“Hmm, I’m not sure. The days run into one another, but maybe it was yesterday. But, well, it doesn’t matter, does it?” Najeela didn’t wait for an answer. “Come, let’s go.”
She pulled open the front door and called for Mohammed. Abby picked up her bag and followed.
At the sound of Najeela’s voice, Mohammed snapped to attention. “Yes, miss,” he said, hurrying to open the rear passenger doors.
They drove through the now familiar city streets, and when the car passed the American Club, Abby peered through the window hoping to catch a glimpse of Nick, but there was no sign of him or his rusting old sedan. She sat back against the cushioned seat and wondered where he was. Underneath that tough exterior, he probably wasn’t a bad guy, she thought. He was attractive in a bad-boy kind of way. She smiled—what was she thinking? He wasn’t even her type. She’d always gone for the brainy, quiet guys, but where had that got her? Alone at thirty. What was that statistic she’d heard on Oprah? A woman over thirty, or maybe it was forty, was more likely to be attacked by a terrorist than to be married? And that seemed not so unlikely given where she was.
She heaved a sigh and pushed herself forward in her seat, finally noticing that Najeela had been chatting happily about her wedding. Abby caught only snatches of the one-sided conversation—rings, dress, wedding trip—words that had been in Abby’s vocabulary not so long ago, but seemed so foreign now.
The car stopped at a fancy tailor shop in the University district, and Abby sat forward, her hand on the door handle.
Najeela patted Abby’s back. “Wait for the driver to open the door, Abby. That’s his job.” Najeela smiled sweetly when Mohammed opened the door. Abby slid out and smiled at Mohammed. “Thank you, Mohammed,” she said, rolling her eyes at Najeela’s back.
Inside the tailor’s shop, they were ushered to comfortable seats, and the shopkeeper, obsequious to a fault, jumped at each of Najeela’s requests. “I’m very interested in this gown,” she said, pulling a large, colorful picture of Kate Middleton from her bag. “But it’s a little plain for me. Could you add ruffles here?” She pointed to the hem, and the tailor nodded vigorously. He pushed a table in front of Najeela before disappearing into the back.
Najeela turned to Abby. “You will be in my wedding, won’t you?” she asked earnestly. Abby nodded. “Oh, good, then we can ask to look at fabric for your dress. I liked that Pippa girl’s dress, but not in white. I think only the bride should be in white. Don’t you agree?” Najeela spoke so hurriedly, Abby could barely keep up.
When the tailor reappeared carrying bolts and bolts of fabric, Najeela sat forward and looked closely at each swatch he placed before her. She ran her fingers dreamily over the cloth, then pulled her hand abruptly away and frowned. “No, no, these are too heavy. I want the fabric to be light and lacy. Do you know what I mean? Do you have that?”
The old man nodded and scurried to the back once again.
Najeela leaned toward Abby and whispered, “We won’t stay long. I know that this must upset you.”
“Najeela, it doesn’t. I promise. Take your time. I’m not pining for Eric, I promise you.” Instead, Abby’s thoughts had wandered to Nick. She wondered if he was researching his secret story. She almost wished she were with him sharing a beer at the club. He did have a way, there was no denying that.
“But you look so sad,” Najeela said, her words interrupting Abby’s imaginings.
Abby caught herself and smiled. “I’m not sad, and I don’t miss Eric. I was just daydreaming. Sorry.”
The tailor returned, his arms laden with more heavy bolts of fabric. Najeela barely looked at them before rejecting them all as not quite what she was looking for. “Do you carry tiaras?”
Abby had to cover her mouth with her hand to smother a laugh. Najeela, intent on finding the perfect fabric, seemed not to notice Abby’s shaking shoulders.
The tailor shook his head. “Sorry, miss, no, but I can order one for you.”
“No. I think Paris is where we should be shopping.” Najeela turned to Abby. “Don’t you agree?”
Abby nodded and held back the laughter that was percolating on her lips.
“Blue, Abby, or maybe lilac. One of those shades is best, I think, for your dress. It will make your brown eyes stand out. What do you say?”
“You’re the bride, Najeela. You get to make all the decisions, including the colors. I’ll wear whatever you say.”
