Abby felt conflicted. She was relieved that Nick didn’t think she was crazy, but, she was surprised to admit to herself, sorry that he was leaving and troubled that she’d be stuck here by herself, especially now. “Are you coming back?” she asked, disappointment oozing from her words.
“Hell, yes. The story’s here. You’re here. I’ll be back.”
He reached out and took her hands, pulling her closer, and Abby felt a small, unexpected thrill at his touch. This time she didn’t pull away. She didn’t quite know what was happening between them, but something was.
Don’t leave, she wanted to say, but instead she asked, “Any chance I can come along?”
Nick shook his head. “Believe me, nothing would give me greater pleasure, but it’s best to keep you out of this. I don’t want Najeela or Imtiaz to know what I’m really doing. You’re safer here for now. Well, as long as you keep your head down and your mouth shut.”
Abby sighed. Without her even noticing, Nick had chipped away at the layer of ice that had grown over her heart. “How long will you be gone?”
Nick sipped his scotch slowly. “Not long. No more than a week.”
“Do you have a cell phone? In case I need to reach you?”
Nick shook his head. “I never carry one in places like this, too easy for someone to track me with towers and satellites. I’d rather fly under the radar.”
Abby nodded. Suddenly, a week felt like an eternity, and she picked up her own drink. “I never thought I’d be saying this, but I’ll miss you, Nick. I’ll surely miss you.” She touched her glass to his. “To you, and to a safe trip.” She took a quick sip of the scotch. Still burned, but the unmistakable burn filled the hollow that she knew Nick would leave behind.
“I’ll miss you too, Abby—so promise me you’ll be careful, and not a word to Najeela, not about me either. Imtiaz is at the center of this, but he’s not alone. I haven’t figured out his connection yet, but I will, and Geneva gives me the opportunity to wander through the UN, see who pops up.”
Suddenly, he leaned in and planted a quick kiss on her lips. Despite a moment of shock, Abby’s lips tingled in response, and a rush of heat filled her head. She closed her eyes to savor the unexpected closeness.
Suddenly, he pulled away. “Gotta go,” he said softly.
“Godspeed,” she whispered as he turned to leave.
• • •
Abby lay awake that night, replaying the images from Mariyah’s ordeal and the woman’s death in Geneva over and over in her mind. She couldn’t shake the feeling that it was all somehow connected. The night air was warm, and she threw off her sheets, tossing and turning for another hour before finally drifting into a restless sleep.
Chapter 18
“There you are, sleepyhead!”
Abby had just stumbled into the dining room in search of coffee, and Najeela’s cheery greeting only served to reinforce her morning discomfort. She’d barely slept, and though she’d been spared her usual nightmare, her head felt as though it were swimming in a soupy fog. “Morning, Najeela. You’re here early.”
“I am early, you’re right. You and I never get to chat. I thought today we could have breakfast, and you could tell me about your extra work.”
“Extra work?” Abby asked, puzzled.
“Oh, you silly. Just this week, you said you wanted to do something extra, something more than vaccines?”
The fog lifted from Abby’s thoughts, and she sat across from Najeela. “Oh, of course. I did want to tell you that I went to a halfway house for trafficking victims.” For a fleeting moment she considered sharing that Mariyah was there, that she knew her story, but she remembered Nick’s advice and stopped herself. The less she said the better, but she would have to tell Najeela something if she wanted to spend time there.
Abby took a deep breath. “You can’t even imagine the stories. I mean, you just wouldn’t believe what these women, girls really, have been through, and I want to do something to help. I thought maybe I could start some kind of health program. The UN clinic is only open two days, and I’m sure I can keep up with my responsibilities there, but this is something I’d really like to do. I wanted to know if you think it’s okay or maybe I should ask someone at the UN office?”
“Oh, Abby, that’s a marvelous idea. Did I tell you that my Lars is involved in helping those poor victims? You’ll just have to meet him. Now I’m sure you’ll be friends.” She clasped her hands together. “Maybe I can come along with you sometime.”
Mariyah, Bina, and Anyu flashed before Abby’s eyes. She wanted to protect them, not make them dinner topics. “I, well, I guess I could ask.”
