Page 79 - A Woman Is No Man

“I can’t,” Deya finally said. “My grandparents don’t let me leave the
house alone.”
There was a long pause. “I know.”

“How do you know what my grandparents are like? And how do you
know where I live?”
“I can’t tell you over the phone. We have to meet.” She paused. “Maybe
you could skip school. Is it possible?”
“I’ve never skipped school before,” Deya said. “And even if I could,
how would I know it’s safe? I don’t know you.”
“I would never hurt you.” The woman spoke softly now, and Deya

thought her voice sounded familiar. “Believe me, I would never hurt you.”
She knew that voice. But was it her mother’s? Once again, the thought
was absurd, but Deya considered. She remembered clearly the last time she
had heard Isra’s voice.
“I’m sorry,” Isra had whispered, again and again. I’m sorry. Ten years
later, and Deya still didn’t know what her mother had been sorry for.

“Mama?” The words left Deya’s lips in a rush.
“What?”
“Is that you, Mama? Is it?” Deya sank inside the bathroom stall. This
woman could be her mother. She could. Maybe she was back. Maybe she
was different. Maybe she was sorry.
“Oh, Deya! I’m not your mother.” The woman’s voice was shaking.
“I’m so sorry. I’m not trying to upset you.”

Deya heard herself sob before she realized she was crying. The next
thing she knew, tears were rushing down her cheeks. How low and
desperate she felt, how much she wanted her mother—she’d had no idea
until that moment. She swallowed her tears. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I know
my mother is dead. I know they’re both dead.” Silence on the line. “Who
are you?” Deya finally said.

“Listen, Deya,” the woman said. “There’s something I need to tell you.
Figure out a way to come to the bookstore. It’s important.” When Deya said
nothing, the woman spoke again. “And please,” she said. “Please, whatever
you do, don’t tell your grandparents about this. I’ll explain everything when
I see you, but don’t tell anyone. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“Thank you,” the woman said. “Have a good day—”

“Wait!” Deya blurted.