When she thinks ahead to the baptism, Sadie feels a sense of calm, like floating in a swimming pool with her eyes closed. When she thinks about Hannah, her stomach heaves. She tries to avoid picturing what their meeting will be like. But she needs to take control. She switches shifts with her coworker Aida and makes an elaborate plan to go to the airport gate to meet Hannah and Hamza.

If she welcomes them with the baptism invitation in hand and explains her white lie without hesitation, they’re sure to forgive her.

She prays on the matter.

Hamza doesn’t respond to her requests for their flight number. There are few flights from Seattle on the Friday they are flying in. Sadie drives to Hopkins at seven in the morning, gets the airlines’ schedule booklets from the departure desks, and makes her way to the gates, one after the other.

The airport is quiet and nearly empty. Thanksgiving has barely passed, and the airport is already decorated for Christmas. The Christmas tree in the corner of the security hall rises up to the ceiling, strung with lights and silver and gold tinsel. Underneath are large wrapped boxes. This tree belongs to me, she thinks. This place belongs to me, and I belong here.

As the day goes by, the hallways fill with people rolling their suitcases and tugging their children. Christmas Muzak plays. She hopes for Rudolph; when she hears the familiar tune, she sings along under her breath. The rest of the day the song’s in her head through the maddening waits for the planes to disembark. Her eyes bounce from person to person, straining not to miss Hannah behind someone taller. She eats a Cinnabon for late breakfast and Burger King fries for lunch. She can’t imagine Hamza is religious—Hannah was not raised that way, and like marries like. She hopes he will convince Hannah to accept Sadie’s conversion. She practices the words she will say to her daughter: “I am repenting for what I’ve done wrong. I will be wiped clean. Will you forgive me?”

She spots them at four o’clock, disembarking a flight that connected in Denver. She has resorted to standing on the black faux leather chair to see over the tall crowd of people greeting their families. These hours of waiting, she has seen the faces of joy as passengers recognize their loved ones and convinced herself she will receive such a look from her daughter and son-in-law: smiles that bathe her in love.

Instead, Hannah reprimands her.

“Mom. We’ll see you tomorrow at the thing. You could have sent us the address.”

She wears a loose black knit dress over black tights. Her long hair is in pigtails, like a child.

She’s pregnant, Sadie thinks. She feels a rising anger that they didn’t tell her before they came.