“Antonia’s interested to know when you’re planning on leaving and how,” Tilly inserted, her tone soothing. “She works for the embassy, so they’re always keeping tabs on Americans here. For safety reasons, of course.”

“Yeah,” Indigo said, drawing out the word and running his fingers through the silk of his hair. “I’ve been around long enough. I don’t think that’s all there is to it.”

“Mother, can we have a word, please?” Antonia said, rising from her seat.

“We won’t be long,” Tilly said, as they stepped into the bedroom. Antonia looked at me, then turned to her mother.

“What were you thinking, bringing a couple of hippies here?” she whispered with her back to the door.

“You said we need to get Star out of the country without the wrong Afghans finding out. These people can do that,” she explained.

“These people. What exactly have you been doing with these people?”

“What does that have to do with anything?” Tilly asked.

“This is so like you to do this,” Antonia muttered. “I told you I’m working on a plan with my contacts, people who understand the situation, not with some free spirits who help you get high.”

“You need to get her out of the country now. You said yourself that your people refuse to take a child with family here. And if her uncle is one of the bad guys now—”

“The bad guys?”

“Yes, the bad guys!” Tilly said, shooting me an apologetic look. Until now, they’d had these conversations when they thought I couldn’t hear them.

“And who are the good guys, Mother?” Nia asked. She sat on the corner of her bed.

“Aren’t we the good guys? You and your friends at the embassy?”

Nia said nothing. She stared at the wedge of comforter between her legs. Tilly cupped my face in her hands. Her fingers felt cool and soft against my face. She said something about leaving the guests alone too long and returned to the living room. Nia stood and followed her.

I went back to the door so I wouldn’t miss a word. Antonia let out a long, slow breath and leaned forward in her seat.

“There is a person who needs to leave Afghanistan,” Antonia said, finally breaking the prickly silence. “Quietly.”

I heard the sofa creak and the man clear his throat.

“Is that why you invited us over?” he asked.

“What route are you planning on taking to get to Pakistan?”

“What does ‘quietly’ mean?” he asked.

Antonia didn’t reply.

“Are you asking me to smuggle someone out of the country?” Then he laughed, a staccato laugh with sharp inhales. “That’s the craziest proposition I’ve ever heard, and I’ve heard some crazy stuff. I’m out to see the world, not the inside of an Afghan prison.”