“I haven’t lived in the US since I was five years old, not since my mother died. And I haven’t done a scrap of reporting in Iraq.” Ally tugged on the passenger door.

“Wait,” said Huda. “If there’s anything more you want to ask me, do it now.”

Ally scowled.

“You don’t get to set a timetable for this.”

“You don’t understand.” Huda glanced over her shoulder. “There might be a microphone in my car.”

“A microphone?” Ally felt as if she was still on the swaying pontoon, with the Tigris pulsing beneath her feet. “In your car?”

“I can’t say for sure. But the mukhabarat know I don’t want to be an informant. They may be listening in on me . . . and you.” She stared at her kitten-heeled pumps. “So if you want to ask me anything, do it before we get inside.”

Ally searched the sky again, but it was too big and too bright.

“Are you telling the truth about Yusra and my mom?”

Huda nodded. “It’s the truth. I’m sorry.”

Ally couldn’t be sure if she saw concern or calculation in Huda’s eyes. The Iraqi woman unlocked the car. Ally raised her hand.

“Wait.”

Back at the nursery, she’d drilled Huda about her lies: exactly when she started informing on her, Abdul Amir’s role, the names of the men she reported to and what they looked like. But all the while, she avoided the most important question, kept her back to it, even though they could both sense it circling like a shark, its fin slicing the surface every now and then, a small, dark hint of the animal below.

“Were we ever really friends?” Ally didn’t want to ask this question, not because Huda might lie, but because she might not want to hear the truth. “Or was it all part of the act?”

“I’m your friend, of course.” Huda bent her head. “I couldn’t sleep last night trying to think of how I could prove this to you. But honestly, what can I do or say? You need to look into your heart. Do you really believe our friendship was a trick?”

“Why would I trust my heart?” Ally’s eyes stung. “I obviously can’t tell friend from enemy, just like my mom. And she got Yusra killed.”

“We can’t fix your mother’s mistakes, or mine.” Huda eyed the muddy river. “But perhaps we can beat the mukhabarat. If we stay loyal to each other, if we trust each other, then maybe we can change the patterns of the past.”

CHAPTER 26

CHAPTER 26

The aroma of roasting chicken filled Huda’s kitchen. The phone jingled. She laid her knife next to a mound of sliced eggplant, wiped her hands on the kitchen towel, and grabbed the handset from its cradle.

“Hello?” Ally’s voice reverberated down the line. “Huda?”