Unbroken Threads

by Jennifer Klepper

  “But it might not be him.” Jessica could see the resemblance between the men, but it wasn’t a dead match. The man in the truck had the dark, curly hair, but his eyes didn’t dance as Amina had described. The man with the water bottles had deep lines across his forehead and outlining his mouth, lines absent on Amina’s photos of her husband. This man seemed to have a war etched on his face. She wasn’t sure she would have picked him out of a crowd. But Danny seemed pretty confident. “Now what?” she asked. “Where is this picture from?”

  “Hold on.” Danny was still typing. A small window appeared on the screen. Danny clicked on the embedded link and landed on a website for an international aid agency. The photo of the maybe-Mohammed had been pulled from their blog. And the blog post had been posted only a month before.

  “He might still be there!” Jessica’s wheels were spinning. Contact the aid group. Find the guy. “What time is it in... Where was the photo taken?”

  “The blog says the water was being distributed in Greece.” Conor typed on his phone. “Looks like it’s three in the morning over there.”

  Danny swiveled around, a big grin on his self-satisfied face.

  Jessica rolled her eyes but couldn’t hold back a matching grin. “You’re just happy that you have a new product for Binnacle and that it might actually work.”

  “You got it from here, Counselor?”

  “I got it from here.” She would reach out to the aid agency and try to track down this man, whose name was not listed in the caption or the blog post. But she couldn’t keep this from Amina, not after seeing that face on the screen.

  IT WAS JESSICA’S THIRD surprise visit to see Amina at Bathanjaan, but this was something she needed to do in person. She’d expected that by one thirty, the place would be emptying out, the lunch crowd dispersing to get back to the office. But the place had just reopened, and the crowd seemed eager to support it, just as the reviews had indicated. The restaurant looked great, with new glass and no graffiti. A casual visitor wouldn’t have known the place had been vandalized. But the chairs in the middle of the room surrounded an empty space. She knew.

  Fayiz caught Jessica’s eye. She had let him know she was coming, to be sure Amina would be in the restaurant, though she was reserving the news for Amina’s ears first. He motioned for her to follow him back to the corner, the one in which she had seen the old woman reading during her first visit.

  Fayiz must have read her mind. “Mrs. Baum wasn’t in today. She had a doctor’s appointment, but I saved her table, just in case. I think it’s okay if you sit here.” He winked. “Can I get you something while you wait?”

  She’d been so nervous this morning that she’d forgotten to eat lunch. “You know, I’ve been craving your kibbeh since my first visit. I even tried to make it myself.” She stuck out her tongue and laughed. “Won’t try that again! Can I get that with some of the bread and hummus?”

  “My pleasure. What would you like me to tell Amina?”

  Her mind went to her first surprise visit. “Tell her a friend is here to see her.”

  He smiled and gave her a slight bow before walking toward the kitchen.

  The clinking of silverware hitting plates and indistinct conversation, which might have served as calming white noise in a different moment, only heightened her nerves. Danny had assured her that his tech was good, but she would never forgive herself if she showed Amina a photo that wasn’t her husband.

  “Hi.” Amina approached the table, stealing Jessica’s attention away from the unknown. “Fayiz told me to take a break, but I really should get back quickly.”

  Jessica pulled a chair over to her side of the table and patted it, motioning for Amina to sit. She understood Amina’s questioning eyes. “I’m not here to change your mind,” she reassured her. That wasn’t what was important right now.

  Jessica opened her laptop and logged into Bathanjaan’s Wi-Fi. “I’ve got something to show you.”

  During the drive to Baltimore, Jessica had raced through countless scripts of what to say to Amina. She could cut straight to the chase, give an explanation and context, or prepare her for the possibility it wasn’t Mohammed.

  Seeing her friend sitting next to her, Jessica knew she didn’t need to say anything at all. She simply clicked open the blog page.

  The gasp caught in Amina’s throat, and tears started flowing without giving her eyes a chance to well up first. Her shaking fingers pressed to the image as if she were attempting to make the man emerge from the screen.

