We reached the bookstore and thankfully entered its warm, welcoming atmosphere. The only other customers were a young couple standing by the mystery books section. Aliyah headed to the back, right section, while I grabbed the first book my hand touched on the shelf and sat down on one of the overstuffed, worn-down couches. One of the owner’s cats leapt out from beneath it, startling me.

“Sorry ’bout that,” the owner, a plump, bald man behind the counter said.

“No problem,” I said, waving my hand as if to dismiss it. I couldn’t remember his name, but Hanan and Aliyah knew him well, since they came in often. At least, Hanan used to, when she lived in the area. When she moved to University City after the wedding, she didn’t come down to South Philly except to visit one of us or her father.

Aliyah sauntered by me, waving a copy of the novel, as she headed for the counter. She paid for it—$11 for the hardcover—and plopped down beside me on the couch with her treasure. She flipped through the pages quickly and then began reading the inside flaps and the back cover.

I asked her about Hanan. “I hardly ever see her.”

“She’s just busy with Michael. And now she has her baskets selling in this gift shop on Walnut Street.”

“Ooohhhh …” I said, smirking.

Aliyah laughed. “Hanan and I are still South Philly at heart, don’t worry.”

“Are her baskets doing well?”

“They’re actually selling. The lady who owns the place sold eight baskets last week, and five so far this week. Each one sells for about $30, and Hanan keeps 80 percent of it.”

“So if she sells eight a week,” I said, quickly calculating the numbers in my head, “that’s almost $200 a week that she keeps, profit.”

“How do you do that?” Aliyah asked, shaking her head. “I can barely add single digits without using my fingers.”

“I’m glad she’s doing well,” I continued. “She was good at crafts and stuff, even when we were little. She used to help us all with our projects.”

“Yep, and she learned all that stuff from her mother—embroidery, weaving, all that stuff. My mother never taught me that. I don’t think she even knows how to do it.”

“I’m glad she’s making a little money on the side. That’ll help her a bit.”

“George actually bought one of her baskets,” Aliyah said, then stopped, looking awkwardly up at me. “He was being supportive.”

“That’s great. I have no problem with that.”

She looked down at her book, and we sat quietly reading for a while. The book I’d picked up was Isabel Allende’s Paula. I leafed through it, skimming the first two pages, but decided that I really didn’t want to read anything that would depress me. Reading my medical reports had depressed me enough.

I glanced at Aliyah, who was intently reading the first chapter. Aliyah had already had one heartbreak. She’d traveled to Jerusalem for a summer and reunited with a family friend there. I remember getting emails from her, emails she’d sent to me, Reema, and Hanan on a regular basis, updating us on her adventures. The guy had proven to be committed, charming, but they had a lot of issues nonetheless.