As Long as the Lemon Trees Grow (82)

His voice is breathless, and it sends shivers along my spine. I hug myself, and he stands, crossing over to me until he’s a whisper away. His lemon scent takes over the tiny space and he lifts my chin to stare into my eyes. My heart is hotter than the sun, its fiery tendrils spreading along my vascular system.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs. There’s reverence and awe in his tone. In his touch. In his eyes. “So beautiful.”

I let out a nervous laugh. “You don’t have to humor me.”

He looks confused. “I’m not.” He reaches up to thread his fingers through my curls, and my eyelashes flutter. “I wish you could see yourself the way I see you.”

He holds up a lock of my hair. “Your hair is beautiful.”

His fingers skim my cheeks. “Your face is beautiful.”

He presses a hand against my chest, over my wedding ring. “Your heart is beautiful.”

My knees tremble and I stumble back until my spine hits the wall. He moves with me, holding my waist.

“But I can get specific if you want,” he whispers.

“I don’t mind,” I stutter.

Amusement glitters in his jade-green eyes and he presses a kiss to my forehead. “I like your forehead.”

That makes me laugh and it eases the nerves crackling through me.

“I like your laugh.” He grins. “No, scratch that. I love your laugh.”

With a soft sigh, I absently clasp my hands on his shoulders, pulling him closer. Pleased, he kisses my nose. “I love your nose.” Then my cheeks. “I love your cheeks.” Then atop the pulse in my throat. “I love your neck.”

My lips tingle when he hovers over them, and I count down the seconds until they touch, but he stills.

“What else do you love?” I finally whisper, my eyes half closed.

Kenan smiles. “Your lips.”

And he kisses me. It’s a soft, tentative kiss that coaxes a kaleidoscope of colors to twirl behind my eyelids. I cup his face and his stubble pricks my palms, but I hardly feel it with the heady effect his kiss has on me. I exist in this canopy where time stands still and washes away all my worries.

All but one.

Regret snatches me away from the moment and I push my hands against his chest.

Kenan stops, letting go immediately, concern clouding his eyes. He holds up hands. “I’m sorry. I took it too far.”

I shake my head, heartbeat thundering. “You didn’t.” I shudder in a shaky breath, trying to regulate my pulmonary activity. I can’t keep the secret about Samar inside me for one more second. It’ll continue to creep up on every happy moment.

“I have to tell you something,” I say and move to sit on the couch.

He sits beside me, cracking his knuckles nervously.

“You said I’m strong. That I have a beautiful heart.” I focus on my hands, which were pressed against his skin seconds ago. “But I’m not. I did… something. It was a rash decision, and I regret it so much.”

Kenan draws closer. “What?”

I take another deep breath and tell him everything. From how I couldn’t afford the boat to endangering Samar’s life for it. I don’t leave out any detail. By the end, my eyes are closed, hot tears pricking the edges.

“If I could take it back, I would,” I whisper.

Kenan’s hand finds mine and he squeezes it tightly, prompting me to look at him. There’s hurt in his eyes, but there’s also understanding.

“Is this why you’ve lost so much weight? And all the times you’ve vomited?” he asks.

A lump forms in my throat. Of course he’d notice that. “Yes,” I say, breathless.

He tugs me to him, and I fall against his chest. “You’ve paid your debts,” he whispers, wrapping his arm around me, and he kisses my forehead. “Samar is alive, you’ve made sure of it, and that’s all that matters.”

“But—”

He shakes his head fiercely. “We’re human, Salama. Pushed into a corner, we’re forced to make decisions we wouldn’t normally make. You were thinking of Layla when you did that. I’m not saying it was right, but you’ve suffered enough for it. You saved her life and you saved many, many after her.”

I swallow a sob and bury my face in the worn material of his sweater, breathing him in deeply.

He lifts my head up, brushing my hair back, and his touch awakens butterflies in my stomach. He looks solemn. “It’s okay.”

I press my forehead against his chest and a relieved sigh escapes me.

“I love you,” I murmur.





“I’M TALKING TO MY UNCLE TODAY TO SEE WHEN he’s coming to Syracuse,” Kenan says as I shrug on my lab coat. “I’ll check the grocery at the end of the street, and if they don’t have any lemons, I’ll go to the one by the hospital.”

“Okay. Be careful.” I stifle a yawn. We dozed off on the couch in the early hours of the morning when our sleep-deprived bodies couldn’t run on fumes anymore. But I was able to stomach the small tuna sandwich Kenan made me for breakfast. That alone has given me a boost of energy.

He kisses my cheek. “I’ll see you after your shift.”

When I get to the hospital, Dr. Ziad has me check on some of the patients whose respiratory systems have taken a major hit from the sarin. A few more passed during the night, most of them children, their faces still frozen in petrified expressions. I swallow down the breakfast threatening to come up. I hand out water and administer antibiotics and anesthetics until noon.