up, and brushes herself off awkwardly with the abayah. She doesn’t need it. She places it against the trunk of a tree.

Beneath her, down a steep incline, is a field of low green plants. She can’t go any farther.

She picks her way back up the rocks. When she reaches the top, she lies on her back, out of breath. A hawk flies through the cloudless sky. Malik flits through her mind. She wants to find a way to call him when they return to Jidda.

A man comes up to her talking frantically.

“English?” she says.

He keeps talking.

“My father’s over there.”

She wishes she had the abayah. Her arms are bare. After the man leaves her, she tugs off her scarf, drapes it over her shoulders and arms, and walks bareheaded to the picnic blanket, where Hatim sleeps with his head in Mary’s lap and Fouad is showing Fadi how to kick a soccer ball. Mary’s scarf is loosely draped over her hair—can she do that because she’s Christian? Foreign?