“I ordered kebabs,” Layah said.
His stomach growled fiercely at the news. He opened one eye.
“You like kebabs?”
“You’re evil, you know that?”
She smiled at his expression, spreading a blanket on the floor. She filled plastic cups with water from the bathroom sink. Oshana delivered the kebabs a few minutes later. Ashur woke up to eat, his hair disheveled. They shared a feast of rice, salad, hummus and meat kebabs. Hud’s argument with Layah didn’t fade away, but it seemed less important after a full meal. Ashur stuffed his face and went back to bed.
Hud climbed into the other bed, exhausted. Layah took her turn in the shower. He listened to the squeaky faucet and didn’t even picture her naked. He didn’t picture anything. His mind shut off, and he slept.
Chapter 14
Layah tiptoed downstairs at dawn.
She’d borrowed a nightgown from Aunt Miri, but she didn’t want to be seen in it. She ducked into the laundry room, which was empty, and removed the clothes from the dryer. Hudson’s belongings were mingled with hers. She brought his shirt to her face and inhaled. It smelled like laundry detergent.
Her aunt sailed into the room, startling her. “Good morning,” she said in Farsi.
Layah’s cheeks heated. “Good morning.”
They switched to Assyrian to chat while Layah folded laundry. Miri and her husband owned the hotel, and business was good. Miri was eager to hear any news about family. Like Layah, Miri had married an outsider, so she had very little communication with other Assyrians. Travel between Iraq and Iran was difficult, adding to her isolation. Layah could relate. She’d been estranged from her parents for years. She still hadn’t forgiven them for refusing to recognize her marriage.
“He is a big man,” Miri said. “Tall.”
Layah was in the process of folding Hudson’s pants. “Yes.”
“Is he good to you?”
She nodded, avoiding Miri’s gaze. He hadn’t been very good to her last night, but she didn’t blame him. She’d known he wouldn’t react well to feeling trapped in a dangerous place. Like Ashur, he suffered from post-traumatic stress.
“He has a charming accent. Where is he from?”
Layah couldn’t lie anymore. Not to Hudson, and not to her own family. Miri looked so much like Layah’s mother. Layah missed her dearly, despite the rift between them. “He’s not Khalil.”
“I know.”
Layah stopped folding laundry. “You know?”
“Your mother sent me a picture from your wedding.”
“She didn’t come to my wedding.”
“I think she got it from your brother, and she passed it on to me. She gushed about what a beautiful bride you were.”
Layah’s eyes filled with tears. She had notified her mother about the deaths of Hasan and his wife, but she hadn’t said a word about Khalil. It was too painful to speak his name to someone who’d never accepted him. “Hudson is our guide. It’s a long story.”
“Did something happen to Khalil?”
“He joined the Syrian rebels. He...didn’t make it.”
Miri wrapped her arms around Layah. “I’m so sorry, habibi.”
Layah hugged her back, her heart lighter. Then she wiped her cheeks and took a deep breath. “Thank you for helping us.”
“I’m glad to. Give your mother a hug from me.”
“I will.”
“Do you need anything else?”
“Yes,” Layah said. “I need a map, a men’s razor and a keffiyeh.”
Miri nodded happily and wished her luck. Miri’s husband, Olan, would drive them to the Armenian border.
Layah gathered her stack of laundry and returned to the room. Ashur and Hudson were still fast asleep. Hudson was stretched out on his stomach with the sheets tangled around his hips. She knew he was naked because she had all his clothes in her arms. She could also tell by looking.
She placed his belongings next to him on the bed. He roused at the movement, rolling over abruptly. Her eyes drifted south as he pulled the sheets north. But she’d already seen him, and he was magnificent.
“Good morning,” she said in a husky voice.
He said it back in Arabic, the same language she’d spoken. It was the language she’d used with Khalil. She’d forgotten to speak English. For her, Arabic was the language of romance and desire.
Hudson pulled on his pants and disappeared in the bathroom. Ashur rose also, stretching his arms over his head. There were feathers in his hair. She gave him a stack of clothes. When she tried to pluck a feather, he shied away.
“You need to bathe. You smell like a goat.”
Ashur scowled at the criticism but didn’t argue. As soon as the bathroom was free, he went inside to shower. Breakfast arrived, and Hudson didn’t speak to her. He cleaned his plate quickly and drank coffee with relish.
She smiled at his zest. He ate like a man who’d been held captive, but he didn’t look it. “Were you heavy, before?”
“Heavy?”
“Fatter.”
“I was solid. I lost at least twenty pounds in captivity.”
“What is that in kilograms?”
“I don’t know. Ten or fifteen.”
She considered that amount. It wouldn’t make him heavy, just not quite as lean. “Did they feed you?”
“Only enough to keep me alive.”
Ashur emerged from the bathroom and sat down to eat. Hudson finished his coffee in silence. She expected him to be angry with her until they were out of the country. Maybe forever. It was ironic that Layah had brought him to a place of grave danger to protect him from the Da’esh. She didn’t want to argue with Hudson again, but they had to discuss their travel plans. She wasn’t sure how to broach the subject of his disguise. He hadn’t seemed comfortable with the idea last night.
“Ashur, go eat with your cousins,” she said in Assyrian.
“Why?”
“Because I said so.”
“You’re not my mother.”
“Out!”
He picked up his plate and left the room, giving Hudson a dark look over his shoulder. Layah waited until he’d closed the door behind him. Then she turned to Hudson. He was watching her with wary eyes.
“You know who killed Hasan.”
“I have a
