“You look very nice,” Huda assured her.

“So you’ll join me?”

Huda shrugged. “We’ll see.”

They motored past the billboard and through the blinking traffic lights. After a few zigzagging blocks, they turned and cruised along the Tigris. Ally eyed the deserted promenade hugging the riverbank. Her mother used to come here to unwind with her friends. On one of her postcards she called it “our weekly gossip session.” Ally peered into the darkness and imagined young women strolling beside the water, music drifting from the cafés, families picnicking on the grass.

In her mother’s day, Saddam was only vice president and his gargantuan palace of gray concrete had not yet sprung up on the far bank. Now his face was carved into each of the four massive turrets, granite eyes surveying every inch of the city. The palace lights reflected in the dark waters like a twisted Disneyland.

“Abdul Amir said you went to the hospital today,” said Huda. “Is anything wrong?”

“I’m fine. Nothing to worry about.”

“People don’t go to the hospital for nothing.” Huda glanced at her. “Are you sick?”

“I’m fine.”

“Are you pregnant?” Huda grinned. “Please, tell me, will we have a little Tom running about soon?”

“That’s not it.”

“So, what is it?”

Ally hesitated. She knew she had to keep her mom’s nationality secret, but surely she could share a few things about her past. Did she have to behave like a paper doll, trimmed of substance, snipped of history? Without at least a little trust, Ally suspected her friendship with Huda would wither and die, like the gardens that had once hemmed the promenade.

“Is it a secret, my friend?”

“No, it’s just . . .” Ally knew Huda wasn’t a gossip and that they were alone in the car. Still, it was hard not to check the back seat. “I was trying to find someone who knew my mother.”

Huda’s eyebrows climbed up her forehead.

“Your mother?”

“She worked as a nurse in Baghdad thirty years ago.”

Huda glanced across the cabin.

“How come you never told me this before?” She frowned slightly, as if her feelings were hurt. “They had Australian nurses here? I thought they were all British.”

“They were British, mostly, but there were also nurses from France, India, Australia and . . . other countries.” Ally wished she could tell Huda the whole truth, but that wouldn’t be safe. Not for her. And not for Huda.

“Can’t your mother tell you how to find her friend?”

Ally sighed. Her secrets were like stones in her pockets, dragging her down.

“She died when I was five years old,” she said quietly.

“My dear, I’m so sorry.” Huda reached across and touched Ally’s knee. “I didn’t realize.”

“Don’t feel bad. It’s all right.”