Najeela tucked her arm into Abby’s. “You are my first true friend, Abby. My very first.”
Abby felt a pang of guilt at having a secret chuckle at Najeela’s expense. She did like Najeela, who, despite being petulant and pouty and sometimes a pain in the ass, was also infectiously bubbly and almost childlike in her belief in happily ever after. Najeela was so different from Emily, her best friend in Boston. Emily was quick-witted, sarcastic, a damn fine ER nurse, and a long-legged beauty who had little patience with self-absorbed people. She and Eric had never gotten along. Emily had dismissed him as a “lightweight” the moment she’d met him, but she’d held her tongue and tolerated him for Abby’s sake. Nick, on the other hand, was just the kind of guy that Em liked—straightforward, no-nonsense, a regular guy. God, Abby missed hanging out with her. She sighed. Maybe she’d send an e-mail later.
Najeela and Abby arrived at the Pearl in the late afternoon, long after the lunch crush had left, and before the dinner crowd appeared. The restaurant was empty, and Najeela led the way to a table at the rear. “We’ll sit here,” she announced to the surprised waiter, who hurriedly filled glasses with water and set the table before handing them both menus. Najeela ordered for both of them again.
Abby took a long sip of her water and turned to Najeela. “You’ve met Mariyah?”
Najeela, looking puzzled, shook her head. “I don’t think so. Who is she?”
Abby tried to hide her exasperation. “She works at the clinic, the woman with the scar?”
“Oh, yes.” A frown creased Najeela’s usually smooth forehead. “Oh, yes, I know that one. I’ve seen that scar.” She shuddered. “Awful.”
“Awful for her, I’d guess. Do you know her story? I know it’s none of my business, but she seems so sad, and she must have suffered terribly.”
Najeela sat straight, her back tight against the seatback. “Abby, of course it’s your business. Everything that happens in the clinic is your business, but I admit all I know is that she’s in a special UN program. They were very hush-hush about her. They wouldn’t tell me anything, though I expect if you pressed the matter, you could learn her story.”
Abby shook her head. “I wouldn’t ask. It’s none of my business. I just thought maybe you knew something.”
“No, but if you learn the story, you must tell me. It must be just terrible.”
Abby nodded, thinking if she learned the secret, she wouldn’t tell anyone.
“We should speak of happy things today, don’t you think? And, well, I have something to show you.” Najeela’s voice was almost a purr. She pulled a folded newspaper from her bag. “My dear Lars is in the newspaper, a wonderful story about the good work he does. Here, see for yourself how handsome he is.” She pushed the newspaper toward Abby, who took the paper just as the food arrived.
Making room for the plates, Abby placed the paper on the seat beside her, and they both turned to the food, eating with relish. Najeela had ordered the kebabs and biryani rice that they’d shared on their first visit, and Abby savored every bite. She wondered if Mariyah, with those scars around her mouth, had a problem eating.
Abby had eaten her fill when Najeela looked at her watch and exclaimed it was time to go. She motioned to the waiter and signed the check. “I’ll meet you by the car. I just want to run to the powder room.”
Abby smiled. “I’ll see you outside.” She gathered her bag and noticed the newspaper Najeela had handed her lying untouched on the seat beside her. She folded it and slipped it into her bag. She’d have a look later.
Ba
ck at the house, Najeela said her good-byes. “Thank you for coming with me today. It makes me so happy to think about my wedding.” She planted a friendly kiss on Abby’s cheek. “You are an angel, Abby.” Najeela headed back to the front door. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Abby headed to her office and logged in, excited for once at the prospect of working on her reports. Today, she’d include the new section, the refugees’ stories, and she knew it would make her reports come alive. If she could persuade someone on the other end to see beyond the numbers to the people who lived or died here in the camp, maybe the UN officials would see how desperate the conditions at Safar were. Maybe they could increase funding, staffing—or finally help search for some of those missing children in the Protection Tent.
Abby fished through her bag for a pen, and her hands glided over the newspaper at the bottom. Damn, she thought, pushing the paper out of the way and zipping her bag. Tomorrow, she thought. She’d remind herself tomorrow to give the paper back to Najeela.
