I blinked hard. I felt my mother’s breath on the top of my head, my father’s hands on my shoulders. Could it be that they’d found a way to signal me from beyond?

I thought of the mother and daughter sleeping a few feet from me, who had taken me in at gunpoint. If I was going to survive, I would have to begin trusting someone.

“My name is Sitara,” I whispered, my voice as thin as the gauzy curtain that separated me from a roiling Kabul.

Chapter 11

Antonia began tiptoeing around the bedroom at first morning light. I could sense her looking into the living room and did my best not to stir. In the next forty minutes, she appeared in the door frame and retreated again at least three times. At her fourth pass, I sat up and pulled the blanket around me like a shawl. I’d trapped her in her bedroom long enough.

She entered the living room and kept her voice hushed.

“I hope you slept well,” she said, making just brief eye contact with me before stepping into the bathroom. That suited me just fine.

Tilly emerged from the bedroom, plopped down next to me on the sofa, and touched my hair.

“Good morning,” she said softly. “Did your head dance with dreams?”

This woman had a funny way of speaking.

A walkie-talkie on the table whirred with static and then a voice I couldn’t understand. Antonia popped out of the bathroom, a toothbrush in one hand. She brought the device to her ear and issued a brief reply before returning to the bathroom. I heard running water and gargling.

That morning Antonia seemed too busy doing three things at once to ask me any questions. I watched her button her pants while she discussed lunch options with Tilly. The walkie-talkie buzzed to life twice more, and each time she fired off concise responses without pausing her reading or slicing or pulling the curtain back to peer at the street below.

“Don’t call him until I get into the office. It won’t pay to get ahead of ourselves.”

And just a few moments later, with a hand on her hip:

“I’ve already got a write-up. Why does George always seem compelled to do work that’s already been done?”

When she realized I was watching her, Nia moved to the kitchen and lowered her voice. I listened for signs of danger but heard only the clink of glasses and crumpling of paper. Needing the bathroom, I rose. On my way there, I glanced into the kitchen and saw Nia folding and refolding a dishrag while she held a phone to her ear.

When I returned to the sofa, I sat there, fixed as a cushion, until Nia came and sat on the coffee table, one leg crossed over the other.