CHAPTER SIX

The next morning when Fatima woke up the sun was shining. She had woken up for Fajr-the first prayer of the day, prayed and gone back to sleep. She had no problem waking up early these days. When she was pregnant she found it very difficult to sleep in and she was usually up bright and early. She had spoken to Ali at that time. He had called from Ottawa at about 6 am.
He had tried to sound normal, but Fatima had thought he sounded preoccupied. She hadn’t asked him about his plans and he didn’t offer any information. He just made sure she was alright and reassured her that he would be back in the evening as he had promised. He wasn’t impressed that she had slept on the couch. “That can’t be comfortable.”
Nothing about this is comfortable, she had wanted to say, but instead she had just said that she had been so tired she really didn’t want to tackle the stairs and she had felt lonely.
“It’s not the same when you’re not here,” she confessed.
“You didn’t look for the notes,” Ali mentioned.
“How do you know?”
“Because I left instructions and if you had found them I would have known.”
Fatima really appreciated these rituals. They made her feel somewhat normal. Even though their life was hectic there were a few things she could always count on. Ali leaving her notes around the house when he travelled was one of them.
He was not a talkative person. She admired that about him. She was impressed with his degree of reserve. He was open with her, but with few words. She had learned to be more silent too as a result. She often had to figure out what he was thinking and feeling by paying attention to his actions as much as his words, what he said and what he didn’t. When he was in the company of others he was more of an observer than a talker.
Fatima detested men who had to be the centre of attention. Her opinion was that if you were talkative, eventually you would say something that you shouldn’t. The more you talked the more likely that was to happen. Ali was rarely in danger of that. When he spoke it was usually valuable otherwise he wouldn’t bother. So she really cherished these little messages that always seemed to be right from the heart. They gave her more insight to the man she shared her life with.
He was right about her not looking for the notes. She was tired yes, but she was upset too. She just didn’t feel like playing with him. She was confused about his behaviour. She had an active imagination and could not help trying to figure out possible reasons for his trip. It was frustrating not to have any good possibilities. Anyway it was daylight now and she would go get her daughters and start the day. It was Saturday and she had no real plan so she would just play it by ear.

When she arrived at number 110 the house seemed uncharacteristically quiet. She tried the door and it was open. It often was at this time of morning. It was April and Mama had a beautiful garden. After Fajr she often spent hours in the garden. The door would be unlocked because she would be coming in and out.
“As-salaam alaikum ya Rasoolullah,” Fatima said as she entered the house. Rahma was the first to greet her. She ran to Fatima, hugged and kissed her using her special name for Fatima, the Italian word for sister.
“As-salaam alaikum, Sorella. We were worried about you. I don’t think Papa slept all night. Come look.”
Fatima followed Rahma into the living room which the family used as a prayer room. There was nothing in it except wall to wall carpet, large cushions lining the walls, two tall book cases at one end of the room and a low table at the other end that held a stand for reading the Holy Quran. The room was painted in a beautiful earth tone and decorated with a few large plants.
“He fell asleep right after Fajr.”
Papa was lying on the floor with the three girls on top of him. Laila and Batool were on his chest and Masuma rested with a pillow on his leg.
“Figures Masuma would think to get comfortable. How were they last night?”
“Fine, they were all played out so they slept pretty well. They got up at Fajr, but I guess they were still tired because they conked out immediately after.” Rahma waved her hand at the sleeping girls.
Fatima stood in the foyer watching them. “I’m torn. Should I wake them or let them sleep?”
“Leave them, for sure. Come, let’s go to the back.”
They went to the back of the house where there was a large sunroom. It was warm and sunny for April and Mama was working in the backyard. The girls laughed and chatted for a while enjoying the fresh morning air. When she heard them Mama left her work and came to keep them company for a while.
“Did you speak to Ali this morning?” Mama removed her gloves and placed them on the chair beside her.
“I did.”
“Hmm. He snuck out of here without seeing me.”
Fatima could tell that she was not pleased, but she didn’t go on. Mama was so careful around Fatima now that she was pregnant. She always insisted that the happiness of a pregnant woman should be the top priority of the family. Every experience, emotion and thought that she had would have a physical manifestation and impact on the unborn child, Mama always said. It became a part of him or her. She always insisted that Fatima should be cared for and stress free during this time.
Rahma quickly changed the subject. “Mama, you should see Papa. He’s sleeping and the girls are all around him. It’s so cute. I should take a picture.”
Mama smiled. “You know I think he was in that room all night. He said he couldn’t sleep knowing you were alone. I had to pry his shoes off.”
