Page 219 - A Woman Is No Man

fabric forcefully, as if by doing so she could will the words away. She stared
at the window for a moment, then leaped out of bed and wrapped herself in
a thick robe. She turned on her bedroom lamps, the sconces in the hall, all

the lights in the kitchen. There she retrieved a tea packet from the pantry,
set a kettle on the stove. She felt strange, as though she was there and not
there at the same time. What was happening? It took her a moment to find
her mental footing. Finally she said, “Sarah?”
Deya stood in the kitchen doorway, still holding up the newspaper
clipping. “I saw her. She told me everything.”
“It must be a mistake,” Fareeda said, refusing to look at the clipping.

“Sarah is in Palestine. Someone must be playing a trick on you.”
“Why do you keep lying? The truth is right here!” Deya waved the
clipping in front of her. “You can’t hide it anymore.”
Fareeda knew Deya was right. Nothing she said could cover up the truth
this time. Yet still, she found herself searching for a way to dispel it. She
reached out and took the newspaper clipping, her fingers trembling as she

scanned it. It seemed like only yesterday that Sarah had run away, leaving
Fareeda in a panic. If anyone found out that Sarah had left, disappeared into
the streets of America, their family’s honor would have been ruined. And so
Fareeda had done what she’d always done: she’d fixed it. It hadn’t taken her
long to convince her friends that Sarah had married a man in Palestine.
She’d been so pleased with herself. But murder, suicide—these public
shames had been impossible to hide. And for that, her granddaughters

would forever pay a price.
“Why did you lie to us all these years?” Deya said. “Why didn’t you tell
us the truth about our parents?”
Fareeda began to sweat. There was no escape. As with everything else
she had done in her life, she didn’t have much choice.
She drew a slow, long breath, feeling a weight about to come undone.

Then she told Deya everything—that Adam had been drunk, that he hadn’t
realized how hard he was hitting Isra, that he hadn’t meant to kill her. This
last part she said again and again. He didn’t mean to kill her.
“I was only trying to protect you,” Fareeda said. “I had to tell you
something that wouldn’t traumatize you for the rest of your life.”
“But why did you make up the car accident? Why didn’t you tell us—at
least later?”