As Long as the Lemon Trees Grow (19)

“How the hell did you get one?”

“Do you want to ask questions, or do you want to call her?” He hands it to me and heads back upstairs.

Kenan pauses halfway up and then says, “Don’t run into death.”

I nod, and he disappears.

I dial her number, my heart beating loudly as the beeps go by. She doesn’t pick up, and I nearly faint from terror. Three more times. No answer.

Khawf materializes in front of me, and the uneasiness opens the blackest hole in my heart.

“What’s happening?” I gasp.

“Imagine if she’s in labor right now,” he says.

The earth shakes under me.

“These are the choices you make every day, Salama.” He stands closer, regarding me with pity. “You’re gambling with Layla’s life. Not to mention the life of her unborn child. Your niece. Which is more important? The patients or Layla and her baby?”

I hear my bones cracking under the weight of his words. I remember Layla’s anguish when Hamza was taken. How she spent weeks screaming and clutching her stomach, wishing to die, her torment overflowing like a flood, threatening to drown her.

I imagine what Hamza would say to me if I let any harm come to Layla.

If she died because of me.





I OPEN THE FRONT DOOR OF KENAN’S APARTMENT and walk in like a possessed body. This doesn’t feel right. I need to be with Layla.

“How’s your sister-in-law?” Kenan asks, coming out from the kitchen.

“She didn’t pick up the phone.” I swallow hard.

“Keep it,” he says, reading my fear. “And try again.”

“Thank you,” I whisper.

He nods and I stand by the wall, trying to soothe my agitated nerves. The afternoon’s hazy orange glow begins to dwindle, and it drags the harsh cold breeze inside Kenan’s half-destroyed apartment. I shiver, pressing my lab coat tighter to me. Kenan notices and, with his brother’s help, hangs a gray wool blanket from either side of the hole, trying to minimize the frigid air’s reach.

“Thank you,” I murmur, and he smiles at me, shaking his head.

He goes into one of the rooms, lugs out an old mattress, and hauls it across the floor. His brother casts me shy glances, his cheeks hollow and his wrists bony. He looks a bit like Kenan, though his eyes are a lighter shade of green and his hair a darker shade of brown. Two characteristics he shares with his sister.

“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.