Chapter 11
At the house, Abby was often alone. She hadn’t expected to live such a solitary life, but that solitude, she thought, had helped her slide into an easy routine. During work hours, she huddled over her reports with a renewed enthusiasm, determined to bring the clinic to life on paper. But with the clinic open only two days a week, she still faced great gaps of empty time. She should have been doing so much more, she thought. And her evenings—well, they were empty. The solitude gave her time to brood over the woman in Geneva and her own failure to find the body. That brooding, she thought, eventually led to nightmares. It was a miserable cycle with no way out.
Days after her lunch with Najeela, Abby jerked awake one morning, her hand on the alarm, her body slick with sweat from yet another nightmare. She could still see the bloodied body of the woman sprawled on the street, broken eyeglasses clutched in her hand, and the flashing diamond cuff on her wrist.
She sighed and stood up, pressing her fingers into her forehead. A shower, she thought, stepping into her bathroom, that was what she needed. Refreshed by the warm water, the dream fading, her mind turned to coffee, and she opened her door and stepped into the hall.
The house was quiet. Najeela hadn’t been in since their lunch at the Pearl, and that was days ago. Mohammed and the car hadn’t been back either, despite Najeela’s promise not to leave Abby without transportation. She hated the isolation here. She couldn’t go out for a walk or a run, and even if the car was here, she couldn’t drive. She was trapped, a veritable prisoner whose comings and goings were dictated by Najeela’s whims. Not even Nick had been around. She heaved a long sigh and wished that he’d show up.
Hana arrived just as Abby poured herself another cup of coffee. At the housekeeper’s questioning glance, Abby smiled. “I thought it would be okay with you if I made breakfast for myself. I’ve already cleaned up. The water”—she raised her own cup to emphasize her words—“is still hot if you’d like tea.”
Hana nodded, and Abby headed to her office. She sat at her computer and booted it up, the soft whir the only sound in the house. Just as she began to compile her statistics, she heard the front door slam shut, followed by the sound of Najeela’s heels clicking down the hall. She whirled into the room, happiness oozing from her smile.
“Good morning, Abby,” she whispered excitedly. “I want to show you something.” She opened her hand, revealing a diamond-and-sapphire necklace that shimmered in the morning light, twirling and sparkling as Najeela lifted it for Abby to admire.
“It’s beautiful,” Abby said, reaching to touch the necklace. The diamonds and sapphires were familiar somehow, their sparkle and shimmer, the almost hypnotic glow. Her gaze narrowed, and she peered closely at the gems—in cut and clarity, they were eerily similar to those of the bracelet on the woman in Geneva. She closed her eyes. She didn’t want to think about that today.
“There’s more,” Najeela said, oblivious to the stunned look on Abby’s face. Najeela turned and closed the office door before she slid a key from her pocket and inserted it into the top drawer of the second desk. Her eyes grew wide as she slid the drawer out. “See,” she said, her voice soft and filled with a childlike wonder. Abby leaned in and saw the source of Najeela’s happiness. The drawer was filled with jewelry, and even to Abby’s amateur inspection, it was apparent that these jewels were real. Earrings, necklaces, and rings sparkled as brightly as the bracelet in her dream.
“Are these—”
“I told you he loves me,” Najeela interrupted, her eyes aglow. “He sends me these so I’ll know just how much.” Her fingers sifted through the jewelry until she pulled out a pearl necklace, a large sapphire hanging in the center. “This one was the first one he gave me. Is it not just the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen?”
Abby reached out and ran her fingers along the cool, glistening pearls. “They’re lovely. Why don’t you wear them? Why keep them locked away and hidden?”
“I must hide them. My father would kill me if he knew.” Najeela draped the necklace around her neck. “But, oh, how I love to see it, to hold it close to my skin, and I know that someday soon I will be able to show these to anyone I choose. But for now, they are my secret, and now yours as well. I am so happy that you are my friend, and I am able to share this secret with you. Would you like to wear something? Maybe these earrings?” Najeela pulled out a pair of sparkling diamond studs.
