Ayesha At Last(74)

Khalid walked around the table to face her. “What if I bring you some kofta and paratha, will you talk to me then?”

Ayesha looked up. He had a half smile on his face. A curl had come loose from his white cap, and his hands were folded in front of him, as if in prayer. He met her gaze and then leaned forward. “Please,” he said softly. “Ayesha, I can’t stand this. I miss you.”

Hafsa came bounding up to them, and Ayesha jumped away, her heart thumping. “What are you doing here?” she asked, her voice breathy.

“I’m here to help, obviously.” Hafsa looked from Khalid to Ayesha, clearly annoyed. She turned to Khalid. “Why don’t you show me where the decorations are, sweetness?” she cooed. “I’ll probably need some help with that heavy banner your mother ordered. You’re so strong—would you mind?”

Khalid gave Ayesha one last lingering look before following Hafsa inside the mosque.

The imam trotted up to Ayesha, his face wreathed in smiles. “Thank you for all your hard work, Sister Ayesha. Your website and posts have accomplished their goal. The conference is a success!”

Ayesha smiled, caught up with the imam’s enthusiasm. “I’m so happy things worked out. Where is Brother Tarek? I thought he would be here directing the set-up.”

Imam Abdul Bari cleared his throat. “He did not show up this morning. He left a voice message saying that he would be present this afternoon, that he had put Sister Farzana in charge while he attended to some personal business.”

“When will Sheikh Rafeek arrive?” Ayesha asked.

A look of panic crossed the imam’s face.

“Let me guess. Tarek promised to take care of that.” Ayesha sighed. “I’ll pick him up from the airport. Don’t worry, Sister Farzana has everything under control here.”

The imam smiled. “She is a force to be reckoned with.”

“Like a Category 4 hurricane,” Ayesha agreed.

“Make sure you are back in time for your poetry recitation!” the imam called out to her, but Ayesha didn’t hear him as she hurried to the parking lot.

“Ayesha!” a voice called out, and she spotted Masood. She wasn’t in the mood for another ridiculous conversation and ducked behind her car, but it was too late. He was already striding toward her.

“You never texted me back.” Masood was wearing a short-sleeved black button-down shirt and khakis, his hair slicked back. On his shirt was the logo for his company, Better Life Wholistic.

Ayesha stood up and pasted a smile on her face, resigned to a few minutes of catch-up chat. “I was busy with work. Nice to see you again, Masood,” she said.

“I’m here for the conference. I can usually sign a few clients at these events. Where are you going?”

Ayesha explained about the guest speaker, her hand hovering above the car door handle. “I’m in a rush. We’ll talk again soon—”

But Masood ignored her and opened the passenger-side door. “I love Sheikh Rafeek,” he said, getting in and fastening his seat belt. “His lecture on the power of positive thinking made me step up my life coaching business.”

Ayesha was about to protest when the rear door opened and a familiar figure dived into the back seat, her head down. “Drive, drive, drive!” Hafsa whispered loudly. “Before that crazy woman makes me do anything else!”

Ayesha didn’t have time to argue with these two idiots. She just got in the car and turned on the radio.

“Ooooh, I love this song!” Hafsa said. “Turn up the volume!”

Ayesha’s grip on the steering wheel tightened as Masood blasted the music. She turned onto the main street and drove toward Highway 401 as Masood and Hafsa sang along to Usher’s “DJ Got Us Fallin’ in Love.”

TAREK sidled up to Farzana, who was barking at two terrified teenagers.

“Where have you been?” she asked, her voice contemptuous.

Tarek motioned for her to follow him to a quiet corner of the mosque. “I knew you would have things under control here. I was gathering evidence for that issue we discussed.” He took out a flash drive and passed it to Farzana.

“This will prove the imam is a thief and a liar?” she asked.

Tarek nodded. “Make sure you play it in front of as many witnesses as possible. There’s no telling what Abdul Bari will do once the truth is revealed. Open the file titled ‘Just Desserts’ and press Play.”

Farzana tucked the flash drive into her pocket. “I’m glad you’re not completely useless,” she said. “I’ll make sure this little bomb goes off in front of the entire congregation. The imam must be brought to justice.”

HAFSA and Masood were both singing along with Usher—at the top of their lungs and off-key. Ayesha reached out and snapped the music off, and there was a sudden silence.

“You know, I can do the Usher dance,” Masood offered. “I know all the moves. It’s important for wrestlers to be light on their feet.”

“You’re a wrestler?” Hafsa asked, sticking her head between the two front seats to appraise Masood.

“I know the moves to Beyoncé’s ‘Single Ladies’ too,” Masood said.

Ayesha tried not to picture Masood in a unitard. “Let me introduce you: Hafsa, this is Masood.”