The Widow's Keeper Read online

  A cool, wet towel pressed against her forehead. When she looked over, her mother sat beside her, her eyes red and cheeks shimmering wet with tears of her own.

  Ally patted her crying sister’s arm. “It’s okay. I’m okay,” she reassured her.

  Reya lay on the bed with her, her arms squeezing the breath out of her. “Let me go. I can’t breathe.”

  When she finally released her, Ally climbed off the bed and made her way to the bathroom, the one place she knew they wouldn’t follow.

  “Di.”

  Ally stopped and waited for Reya to finish.

  “It’s not your fault. None of it.”

  She nodded and shut the bathroom door behind her.

  Ally leaned her back against the trunk of an old tree. She stretched her tired legs across the scratchy patch of earth over David’s grave. The soothing echoes of the water and breeze from Schuylkill River, a few hundred yards away, almost masked the sounds of rush hour traffic on the expressway in the distance. Almost. She put her headphones on and hit resume on the playlist he’d created well over a year ago. Once upon a time, he made her promise to listen to the whole thing, and she planned on making good on her promise.

  So every morning, she jogged along the Art Museum area until she reached her destination—this plot of land right under the tree. From the worn leather backpack, she pulled out a ziplock bag and stared at its contents—a blue sweater.

  She brought the opening of the bag to her face before unzipping it; there was no way she’d allow any of its valuable contents to be wasted. Ally’s lungs filled with the smell of cedar, musk, and the faint scent of his soap. She sealed her eyes, savoring it, and for the first time in days, her muscles relaxed. There were other shirts of his in sealed bags hidden away in a suitcase in the back of her closet. She saved them for the hard days, like today. The rest of the time she’d walk into the closet, close the door, spray his cologne on his shirts which still hung on his side, and sit in there, immersed in his fragrance.

  Those packages and the playlist he’d made were her most valuable possessions, far more valuable than the pictures or even his wedding ring. They felt and smelled the most like him, and when she surrounded herself in the music and his scent, she could almost feel him holding her. Almost.

  “Hey, baby.” A voice she’d ached to hear filled her ears. Ally’s eyes shot open as she searched the cemetery grounds for him. “I wanted to make this last part of the playlist a bit more special.”

  “This is a mix of different kinds of songs. Some of them made me think of the person you are today, and others were the ones I used to listen to when I thought I’d lost you. I know it’s cheesy, but I also know you love cheese. So enjoy.” The sound of his laugh sliced through her.

  The slow beat of a familiar song filled her ears. “You know how you ask me every other second why I haven’t given up on you?” The male singer’s voice filled her ears. He sang about a woman who was perfect and his promise to always love her. David cleared his throat and recited the lyrics as the song played in the background.

  A tear slipped down her cheek, only to be followed by another and then another until they flooded her face. Ally curled up in a ball on his grave with his sweater crushed to her chest, listening to David’s promise to never leave her.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  THE REUNION

  FOUR MONTHS POST-DAVID

  Ally tugged on the handcuffs on her wrists. The tight metal dug into her skin, burning her. As painful as the cuffs were, the blindfold and the heavy fabric she wore terrified her more. After she showered and dressed at the hotel, he had handed her a full burqa, including the head covering. The sight of the floor-length dress brought back painful memories of Sayeed and the compound. The images and emotions so painful, she shook uncontrollably.

  Shariff tossed the burqa on to the bed. “We are going to pay a visit to the lovely young widow and her child you came to see, so the outfit is a must. Oh, and since I don’t trust you, you should probably prepare yourself for the blindfold and handcuffs, too. If any of these items are a problem, we can skip the reunion.”

  It took a while for her breathing to slow and her hands to stop shaking, but once the tremors eased, she slipped the long-sleeved dress over her clothes and covered her head. A mesh window in front of her face allowed Ally to scan her surroundings as they walked through the white marble halls of the hotel. Throughout it all, Shariff kept a firm grip on her arm with one hand and carried a bright red duffle bag in the other. Once they were in the backseat of a black car, he cuffed her wrists to the door and slipped off her headdress.