“As-salaam alaikum, Piccolina.” Papa had called Fatima Piccolina, little doll, from the first time he had met her. He entered the sunroom and stood beside Fatima’s chair.
Wa alaikum as-salaam, Papa. I’m not so tiny any more. I think I grew overnight.”
“Yes, I see, but you are still a doll. Come sta lei, mio caro?-How are you my dear?”
“Alhamdulillah,I’m ok, thanks.”
“So, when is your husband coming back?” Mama asked.
“Mama, you know he said this evening,” Papa replied and gave her a scolding look.
“Well, I wanted to hear from his wife, since he didn’t bother to tell his mother anything.” Mama pursed her lips, showing her discontent.
“Oh Mama, he didn’t want you to worry.” Papa hugged Mama and gave Fatima and Rahma a wink.
Fatima realized in that moment how much Ali was like his father and she was grateful that he had such a good role model.
“He’s a grown man. He’ll be just fine.” Papa added.
Mama sat at the wrought iron table. “It’s not nice to leave Fatima like this. She’s due any minute. He spends enough time away as it is.” Fatima could see the wheels in Mama’s head turning. She wasn’t saying much, but Fatima knew she was running through all the possibilities, just as she had. The thought made her uncomfortable.
Papa insisted, “We’re all here. She has everything she needs.”
“Except her husband.”
“What are you all doing today?” Fatima wanted to talk about anything but Ali’s absence.
Papa rubbed his greying head and sighed. “I have a lot of work to do.”
Papa worked for a non-profit organization called Children of Rwanda. It was based in his homeland, Italy, but he was able to do much of his work by internet and on the phone. During the massacre many Rwandan children had been air lifted to Italy and placed in homes with Italian families.
Many had been adopted and in the years after the massacre the Italian and Rwandan governments had ongoing negotiations about the status of the children. Rwanda said the adoptions were illegal. The Italian families had no permission from family members or the government to adopt the children. Italy had insisted that the adoptions were in order.
Unfortunately many of the children had no family to return to. Some of them did have families that had demanded their children back. Having left as babies many of the children knew only the Italian families as their own. It had been a very sensitive situation.
In the years since the genocide many children had been returned and many had remained in their adopted families after returning to Rwanda to perform the adoptions satisfactorily. Still there were ongoing issues, such as maintaining cultural identity, keeping in contact with living family members, trips home and dealing with the integration of the Rwandan children into Italian society.
Hundreds of thousands of children had been orphaned following the 1994 genocide, according to statistics from the Ministry of Gender in Rwanda. The number of children in Rwanda who had been orphaned or were otherwise considered vulnerable was anywhere from one to three million. Papa was currently working on an assessment to determine the number of children living on the streets and their needs.
Papa had been active in the cause from the beginning and continued to build a large organization that also offered sponsorship and support to children in Rwanda and their families.

“You know what I have to say about that.” Mama’s eyes sparkled.
“Yes Mama.” They all repeated Mama’s famous line, “If they want African babies let them make their own.”
“Not everyone is as lucky as me,” Papa was always quick to reply.
He was lucky indeed. Italy had one of the lowest birth rates in the world, with two children and a fourth grandchild on the way, Papa was rich beyond imagination.

Fatima spent the day with the family, talking to Rahma and watching her daughters play in the yard. She even helped Mama with some of the gardening, as much as she was allowed.
It was still early to start planting, but Mama would get the soil ready and spend time in her greenhouse where she had seedlings waiting to be transplanted when the fear of frost was gone.
Fatima couldn’t think of going back home right now. The day flew by quickly and when Papa emerged from his study Fatima couldn’t believe that it was already 4 pm. Ali would be home soon.
“Mama, maybe I should go home now and wait for Ali.”
“Why not eat with us, and then go? It’s only another hour. Go and have a nap. I’ll wake you when he gets here.”
“Are you sure? The girls are pretty wound up. I don’t want to leave all that work on you.”
“Papa is free now. You know him. He’s at their service. Go, they won’t even miss you.” Mama was right. Fatima looked out the window to the back yard. Papa was already there chasing the girls around. They were squealing as they ran around the back yard. Papa still walked with a slight limp from his injury during the genocide. He was not able to run too fast. The girls didn’t know the difference. They just knew that he was with them and he was all theirs.
Fatima went into the guest bedroom on the main floor behind the kitchen. This is where she usually slept when she stayed over. It was hard to get comfortable but she would try. Ali must have been in the room recently because his scent was on the bedding. She sank into the pillow and took comfort in knowing that when she woke up he would likely be home.

“Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!” Fatima woke up to the sound of her daughters voices. Ali had arrived and they were thrilled. They had not seen him since yesterday afternoon. Fatima sometimes worried about the effect having their father absent so often, would have on them. During the regular season he was typically away from home for at least 100 days. It was a significant amount of time for the girls and for Fatima. Sometimes it put a heavy strain on family life.
Ali and Fatima had recently been discussing his possible departure from the league. Ali felt that he needed to spend more time with their daughters and if Fatima decided to pursue a degree in medicine the girls would definitely need one full time parent. He was thinking of developing a camp and recreation site on the land that they owned. Work was already being done on a home for their family.
Fatima came out of the bedroom. She stood and watched Ali interact with his family for a few seconds.
He had the same easy comfort with everyone wherever he was. It was as though he belonged everywhere. Ali stood beside his father. Papa was a tall man but Ali had grown past him by the time he was 17. He really did look like his father, a younger darker version of Papa. They both had strong lean features, a firm jaw, serious eyes and an easy smile.
The family were all so happy to see him. Rahma jumped and hugged him around his neck. Masuma and Batool hugged one leg each.
“Where’s Laila?” Ali asked.
“She ran to hide as soon as she heard you. I think she wants you to find her,” Rahma answered.
Ali bent over, peeled Batool and Masuma off his legs and removed his shoes. “Ok, well I better get on it before she falls asleep somewhere.”
“That certainly has happened before,” Fatima interjected.
Ali noticed her standing in the doorway of the guest room for the first time. “Fatima, as-salaam alaikum, how are you?” Ali greeted her.
“Wa alaikum as-salaam, I’m good. And you?” She replied. Why does this moment feel so awkward? Fatima wondered. She hated everything about the last 24 hours. Quickly she decided to put everything out of her mind and enjoy her evening. Worrying never helped in any case. Ali was home now, they were all together and whatever was happening outside would remain there at least for tonight.
“Great. Glad to be home. I think we should find Laila,” Ali said
Fatima laughed. “For sure, I’m right behind you.”
“You know I can’t wait for you.” He teased her about her slow movements. Ali always had a way of interjecting humour even in the most serious moments. It was good. It was good to have someone to lighten things up once in a while. They searched for Laila and found her in a doll house in the family room. Just like the others she was thrilled to see her father.
Laila and Batool the three year old twins, were replicas of their mother while Masuma looked like Ali. At five years old she took her role as elder sister very seriously. She often tried to be bossy, but the twins would not allow her to get the best of them. Laila always wanted to play and was often up to some mischief. Batool was very helpful. She needed to make sure everything was in order. She also loved to eat. She always headed straight for the kitchen when arriving at Mama’s house or anyone’s house for that matter.
Ali sat with Laila on the carpeted floor for a few minutes and played with her. Fatima looked around the family room. It was filled with books, toys and dozens of Ali’s trophies and medals. He had outstanding achievement in archery, judo, tae kwon do, mixed martial arts, swimming, track and field and of course basketball. Fatima had wanted to keep some of them at their home, but Ali had refused.
“Do you think she planned this, to get you alone, all to herself?” Fatima sat on an exercise ball.
Ali rolled over taking Laila with him. “Do I think? I’m sure.” He didn’t seem to mind. It really warmed Fatima’s heart to see him interact with their children. At moments like these she couldn’t help but think of Rachel. She didn’t have any of this. Her boys didn’t have this. Yes, they all loved Rachel and her family and were there for them, but it couldn’t be the same.
“How is Rachel doing?” Ali asked.
“What?” Fatima was surprised. He seemed to read her mind.
“Rachel. I’ve been thinking about her. She hasn’t been looking well,” Ali replied.
“You noticed?”
“Yes, I noticed.”
“Oh, well, you know woman stuff.” Fatima tried to make light of the situation.
“No I don’t.” Ali was not prepared to give up that easily.
“Well, she’ll be ok. She has me.”
Ali nodded. “You look tired. I should take you home,” he decided.
“No, your mom made dinner. We have to eat first, we can’t leave now. She waited for you.” Fatima stopped her movement on the ball.
“Yes, Ma’am, whatever you say.” Ali rose to his feet with Laila in his arms.
They made their way back to the kitchen. “You’re in trouble you know,” Fatima said.
“Me? Why?” Ali was truly surprised.
“Mama’s upset you didn’t tell her you were going.” Fatima watched closely for Ali’s reaction.
