“He walks off a lot,” she says to the closed door of the shop, trying to calm herself down. The door is pasted with ads for ice cream, candy, phone cards. To the empty street, she shouts: “Fadi! Come here! I’m not here to have my father kill me for losing you.”

She walks around the block five times, sticking her head into the corner store as she passes. “Yes, Miss?” the men say. Two more and she gives up. Her father is going to crucify her.

But in the apartment, everyone is asleep, except Mary and Fadi, who watch cartoons. Hannah finds herself silently repeating thankgodthankgodthankgod, though she’s not religious.

Her voice comes back. “Fadi, why’d you leave me?”

“You took him for a walk?” Mary says. “I think he needs more walks, a playground. He loves his big sister.”

Fadi gets up and hugs Hannah.

Hannah is done with her mother for a while, but the hug is enough.

By Thanksgiving, though, she needs more. She needs Malik’s voice. It’s been nearly two months since she said goodbye to him at the airport. So much has happened. She hasn’t seen Zee since the consulate, but her low-grade guilt flares when she thinks about Malik. It will make her feel better, she thinks, to wish him a happy holiday. At naptime, she makes sure Fadi is with Mary—he’s fallen asleep in front of the TV while Mary irons—before slipping out on her own to the corner shop.

She doesn’t expect a dozen sanitary workers in blue jumpsuits to be waiting their turns for the phones. When she queues up behind them, the man ahead of her turns his head, and she accidentally makes eye contact. He looks at his feet.

Another man makes kissy sounds at her. His behavior doesn’t faze her, but the shopkeeper notices and makes a fuss. He gestures toward the door, and Hannah realizes he is telling her to leave.

“Phone tomorrow?” he says.

“No, I want to phone today.”

“Tomorrow,” he says.

She doesn’t want to cause a scene, so she leaves.

On Friday, at naptime, the shop is empty. The shopkeeper, alone that day, pours tea into a small glass and offers it to her.

“Maybe later,” she says, but he won’t let her refuse. She sets the glass on the shelf nearest the phone, next to cylindrical packages of cookies.

She gets through to Malik on her first try. The sound of his voice makes her yearn for him. She pulls her abayah tight around her.

“It’s so good to hear you,” he says.

“You too.”

“I’ve been worried about you.”

“I told you I might not be able to call.”

“I know.”

“I’ve got a twenty-page letter. Everything I need to tell you is in there.”

“Why don’t you send it?”

“I will. I’ll give it to my dad.”

“I love you.”