  Jessica didn’t need to ask. The certainty was 100 percent. “Well, it looks like he finally got to go to Greece.”

  Levity seemed to be lost on Amina. “Greece? Where? Can I go there? How can I talk to him?” She turned to Jessica for just a moment, her fingers never leaving the screen.

  “No, absolutely not,” Jessica blurted, instantly regretting her abrupt response upon seeing Amina’s stricken face. “Go to Greece, I mean,” she corrected. “If you leave the US before you’re granted asylum, there is no way you’ll get back in. Technically, you are allowed to leave the country, but...” This was a bit uncomfortable but true. “Seeing as you’re from Syria, and there are so many political barriers right now for refugees or even visitors coming from your country, if you leave to go to a place where there are a lot of Syrian refugees and then try to return... well, it might not look good with all of the unvetted people over there, recent terror attacks by people who had traveled back and forth to the Middle East... you know.” Jessica grimaced. “Even though you would be going to visit your husband.” The words rushed out as Jessica attempted to soften the ones she’d just said.

  “Am I guaranteed for him to be given asylum if I get it?”

  “Well, no, not guaranteed. There’s a process, but it’s different from what you’re doing. You can look into it if, I mean when, your asylum is granted. I could help. If you want, I mean.”

  Amina overlooked Jessica’s fumbling words, and Jessica didn’t bother explaining derivative asylum status, which she had researched before she left home. Watching Amina trace the photo of a younger Mohammed on the screen then trace the match to his right was peaceful, serene. Amina’s tears hitting the table brought Jessica back to the present. She placed a hand on Amina’s free one.

  Amina’s gaze didn’t stray from the screen, but she spoke as though in apology. “I thought he was dead. I thought there was no way he could have survived when no one else did. I believed I would never have anything from home again. That’s why I never asked you about bringing him to America.” An imploring silence grew at their table, competing with the “goodbyes” and the scrape of chair legs coming from a group of departing patrons. “To have him with me will be to have home with me.”

  Jessica wanted to temper her expectations. “I know you reached Najlaa fairly easily, but she was employed by a prominent aid group. Mohammed was photographed in an unofficial camp and isn’t connected with the aid group that provided the water you see in the photo. We don’t know much else yet. But we are doing everything we can to track him down. And then... just know that it can be hard to get into America.”

  Jessica squeezed Amina’s hand, her head turning toward the empty space in the middle of the room.

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  The snowflakes fell with gravity-defying lightness. They were the big fluffy kind, the ones that stuck to every branch and transformed lifeless winter trees into soft white sculptures. Jessica tightened her grasp on a cup that still had residual heat from the remnants of her morning coffee.

  Danny put his warm hands on her shoulders, and she melted into them. “Hi,” she said without turning around. She didn’t want him to move his hands.

  “It’s cold over here, hon. Why don’t you move over to the fire?”

  “No, that’s okay. I’m just thinking.”

  “I think pretty well by the fire myself.” He removed his hands, pulled a chair next to hers, and sat.

  A fat snowflake stuck to the wind
ow, slowly melting from its edges inward.

  “Remember when I stopped working after my dad died? I thought leaving the firm was what I needed to do to not screw up anything else. I thought I couldn’t do the big, important job and take care of the family all at the same time.” She shivered as a gust of wind swirled the snow. “I didn’t consider that maybe things aren’t all or nothing. That having it all and being successful doesn’t mean you can’t make mistakes.” The fat snowflake, now a drop of water, slowly slid down the window, picking up smaller drops on its way and leaving a meandering trail behind it.

  “The law firm got me out of Idaville, but that wasn’t exactly an accomplishment.” She leaned her head on Danny’s shoulder. “It brought me to you, of course. And now that I’m here, I need to decide what I want to do next. I want to make choices going forward that mean something to me and to us. I want to choose things that complement our life together and fall in with my own goals.”

  “What are those?”

  “That’s the problem. I don’t even know right now. It’s been so long. I feel like I haven’t set any personal goals in ages.”

  “Then maybe that’s the first thing you need to do.”

