You put the car into gear and swung back the way we had come. I climbed into the passenger seat, and you didn’t stop me. Tapping the window with four fingers, I mouthed “Goodbye” to the roller coasters’ prehistoric skeletons, the giant eye of the Ferris wheel, and the rocky shores of the lake.

The wooded back road leading from the amusement park was dark with mist, which hung like a curtain dividing where we’d been from where we were going.

“When are we home?” I said. And when you didn’t reply, “When are we home, Mama?” As though the addition of that one word might make you answer.

Somewhere in your silence, I must have heard how alone we were.

“How will Baba know what number to call us?”

“Your father is dead,” you said.

That was the first of many times you told me that lie. You insisted, many years later, that you never told me he was dead. But you did. You tried to kill my memory of him.

Of course, I believed you.

SUITABLE GIRLS

1975–1985

YA‘QUB’S BLINDNESS

From the first Saturday afternoon Muneer hears “This number is no longer in service,” it takes months to understand Hanadi is truly missing. Still, he knows something is different, wronger than usual. Saeedah has ignored his calls for weeks, and whenever he dials, his stomach clenches tighter with each ring. Now, Saeedah and Hanadi aren’t there. His stomach has twisted so tight, he could pull it through a ring. Kneeling in his mother’s sitting room after lunch has been cleared from the floor, with the ceiling fan spinning overhead, he swallows the bile in his throat and calls Saeedah’s sister Randah.

Groggy from her afternoon nap, Randah swears to God she knows of no other number and asks if he’s sure.

“Try it.” His voice leaves his body calmer than he expects.

She calls him back.

“Wallahi, you’re right. I’ll try again tomorrow.”

In a week, the number remains disconnected, and Randah has not heard from Saeedah.

“I’m sure they will call soon.” She sounds uncertain.

“Has she called your parents?”

“No, they’re worried. We’re worried.”

Muneer is holding the handset up for Bandar to hear. They huddle close and strain to listen to the tinny voice. He needs his brother as his witness.

“She’s lying,” Bandar says when the call is done. “How could Saeedah’s father not know where they are? Go see him.”