  She sat behind the driver and stared at the back of his head. His dark hair was cut short, and from the thickness of his neck and round shoulders, he seemed to be a hefty man. Ally gazed out the window at the golden entrance of the hotel. Restrained in a car in a foreign land with two men, she had no clue how the next few hours would play out. Would they even take her to Farah and the baby? And where was Eddie?

  She jumped when Shariff leaned toward her. He nudged his chin at the fabric in his hand. “Blindfold.”

  Everything turned dark a second later when he covered her eyes and tied the scarf behind her head.

  Throughout the journey, her senses remained on high alert, her fears plentiful. She tried to breathe through them, sucking in a lungful of the driver’s cigarette smoke in the process. Other than the steady stream of cars and blaring of horns that floated into the cabin during the trip, none of the passengers in her vehicle uttered a sound. More than a couple of times, the sharp turns and bumps on the road made her head slam into the window of the door to which she was restrained. After a long while, the car slowed to a stop. It honked, making her jump. The sound of metal hitting metal echoed from somewhere outside, and soon the car lurched forward. The ground beneath its tires was bumpy and gravel crunched under its weight. The vehicle stopped a few seconds later, and the same metal sounds from a minute ago echoed again.

  “We’re here,” he announced while he removed the handcuffs from her wrists. Ally’s stomach fluttered and her mouth went dry. She rubbed the bruised area and said a silent prayer for the strength to survive whatever awaited her.

  When she reached for her blindfold, he pulled her hands away.

  “Not yet. Let’s get inside first.” Shariff kept a grip on her elbow and helped her out of the car. “You will see again very soon. Trust me.”

  She wiped her wet palms on her burqa, allowing him to guide her along the pebbled ground. Somewhere ahead, a door opened.

  “There’s a step coming up. Right here,” he warned and directed her into the space. Once inside, the door slammed behind her. The smell of fresh paint mixed with stained wood filled her nostrils. Ally fisted her hands, her pulse thudding against her ears. Things rustled for a while before someone finally grabbed the blindfold and pulled it off.

  She blinked a few times, allowing herself to adjust to the light while she massaged the tender area around her wrists. The masked man from the videos sat in the tiny living room on a beige sofa. Her eyes narrowed as she took him in. Tall and lean, he wore jeans and a loose tee with the image of the Eiffel Tower printed across his chest. Beneath the monument’s picture were the words “I Love Paris.” His eyes were hazel and black strands of his mustache poked out around his mouth from under the mask. She continued to stare at him long after he looked away.

  He shifted in his seat, focused his attention on the laptop in his lap before he finally got up, and then walked into the dark hallway behind her. Why did she make him nervous?

  Ally jumped when Shariff rested his hand on her shoulder. He gave her a firm squeeze and waved at the closed door across the other side of the room. “Ready?”

  She scanned the space. The walls were bare and the area sparsely furnished. A large curtained window was across the room beside the dining table. She noticed three doors: one beside the dining table, one next to the kitchen, and one directly behind her. He grabbed a ring of keys from the
counter and headed to the door by the kitchen. “You have ten minutes and then we leave.”

  Ally weaved her fingers together and squeezed to hide the tremors rocking through her. “Ten minutes. Alone.”

  He rolled his eyes. “You’re not in a position to negotiate.”

  She didn’t say anything, just continued to stare at him as her pulse quickened.

  Shariff put the key into the padlock and unlatched the door. “Fine, alone.” He opened it and waved for her to enter. “But I will be waiting for you out here.”

  She sucked in a breath and scanned the same yellow walls from the video. Somewhere in the room was a camera monitoring her every move and word. Ally stepped in and locked eyes with Farah but didn’t go to her. She stayed rooted to the spot, surveying the area, waiting for the door behind her to close and lock. From the angle of the videos she’d seen, the camera had to be across from the bed.

  “Why did you bring her here?” The masked man in the living room snapped. His words were spoken in Urdu.