  “I think you’re right.”

  “Usually am. Not always but usually.” He winked. “Gotta go pick up a package. Should be back in an hour and a half.”

  “Thanks for doing that.”

  “You ready for it?” He nodded toward the shed, which glistened like a freshly frosted gingerbread house in the snow.

  “It’s one thing I am both certain I want to do and completely ready for.”

  JESSICA reached her stocking feet out and put them closer to the glowing logs. Danny was right. It was easier to think by the fire. The crackle and the sweet smell of burning oak also beckoned Cricket and Mikey, who labored at second-semester assignments near the hearth.

  Jessica scrolled through her own homework, an email from Bronwyn about ReCross interviews. Bronwyn had forwarded the names of all of the partners doing interviews. Jessica had worked with a few of them. One of them had even been in her first-year associate group. That lawyer, like Bronwyn, had stuck it out and risen through the ranks. Jessica supposed she could have been one of them, could even become one of them.

  Two blasts of a horn outside interrupted her research, and Jessica’s heart jumped. She didn’t hesitate to put her laptop aside and throw on some boots and a jacket.

  Danny pulled up in the SUV and parked it just outside the garage before opening the driver’s door.

  “Do you have it?” Jessica rubbed her hands together, jumping up and down to ward off the cold. The oak and laptop heat had already dissipated.

  “Yup.” Danny slammed the door and headed toward the back of the car.

  Jessica followed him, nodding to Conor, who was opening the tailgate. Danny motioned with his hand for Conor to take the lead. Conor climbed in and positioned himself behind an object wrapped in a faded red blanket tightly secured by at least half a roll of packing tape.

  “Push it toward me, and Mom and I will help ease it onto the ground,” Danny said.

  Jessica braced herself, but it was even heavier than she had expected. They set it on the ground and waited for Conor to jump down and join them.

  “Can you get the door, Jess? We’ve got this.” Danny and Conor loaded the cumbersome package onto a dolly. Jessica led the way to the shed, her feet crunching through the frozen crust hidden under the layer of giant flakes.

  She had spent the weekend getting the shed ready, including buying a space heater to keep away the cold. A Shop-Vac had taken care of any remaining evidence of the trunk work. She wanted the space to feel fresh so she could focus on this one project.

  Jessica pointed at a clear space on the floor, and the boys maneuvered the object through the door and into place. There was barely enough room to move around it, but it would work.

  The three stood there, hands on hips, staring at the red blanket. Jessica broke the trance with a smile. “Thanks, guys. I’ve got it from here.”

  “You sure? I can help with the tape,” Conor said.

  “I can go get a box cutter,” Danny offered.

  “No, I’m good. I’ve got brisket in the pot for dinner. Why don’t you guys go watch some basketball? I’ll let you know if I need any help.” She rubbed her healed hip through her puffy jacket. “I’m probably good until I need to move it somewhere.”

  As father and son walked across the snow-covered lawn to the house, Danny casually set his left hand on Conor’s shoulder, leaning in to say something that Jessica couldn’t hear. Conor nodded then quick-stepped to get to the back door first and opened it for his dad. Jessica smiled then surveyed the unwrapping that needed to be done. This time, she knew what was in the package.

  With a pair of utility scissors, she battled the industrial-strength tape, leaving the blanket in a mess of strips and shreds. After she pulled away what now resembled old bandages, three hundred years of Syria stood before her, crisscrossed in red paint. Amina might not have needed her help anymore, but this table did. And Jessica might actually get to learn some of the stories the old olive tree had to tell.

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  The text message Jessica received from Amina the day before had not come completely out of the blue. The two had maintained contact since Jessica’s third surprise visit to the restaurant, a communication opening that had grown along with the unsuccessful search for Mohammed. While Jessica had asked about the pending interview, she’d held back from giving too much advice, respecting Amina’s independence. Then a text had arrived with an unexpected request.

  Amina: Will you come with me to the interview tomorrow?

  Jessica: Only if you let me drive.

