Huda watched the man and his bicycle dwindle in her rearview mirror, then her gaze fell to her handbag, open on the passenger’s seat. Ally’s money spilled from its mouth. Ten thousand dinar. Twice what she’d actually paid the old gardener.

Guilt crept through her chest. She eyed the purple notes, with the president’s face inked on every one, and wondered, How long before Ally worked out Huda was making money off her—promising vendors she’d get them a good price as long as she kept a cut? Perhaps Ally already suspected her. She’d been in Baghdad for some time now; maybe like everyone else, she’d learned it was best to turn a blind eye.

It was after that, that events became confused for Huda, as if someone had taken a film strip and cut out two of every three frames. She was left with disjointed images—pulling to the curb, removing her key from the ignition, searching for a patch of grass. She didn’t have water to cleanse herself before prayer, but later she found grains of sand in her hair, so she must have struck her palm against the soil, blown the dust from her fingers, then run her hands over her face and hair. She had only the vaguest recollection of turning to Mecca and mouthing the takbir.

What she recalled most clearly was the scratch of the mustard grass as she pressed her forehead to the ground. The sun burned the back of her neck as she recited prayers for protection over and over, until the words lost all meaning. The wind tossed her words into the sky. God is great mixed with fine desert sand and disappeared into the blue.

Later, she turned into her driveway and parked the Corolla in the carport. Huda remained behind the wheel for some time, trying to make sense of her roadside prayer. She told herself she should feel more at peace, but in truth she was more rattled than soothed. When would these lies end?

“Mom, are you hiding in here again?” Khalid appeared at the rear of the carport. “What’s wrong?”

Huda shoved the cash in her handbag and clambered from the car.

“Are you hungry, my dear?” she asked. “Did you eat a proper lunch? Let me make you a snack.”

From the corner of her eye, she spotted her battered box of childhood keepsakes. She wished with all her heart that the runes had held on to their powers, that the tiny bird bones hadn’t crumbled to dust, that she had more than seashells to help her find a way forward.

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 18