Several hours later, Zehra met Michael at a small Thai restaurant across the street from the Guthrie Theatre. BJ had stayed with her for a while until she felt calm again. She wanted to see Michael, to get away from all the blood and killings. When he’d insisted on meeting, she readily agreed. Zehra walked the few blocks from her office. The late-afternoon sun felt good and helped clear her mind.
As she stepped into the air conditioning, she fluffed her blouse and ran her hands through her hair to lift it off her shoulders. Michael, handsome as ever, stood in the corner and came quickly to her. He opened his arms and gave her a long hug. She thought of BJ’s words but hoped he was wrong.
As he pulled back, his eyes opened into a smile. “You look hot and starved.” He caught himself. “I did not mean ‘hot’ like—”
She laughed and it felt good. “Of course you didn’t.” Zehra followed him to the table. It also felt good to have a man look at her and tell her she was attractive. She relaxed and tried to clear her mind of the horrible events around her.
Michael had already ordered chicken satay. They sat, and Zehra launched into the food, surprised at how hungry she was since missing lunch.
While they ate, Michael asked dozens of questions. The waiter brought an order of vegetable curry and Pad Woon Sen, a noodle dish with shrimp that Michael had ordered previously for her.
For a moment, that bothered Zehra—that he hadn’t let her order what she wanted. But his formality was sweet. Zehra let it slide.
Suddenly, BJ’s words echoed in her head again. Was Michael more interested than normal? Was he simply curious about her work? After all, when Zehra told people what she did, most of them were fascinated and had many questions.
“You seem so interested in my trial,” she said.
His eyes dropped for an instant and flicked back to her. “I am interested in anything you do.”
Impressed, Zehra still pushed on. “But I’m wondering why?”
“Why? It is you. I learn what you are like through your work and how you feel about it. I see your passion and your honesty.”
Her thoughts twisted.
His voice was pleasant, soothing, and he said, “All right. Let us talk about me for a while.” He told her of his volunteer work at the mosque with the young people. “Muslim scientists used to be the best in the world, many centuries ago. One of my missions in life is to resurrect that leadership. I work with younger Muslims to encourage them to go into the sciences. For instance, the Science Expo is Friday night at my school, Hiawatha Academy. I have worked for months with the students to help them prepare their projects.”
“How interesting.”
His head tilted up. “Maybe you would like to come as my guest. Some of the projects are amazing.”
“When is it?”
“Friday evening.” He stopped. “I forgot. You’re probably too busy with your trial.”
“No. I’m sure I could squeeze in some free time—I need it.” The work required for the trial was growing larger, but she also wanted to find out the truth about Michael. Zehra smiled. “Sure. I’d love to come.”
“Great. I’ll pick you up.”
Zehra smiled and decided, just in case, to call Denzel with the details.