“Okay, bheta,” Layla had said, but she is stifled by this requirement. Often there are no details to give. She is only calling to say hello, to inquire on how he is, to hear his voice. So she tries to limit the calls she makes to him. She does not want to disturb him. Instead, she waits for him to call her, just as she will now.

Chapter 15

WHEN ASHIF FINALLY CALLS his mother, it’s past eight in the morning and he’s checking out of his hotel in Calgary. He has two employee meetings this morning before he leaves for Vancouver. He’d seen her missed calls. One from yesterday and one today. But neither message said anything. Just, “call me.”

“But that makes no sense, Mummy,” Ashif says to his mother, adjusting his tie. “A farm field?”

“Yes,” Layla says loudly as if she is speaking to someone overseas. “Near Airdrie.”

“Is he all right?”

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean, you don’t know?” he asks curtly. “Didn’t you ask the doctor?”

“Yes.”

“And what did he say?”

“They are thawing him out.”

“Sorry?” He presses his thumb to his ear.

“Defrost,” Layla says loudly.

“You mean frostbite?” he offers.

“The doctor said frostbite.”

“Okay, good. So he’s okay.” He’s relieved that his father’s injuries are minor. Once, when he was a child, he had frostbite. He had forgotten his gloves and toque at home. He just tucked his hands into his winter jacket, but there was no way to protect his head from the icy temperature. After recess, his ears were red and raw and he was sure they would fall off. The school nurse treated him for frostbite and sent a note home with him listing appropriate winter clothing and stores where they could be purchased. If needed, the school could pay for the items. Layla tore up the note and made him promise not to tell his father. He didn’t. Ashif asked her to sew his gloves to his coat, like the other kids, and she did.

“What else did the doctor say?” he asks briskly, trying to get his mother to get to the point. He checks his watch. He has a flight to catch.

“They will do some tests,” Layla continues, “but not until he has finished thawing out.”

“But thawing doesn’t make sense, Mummy!” he says, his frustration growing. He can’t tell if his mother is withholding information to prevent him from worrying or if she hadn’t understood what the doctors told her. Or maybe she hadn’t asked any questions, deferring, as she always did, to authority whether it was a doctor, a police officer, or his father. He holds the receiver between his shoulder and chin and slips off his suit jacket. “What does Pappa say?”

“Nothing. I have not seen him yet.”

“I’m calling the hospital right now,” Ashif says firmly, like a teacher reprimanding a child.

“But I don’t want to see him without you, bheta. Please come,” Layla says, now crying.