He looked at Jenna, then at Laila. His expression asked: What’s going on? But he would never be so blunt with a stranger. He simply smiled and waited for his mother to speak.

Not knowing what else to do, Jenna made the introductions.

“Laila Badir?” Karim repeated. “Are you related to Malik Badir?” “He’s my father.”

“Wow. I mean …”

“I know,” Laila said softly. Obviously, it was a reaction she’d seen many times before.

O

But Karim’s reaction went deeper than Laila could have suspected. What are you doing here, he wanted to ask, frustrated that his mother had given no explanation. He had the oddest sensation that he knew Laila Badir—not just knew who she was, but knew her. It was something he couldn’t explain.

I’m staring, he realized. But just as he thought it, she suddenly gave him a small, sweet smile. For a moment, it was as if they were the only two people in the room.

“Would you like something to drink?” he asked, feeling awkward. How could his mother have failed to offer their guest any refreshment? Had she forgotten her manners completely? And why did she look so uncomfortable?

“Actually, I’d like some water, thank you.”

Karim hurried to the kitchen and put a Perrier with lime on a tray.

“Thank you,’’ Laila repeated. Still standing, she took a few polite sips, then said to Jenna, “I have to go. Really. But like I said, it’s not really good- bye. I’ll write, call. I’ll probably be in New York now and then. And you travel, don’t you? You’ll be out on the Coast sometime, right?”

“Laila, you must call me if you need … anything. Anything at all.” “Sure. Well, au ’voir.”

Suddenly, they were hugging each other tight. Karim saw the tears in his mother’s eyes. When did she meet this girl? Why did she never tell him? And why had she said she didn’t know Malik Badir?

“I’ll walk you downstairs,” he suddenly said as Laila turned toward the door. Again, the little smile. She was years older than he was, a grown-up, really, but somehow the smile made her seem closer to his age.

Her ride hadn’t come yet. He was glad.

“You’re going to California?” he said, for want of a better opener. “Yes. In a few days.”

“Where are you from?” “France.”

“Your father’s from al-Remal, isn’t he? Did you ever live there?” “No. I’ve never lived anywhere in the Middle East. I know a little about it from Papa, I speak serviceable Arabic, but that’s about all.”

“Oh.” He didn’t know why he’d expected it to be otherwise. Maybe just the way she looked.

“These days I feel more American than anything else.”

A car approached. Her ride? No, it passed. Laila seemed disinclined to say anything more.