“We had a bond hearing. The judge said I wasn’t a flight risk or a threat to the community and I have a right to await our appeal.” She adds, “I’m sure it’s because I have one child who is a citizen, another who is such a good girl, an honor student!”

“Ammi, the judge doesn’t care about things like that. Did he say that?”

“No, but it’s what he believes!”

“Whatever.”

“Now, I am very cross with you, Rania. I heard what you did.”

She chatters on until I break through. “Ammi—”

“You had Lidia at her wit’s end. And you lied—”

“Listen to me!” I shout.

She stops.

“I know,” I say. “I know about my father.”

Quiet on the other end. Then a small sound. Is she crying? I’ve rarely heard Ammi cry.

“Come home,” she whispers. “Just come home.”

Sam and the sanctuary team stand in a circle in the gravel drive; one by one, they hug us, ruffle Kamal’s hair. They’ve given us a Styrofoam cooler with food and drinks, a puzzle for Kamal. I feel as if I’m saying goodbye to all that’s happened—the shelter, the motels, the Cape, the apartment on top of a synagogue, to who I became this summer.

“Straight through, Rania,” Sam says. “Promise?”

“I promise.” I hug him, hard. “Thank you so much.”

This time I will obey. I have no choice. Because I am one of the lucky ones: I can set my hands on the steering wheel and return to my mother. But there are still others crying at night. That old couple bumping their luggage on the dirt trail to the border. Boys like Carlos stepping toward a border, hoping for the best.

I turn on the ignition, turn back toward home.

She is smaller than I remember. She stands in the apartment doorway, her shoulders hunched, and tips up on her toes to hug me.

“Ammi!” Kamal shrieks. He flings his arms around her neck and sobs.

“It’s okay, my little boy,” she whispers. “It’s okay.”

We talk and we cry as Ammi and Kamal cling to each other. Ammi and I glare at Mrs. Flannery through the back window. We let Kamal bounce on his bed and then he stretches on his stomach on the floor, absorbed with play. Then we go from room to room, marveling. The apartment is almost the same, even the plastic containers left upside down to dry on the rack. We return to sit on the edge of my bed. It’s quiet; just the clicking sound of Legos.

“He’s grown.” Ammi slides her arm around my waist. “You too. You did a good job, Rania.”

I don’t answer, angry questions sparking through my veins.

“You want to see what Carlos gave me?” Kamal asks.

“Carlos?” Ammi asks.

“Our friend,” he says. “He came with us. He was so cool!”

“To Uncle’s?”