“So, we put the mattress beside Lama. I thought you’d feel more comfortable not being alone tonight.” Then Kenan says quickly, as if trying to get the words out as fast as he can: “If you want, you can have any of these rooms. Yusuf and I will be awake the whole night. But if you need anything or just—”
“You’re right,” I interrupt. “She’s still feverish, and I want to make sure she’ll be fine. I won’t be able to sleep either. Your brother should, though. It doesn’t make sense for the whole house to stay awake.”
He doesn’t argue with me and whispers something to Yusuf, brushing his hair back. Yusuf barely reaches Kenan’s chin, and he looks up at his older brother adoringly before slipping inside his room.
I’m glad someone will be sleeping, because I don’t know if I’ll be able to this far away from Layla. I wander to the mattress and sit beside Lama, checking her temperature. She’s still a bit too warm for my liking, but I’m hoping the antibiotics will bring her back. I wipe her brow with a wet cloth, remembering how Mama used to do it for me when I was sick. Her gentle fingers, her encouraging words when I downed a glass of squeezed lemons.
“Bravo, te’eburenee,” she used to say, her cool palm on my sweat-slicked forehead. “I’m so proud of you. Yalla, drink it all. Kill all those germs.”
I squeeze my eyes shut.No. I’m not going there.
“How is she?” Kenan asks, sitting down on Lama’s other side.
I manage a smile. “Despite the fever, her breathing is better. I’m optimistic.”
“Alhamdulillah.”
He hands me a halloumi sandwich, and I’m surprised. Bread and cheese don’t come easy. I notice he doesn’t have one.
“You’re our guest,” he says, and I can’t help but wonder what this’ll cost them.
“I can’t take this. Give it to your brother.”
“No, he already has one. If you don’t eat it, I’ll throw it away, and then no one will. So please, don’t fight me on this.”
It would sound like an empty threat coming from anyone else, but he doesn’t look like he’s joking around. His eyes are obstinate, holding no room for negotiation.
I let out a sigh and break it in half, holding out the bigger one. “Take it.”
He shakes his head.
“If you don’t take it, I will throw it away right now, and no one will eat it.”
He laughs and takes it.
“That wasn’t too hard, was it?”
“I’m pretty sure my parents’ souls are glaring at me from Heaven right now for accepting. But I was outwitted.” He laughs again. His glance falls to my hands, to my scars, just for a second. My stomach goes hollow and I pull my sleeves over them. The action doesn’t go unnoticed, but he doesn’t say anything.
“One has to be smart in these times,” I say, trying to enforce a casual tone to my voice.
Dusk has turned the sky into a deep pink flecked across the blue. After we finish our food, he calls his brother and we pray together. Kenan begins reciting verses from the Quran in a beautiful melodic tone. I feel hypnotized by each word, drinking in their meaning, feeling them bring peace and serenity to every cell in my body, washing away the sorrows. I can’t remember the last time I was so at peace, nearly empty of worry.
After prayer, I check on Lama. No change.
Kenan brings out a few candles, lights them up, and thanks to the blanket covering the hole in the wall, they don’t go out. I excuse myself to go to the washroom to freshen up and try to call Layla again, with no success.
She’s fine,I repeat to myself as I massage my scalp and splash water on my face to calm down.
When I go back into the living room, Kenan is beside his sister, and I take the opposite side of the mattress. A laptop is on the ground near him with the screen turned off.
“When will we know if she’ll be totally okay?” he asks, dabbing her forehead with a cloth.
“Cephalexin takes about ten to twenty-four hours to reach a steady concentration in the blood. Tomorrow, insh’Allah, she’ll be all right.”
He looks at me. “You sure do know a lot about medications.”
I shrug. “It’s my job.”
