I tried to spend my last day productively. I finished some required summer reading for AP Lit. Planned the meals I’d make for me and Baba during the new semester. Plotted how I’d convince my friends to forgive me for ditching them without a word.
By sunset, Khalto Safa hadn’t returned. I pushed off the couch and checked the gate for the millionth time. The lock hadn’t budged an inch. No way Khalto Safa could’ve come back without going through the gate, not unless she’d developed supernatural climbing skills and scaled the walls surrounding the estate.
What if she didn’t come back tonight? Who would drive me to the airport tomorrow morning?
Viscerally aware of the darkening sky, I ventured across the second floor, turning on the lights as I went. I even found the switch for the crystal chandelier hanging above the center of the hall. It lit up like a star,the teardrop diamonds dangling in long strands from the center, creating chess patterns on the walls.
Triumphant, I placed my hands on my hips. There. They could probably spot the house from space with all these lights.
I veered to admire my handiwork and bumped into one of the side tables. A mirror propped on the table tipped forward. I caught it just in time and quickly righted it.
“Watch where you’re going,” I told my reflection sternly. The chandelier glowed behind me, casting my features in a soft bronze. With my hair loose, I looked like a character out of one of those gothic novels Mrs. Lawrence kept asking us to read. Little did Mrs. Lawrence know that apparently the secret to gothic-era hair was to anxiously pick apart your curls until they formed a cloud of tangled frizz around you.
My campaign to distract myself from Khalto Safa’s prolonged absence(She’ll be back. Of course she’ll be back. Just because my mother never came back doesn’t mean Khalto Safa won’t come back)led me downstairs, where I continued flipping light switches and wreaking havoc on the estate’s electric bill.
A breeze brushed my skin as soon as I stepped outside. I always forgot how freezing it was inside the house until I emerged into the lovely summer evenings stretching over El Agamy.
These balmy nights were one of the rare times I remembered others lived in this quiet little neighborhood. I’d gone for a walk the day before and spotted families lounging on plastic chairs out in the street. One family nursed a small bonfire as the father roasted a basket of corn, much to his squealing children’s excitement. Another family passed around a tray full of glass cups, filled nearly to the brim with dark red tea.
The third family I’d passed had been my favorite. The boy and girl were older, maybe around my age, and had been splayed out on square cushions arranged on the porch. The guy had his nose buried in hisphone, only looking up when his mother kicked his shoe and pointed at a ginger cat trying to discreetly sneak into the street. The girl had a striped bandana tying her curls back from her face while she read. Her wide-rimmed glasses were fogging from the steam curling out from the mug at her elbow. While I’d hovered in the street like a creep, the father had ventured onto the porch with his laptop in one arm and a deck of cards in the other, clearly planning for an evening spent with his children and the full moon.
The mom had run outside to catch the cat and smiled at me as I passed. I nearly cried at the thought of my mom in some other life, cradling our family cat while I read a book on the porch.
I toyed with the idea of going for another walk before discarding it. The streetlamps weren’t the strongest in this neighborhood, and tonight’s moon was hidden beneath an opaque screen of silver.
Not that the light in the Haikal garden was any better. I rubbed my arms, wandering further into the overgrown thicket. Yellow grass crunched under my shoes. Rutab were scattered beneath the trees like forgotten gemstones. The only illumination came from a small string light dangling above the tall bushes. Leafy vines crept over the walls separating the garden from the street, winding tight around the perimeter. In the daylight, I might’ve said they were shielding us from the outside.
I wiggled a finger between the tightly woven branches. The date trees rustled above me, whispering with the wind.
At night, it was hard not to wonder if perhaps these plants weren’t protecting us from the outside, but penning us in.
The breeze carried over a flurry of whispers from behind a row of prickly rose bushes on the southern wall of the garden.
“The girl flies back tomorrow. Safa will have to leave to take her to the airport. We will be waiting inside when she returns,” said a familiar voice in short, gruff Arabic.
I pressed my palm to the vines as I moved closer. Were they talking about me and Khalto Safa?
“You know as well as I do that girl is never leaving this house.”
I made out a figure standing by the edge of the wall, speaking into a gap in the bricks.
The housekeeper.
“It’s not safe inside,” the person behind the wall urged. “Hamida, I know you’re scared—”
“Not safe inside? It won’t be safe anywhere in El Agamy!” Hamida smacked her fist against the brick. Blood scraped over her knuckles. “It’s happening again! Why else do you think she brought Nadine’s daughter here? She’s going to pick up where her mother left off. She won’t have a choice.” A dry sob left the housekeeper. “The house has been in ruins for years. Safa is sick. I thought,finally.Finally, the curse of this family and their horror house will finally end. Our children will be safe again. Families can grow old here without fear.”
A dry leaf snapped underfoot. The sound cracked through the air, and the housekeeper whipped around. I froze, plastering myself to the wall. She couldn’t see me through all these bushes, could she?
I held my breath.
Finally, the housekeeper murmured something to the person waiting outside. As soon as she left the garden, I bolted for the house. Dates split against my heels, a chunky mash oozing behind me.
I paced inside my room. What was the housekeeper talking about, picking up where my mother left off? Picking up with what?
And what did she mean, my aunt was sick?
It took an hour until I stopped waiting for the housekeeper to storm my bedroom. I opened my window, hoping to catch a sound. Any sound. I’d settle for shouting and car horns, at this point.
