He slunk to his room and pulled his door shut. Huda checked the locks on the front door and the windows, then hurried through the kitchen. Abdul Amir was outside at the patio table, nursing a can of beer. The jut of his chin said he was spoiling for a fight.

“You won’t believe the news.” She sidled out the back door. “The authorities have emptied the jails. All the inmates are out on the streets.”

“That’s madness.” Abdul Amir bumped his knee as he lurched from the bench. Three empty beer cans wobbled atop the picnic table.

“The ticket seller at the amusement park said the president wanted to thank the people for his election victory. Murderers, rapists, thieves—they’re all walking free,” she said. “How could he think this would make us happy?”

“As if we don’t have enough to worry about.” Abdul Amir downed the rest of his beer in one large gulp and stomped toward the kitchen. “I’ll check the locks.”

“I took care of it. I fastened all the windows too.”

Abdul Amir paused. He made a noise halfway between a sigh and a growl and continued into the kitchen. He returned a minute later with a fresh beer and that furious set to his jaw.

“You’ve taken care of everything already? Then I guess there’s no point in me doing anything.” His laugh was as rough as a burr. “Everyone knows, Huda always does it better. First you were the star pupil at secretarial school and then the model employee. And when your pathetic husband loses his job, you get an even better position working at an embassy.” He flung his arms wide. Beer leaped from his can and splashed on the pavers. “How come everything always goes your way?”

Huda took a step back.

“Come now, Abdul Amir. What sort of talk is this?”

“I used to think you were blessed, all these gifts falling into your lap one after the other. Now I realize it’s all because you know how to work the system.”

“Me?”

“How else could a barefoot village girl like you end up with air-conditioning, a refrigerator, a television, and still have enough money left over to buy baklava and paint her toenails a different color every week?”

“That’s not fair.” Huda jammed her hands on her hips. “This is the beer talking.”

“The beer?” Abdul Amir croaked out a laugh. “Did you notice I am once again back to drinking Turkish dishwater? No expensive Amstel for me.”

Huda glanced at Khalid’s window. The curtains were drawn.

“What has got into you?” she whispered.