Page 85 of Rescuing You

She faced forward again. “Sleeping, I think.”

In his pack, Michael had also found a plastic bag she could use if she got sick again. Not that he minded stopping, he’d been quick to say, but once the sun rose, it would be better if they could remain in the car behind the tinted windows. Out of sight.

The sun was already glowing on the horizon behind them.

Maybe the lemon juice Jasmine had added to her bottle of water would help. Splat had brought a small container, which was almost empty. She swore the bitter juice settled her stomach.

“Any idea what’s wrong with her?” he asked.

“Whenever I ask, she says it’s nothing.”

“How long has she been dealing with it?”

Leila shrugged, not that Michael could see. But her sister wouldn’t talk about it.

He took her hand again, squeezing gently. “Has she seen a doctor?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know anything. Only that…” She was afraid to voice the fears rising inside her. But keeping them inside would give them more power, not less. Fears were like cockroaches—they thrived in darkness. “It was stomach cancer.”

Michael’s quick intake of breath had Leila hurrying to add, “Mama’s cancer. Not… I’m not saying that’s what Jasmine has, only that it scares me. Because, what if she does? I mean, I just got her back. I cannot…” She pressed her lips closed, but the emotion she was trying to hide leaked from her eyes.

“Was your mother sick to her stomach like your sister is?”

“I wasn’t there. I don’t know.”

“But your sister was. Does she think⁠—?”

“We haven’t spent enough time together. I had only seen her twice before you came, and both times we had to keep the visits short. We didn’t want Baba to know she had discovered me. When I ask her, she tells me⁠—”

“It’s nothing.”

“Right.”

“Well, as soon as we get you to the States, we’ll take her to my dad. If he can’t figure out what’s wrong, he’ll find someone who can.”

Whoa. What?

“The States? We are going to America?”

He shot her a look. “If that’s okay. I mean, we don’t have to, but I think you’ll be safer there, farther from your father and⁠—”

“Yes, yes. I would like… I have tried many times to get a visa, but it is impossible. You really think you can get us into America?”

“I’m pretty sure.” His lips tipped up at the corner. Not amusement, though, because his eyes didn’t seem to agree.

America.

Her heartbeat quickened. The land of freedom and opportunity, where she could build a new life—without looking over her shoulder, waiting for her father or Waleed or one of Hasan’s men to snatch her and yank her back to Iraq.

America.

Where she would be safe, able to attend church wherever she wanted without fear. Without having to explain herself to Muslim refugees who judged her for eschewing Islam for true worship.

“I would like that.” Her voice cracked, and her cheeks heated with embarrassment. For Michael, this was nothing, to go to America. But for her, it was…it was life-altering. It was future- and family-altering. It was…so much.

Now, he turned her direction, and the smile he gave her was genuine. “I’m not sure it’s everything you’re expecting, but the people are kind and welcoming. Most of them, anyway. I can’t wait for you to meet my family.”

“They will like me, you think? My family is not like yours. Maybe they won’t like who I come from.” Because in her country, a person’s heritage defined who they were. Good people came from good, respectable families.