“She didn’t say anything to me.” Ali stopped in the hallway before reaching the kitchen.
“You know she wouldn’t in front of me.”
Ali looked pensive for a moment, and then smiled. “It’s ok. I’ll make it up. I know how to take care of her.”
“Daddy what did you bring?” Laila turned Ali’s face so he could only look directly at her.
“You’ll have to wait until you get home to find out.” He nipped her forearm and when she pulled it back he gave her a kiss on her neck.
“You had time to shop?” Fatima realized he had a very tight schedule and couldn’t imagine he would have time to do anything extra.
Ali looked down at her. “I made time.”
They arrived at the kitchen and Ali paused to allow Fatima to pass him and take her seat at the table. He placed Laila in her seat beside her grandfather and took his seat beside Fatima and his mother. They had a pleasant dinner. They laughed and talked about the girls, Rahma’s studies and her plans for the summer. They guessed about the exact birth date and weight of the baby, and they suggested possible names. No one mentioned Ali’s trip. When they finished dinner Ali and Fatima said goodnight and took their children home.

Ali had bought three dolls for his daughters. Each doll had one child’s name stitched on the front of its dress.
“I can’t believe you had time to do this. They’re beautiful.” Fatima was truly touched.
The girls danced around their parents’ room with their dolls. Fatima watched them and was so happy for their joy. She remembered how much she had wanted this kind of attention from her own father. It never came.
He had always wanted a son and Fatima had felt that if she had been a boy maybe he would have stayed. She had tried to show interest in the things her father loved, but he just didn’t think cars and sports were for girls. It was too bad, because she really was interested.
She had taken mechanics in high school and was one of the best in her class. She could fix just about anything in or outside of the house, although Ali never let her. Her dad just couldn’t see past the fact that she wasn’t a boy. Or so she thought.
He lived in British Columbia now and though they talked often enough, she was hurt that he never visited her after any of the girls were born. She was sure if she had had a boy he would have come.
“And for you,” Ali handed Fatima a gift bag. She recognized the scent immediately.
“Rose oil, thank you so much.” It was 500 ml of pure essential oil. “Ali, it’s too much. It must have been so expensive,” Fatima insisted.
“Do you like it?” Ali asked.
“Of course, I love it. You know I do.” Rose was Fatima’s favourite scent and one that she usually kept in the house in some form, whether in the form of flowers, oil or spray.
“Then that’s all that matters.” Laila stayed close to him, weaving in and out of his legs, while he stroked her head.
“Open it Mommy, open it.” Fatima opened the bottle and the smell filled the room. She put one drop on a tissue and waved it in the air. The girls wanted some on them so Fatima opened her drawer and pulled out a bottle of almond oil. She put a few drops in her palm. She took one drop of the rose oil and mixed them together. She touched the mixture, rubbed her fingers together and touched each girl behind each of their ears.
Ali watched from the doorway. “Ok, the party’s over little ones. It’s time for bed.”
“Daddy can we have a bedtime story?”
“Go pick one. I’ll be there in a minute.” He turned back to Fatima. “I’ll be just a few minutes.”
“Take your time.”
“Can you read The Night Prayers?” Fatima could hear the girls asking. It was their favourite story and they asked for it almost every night.
“Sure. In bed you go.” Ali followed them into their room.
Fatima prepared herself for bed. She showered and mixed some more of the rose oil in a small bottle she kept in her drawer. It was so soothing for her stretched skin and the smell was incredible. She felt elated instantly.
She adjusted her pillow and when she slipped her hand underneath she felt a small piece of paper. She knew it was one of the notes Ali had left for her yesterday. She was ready to read it now. She pulled out the paper. Call me it read. She suddenly felt sad thinking of Ali waiting for her call that never came.
“They fell asleep before I even finished.” Ali had returned to their room.
“Lucky you. They wear me out with their stories,” Fatima said.
“Hey, look what I got for Josh and Jonah.” Ali pulled out two identical soccer balls.
“Uh, how many kids do you have again?” Fatima was smiling. She was pleased that he loved Rachel’s boys. They really needed him.
“Believe me sometimes I wonder myself,” he replied with a smile.
“Do you wish they were basketballs instead?” Fatima inquired.
“Well, they’re still a little short for that game. I figure I’ll warm them up and switch them over later.” Fatima knew he was joking.
She couldn’t help but notice how Ali beamed when he talked about Joshua and Jonah and their sports activities. She knew she shouldn’t but she had to ask. “Do you ever wish you had a boy?”
