From her balcony, Zehra saw the Mercedes pull into the parking lot far below. Up where she was, the hot breeze blew in from the west. Already, raindrops pelted her occasionally.
She wore jeans, tight but not too tight. Although he was conservative, Michael was still a man. Something had to awaken him to passion. Zehra studied her makeup and pulled at her thick hair. The humidity didn’t help. Curls threatened to burst out all over her head. Finally, she draped the scarf he’d given her around her neck and switched off the light. She also determined to switch off thoughts of the bombing—at least for tonight.
Michael was at the downstairs entry. Zehra buzzed him in and arranged some teacups. The water on the stove bubbled and popped softly. Like the air pushed aside by a speeding semi-truck, Michael entered the condo with a burst of energy. “Hello.” He looked her up and down. “You are beautiful. Are you ready?”
“Well, yeah, but don’t you want some tea or pop?”
He squinted. “No, thanks. We do not have much time.” He touched her briefly but seemed far away.
“What’s wrong?”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I have worked with these students for so long on their projects, I am nervous. I want everything to go well,” Michael said.
“Relax. I’m looking forward to meeting them.” Zehra paused and pulled on his arm to slow him down. “Are you missing something?”
He stopped and studied her again. “The scarf. Thank you for wearing it. It is very beautiful on you. It complements the color of your skin.”
A hot blush flashed across her face. She reached for his shoulders and pulled him closer. Staring into his eyes, she brought her face close to his, felt the warmth of it, and reached up to kiss him. It was a long, deep kiss, and she could feel his body responding.
When it was over, he swayed slightly and said, “That was wonderful. Can we go now?”
“Oh, all right.”
They hurried down the hall to the elevator. Waiting for it made her nervous. She’d never seen Michael so agitated. Usually, he was in complete control and prided himself on his scientific approach to things—too much, Zehra thought, especially when it came to relationships. Maybe that was how men from Egypt acted. She’d have to work on him some more.
The FBI agent met them in the lobby. He would follow them in his car.
In the Benz, she sank into the buttery-soft leather and felt the cool wisp of air from the vents. Michael drove fast. “Hey, slow down,” Zehra said. “It’s still rush hour, anyway.”
He jerked his head toward her. “Sorry. You are right.” He eased off the gas and leaned back in the seat. “I have been so busy. It is nice to see you again. You make me feel calmer.”
She pushed the next question at him carefully. “Is it because I am not wearing the scarf over my head, like you asked?”
“No, it’s not that.”
They rode in silence for twenty minutes while Michael eased the car through the jammed traffic.
“What’s the Science Expo about?”
“I have worked for months with the students. They will have all their projects displayed in the fieldhouse. It is a state-wide competition, and I hope my students win.” He looked at her with soft eyes.
“Do you expect a lot of people?”
“Hundreds—I hope.”
Michael reached the West River Road that traveled along the bluff above the Mississippi River. He turned into the parking lot of Hiawatha Academy, found a spot in the crowded lot, and parked the car. The light faded, and Zehra could see the sun setting under salmon-colored clouds, streaked with gray underneath. The rain came heavier and splattered on the tar lot. Thunder rumbled from far off.
They were in the faculty lot and close to the fieldhouse. A quick run across the lot brought them both to the door. The FBI agent followed close behind. A sidewalk with broken concrete sections led to the door. The grass was mowed, and two sets of tall bushes shrouded the parking lot to the east. They were so thick, Zehra couldn’t see anything beyond them. A red maple arched over the door like an umbrella.
Michael led her inside and across a huge expanse of floor to the far side. A collection of tables and chairs ran along the entire wall of the fieldhouse. Each was covered with projects and surrounded by people looking at them.
When they reached the Hiawatha Academy students, they cheered at the sight of Michael. He smiled and waved at them. Some ran to him and slapped his outstretched palm. “Hey, Dr. A. We’re looking good, huh?” one young girl said to him.
“Yes, yes we are,” he said and beamed at her.
Zehra relaxed. Michael seemed to calm down around the kids. He led her around several of the tables and explained the projects to her. They were fascinating and so well done for students. More people arrived to admire the work, and soon the entire room became crowded.
The FBI agent tried to keep up, but the crowds were too thick. He pulled Zehra aside and told her he’d wait near the front door.
There was a variety of people. Some were Somali. Zehra didn’t know much about them except that Minnesota had accepted hundreds of refugees. Although few women had come, she admired the men. Tall, with dark, shiny skin, they all smiled with a lot of beautiful white teeth.
Parents of the students milled around the tables. Many shook Michael’s hand and thanked him for all his work. One man in a long robe bowed to Michael. He said thank you and encouraged the man to be faithful. “No matter what happens, you must be obedient to Allah.”
The other man looked flustered but agreed.
After each group of people moved on, the boys and girls pushed and laughed with each other. The boys tried to pretend they were uninterested; the girls pretended to ignore them. Zehra smiled at their exuberance and joy. The pelted her with questions. What job did she have? Where was she from? Was she Muslim? Did she like men? Did she like pizza? A skinny boy asked, “Are you and Dr. Ammar getting married?” A few catcalls crashed through the group.
Zehra’s face flushed. “We’re just friends. Good friends.”
Michael came over and told the students to get ready for another round of visitors. Zehra chuckled to herself. He looked so serious in contrast to the kids. Another surge of people surrounded the tables to admire the projects.
Michael pulled her to the side. “I have to run out to the car. I will return soon. Would it be all right for you to stay with the students?”
“Not at all. They’re a riot.”
“Thank you. You will do something of great favor for Allah.”
Zehra frowned. “Watching the students?”
“I’ll be right back.” He looked at his big watch and gave her arm a squeeze. He looked into her eyes, then was gone.
Zehra strolled the area and sat on a high stool to rest. She watched the crowds absent-mindedly and thought of Michael. He was acting so strange tonight. Was it nervousness? He was loved by these students and their parents. Why had Denzel insisted Michael had lied to her?
Outside, Zehra heard thunder boom against the walls of the fieldhouse. Then rain hammered at the windows. She saw darkness out there with the exception of an occasional flash of lightning.
Bored, she got off the stool and walked to the nearest exhibit. The boy beside it said his name was Sergio. He showed Zehra his project.
“It’s a model of the human heart where I show how open-heart surgery is done.” He pointed to the squishy-looking model on the table. “See, here are the chambers. Here’s the instruments the surgeons use.” He held up a scalpel, sharp, with a curved blade. “And I even got fake blood.” He pointed to a jar with red liquid in it. “It’s the same stuff they use in Hollywood. It’s so awesome.” He insisted Zehra put her finger in it. When she finished, he set the open jar on the table next to the model.
Zehra needed to wipe off her hand. When she reached for a napkin, the strong breeze from the vent in the wall blew it off the table. She hadn’t noticed the breeze before. It was cold. Why would they turn on the air conditioning at night? Zehra wanted Michael to co
me back. She looked up at a clock on the wall. It read 7:09.
Chapter Forty-Two