“This is just wonderful. Let me just get Hana and tell her we’re ready for breakfast.”
Najeela breezed into the kitchen, and a scowling Hana then appeared with a tray of coffee and eggs. Abby tried to catch her eye, but Hana was as unfriendly as ever this morning. Abby inhaled the sweet scent of the eggs and coffee and remembered that she’d only picked at her cheeseburger the day before. She almost pounced on the food, washing down a large serving of eggs with a cup of steaming coffee. She glanced quickly at her watch. Nine! She pushed her chair back and threw her napkin down. “Sorry to be in a hurry,” she said to Najeela. “I want to ask Mohammed to bring me to the camp, and then to the halfway house.”
“No Nick today?”
“No, he’s away,” Abby said, right before Nick’s words of caution ran through her mind. She closed her eyes. Just don’t say anything else and it’ll be fine, she chided herself silently.
“Oh? Where is he?”
“I don’t have a clue. I mean, you know him as well as I do. He sure doesn’t answer to either one of us.”
Najeela giggled. “That’s true enough. But where . . .”
Abby grabbed her bag and dashed out before Najeela could finish. “See you later,” Abby shouted over her shoulder as she pulled the door shut behind her. She stood on the front steps and heaved a sigh of relief. It wasn’t going to be easy, but she was going to do her best to follow Nick’s advice and just keep quiet.
Mohammed was busy wiping down the car’s gleaming surface with a threadbare rag, and Abby walked to his side. “Good morning, Mohammed.”
He looked up and nodded, quickly stuffing the rag into his pocket. “Morning, miss. To the camp?”
“Yes. But only for the time it takes me to get directions to a house in Peshawar. I should know the way, but I don’t. Acha, it’s okay?”
Abby loved the Urdu word for “okay.” People drew out the sound—aacha—and said it almost breathlessly. “Acha?” she asked again, savoring the feel of the word as it slipped through her lips.
Mohammed smiled, and they set off for Safar. Abby sat in the back feeling almost breezy. She’d definitely found her purpose, and she was eager to get to the house. She watched as the streets of Peshawar slipped by, and when she saw a young girl kicking an older man in the legs before running off, Abby twisted in her seat to see where the girl had gone. But there was no sight of her, she’d disappeared down a long, dark alley. Abby turned to look for the man the girl had kicked, but he was gone as well, swallowed up in the mobs and chaos that filled the city’s streets. She sat back. Last week, she would barely have noticed that scene, yet today, she wondered if the girl had been trafficked. Abby folded her arms. The world would never be as simple again.
Mohammed glided the car into the parking area in the refugee camp. “Be right back,” Abby said, hurrying to the Protection Tent, where she quickly found Zara.
“Oh, Abby, lovely to see you again,” Zara said, pulling her head scarf closer. “But, well, I’m sorry to be rude, but I’m just heading back to the house. I don’t have time to speak. You see, two young girls arrived last evening. They’ve only just been pulled from a kharabat, a brothel, in Islamabad, and there was nowhere else for them to go. They’ve had quite a bad time, I’m afraid.” Zara sighed and brushed back a stray hair. “We’re not even sure where they’re from—
their passports and visas were forged, used just to get them across the border—maybe from India, but the girls have been sleeping since they arrived to us. The police think they’ve probably been drugged to get them wherever they were being sent, so we don’t know anything about them. Though we do think the plan was to send them on to Kuwait or Saudi Arabia, where a young virgin will bring a high price.”
“Oh, God, poor things.” Abby wished Nick were with her. “I hope my being here isn’t bad timing, but maybe I can help. You know I’m a nurse?”
Zara nodded.
“I can have a look at them at least. I came today to ask you if I could go to the house to help out somehow. There must be something I can do. I mean, these are really vulnerable women, but, with these two new girls, maybe I can, well—have a look, make sure they’re really just sleeping, make sure it’s not something more sinister. I want to be involved with what you’re doing, and these girls have probably been through a lot.” Abby paused. “What do you think?”