“What do you mean, instead of the girls?” Ali sat down on the edge of their bed.
“Yes.” Fatima really wondered how he would answer.
“What are you talking about? Of course not. Where is this coming from?” Ali wrinkled his brow.
“I don’t know. You’re so into Joshua and Jonah, I just wondered if you ever thought about it.”
“Well, I guess most men would like to have a son and the first time sure I thought about it. Not since then. It’s such a gift to have these children, any children, am I going to quibble about boy or girl? It really doesn’t matter to me, anymore. Allah gives us what is best. He is All-Knowing, All-Wise. Who am I to suggest that He is wrong? How rude could I be?” Ali suddenly became sombre. “You know what my family has been through. Just to have healthy, happy, safe kids means more to me than anything else.”
“Are you sure?” Fatima could not get her father out of her mind.
“Fatima, I would not trade one of my daughters for a thousand sons, I promise you.”
“Not even Laila? You know how she can be.” She hoped Ali would say something to lighten the mood and make her feel better.
Ali chuckled at the mention of his mischievous little daughter. “Especially not Laila.”
“Well, what if this baby is a boy?” Fatima raised herself on her elbow.
“What if it is?” Ali crossed his arms.
“Will you be happy?” Fatima asked.
“Would you want it any other way?”
“Well, would you be especially happy.” Fatima pressed for an answer.
“Yes, to have yet another child, healthy and perfect, Inshallah, I would be especially happy.” He was teasing her now and she was feeling annoyed. It was really a serious topic for her. She knew she shouldn’t care but sometimes emotion took over rationale.
“You know what I mean, happy because it’s a boy.”
Ali paused for a few seconds and kept his cool gaze on his wife. Fatima started to wonder what he was thinking.
“I’m not your father,” he finally said.
Fatima was caught off guard. Was she that transparent? She did not know how to reply. She knew that Ali was a different man from the one she had grown up with, but sometimes the doubts just overpowered her sense of reason. It was so difficult to keep her focus on what was real instead of the pain of her past.
Flustered she stumbled over her answer. “I know that. I do. I was just thinking.”
“Well, stop doing that ok? I love our family. I love Laila, I love Batool, I love Masuma; I don’t need anything else except a healthy baby.” He paused and looked at Fatima chewing her lip, “And a happy wife. Ok?”
“Ok.”
“You’re stuck with me,” he added gently.
“What do you mean?” She asked.
“I am never leaving you or those girls. No matter what.”
Fatima turned her attention back to the piece of paper that was in her hand. “Did you check the doors?” she asked Ali.
“I’ll do it right now.”
When Ali left the room she opened the paper again. “Call me,” she read out loud. She reached for the phone beside her bed and dialled Ali’s cell phone.
“Is that my phone ringing?” Ali re-entered their bedroom.
“It is.” Fatima hid the house phone and pretended to be settling in to sleep.
“Who could be calling me now?” Ali asked as he reached for his phone. He checked the caller ID before answering. He almost laughed out loud. He pressed ‘answer’ and in his most professional voice said, “Ali Abati. May I help you?”

Across the street Rachel looked out of her window. She spent many nights like this. Indeed all night sometimes. She would sit and remember the last time she had been looking out for her father. When she was small she would come to this room because it gave her the best view of the street. She could see when he was approaching before anyone else in the house; until the last time, when he didn’t come back. Sometimes she sat here wishing she could turn back the time. Sometimes she believed if she thought about it hard enough it would happen; she would see him driving down the street and realize that this had all been a bad dream.
When the lights went out in Fatima’s house she shook her head in amusement. “He is so predictable.” Ali always went to bed at the same time. Routine was important to him. He didn’t make a big deal about it; it just was his way, naturally. He usually got up at the same time too, and often once during the night.
Although she was across the street, many nights that routine gave her a strange sense of comfort and security. She knew when the lights would go out and she knew when they would go on. Ali never turned on the bedroom light during the night or early morning, but he may turn on the hall way light or a lamp on the main floor. Rachel felt like as long as everything was ok in Fatima’s house, then she was ok too. She sat in her chair next to the window. She thought about her life and her father. She clearly remembered the last day he was home.
It had been her tenth birthday and a small group of friends and family had gathered at her house. They had been waiting for her father to return from work. They had decorations and cake and Naomi had made all Rachel’s favourite foods. They waited and waited. Late at night after most guests had left, Papa started calling around to see if they could locate him. Finally the police had called to say he had been in an accident. Rachel never saw him again. They wouldn’t allow her to see him at the hospital and they had had a closed casket. Naomi had put away all his pictures and Rachel sometimes had a hard time remembering what he looked like. He was fading in her mind. His voice and his laugh, everything was fading. It scared her to death to think about losing him again.
