Chapter 4
The scent of roasting meat slips underneath my bedroom door where I am ostensibly praying. That's what we always tell Adnan. What I'm really doing is studying. The Ghuraba burned all of the books, but Mama hid some so we'd all have something to read besides the Quran.
The smell grows stronger as I go into our kitchen, savory and gamey, with just a hint of rosemary and something else? Maybe garlic?
The electricity is on as judged by Adnan glued to the small television we keep on the counter. Nasirah sets out a bowl of peas while Mama hums an old Syrian folk-tune, stirring a pot filled with rice.
"Lamb?" I sniff. "Where'd it come from?"
"The Commander sent it over," Mama says.
"For saving Rasha's baby?"
Mama scowls.
"I'd rather he didn't beat his wives."
We both look at Ad
