Huda took a sharp left. A block later, she turned again. She circled the block twice, checked her mirror at every corner, scanned the footpath, and peered into parked cars. Finally, she pulled alongside the curb. She adjusted her sunglasses, pulled a scarf over her hair, and then hurried along the sidewalk. She prayed no one was watching as she rang the bell at the great copper gate.

A minute later, the ancient hinges creaked.

“Huda?” Rania’s hair spilled past her shoulders in frizzy waves. She eyed Huda warily. “Why are you here?”

Huda extended her palm. In it, she held a paper bag tied with string.

“I’ve brought lime tea from Basra. My mother sent it.”

Rania stared at the offering.

“Tea from Basra?” The wind caught her words and tossed them away. Huda shifted from foot to foot. Eventually, Rania sighed and waved her through the gate.

“Take a seat in the garden. I will get us some refreshments.”

“Do not trouble yourself.” The words leaped forth without Huda’s bidding, reflexes she thought she’d conquered long ago, suddenly resurrected. “I can prepare the tea.”

“There’s no reason for you to do that.” Rania frowned. “Our circumstances are different now, as you reminded me last time we met.”

Huda extended the bag of tea again.

“My family has always served the sheikh.”

“He’s been dead ten years.” Rania took the bag of tea and went inside the house.

Out in the garden, a bubble-eyed gecko clung to the wall. Huda glanced at the crumbling mansion. She didn’t understand why Rania hadn’t moved to a house like her own, with modern wiring and plumbing. Huda thought back to the tiny, mud-brick home of her childhood. She had left that behind, and for years, she focused solely on building a better future. But the past could be ignored no longer. Abdul Amir had spoken her brothers’ names last night. Now she heard them whisper among the slender leaves of the eucalypt, urging her on.

In the branches, a crow wailed. Huda glanced at the mansion. Where were Rania’s servants? Surely she could afford a cook at least? But five minutes later Rania emerged from the house alone, with istikans of tea clinking atop a tarnished silver tray. Could she really have fallen that far?

Rania lit a cigarette and drew the smoke deep into her lungs. On the far side of the picnic table, Huda did the same, but when she exhaled, smoke emerged from her mouth not in a stream but in short, panicky puffs. She fiddled with her glass of tea. Lime-scented steam mixed with cigarette smoke and looped toward the trees.