click it off but she keyed into it and went to the menu for recent calls.
Her breath stopped when she saw the man had called Channel Six TV news.
Forty-One
From her balcony, Zehra saw his Mercedes pull into the parking lot far below. Up where she was, the hot breeze blew in from the west. It carried the metallic smell of new rain. She hurried back through the condo.
She wore jeans, tight but not too much. Although he was conservative, Mustafa was still a man. Something had to awaken him. She studied her makeup in the mirror and pulled at her thick hair. The humidity didn’t help. Curls threatened to burst out all over her head. Satisfied she couldn’t get it any better, she draped the scarf he’d given her around her neck and switched off the light.
Mustafa was at the entry downstairs.
Zehra buzzed him in and arranged some tea cups. The water bubbled and popped softly.
Like the air pushed aside by a speeding semi truck, he entered the condo behind a burst of energy. “Hello. You look beautiful. Are you ready?” he chattered.
“Well … yeah, but don’t you want some tea or pop? I’ve got a Diet Coke.” She tried to tempt him.
He squinted. “Uh … no thanks. We do not have much time.” He touched her briefly and from far away.
“What’s wrong?”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I have worked with these students on their projects for so long. I want everything to go well.”
“Relax. I’m looking forward to meeting them.” She paused and pulled on his arm to slow him down. “Are you missing something?”
He stopped, turned, and looked her up and down. Finally, he said, “Oh, the scarf! Thank you for wearing it. It is very beautiful on you. It complements the color of your skin.”
Zehra felt a hot blush flash quickly across her face. “Well, if you don’t have time for anything, I guess we should go, huh?”
They hurried across the hall to the elevator. Waiting for it made her nervous. She’d never seen Mustafa so agitated. Usually, he was in complete control of everything. He prided himself on his scientific approach to things- too much, Zehra thought, when it came to relationships. Those kinds of things weren’t meant to be controlled. How many times had she wished he would go “out of control” with her?
The FBI agent met them in the lobby. He would follow them in his car.
In the Benz, she sank back into the soft butter-colored leather seat and felt the cool wisp of air from the vents. Mustafa drove erratically and fast.
“Hey, slow down. I know this means a lot to you, but the traffic is still the tail-end of the rush hour.” Zehra looked over at him. His eyes bored straight ahead and his nostrils flared a little. She became concerned. “Don’t drive so fast. I want to enjoy the night.”
He jerked toward her. “Sorry. You are right.” He eased off on the speed and leaned back into the leather. “I have been so busy. It is nice to see you again. You make me feel calm and good.”
She pushed her question toward him carefully, “Is it because I’m not wearing the scarf over my head? Is that upsetting you?”
“No … no, it’s not that.”
“Okay.” She rearranged the scarf but left it around her neck. Pulling the visor down with the mirror, she turned her face left and right. Wearing the
They rode in silence for ten minutes while Mustafa eased through the jammed lines of cars.
“What’s the science fair about?” she asked.
“I have worked for months with the students. They will have all the projects displayed on the lab tables in various rooms.” He looked at her and his features squeezed together.
“Do you expect lots of people?”
“We always get hundreds. It’s very popular.”
In fifteen minutes, they entered the southern suburb and drove through a neighborhood of small, single-family homes. Zehra lowered her window. Rows of stately trees spread over the streets reaching out from both sides, shading them as they drove.
Cars stood in front driveways and some adventurous kids had turned on sprinklers to jump through. She heard the squeals and laughter of children let free for the afternoon. Windows and doors stood open to invite the warm weather and summer inside after a long Minnesota winter. Zehra heard the rumble of thunder far off to the west. She looked back and saw salmon-colored clouds streaked with gray heaviness, underneath.
As they turned a corner, a half dozen kids spread apart before the car like fish in a tank. They had been kicking a soccer ball around in the school parking lot.
“Here we are,” Mustafa said. He parked in the faculty lot next to the school. Already the rest of the lots were full of cars.
Zehra stepped out and walked across a small section of grass.
A sidewalk with broken concrete sections led to the door. The grass needed mowing. Two sets of tall bushes shrouded the parking lot on both sides. They were so thick Zehra couldn’t see anything beyond them. A red maple arched over the bushes on the right side, like a protective umbrella. Around them, the air cooled as night came on.
Mustafa led her inside and immediately took her down a long hallway to a classroom in the middle of the hall.
Zehra followed him inside. The room was small, with several tables in the middle, all covered with displays of various science projects. It smelled musty, as if the room and had been shut-up for a while.
Students in the classroom shouted when Mustafa entered. They were happy to see him, but he scowled at them and spoke sharply.
Zehra took a deep breath. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. He was so upset, she doubted they would have a good time. Hopefully around the kids, he’d chill out.
In fifteen minutes, more kids and people started to arrive. One by one, parents came through the room, stopping to admire all the projects and listen to the students explain them.
The FBI agent had followed them into the room. When he saw what the situation was, he told Zehra that he’d be in the hallway and left.
There were a variety of people. Many were Somali. Zehra didn’t know much about them except that Minnesota had accepted thousands of the refugees to create the largest community of Somalis in the United States. Although few women came, she admired the men. Tall, with dark shiny skin, they all smiled a lot with beautiful, white teeth.
They greeted her warmly.
The men surrounded Mustafa and thanked him for all he did for their children. One father in a white shirt, gray slacks, and pointed black shoes said, “We are thankful, Dr. Ammar. Of course, we love our children, but we work very hard. We try to keep the family and religious traditions together …”
Mustafa nodded and assured them it was okay. “Remember to be faithful, no matter what happens to you in this country. It is most important to be obedient to Allah.”
The men nodded but didn’t seem as fervent about their faith as Mustafa. They gave their children hugs. It was obvious to Zehra, they were close families.
After each group of people moved on, the boys jumped and pushed and laughed with each other. It reminded Zehra of a club. Carefree and excited, they crowded around the newest member of their club. They pelted Zehra with questions. What job did she have? Where was she from? Was she Muslim? Did she like men? Did she like pizza?
“Are you and Dr. Ammar going to get married?” a skinny boy asked. The others giggled.
Zehra felt her face blush. “We’re just friends … good friends.”
Mustafa came over and told the boys to get ready for more visitors.