“I think we need all the help we can get.” Zara smiled. “We’re especially happy to have yours. Anyu and the others will be delighted to see you.” Zara gathered her papers and her bag. “Do you have a car today?”
“I do. And a driver.”
“Wonderful. I was going to the Administration Tent to arrange a car, but if you’ll take me, we can go.” Zara reached back and pulled out a large bag. “Is Nick with you?”
“No, he’s off doing research.”
“Oh, the women will be sad. They all liked him very much and thought he was very kind, and coming from three women who’ve been so abused by men, that’s quite a compliment.”
Perspective, Abby thought, was everything. Until recently, she’d never given Nick much of a chance. She’d just lumped him in with Eric and countless other jerks, yet here were women who’d seen the absolute worst of men, and they liked Nick. She sighed. She was no judge of men, that was for sure.
• • •
When they arrived at the house, Abby suddenly felt nervous. Should she be here, especially with two new young victims? She had no experience with trafficking victims. She wanted to help, but what could she really do? These poor girls, did they really need her, or did she need them? She hesitated at the doorway, doubt like lead in her legs.
“Zara,” she asked, “you’re sure it’s all right? I mean, I don’t want to intrude.”
Zara turned, and seeing the uncertainty in Abby’s eyes, she took her hand. “It is good for these women and the girls to see that not everyone will hurt them. Come.” She tugged on Abby’s arm. “Have a look at the girls for us, make sure they are all right. Acha?”
Abby’s shoulders relaxed, and they entered the house together. The house was bustling this morning, the air filled with the hum of conversation and ripples of laughter. Abby smiled to hear the sounds of ordinary life in such an extraordinary place. She smiled. Boston, Eric, and everything else were a million miles away.
Mariyah appeared in the hallway, and Abby watched as her thick scar stretched, allowing a faint smile to seep onto her face. “Khush amdeed, welcome,” she said softly.
“Salaam,” Abby replied. “Salaam, Mariyah.”
“Are the girls awake?” Zara asked.
Mariyah’s smile faded as she nodded toward the back of the house. “No,” she whispered. “Girls still sleep.”
Abby followed Zara along the hall to a room near the end. She opened the door and motioned for Abby to enter. Zara closed the door softly and tiptoed to the bed. She leaned in, then turned back to Abby. “Still asleep,” she whispered. “They’ve slept too long.” Worry lines creased Zara’s face.
The room was stale, the windows closed tight against the day. Abby moved to the bed and bent toward its sleeping occupants. Even through the sheets, she could see that the two were young, maybe six or seven years old, and they were small and stick-thin, covered with layers of grime. Their hair, greasy and matted, was plastered to their shiny scalps. Two pitiful little things, Abby thought sadly. “How long have they been sleeping?”
“The police brought them to us last night, and they were asleep when they were found, so for at least twelve hours.” Zara adjusted the sheets over the girls.
“Too long. We’ll have to wake them.” Abby leaned in and placed a hand on the backs of the girls, then leaned her head in close. “Well, their breathing is okay.” She pinched one girl’s skin between her fingers. “Her skin still looks good, but they’ll both need fluids soon. Have they peed?” She lifted the sheet to see for herself. The sheet was dry.
Abby turned to Zara. “We have to wake them, make sure we can wake them, understand?”
“Yes, yes, whatever you say.” Zara pulled up the shades and pushed the windows open. Bright daylight and fresh air filled the room.
Abby sat on the side of the bed, and with her fingers she rubbed one girl’s arms. “Wake up,” she said, more loudly than she’d intended. The girl’s eyelids fluttered open, then, unseeing, closed again. Abby leaned in and pinched the girl’s ear tight between her fingers.
The girl’s eyes opened wide, and she looked at Abby, then Zara, then the room, and she screamed. With her little hands balled into fists, she hit out at Abby.
“Acha,” Abby said softly. “You are okay.” The little girl elbowed her companion roughly, and suddenly she was awake too, her eyes wide with fright. The two huddled together and pushed away from Abby.
Disheveled seemed a funny word to describe little girls, but that’s what they were, disheveled and dirty with tangled, matted hair, and large, angry eyes that bore right through Abby. Their dresses were stained and threadbare, and their faces were smudged with dirt.
