Rania shrugged noncommittally. She couldn’t bear to talk about Huda now. First she had to stop her heart from hammering and scrub the rage and fear from her eyes. She waved Ally toward the stepping-stone path.

“Please go on ahead to the garden while I fetch your painting.”

Ally stretched out her hand.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

Rania replied with a tight nod and slipped out of reach. She had a habit of revealing more to Ally than she’d intended. She feared if she let her inside now, poured her tea, and sat across the kitchen table, she’d break down and confess about Malik, Hanan, and the half-finished portrait waiting inside her studio. Maybe she’d let slip about Huda and the mukhabarat. That sort of honesty always felt so good in the moment, but it was a dangerous drug.

“I’m a little busy right now, that’s all. Make yourself comfortable in the garden.” Rania backed inside and shut the heavy door behind her. Hanan was sitting on the stairs, snacking on a handful of pistachios.

“What are you doing?” Rania hurried over the creaking floorboards. “I asked you to stay in your bedroom.”

“I heard your visitors leave,” said Hanan. “And I was hungry.”

“Well, I’ve got another visitor now.”

A scowl twisted Hanan’s features.

“What did I do to make you so ashamed?”

“I’m not ashamed of you, not at all.” Rania’s chest ached with a mix of guilt, love, and fear. “But right now I’ve got a client out there waiting to buy a painting.”

“Will it be enough to pay our membership at the Alwiyah Club?” Hanan brightened and sat up straight. “They’re showing movies by the pool next week.”

“Maybe . . .” Rania kissed the top of Hanan’s head and hurried into the kitchen before Hanan could spot the tears in her eyes. Soon she’d have to tell Hanan that her grandmother was coming this weekend to take her back to the farm. She prayed she’d be safe there. At least for a year or two. Then what? she asked herself.

Rania put the kettle on the burner and grabbed a paper bag of tea. Hanan had found it tucked at the back of the pantry this morning—Huda’s carefully tied package of numi basra. Rania didn’t want to sit in the bittersweet steam of Huda’s tea, so after scooping in the leaves she left the water to boil, retrieved Ally’s painting from the whitewashed gallery, and carried it out to the garden. Ally was staring at the statue of the mother curled around her child.

“You seem to be drawn to this piece.” The wind pulled at Rania’s hair. “Would you like me to find out if the sculptor has any smaller works available?”