  “Quiet,” Shariff retorted.

  The men continued to argue, but their voices dropped so low she couldn’t make out the words. She jumped when a door on the other side slammed shut. Clearly, Eiffel Tower wasn’t pleased with Shariff’s explanation.

  The tail of a black cat clock swished back and forth. Ebony arrows sat in the center of the cat’s white belly showing the time. The fixture hung on the wall across from the bed. The perfect height and angle for a camera.

  Ally stepped away and focused her attention on the woman seated on the bed, staring at her in disbelief. Her face and arms appeared free of injury. The hallowed cheeks of the eighteen-year-old she remembered had filled in. Although red rimmed, her enormous eyes, which once were sunken, were fuller, brighter. A tear slipped down Farah’s cheek and rolled down her face until it fell on the white towel draped over her chest as she nursed the baby beneath it. Her and Amir’s baby.

  Ally’s chest tightened. Yet again, Farah’s happily-ever-after had been stolen. She rolled her shoulders back and shook off the overwhelming urge to pull her in her arms and sob. Instead, she smiled and approached them.

  Tiny toes poked out from the side of the terry cloth. Two miniature feet flexed and stretched. The young mother pulled down the towel, revealing the feeding baby beneath. Perfectly oval eyes were closed, and the baby’s pink lips latched to its mother’s breast. “This is not how I wanted you to meet her,” she whispered.

  Her. Ally smiled and sat down beside them. She put her arm around Farah’s shoulder while she pressed her lips against the soft, black, mossy hair on the top of her head. “I am glad I get to meet her.”

  “You shouldn’t be here, Didi.”

  Ally rested her head against Farah’s. “You shouldn’t either.”

  The baby released her mother’s nipple, nuzzled her cheek into Farah’s bare chest, and sighed in her sleep.

  Ally’s eyes burned as she admired the child’s bright red cheeks and full pink mouth, along the corner of which still contained remnants of milk. “She’s perfect.”

  When she pressed her finger into the child’s hand, soft tiny digits wrapped around her big one, squeezing her tight. A shudder ripped through her as the weight of the situation hit home. This short life and that of her mother’s depended on Ally. She closed her eyes and said a silent prayer.

  “Would you like to hold her while I fix my top?”

  Ally nodded and took the sleeping child, pressing her tiny front against her chest. The baby’s chin rested on her shoulder as she supported her back. She pressed her cheek against the infant’s soft hair and inhaled the clean scent of powder and lotion.

  Once upon a time, she had dreamed of this moment, but her fantasy included a different bedroom, in a different country, with a different man’s baby in her arms. How had everything gone so wrong?

  After covering herself up, Farah rested her head on Ally’s free shoulder, as she used to all those years ago in the compound. “This is my fault.”

  Ally stared at the wall clock and its wagging tail. “The one thing we’ve both learned is that some things are beyond our control.”

  Farah sniffled. “Amir must be searching for us now.”

  Ally flinched but didn’t correct her. She slid the infant off her shoulder and cradled her. A pair of tiny but familiar brown eyes stared up at her, blinking every so often. “She has his eyes.”

  “He loves it when I tell him that.” The pain in Farah’s voice deepened the ache in Ally’s chest. “We named her Amirah. A combination of both of ours.”

  Ally cleared her throat. “It’s beautiful.”

  “It means leader. I’m hoping the name inspires her to become one.”

  Ally smiled.

  “It must be killing him to be away from us.”

  She rested her cheek on top of Farah’s head and kept her voice even. “You will get out of here. I promise.”

  Farah’s hair brushed against Ally’s skin when she nodded her agreement. “And you will, too. David will come for you. We both know he will not sleep until you’re safe.”

  The void inside her throbbed at the mention of his name. Ally stared at the ceiling and blinked back her tears.

  “He is a hero. Like my Amirah’s father.”

  Her gaze fell upon the clock on the wall. Somewhere in the other room, two men watched and listened to their every word, waiting to see what she’d say. “Our husbands will always be heroes. Those men on the other side of the door are cowards, and they will pay with their lives for what they’ve done.”