Instinctively Abby fingered her own thin, gold hoop earrings. “They’re beautiful, but, well, I’ve never been much for jewelry. Although I guess I did expect a diamond ring on my finger by now.” She held up her unadorned left hand for emphasis.
“Oh, Abby, do not be sad. You will meet the man you’re intended to marry. I just know it.” Najeela pushed Abby’s hair back from her face and smiled. “You are a beautiful girl, my friend. You will make a good match.”
Abby couldn’t help but smile in reply. “You are so good for me, Najeela, always so happy.”
“I am happy because I have met the man I will marry, and I am certain that we will convince my parents that he is the one for me. Like you, it is the waiting that is difficult for me, but my fiancé has told me that soon we will announce ourselves to my family.” Najeela cupped the diamond earrings in her hands, her fingers caressing the precious stones. She lifted her gaze from the jewelry to Abby once again and turned, her face flushed, her eyes shining. “I hope that you and I can travel to Paris soon.”
“I hope so too,” Abby said.
Heavy footsteps sounded in the hall, and both Abby and Najeela turned. “It’s that reporter,” Najeela whispered, stuffing her jewelry back into the drawer. “Will you go out to him so that he doesn’t come in here?” Najeela turned back to the drawer. “I don’t want him to see this.”
Abby nodded and headed into the hall, meeting Nick just as he arrived at the office door. “Hey, good to see you,” she said.
Nick turned and looked back down the hall. “Just checking. For a minute there, I was sure you were speaking to someone else. Good to see you too,” he said wryly.
“Come on. Want some coffee?”
“Forgive my skepticism, but I have to ask—it’s good to see me?”
Abby smiled. “Sometimes I am happy to see you. Believe it or not.”
“Oh, right, and this is one of those times. Well, I’ll take advantage—I’d love some coffee. Two sugars.”
Abby forced herself to smile. “Be right back.” She entered the kitchen. “Hana, any more hot water? Nick’s here, and he’s looking for coffee.”
Hana smiled. “Tell him I’ll be right there.”
Abby took a deep breath and walked to the dining room. Though she almost couldn’t believe it herself, she really was glad to see Nick, and today she wouldn’t start an argument—she’d be friendly even.
“So what’s up?”
Nick sat sprawled across a chair. “Not me, that’s for sure. Scotch got the better of me last night at the club. I’m desperate for coffee.
Is it coming?”
“Hana’s fixing it. She’ll take care of you.”
“Sit with me, will you? I need to ask you a favor.”
“Not the article again?” Abby asked, sliding into a seat across the table.
“No, well, not entirely, not yours at least. I’ve learned there’s a house, a kind of safe house, for trafficking victims, here in Peshawar.” He sat up straighter, engrossed in his own words. “I don’t have all the details yet, but the program rehabilitates these victims, teaches them skills so they can work, and provides therapy so they can get over the trauma.”
“Wow, great lead for a story on trafficking victims. Are you going to follow up? Write something?”
“I’d like to, but here’s where the favor comes in. The reality is they won’t talk to me alone. I’m a man, the source of most of their problems. I need a woman with me.” He focused his gaze on her. “I need you, Abby. Please. I’d like to look into this.”
“Today just might be your lucky day, Nick. I’d actually like to hear more about this trafficking, and if I do go, you’ll owe me a favor. Sounds like a win-win for me.” Abby smiled. “You going today?”
Nick nodded. “I thought I’d head to the camp, to the Protection Tent. I know a woman who works there. Well, know is a stretch, but I’ve met her, and I think she’ll help me out. Can you come?”
Abby didn’t even have to think it over—the answer slipped from her lips before the question was out of Nick’s mouth. “Count me in. Let me tell Najeela and get my stuff.”
Nick put his hand up. “Slow down, will ya? I didn’t expect such an easy sell, and I’d still like that coffee.”
“I’ll get my stuff. Your coffee, I’m sure, will be here in a snap.”
Abby stepped to the doorway of the office, and Najeela looked up. “Is he gone yet?” she whispered.
“Not yet, but soon. I’m going with him to the camp. You don’t mind, do you?”
Najeela hesitated and seemed to force the limp smile that draped her lips. “No, of course you should go, Abby. I’ll see you later.”
The Bracelet Page 10
