His statement holds a note of finality, but I can’t let it go. “Because…?”
“Because he is disgraceful. He will do anything to gain the money and power my baba earned honorably. I worry his influence will be bad for Aamir.”
“Bad how?”
He sighs, like the subject drains him. “The day we met—our ocean swim? That morning, I read an email from my brother. He wrote about the people he’s met since moving in with my uncle. They are not good people.”
Audrey’s voice echoes in my head:I think you should stay away from him.A shiver skitters up my spine. “What do you mean,not good?”
Mati starts walking again. In a clipped tone, he says, “Elise, I’d rather not talk about it.”
I have to hurry to keep up with his long strides.
He stays quiet for the duration of a block, though my mind is anything but. I think in frantic circles, of the Afghans responsible for Nick’s death. Of my mom’s warnings, her mention of stones and prison and lynchings. Of Audrey’s distrust, herdisgust. Of my innate confidence where Mati is concerned.
I can’t decide if I’m right, or if my family’s right, or if right falls somewhere in the middle, in that gray area between their intolerance and my suddenly smitten heart. Is my acceptance of what Mati tells me about life in Afghanistan the same as naiveté? The same as oblivion?
No. He might be from a place known for violence, a place with a seemingly endless history of war, a place that’s different from America, but I have to believe he’s everything good about Afghanistan: cultured and complex, rugged and beautiful.
I have to believe we’re connected, the way Nicky once talked about.
As we make our way up the sidewalk, nearer and nearer my yard, Mati’s posture begins to relax, and I’m starting to feel better, calmer,once again sure of the rightness of my choices, my instincts—until Bambi recognizes our gate and gives an unexpected jerk toward it, yanking Mati forward. I reach out to grab his elbow, stopping his forward motion.
“Bambi, heel!”
She listens, sort of, because now she’s an easy trot to the gate and there’s slack in her leash. She waits in front of it, wagging her tail expectantly like,Open it already.
My fingers are still wrapped around Mati’s elbow.
I snatch my hand back, but he’s noticed the contact and he’s staring at me, mouth open, like he’s not sure who I am or how he came to be standing on the sidewalk with me.
“I’m sorry.” My face is sweltering and I’m sure he notices andwhy did I touch him?
He rubs his arm, the spot my hand vacated, like the ghost of my fingerprints linger there.
“Elise,” a friendly voice calls. “Hello, sweetie!”
Iris, manning her side of the hedge like a freaking sentry.
“Hey,” I say. Bambi howl-barks.
“Hello, precious dog,” she singsongs before eyeing Mati. “Who’s this?”
“Oh, sorry,” I say, opening our gate and pushing through. I worry about how my mother will react if she spots Mati in our yard, but I hold the gate open so he can follow—it’d be rude not to. I manage something resembling an introduction, praying Mom doesn’t dig out of her library and glance through the window. “Anyway, Mati walked me home,” I finish lamely.
“I’m happy to meet you, Iris,” Mati says, his impeccable manners amplified in the presence of an old person.
“Ryan,” Iris calls. “Come say hello to Elise and her friend.”
She wanders across the yard to resume pruning as he emerges from the back. He’s wearing a faded A&M T-shirt and a backward baseball cap, plus what I’m starting to think is a hallmark smile. “Hey,neighbor,” he says, wiping soil-caked hands on his jeans. “Long time, no see.”
“Yeah. Like, a whole day? You must be a master weed-puller by now.”
“Something like that,” he says, still grinning. His gaze shifts from me to Mati. He makes no effort to hide his curiosity. And so, I muddle through another round of introductions.
“Welcome to Cypress Beach,” Mati says, his politeness waning just slightly. “How long will you be in town?”
“Through the middle of August. I head back to Texas on the tenth.”
