by Holly Rayner
I couldn't believe how stupid I'd been. Of course he'd called the police. I'd stolen from him, then I'd returned to his home, harassed him, and dragged him out into the snow like a crazy person.
"Oh, God," I breathed.
"Don't worry, dear," Sadiq said, smiling broadly. "Your aunt will understand if we're a little bit late to dinner." He turned back to the cops. "Can I help you, officers?"
"Yes, sir," the cop on the right said. He had a thick mustache that completely covered his top lip and heavy jowls that moved when he talked. "We're sorry to bother you on the holiday. We've gotten reports of burglaries in this area over the last few weeks, and wanted to see if you'd noticed any suspicious activity in the neighborhood recently."
"I don't think so," Sadiq said. He frowned; his look of concern was perfect. "Should I be worried?"
"Probably not. Just make sure your doors and windows stay closed and locked. You may also want to update your alarm system."
"I'd have to be a real fool to leave my windows standing open," he said. I thought my legs were going to give out from under me. Maybe he noticed, because he put an arm around my shoulders.
"You'd be surprised," the other cop said. She was younger than her partner, with a snub nose and brown hair cut very short. "It's easy to forget this time of year that not everyone is good people. Bad folks up to bad things, any day of the year. I mean, what kind of lowlife robs houses at Christmas?"
I stared daggers at her. Sadiq squeezed my shoulder in warning. I forced a tight smile.
"Indeed, who would do that?" he said.
The first cop reached into his jacket pocket and produced a slightly-crumpled business card.
"Well, if you see anything that doesn't seem right, or if you remember anyone hanging around the neighborhood who didn't seem to belong, please give us a call."
"I certainly will," Sadiq said, slipping the card into his pants pocket. "Thank you."
"Yes, thank you," I said. It came out in a high squeak, and Sadiq squeezed my shoulder again. I didn't try to talk anymore after that.
"You have a Merry Christmas," the female cop said, nodding to each of us.
I watched them follow the foot prints they'd left in the snow back to where they'd left their patrol car parked in Sadiq's driveway. Officer Mustache gave a final wave before climbing back inside. Sadiq and I waved back. We stood and watched in silence as the car backed along the winding length of the driveway, pausing at the turn-off to the street before backing out and driving out of sight.
Sadiq closed the door. I staggered back and leaned against the wall, pressing my fingertips against my temples.
"That's just what would happen, too. The day I decide to quit, the day I return a forty-thousand dollar watch—"
"Eighty thousand," Sadiq corrected as he pulled off his gloves and laid them on a glass-topped table standing against one of the foyer walls.
"Eighty?" I repeated, choking on the word.
Sadiq nodded. "It was a gift, from a Sheikh who was a friend of my father. It came to me when my father left this world. I was quite relieved when you brought it back."
"You're welcome," I said.
"Don't sound so happy about it," he teased, smiling at the agony in my expression.
"Of course I'm happy you got it back. It was your father’s, and anyway I had no right to... Eighty? Really?"
He laughed. "That’s right, but it's not about the money. I don't care about that. It's sentimental to me."
"Sentimental," I repeated. Sadiq's little keepsake could have gotten Marion well-launched into medical school. I didn’t regret returning it, but I decided it was a very good thing I hadn't known what it was worth before I had. I was sorry, but I didn't know if I was eighty thousand dollars sorry.
"Now, shall we see about finding something to stand in for the hot chocolate I have so embarrassingly failed to keep on hand in case of snow?"
I'd expected a huge kitchen, but this was something beyond. Row after row of gleaming chrome counters stood empty. I counted three, no four ovens, topped with cast-iron burners and stainless steel griddles. Hundreds of pots and pans hung from the ceiling at stations throughout the room. There was an entire wall of refrigerators, and a door that I guessed led to a walk-in freezer. Sadiq started opening and closing cupboards, finding most of them empty. He opened a door, revealing a walk-in pantry. I peered in at the empty shelves. There were cobwebs in the corners and dust on the shelves.