“Mommy.” Jonah was at her bedroom door. He was almost the same height as Joshua who was a little small for his age.
“What is it honey?” Rachel turned to face her son. Jonah came and sat on his mother’s lap.
“I don’t like it when you go away.”
“I’m not going anywhere, honey.”
“When you go away I have bad dreams,” Jonah insisted.
“It’s ok honey, I’m here. What kind of bad dreams?” Rachel asked.
“Bad men come.”
“I’m so sorry, honey. You’re ok. Mommy’s here now.” Jonah often had bad dreams. He spent many nights in bed with Rachel. He was very sensitive and worried a lot. Whenever Jamie came around the dreams were worse. She rocked him back and forth in the rocking chair Jamie had bought her when she was pregnant with Joshua. She had wanted a rocking chair so badly. One day he had just surprised her with it. She had rocked her children here and Fatima’s too.
“You don’t know Mommy; there are bad men out there. Don’t leave me. They come when you leave me.”
“I won’t leave you. I’m right here. I love you Jonah.”
Jonah fell asleep and Rachel continued to rock him through the night. When she saw the light on Fatima’s main floor she knew it was 4 am. She put Jonah in her bed and kissed him good-night. “I won’t ever leave you, as long as I live.”
She returned to her rocking chair and pulled out her list.

Sundays were usually an easy day at Fatima’s house. They tried not to go anywhere or have any special plans. It was just a day for the family to relax and enjoy each other. The girls did whatever they wanted and that usually meant starting the day by jumping on whoever was still in bed.
This morning the bed was empty. Ali had gone for a run and Fatima was at her desk in the family room studying. The room was comfortable with soft earth tone walls and soft pink couches and armchairs. Cashmere pillows and throws helped to create a serene setting. Two large windows on either side of the fireplace were draped in fabric that matched the couches. Framed nature scenes hung on the walls. Fatima’s desk was neatly tucked in the corner to the right of the entrance. She often came to this room to relax. On winter nights she loved to unwind in front of the fireplace.
She didn’t usually study on Sundays, but she felt restless today and needed to do something to occupy her mind. Also if she put in a few hours early then she could relax the rest of the day. Usually when Ali returned from a trip the girls were interested in him exclusively for at least a few hours so she would take advantage of that time to do something for herself.
Her exams were starting in two weeks and she really had to push herself to study. At this stage in her pregnancy she could not care less about studying. She just wanted to prepare for her baby although there wasn’t much for her to do. They already had the major things and she would do most of the other shopping after the baby was born. She had help to clean and do laundry once a week and she really didn’t have to cook if she didn’t want to. That definitely made it a bit easier to study, but with three active little girls it was still chaotic most of the time.
Masuma came running down the steps into the lower level. “I’m telling on you!”
Laila screamed behind her, “It wasn’t me!”
“Yes, it was!” Batool was crying.
Fatima turned to face three very upset little girls. “What happened?”
All three girls were yelling and crying and Masuma waved a piece of paper in her hand that had red and green crayon scribbled all over it.
“Laila was drawing on Daddy’s paper.”
“Give it to me. Where did you get this? Fatima asked.
“In his drawer, but it was an accident!” Laila was hysterical now.
The girls knew that Ali usually kept treats for them in his bedside table.
“It’s a bit early for sweets don’t you think?” Fatima took the paper from Masuma’s hand and realized too late that it was the letter from the lawyer that had arrived on Friday. As she tried to process what she had read she suddenly felt her heart racing and her breath hard to catch. She stared at the paper so long that it no longer seemed real. When she heard Ali enter the house she told the girls to go to the basement and watch a movie.
“We want to see Daddy.” They all started jumping.
“Get in the basement!” Fatima yelled.
The girls froze. She had never yelled at them before.
She softened her voice. “Masuma, please take them,” Fatima pleaded. She was trembling now.
The girls quickly and quietly disappeared and Fatima sunk her face into her two hands. When she looked up Ali was in front of her. He wore a beige track suit with baby blue lines down the side of the arms and legs.
“What’s going on?” he asked in a soft but concerned voice.
Fatima could not get the words out. She held up the paper. “Masuma found this in your drawer.”
Ali slowly took the paper from her hand.
“So this is what’s going on?” Fatima asked. “Someone is filing a paternity suit against you?”