“Salaam,” Abby said, squatting by the bed. The thinner of the two sat up straight and spit right into Abby’s face. Abby quickly pulled away and wiped the spittle from her face. From the corner of her eye, she saw Zara move toward the girl, and Abby put out her hand to stop her. “It’s okay.” Abby’s eyes were on the girl. “I’d probably spit too if I was in a strange place.”
The girl drew her knees in, and Abby saw that her bony knees and legs were covered with scrapes and bruises. Abby reached her hand out to touch the cuts, and the girl winced and pulled away.
Zara leaned in and stroked the head of the second girl. “Amma,” she said softly, nodding toward Abby. The girls looked warily at Abby, and Zara tried again, speaking slowly. “This lady is a nurse. Her name is Abby, and I am Zara. Understand?”
The girls turned their gaze back to Abby, their eyes wide. “You understand some English, maybe?” she said softly. “So you know that no matter what, you are safe here.” She turned to Zara. “And you know too that Zara and I are your friends.”
The smaller one sniffled and wiped her arm across her face. She seemed to be letting her guard down, and Abby turned to her. “What’s your name?” she asked softly.
“Geeta,” the girl replied in a tiny, singsong voice that made her seem all the more vulnerable. Geeta’s eyes grew wide as she watched Abby, and a tiny trace of a smile sprouted like an unexpected wildflower. The other girl jerked at Geeta’s arm, and Geeta looked away from Abby.
“Salaam, Geeta,” Abby said. “And salaam, Geeta’s friend.”
The other girl looked suspiciously at Abby. “Pari,” she said, her voice tiny despite her hard glare. She pointed to herself. “Name Pari.”
Abby leaned forward and held out her hand. “My name is Abby, and I’m happy to meet you, Pari.”
A long frown draped Pari’s smudged face, and she held tight to Geeta’s hand.
Abby smiled and let her hand fall. “Can we get them some water? Something to eat?”
Zara opened the door and called for Bina. “Will you bring food, some chapatis or naan, whatever we have, and some water?” Through the slit in the open door, Abby saw Bina’s bobbing back as she scurried down the hall.
Abby turned back to the girls. “English?”
The girls just stared in stony silence.
“Could be, or maybe Marathi, the language of Mumbai, but I think they know some English too.” Zara looked at the girls. “Inglisi?”
The girls looked away.
Abby stood. “If they were sleeping when the police took them, they probably think we’re the people who were buying them. Right? Think about it. They don’t even know where they are. They must be terrified.” Abby exhaled slowly and tried to think what to do. “We have to get through to them. Can we ask Bina and Mariyah and Anyu to come in and speak with them? We can step outside when they do, so the girls feel free to speak. What do you say?”
“I’ll get the others,” Zara offered.
Mariyah slipped quietly into the room. “Salaam,” she said softly, bowing her head toward the girls. “I am Mariyah.” The girls stared.
Bina approached the bed where the girls still crouched together. “Salaam. I Bina.”
Still there was no response.
Zara returned with Anyu, who carried a basin filled with soapy water. She leaned down and placed the basin on the floor, and Zara laid two clean, fluffy towels and a bar of soap on the bed.
Anyu put her two hands together as if in prayer. “Namaste.” She nodded her head. The girls did not respond. “Namaskar, ullo,” Anyu said, her voice louder, and the girls looked up and nodded. “Marathi, language of Mumbai.”
“Marathi it is then,” Zara exclaimed. She looked at the girls. “I am Zara.” She introduced each of the women in turn. “You are in Peshawar in Pakistan. Understand?”
The girls sat quietly, watching everything. Abby pulled over the basin of water. “We thought you might want to wash up.” She pushed a bar of soap and the towels toward the girls. “We’ll leave so you can wash.” Abby motioned with her hands to mimic washing.
The eyes of the taller girl seemed to light up in response, and she climbed out of the bed and, in one swift and sudden movement, she kicked her foot out, knocking over the basin, splashing water onto Abby.
The Bracelet Page 17