  Jessica immediately worried her attempt at a joke had come off as bitter snark, but then Amina sent the first emoji Jessica had seen from her— ;-).

  It was also the first time an emoji had made Jessica cry.

  Danny handed Jessica the car keys. “Good luck, Counselor.”

  Jessica had woken up before even Danny that interview morning, but he had the coffee ready by the time she had her things pulled together.

  “Thanks, hon. We’ll take all the luck we can get.” They were as prepared as they could be at this point. She couldn’t help but wonder what her inexperience had caused her to overlook, and she didn’t want to think about the fact that they might have to wait up to sixty days for a decision.

  Conor, who Jessica had allowed to skip school when Amina followed up her emoji with a request that Conor join them, fumbled to readjust his tie around a shirt collar that gaped at his neck. She’d told him he didn’t need to dress up. After all, this wasn’t a court hearing. Only Jessica would be allowed in the interview room with Amina, and even then, the interviewer would be addressing all of the questions to Amina. But Conor still emerged from his room looking more like a paralegal than a varsity basketball dropout.

  Stars still filled the sky when they picked up Amina from the Darbis’ home. The predawn departure didn’t help with conversation, but a later start to an interview for which lateness could result in denial would only have added to the stress.

  The buzz of rubber tires on concrete filled the otherwise-silent interior of the car. Jessica spoke only once, to point out the shadowy Washington Monument in the distance as they passed by the District. Conor sat obediently in the back seat, probably more nervous than the women sitting in front. He didn’t even take his phone out of his pocket.

  Walking from the parking garage to the Arlington Asylum Office was not an awe-inspiring American moment. Though modern, the building was a rather unremarkable structure for one that could have such a profound effect on people’s lives.

  Jessica’s and Amina’s reflections jumped from window to window as the two walked toward the building’s entrance. Strides aligned, the American and the Syrian didn’t look anything other than confident. The windows, however, didn’t capture the fullness of the nerves
throbbing in Jessica’s chest.

  Conor beat the two women to the lobby receptionist, who directed them toward the elevators. Conor held the elevator door to allow a Hispanic-looking woman and her three children into the elevator first. When the woman’s husband nodded to Conor in appreciation, Jessica’s stomach flipped. If simple courtesies performed by her son had that effect on her already, it was going to be an emotional day.

  Silence accompanied the group to the third floor and hovered in the background as they waited their turn to go through security. Amina held her bag close before giving it up to the guard.

  After checking in, the trio hovered by the chairs, not wanting to sit down because they’d been sitting for so long, or maybe because they were too nervous to sit still. A hushed jumble of languages mingled in the air as heads huddled together in consultation here and there. Fears and desires were reflected on faces of every skin tone Jessica could imagine. The world was seemingly represented in a single room with only fifty chairs.

  “Do you want to review any of the materials? We can go over the questions he’s likely to ask.” Jessica opened her bag and shuffled through the paperwork.

  Amina shook her head then smiled and arched an eyebrow.

  “What? Is there something in my teeth?” Jessica maneuvered her tongue around her teeth to find any stray remnants from breakfast.

  “You’re wearing that American TV lawyer outfit.”

  “Yeah, but I switched shoes.” Jessica hiked up her right pant leg, showing off a pair of low-heeled loafers. It seemed the right compromise: look the part and be comfortable all at the same time.

  Conor stood, tapping his hands on his thighs rhythmically, his nervousness starkly exposed against Amina’s calm.

  Rosalie had warned Jessica that, even with a scheduled interview, the wait could be long. For Conor’s sake alone, Jessica hoped they would be spared.

  Mercifully, a voice soon broke both the room’s quiet and Conor’s tapping. “Amina Hamid?” A male interviewer stood next to one of the rooms flanking the waiting area, his eyebrows raised. His dull gray hair hung a touch too long over the ears, and his sallow skin begged for a trip to the beach for an infusion of sunlight. He had a slight paunch, which contrasted with his otherwise-slight frame, further indication that he spent too much time inside. It seemed funny that a seemingly untraveled man had such a position over people who’d traveled so far.