“Your parents wanted to come, but there aren’t any direct flights from Paris to Qarshi. Noele has twenty hours of travel ahead of her. When we get you and Mateen to Boston—”
“Boston?”
“Shit. I thought Joey would have told you. She works at St. Jude’s. With kids. They have the largest bone marrow donor database in the world. If there’s a match out there for Mateen, she’ll find it.” He stifles a groan as he pushes to his feet. “We leave for Uzbekistan in an hour. Get Mateen ready. This is almost over.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Lisette
“You should get some sleep,”the nurse, a slight woman named Anora, says as she replaces the bag of fluid hooked up to Mateen’s IV.
The narrow cot the hospital staff set up against the window beckons me. For two days, I have barely slept. Constantly worried about Mateen. About Nomar. About Faruk finding us.
I tear my gaze away from the pillow and focus on my son.
“I cannot. If he wakes, he will not understand where we are and why his…hisfatheris not here.”
The nurse peers down at me, touches my chin, and tuts softly at my black eye. “He will understand. And you will not be far away.”
Tears lend a soft glow to the room. “Maybe…later.”
“A shower, then? You must want to change out of…that.” She gestures to my ripped and stained abaya.
The stale scents of sweat, blood, and vomit cling to me. Anora is being…delicate. She could have told me I stink.
I glance back at the door. Two guards stand outside—courtesy of Ford and Trevor’s boss. We are safe here, Ford says. But…are we?
“You will stay with Mateen? I will be quick.”
Anora pulls up a chair next to Mateen’s bed and offers me a gentle smile. “Take your time.”
In the small bathroom, I strip out of my abaya and turn away from the mirror. I refused to let the doctor examine me. My shoulder is swollen and tender, but no one needs to see the evidence of a decade of Faruk’s cruelty.
I will heal. I always do.
The water runs brown at my feet as I let the spray soak into my long locks. I should have asked Anora for a pair of scissors. Faruk never let me cut my hair, and I hate it.
But as I spill shampoo into my palm, I shove the thought away. My needs can wait until my son is far from Afghanistan. Back in France—or in Boston, I suppose—with a new name. Somewhere his father will never find him.
How am I supposed to tell him he has to be…someone else? Matthew? Mattie? Marcus?
And what aboutmyname? How can Lisette Moreau disappear if Noele Moreau does not? If Jacques and Anna Moreau can be found as easily as Ford’s boss found them?
By the time I wrap a towel around my body, my worries have consumed my every thought. I am no good to Mateen if I cannot calm down. But without answers…
The new clothes feel like heaven against my skin. The long, flowing dress covers my ankles—even in Uzbekistan, women must dress modestly—but leaves my forearms bare, and it is so freeing to go without a headscarf, a small smile curves my lips until all my worries take over again.
I do not know how Trevor managed to get all the right sizes, but even the tennis shoes fit.
Anora has a magazine in her hands when I emerge from the bathroom. “You look so much better!” she says, keeping her voice low.
“I am certain I smell better, at least.” Too nervous and tense to sit with my son, I move to the window. The city lights twinkle across a large expanse of darkness—a river runs next to the hospital—and the whisper of freedom tickles my panicked thoughts. Along with the face of the man who brought us here.
“Where is Nomar?” I ask, turning with the sudden need to know if our rescuer is all right. “The man who came with us. He had been shot.”
“Oh! The handsome one?” Anora’s cheeks flush crimson and she grins at me. “I…am not allowed to tell you. Hospital policy.”
“Please.” I twist my fingers together, two of my knuckles cracking and sending little jolts into my palms. “He saved us. I have to know how he is. Mateen will ask when he wakes up.”
