Page 60 of Sheltering You

Jasmine winced. “He is very angry with me, no?”

“Probably more with me. He’ll get over it. He’s helping us, and that’s what matters.”

“I should call him? It is okay to turn on my phone?”

“Uh, no. I left a message for him when I woke up. He’ll call us back. Last night when I talked to him, he sounded like he recognized the name of your friend’s brother. Dari Ghazi, right?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Michael knows him?”

“About him, if it’s the guy he thinks it is. That’s why he wants to talk to you. Is that a common name?”

“Ghazi.” Her head wagged from side to side. “A little, I guess. Dari, no. It is not his whole name, I think, but shortened. Like you call me Jazz.”

“A nickname. For what?”

“I have only ever heard him called Dari, but I would guess Darius or Dariush. These are common names. I will ask Basma when she emails.”

“Before I forget.” He lowered his voice. “We need to be careful not to say anything about where we live or my family in front of Rabie. Certainly not my last name. I screwed up this morning when I mentioned how many brothers I have.” He’d realized it a minute too late. “Boneheaded move on my part. Nothing else, though, okay? God forbid his brother gets him back, we don’t want to lead Dari or anyone else to you and your sister.”

“I understand.”

“If he asks where you live, tell him all about it, but tell him it’s near a big lake, not the ocean. One of the Great Lakes. Okay?”

“These are the ones in the middle of the country, on top?”

“Yup. That’s them. Tell him you live in…Michigan. They both begin with M. Should be easy to remember.”

“Michigan on a Great Lake.”

“Exactly.”

Her emails had loaded—there were just a handful, all from the same account. He turned the screen to face Jasmine.

She leaned in and frowned. “Nothing new.” When she gazed up, her eyes were filled with fear. “What if they’ve hurt her? Perhaps she is not all right. What will we do?”

It was instinct, the way he reached for her hand and squeezed. He hadn’t even realized he’d done it until it was too late. He let go and put more space between them. “Don’t borrow trouble.” Before she could ask or give him that I don’t understand what you mean look he found adorable, he added, “Don’t get ahead of yourself. Don’t worry until you have more information.”

“This is to borrow trouble?”

“Right. Like…you’re imagining there’ll be trouble in the future and taking it on now, I guess. Or at least worrying about it now.” He’d never analyzed the cliché. That was one of the things he liked about being with Jasmine—the way she kept him thinking, considering his words carefully. Not just his words, though. His actions.

He enjoyed teaching her what it meant to be treated like a lady. He enjoyed opening the door for her, pulling out her chair. He enjoyed standing when she approached a table to show her respect and serving her a donut and a cup of tea. After what he’d learned the night before, he understood that she’d been treated as nothing more than a servant most of her life, and it made him want to serve her more.

He loved seeing her confused expression when she couldn’t figure out what he was talking about. He loved the wonder in her eyes when she saw something she’d never imagined—like aisles and aisles of food at Walmart.

The first time he’d taken her with him to the grocery store—just to pick up a couple of things for dinner—she’d quizzed him for an hour in the produce section, wanting to know the name and flavor of all the fruits and vegetables she’d never seen before. He’d spent a hundred bucks so she could try one of everything.

Just to make her smile.

There was no smile on her face now, only a sad frown as if she guessed his thoughts. She blinked and turned away, her palm resting once again on her abdomen.

She’d been so sick when he’d first met her, given to random bouts of vomiting. It’d gone away pretty quickly. She’d been gaunt then, skin and bones, her olive skin almost greenish. But she’d put on weight since she’d come to the US. In fact, he’d even noticed the slightest paunch in her midsection when she’d worn the short sweatshirt and sweatpants the day before. Not fat—not even close—but not the flat stomach her twin sister had. He never saw Jasmine’s figure, thanks to the shapeless clothes she always wore, but he’d always assumed she had the same trim figure as Leila.

He was glad she’d put on weight. She’d certainly needed it. The last thing he wanted was for her to get sick again, but maybe the stress they were under was causing her to feel ill.

“I should have fed you something healthier for breakfast. There’s some fruit in there.”

She yanked the hand away from her belly as if it’d been caught in a cookie jar.