Hud wasn’t sure how to greet Layah’s aunt, so he put his hand on his chest and said hello in Arabic. It must have been okay, because the woman beamed at Layah. There was a flurry of questions and responses. Then it was time to go. Layah took the passenger seat, while the rest of them climbed into the back.
Hud sat next to Ashur. It was a dark night, full of stars. He was happy to be off his feet. After the day they’d had, he was happy just to be alive. As they left the village and traveled down a deserted road, he felt at peace.
“How did Layah introduce me?” he asked Ashur.
“She said you were Khalil.”
All his good feelings evaporated. “You’re kidding.”
“No.”
“Isn’t he dead?”
“Yes, but Miri doesn’t know that. Our family does not speak of him.”
“Why not?”
“He was not Assyrian.”
Hud fell silent, lost in thought. Something wasn’t right, beyond Layah’s family secrets. She hadn’t mentioned an aunt in Turkey. She’d said her people weren’t safe here. They were traveling east, which didn’t make sense to him. His mental map of the area was fuzzy, but he was pretty sure they had to go north to reach the Armenian border. East was...somewhere else. Tajikistan? Azerbaijan?
He closed his eyes in an attempt to picture this part of the world. He’d been all over the Arabian Peninsula. He’d cut his teeth in Afghanistan. In between was a cluster of places he’d never visited. His mind drifted to a tour of duty in the Hindu Kush, a land of snow-capped mountains and jagged peaks.
When the truck came to an abrupt stop, he jolted awake. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep. So much for staying sharp.
Ashur gave him a rude shove.
Hud gathered his pack and climbed down from the bed of the truck with the others. They were in a hotel parking lot. Layah urged him into the shadows while her aunt arranged for the rooms. Five minutes later, Layah had a set of keys. She unlocked the door for him and Ashur, ushering them inside.
Hud looked around. It was nothing fancy, just two beds and a bathroom. No phone or television. Ashur collapsed on one of the beds and didn’t move. Hud wanted to do the same thing as soon as possible.
“I should care for your wound,” Layah said.
“Let me shower first.”
She nodded, crossing her arms over her chest. “If you have dirty clothes, I will take them to wash.”
Most of his clothes were on his body. He removed a few items from his pack and put them in an empty bag. Then he retreated to the bathroom to strip down completely. His reflection wasn’t pretty. He still had a good amount of muscle, but zero padding. He needed a shave. There were minor cuts on his rib cage, left elbow and left thigh.
He placed the dirty clothes outside the door and turned on the faucet. The water was lukewarm and he had to duck his head to wash his hair, but it felt glorious. He enjoyed this shower as much as the last one. Maybe more. He relished the smell of the soap, the lather of shampoo, the feel of his own clean skin.
While he dried off, he noticed a place card on the sink. There were squiggles in Arabic or some other language. In English, it said Hotel Urmia.
Urmia.
He’d heard of Urmia.
Urmia was in Iran.
He wrapped the towel around his waist, his pulse racing. There must be some mistake. They couldn’t be in Iran. The name of the hotel didn’t mean anything. The soap could be from anywhere. Layah wouldn’t bring him to Iran. Would she?
He came out of the bathroom in search of answers. Ashur was still sprawled on the bed, snoring. Layah was sitting on the other bed with her medical kit in her lap. Her eyes traveled down his torso and settled on his rib cage. She rose to her feet, brow furrowed. “You have more than one injury.”
He held still while she examined the wound on his side. Her hands were firm and gentle. He gripped the towel at his waist, steeling himself against her touch. His body didn’t care if she was a schemer and a liar. It wanted her all the same.
“Come and sit.”
He followed those instructions in silence. He didn’t ask any questions, because he knew. They were in Iran. There was no other explanation. He knew, but he didn’t want to know. He couldn’t bring himself to acknowledge her betrayal.
It was so much like Michelle’s.
His stomach clenched at the thought. He remembered how it had felt to stand next to his wife in the doctor’s office, puzzling over her due date like a goddamned fool. In the two years since, he’d wondered if she’d planned to keep the secret forever. Would she have raised the child as his? Would he have held the baby and loved it and then one day, when the kid was half-grown, noticed her lover’s eyes staring back at him?
This moment felt like that one, big and gaping. Swallowing his heart and eating away at his soul.
Layah took care of his side and his elbow before moving on to his thigh. She tried to apply a numbing agent, but he refused. He wanted it to hurt, and it did. She had to dig out a piece of shrapnel with forceps. He endured the pain without flinching. She flushed the wound and covered it with a bandage, then lifted her gaze to his face.
“You know,” she said.
“When were you going to tell me?”
“Right now.”
“Right now it’s too late for me to do anything about it,” he said, his jaw clenched. “Why not before we crossed
