As Long as the Lemon Trees Grow (92)

Yusuf rushes to the kitchen, where he scoops water from the rain bucket into a mug, and hurries back.

“Here,” he whispers, and we all freeze.

Kenan reacts first, shock easing the tension in his expression. With a shaking hand, he sets the mug on the table in front of him before holding his hand out. Yusuf takes it. Kenan pulls him closer, not even flinching from the pain, and hugs his brother tightly. Lama bursts into tears and I shed a few happy ones too.

Then Lama jumps on Yusuf and holds him close as her sobs muffle on his shoulder.

“Kenan, take your Panadol,” I whisper, handing him the tablet, and he swallows it with the water.

Lama and Yusuf move out of the way, but not too far from Kenan as I help him lie down. Kenan holds his brother’s hand in his, grinning. “Maybe I should get hurt more often.”

Yusuf blushes, and Kenan launches into an exaggerated tale of the ridiculous ways he’ll get injured as they giggle. I recognize the effort in his words and the forced easiness in his tone. He’s trying to distract them from the devastation they witnessed today. Of a refuge reduced to ash.

“Or maybe I’ll let a whale snap me up!” he says.

Lama titters and Yusuf can’t fight the smile on his lips.

“Too unrealistic?” Kenan says thoughtfully. “Then I’ll slip on a banana like in those cartoons! What would you say to that?”

Yusuf lightly punches his arm. “You’re weird.”

Kenan’s eyes shine with joy. “I like weird.”

They stay like that for a while before Kenan finally convinces his siblings to try and sleep. With a newfound hope in their eyes, they skip to my room. I help, tugging the covers over their small frames, making sure the cold doesn’t seep through the cracks. I kiss Lama’s cheek and smile at Yusuf. He hesitates for a second before smiling back. My heart swells, and I whisper, “Good night. Sleep well; tomorrow’s a big day.”

I close the door gently, tiptoe down the hallway, and stop when I get to Layla and Hamza’s room. My fingers dance over the brass handle. I don’t need to go in. Once was more than enough.

I lay my head against the door and whisper, “Goodbye.”

I grab the two bags I packed with Layla and make my way to the living room. Kenan’s eyes are closed but they blink open as I walk in and sit on the rug in front of the couch. I slip off my hijab, run my fingers through my hair, and wince from the ache in my scalp. The cut on my throat stings, but I don’t dare touch it under the bandages.

“How are you?” he whispers.

“Surviving,” I whisper back. “Are you in pain?”

He shifts slowly. “The Panadol is helping.”

“Good news is we’re meeting Am early.”

“When I talked to my uncle a few days ago, he said he’s flying to Syracuse today,” he says. “He’ll meet us at the shore. Worst-case scenario, we call him.”

Safety is so close I can almost taste it. I take out the USB stick from Layla’s bag and run my thumb over its metallic shell, smiling.

Thank you, Hamza.

“As agreed, we’ll only pay him five hundred dollars and the gold necklace now that Layla—” I stop, breathing deeply.

Kenan trails his fingers over my cheek and I look up. His touch is comforting.

I give him a watery smile before rummaging through Layla’s bag and taking out the gold. I stash it in my bag’s inner pocket and pull the zipper tight. I count the contents inside one more time. Eight cans of tuna, three cans of beans, one Panadol box, my high school certificate and passport, socks, one set of clothes.

“I got the lemons,” Kenan says. He nods toward the kitchen. “They’re in the fridge.”

“Thank you.” I jump to my feet and rush to get them.

“Where’s your camera?” I ask as I put the lemons in the bag.

He cringes. “I destroyed it the night of the chemical attack.”

My mouth drops open.

“It’s okay,” he whispers. “I uploaded all the videos to YouTube first.”

I hold his hand tightly. “Oh, Kenan.”

His smile is sad. “It’s just a camera.”

“I’ll get you a new one.”

He laughs lightly and kisses my knuckles. When he brushes my cheek, my eyelashes flutter.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, guilt saturating his voice.

“What for?” I frown.

His jaw strains. “For what happened at the hospital when you were… when that happened.”

I shake my head. That little girl’s terror reminded me of Samar. Of my sin. “I couldn’t let him… get to that little girl.”

“I know,” Kenan whispers. “It’s okay. You did what you had to do. I’m just glad you’re safe.” His fingers brush over the bandage on my throat. “It may scar.”

I nod, fussing with my sleeves, needing the comfort, so I ask, “Would you be okay with that?”

He lets out an incredulous laugh. “My wife has a battle scar. She’s a badass.”

I shake my head, smiling. “It’s not the only scar I have.”

He raises his eyebrows. “You mean the ones on your hands. I love those.”

My smile deepens.

“Here.” I take his hand and place it at the base of my skull, under my hair. “Do you feel it?”