"Ha!" he said, reaching behind an enormous can of crushed tomatoes. "It's not cocoa, but it will at least be hot." He showed me a small tin labeled in Arabic writing.
"What is it?"
"It's tea, and it’s very good. Not as fresh as I'd like, but still much better than what you have here."
We hunted through more cupboards until we found a copper-bottomed teakettle. I hopped up and sat on one of the metal food prep stations while we waited for the water to boil. Sadiq crossed his arms and leaned back on the counter beside me.
"Your father was friends with a Sheikh?" I said. He nodded, but didn't say anything more, so I prodded him further. "Seems like there'd be a story there."
He shrugged. "It's smart to be on good terms with Sheikhs from other families. My father was never satisfied simply not to have them for enemies. He always went further, won their friendship. It was difficult to dislike my father once he'd decided to become your friend."
"Wait, your father was a Sheikh, too?" My mind was flooded with stereotypical images; I'd only ever learned about Sheikhs in cartoons and comic books, sources whose realism I doubted.
"Mm hmm," he said. "He became Sheikh when he was twenty-five, when my grandfather died. My father was the youngest leader the family had known in centuries, but he was the best, too." His voice was heavy with defeat.
"So, if your father passed away, does that make one of your brothers Sheikh? Or your uncle?"
"It would, but my father had only sisters, as did I."
"So... that means it's you. You're a Sheikh!" My words sounded so bizarre to me that I almost laughed out loud. "Wow."
The kettle began to whistle, and we realized we'd forgotten to find mugs. The screeching of the kettle grew louder as Sadiq opened cupboard after cupboard, searching. By the time he pulled out two ceramic mugs and dusted them off with a towel, I was covering my ears and laughing. He dropped a tea bag into each mug and poured the steaming water over it. A spicy aroma rose into the air as the tea infused, turning the water a rich orange color.
"Do we add sugar?" I asked, inhaling over my mug.
"Just a little bit," he said. He broke into a sheepish smile. "If I can find it."
"No sugar is fine."
I sipped from the mug. The flavor was unfamiliar, but I quickly decided that I agreed with Sadiq that American tea couldn't compete with it. I was grateful for the warmth against my hands and in my stomach. I still felt chilly from our time in the snow, and didn't feel much warmer in the empty kitchen. I shivered, wondering if Sadiq bothered to heat this part of the house at all, since he obviously didn't use it.
He noticed me shivering and frowned. "Come on. Bring your tea back to the study and I'll get a fire started."
"A fine idea," I said. "Lead the way." I wasn't being cute; the truth was, I wasn't sure if I'd be able to find my way back.
He built a fire, and I ordered the pad Thai. I learned that adding a generous slug of whiskey made the tea no less delicious. I curled my feet beneath me and wrapped my hands around the mug, finally beginning to thaw. Sadiq stepped out of the room and returned a moment later with a soft knit blanket. He unfolded it and wrapped it around me, cocooning me in its thick folds.
I expected him to sit opposite me, in the antique armchair, but instead he took a seat on the couch, just a couple of feet away from me. He leaned back, drink in hand, his long legs stretched out in front of him.
"Is your sister waiting at home for you?" he asked. This was the first time he'd mentioned her without the cynical, sardonic tone he'd used
when I was locked in his panic room. He didn't think I was lying to him anymore.
"No," I said. "She's spending Christmas with friends."
"You miss her."
The way he said it, the weight in his words, made me search his face, but it was impossible to read anything there.
"Yes," I said. "I really do. She's getting older. She's not the homesick kid who went off to college a year ago. She doesn't need me so much anymore."
"Well, I'm sorry that you have to miss her, but I'm glad for myself. It's been an entirely unexpected delight, this day with you, Annabelle." He studied his drink as he spoke.
His words unbalanced me. I picked nervously at the edge of the blanket on my lap.
"I deserve to be in prison right now," I said. "And I'm not. I'm not even alone at home. That place is so full of my mother, but still so empty of her. I'm grateful to you, Sadiq, for taking me away from there. And... I like you. I didn't expect to like you."
"No more surprised than I," he said. The corner of his mouth twitched with the beginning of a smile.
***
