Ally was not like the diplomat wives who had come before, with their measured smiles and tepid handshakes. Ally told wacky jokes. She laughed too loud. She took pleasure in things that Huda had stopped noticing long ago: the iridescent shine of a crow’s feathers, or a donkey cart painted the color of the Arabian Gulf. She couldn’t get enough of those donkey carts, as if they were floats in a grand parade.

Huda tried to treat her dealings with Ally as a job. But her body was absorbing the repeated motions of friendship—the kisses that marked arrival and departure, the friendly pats, the playful winks—and fooling her heart into believing it was true. She was feeding the young woman sugar pills, but the side effects were surprisingly real. It was friendship by placebo.

Abdul Amir yanked another weed from the flower bed.

“So, did you learn anything of interest?”

“I don’t think so.” Huda rubbed her eyes, smearing the kohl she’d applied so carefully. She wanted to curl up in bed and sleep for a week. Abdul Amir wiped his hands against his trousers.

“Abu Issa and his partner stayed on after you left.”

“They did?” Adrenaline drove a stake through Huda’s exhaustion. “Why? What for?”

He rummaged in his pocket and pulled out a wad of bills.

“They called it a performance incentive.”

Behind him, the tall flames of the refinery stabbed the night. Huda was no longer certain they were to blame for the sour taste in her mouth.

* * *

Huda checked that the doors were locked, then padded through the house, switching off lights. In their bedroom, Abdul Amir was propped up against his pillows, reading the sport section of the Iraq Daily. He folded the newspaper and set it down on his bedside table.

“Are you coming to bed?”

“Go ahead and turn off your lamp. I’ll check on Khalid, then I’ll come.”

Huda tiptoed down the hall and pried open her son’s door. The odor of dirty sneakers and testosterone hung in the air. How was it possible, she wondered, that one teenage boy could be so pungent? She stepped over a damp towel left in a heap on the floor and opened the window. On the far side of the bars, cicadas chirruped and clicked.

Khalid stirred beneath his faded Star Wars sheets.

“Mom? What are you doing?” He reached for her with a long, skinny arm. Huda didn’t understand how he could eat so much yet remain so thin. She had only to glance sideways at a sticky bun, and the next thing she knew, it was attached to her hips.

“What time is it?” He slipped his hand into hers.

“It’s late. Go back to sleep.”

“My legs ache.”

“Growing pains again? Shall I get a hot-water bottle?”

The boy shook his head. His hair was very dark against his pillow.