Ayesha At Last(80)

“He told me the imam was a crook and that he would keep the money safe for the mosque.”

Farzana and Khalid looked at each other, panic clear on their faces. Khalid did a quick calculation: tens of thousands of dollars in desperately needed donations, gone.





Chapter Thirty-Five

Asmall crowd had gathered in the parking lot. Hafsa’s parents stood apart, frantically dialing their daughter’s cell phone over and over.

“Hafsa would never get into a car with a strange man. Something must have upset her,” Samira Aunty said.

Something like a semi-public breakup? Khalid and Amir exchanged glances, thinking of the Post-It note in Khalid’s pocket.

I’m going to have some fun with a real man—he’s hot, rich and totally into me. Tell everyone I’ll be in touch after our nikah. And don’t forget—I dumped YOU!

Khalid assumed she was joking about the nikah. Hafsa wanted a big, showy wedding. He felt the first flicker of guilt. “I’m sure she’s fine,” he said out loud, but no one paid him any attention. He wished Ayesha were here. Even if she yelled at him, he would feel better.

The imam plucked at Khalid’s sleeve. “I hate to think the worst of a fellow Muslim, but it is better to have all the facts,” he said. “How much money was deposited into the Muslims in Action account?”

“A lot. Enough to buy us a few months of breathing room.”

The imam closed his eyes. “Subhanallah.”

“I’m sure Brother Tarek took Hafsa to run an errand. Or perhaps out for coffee. He wouldn’t steal from a mosque, and even if he was that reprehensible, I’m sure Sister Hafsa would convince him otherwise,” Khalid said, trying to sound reassuring.

Abdul Bari looked pale. “‘The pens have been lifted, and the pages have dried,’” he quoted.

After Hafsa’s parents made a call to the police, the crowd dissipated and Khalid drove his mother home.

Farzana was uncharacteristically silent, but she perked up as he pulled into their driveway. “Now that Hafsa has run away with Tarek, we can cancel the wedding. I never liked her anyway. The mistake we made was trying to find a girl here instead of in India. I have another girl in mind for you. Her name is Zulfat and she lives in Hyderabad. She’s seventeen, and if we start the sponsorship now, she can immigrate to Canada soon.”

Khalid stared at his mother. She couldn’t be serious.

Farzana crossed her arms. “What if I telephone Zareena and invite her to visit?”

Khalid took the key out of the ignition. He thought about his sister, who hadn’t returned any of his texts or emails. He had buried his worry for her, just as he had buried his feelings of loss and guilt. No more.

If he had been looking for a sign that he had made the right decision, his mother’s attempt to arrange his marriage to another stranger, and cajole his obedience by promising to telephone Zareena, was better than a burning bush. For better or for worse, he had taken the first few steps toward a new life.

“Zareena is no longer part of your life,” he said softly. “You have no daughter. Remember?”

KHALID paced his room, his thoughts jumbled. It wasn’t just that Hafsa had run away with Tarek. It wasn’t just that Ayesha had stomped on his heart. Or that his only sister had vanished. Something else was bothering him. Khalid couldn’t stop replaying Ayesha’s words: Gun to my head . . . Coward and hypocrite . . .You beat your sister almost to death . . .

He paused, rewinding. That last allegation, at least, he could answer. Khalid reached for his blue leather notebook, the twin of the one he had bought for Ayesha back when he’d thought his life would unfold exactly as planned.

He began to write.

THE townhouse was quiet when he walked over, but the lights were on. A young man opened the door and looked Khalid up and down.

“I heard Hafsa dumped you and ran off with some pretty boy,” the young man said.

Khalid remembered him now: Ayesha’s brother, Idris. “Is your sister here?”

Idris yelled for Ayesha before letting him into the living room. He perched on the arm of a saggy sofa.

“Is that beard for real?” Idris said. “I forgot to ask at the engagement.”

“Yes.”

“Solid.”

There was a moment of silence. Then: “I hear you’re rich.”

“My mother has money, not me.”

“That’s probably why Hafsa dumped you. I’m going to be rich one day. I’m killer at writing code. Maybe you could come work for me.” He reached into his pocket and handed Khalid a business card.

Khalid took it and nodded gravely. “I’d like that.”

Satisfied, Idris wandered away. Khalid stood up and walked around the small living room. There was a framed picture of the Kaaba on the wall, along with a print of the Prophet’s Mosque in Medina. On a small side table, a large white marble model of the Taj Mahal was prominently displayed. His eyes lingered on the model, and he thought about the legendary love Emperor Shah Jahan had for his wife Mumtaz Mahal. After he was deposed by his sons, Shah Jahan had spent his last days staring through the window of his jail cell at his wife’s tomb. It came to represent his deep grief and love.

Ayesha slowly walked down the stairs, watching him stare at the Taj.

“It belongs to my Nani. A wedding gift, I think,” she said to his back.