Page 343 - The Kite Runner

332 Khaled Hosseini

“What if I have?”
He shook his head. “It’s a dangerous business, making prom-
ises to kids.” He sighed and opened his desk drawer again. “You
mean to pursue this?” he said, rummaging through papers.
“I mean to pursue this.”
He produced a business card. “Then I advise you to get a good
immigration lawyer. Omar Faisal works here in Islamabad. You
can tell him I sent you.”
I took the card from him. “Thanks,” I muttered.
“Good luck,” he said. As we exited the room, I glanced over my
shoulder. Andrews was standing in a rectangle of sunlight,
absently staring out the window, his hands turning the potted
tomato plants toward the sun, petting them lovingly.

“Take care,” the secretary said as we passed her desk.
“Your boss could use some manners,” I said. I expected her to
roll her eyes, maybe nod in that “I know, everybody says that,”
kind of way. Instead, she lowered her voice. “Poor Ray. He hasn’t
been the same since his daughter died.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“Suicide,” she whispered.

On the taxi ride back to the hotel, Sohrab rested his
head on the window, kept staring at the passing buildings, the
rows of gum trees. His breath fogged the glass, cleared, fogged
it again. I waited for him to ask me about the meeting but he
didn’t.

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