  A few minutes later, keys rattled against the door. Ally stayed on the bed, with Farah leaning against her and the baby in her arms, watching. When it opened, Shariff stood at the threshold, arms crossed. “Your ten minutes are up.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  KARMA

  THREE MONTHS POST-DAVID

  Seated on the couch in her therapist’s office, Ally picked at the plastic label wrapped tight around her water bottle. “Some people consider this world to be hell, and death their only way to find peace. Their only way to find heaven.”

  “What do you think?” Wendy asked.

  While she considered the question, she stared at intricate circles looped together in the geometric rug on the floor. “If you’d asked me four years ago, I’d have told you it was all a matter of perspective. If you choose to focus on the pain and sorrow, then yes, this life would become your hell. If you choose to focus on the beauty and goodness around you, it could be heaven.”

  “And now what do you believe?”

  The space fell utterly silent as she wondered how much to share with the older brunette seated across from her. “I still think it’s different for each person, but not so much about perspective as much as karma.”

  “Karma?”

  “Yes. Karma.” Ally slipped off her shoes and rested the heels of her feet on the plush cushion of the sofa, hugging her knees to her chest. “Your actions from your previous life will come back to haunt you in your current one. It’s the only thing that makes sense.”

  “So what does your current life say about your previous life?”

  She rested her chin on her knees and laughed. “I was a very bad person. Probably a serial killer.”

  Of course, Wendy didn’t laugh, but she did crack an understanding smile. “Couldn’t a perspective like this make someone feel they have no control over their own lives?”

  Ally returned her attention to the floor rug. If she had a choice, she’d rather be seated in the therapist’s chair instead of the client’s. Working on other people’s pain was a lot easier than dealing with her own. “What did I have control over? The kidnapping, the rapes, the beatings? Losing Farah and the boys? Umber and Nasif?” Her mind drifted to David. “My husband’s death?”

  Her whispered words were met with silence. Wendy handed her a tissue, but she waved it away and wiped her cheek against the rough denim of her jeans.

  “Alisha, you have survived some
intense things.”

  A sad smile tugged at her lips. “That’s an understatement.”

  “So why keep trying? According to your definition, it’s all predetermined.”

  “I’ve asked myself the same question more times than I’d like to admit.” She played with the diamond-encrusted wedding ring, which sat heavy on her finger. “You know what keeps me going?” She didn’t wait for the therapist to respond. “If I’m right and this is karma, killing myself might lead me into another miserable existence the next time around. Might as well get all the punishments over with now and do my time.”

  The leather creaked when Wendy shifted in her seat. “So you keep trying in the hopes it will lead to a better life the next time around?”

  A tear slipped down her cheek. She didn’t bother wiping it away this time. “I envy the people who are happy and loving the world and the lives they’ve built.”

  “What would a better life look like for you?”

  “Growing old with David. He wanted a farm somewhere out West. Just us, sheltered from the ugly of this world.” Ally closed her eyes. “I should have known that wouldn’t be my story.” Her voice cracked. Her mind drifted to a life long ago, one she rarely discussed with anyone. She cleared the ball of emotion stuck in her throat and grabbed the bottle of water on the table beside her. “Did I ever tell you about my parents?”

  Wendy shook her head. “Not much. You’ve mentioned they moved in after your husband passed and invade your privacy on a daily basis.”

  Ally smiled. “Actually, those two are my paternal uncle and his wife. They adopted me after my birth parents died.” Her childhood was something she rarely discussed.

  “Tell me about your biological parents.”

  She took a drink from the bottle, relishing the cool liquid flowing down her throat. Talking wasn’t something she liked to do anymore. Silence worked much better for her. It was safe and minimized the looks of pity she got when she did share her thoughts and emotions. But this was counseling, which meant processing and healing. “From what I know, both my parents grew up in Delhi with very traditional families, but Mumma was Muslim and Pappa Hindu. Boy met girl in college. They fell in love. Had unprotected sex and got pregnant.”