Page 23 of Sheltering You

“Do you want them?” He aimed his fork at the other table. “Kids?” As if she didn’t know what he meant.

She nodded, sliding out of the booth. “I will find the restroom, if that’s okay.”

“You don’t have to ask for permission.” He smiled, perhaps to soften the words he’d spoken to her many times.

“Right. Sorry.” She hurried away, breathing deeply to calm the sudden nausea.

She should tell him the truth. She should tell him everything. But…but how did one go about explaining her situation? What would Derrick say when he learned she was not only married but carrying a child? What would he think of a wife who’d run away from her husband? What would he think when he learned of the danger she’d put him and his family in? Because they sheltered her, and Khalid would pursue her as long as he had breath in his lungs.

How could she tell Derrick that she would never be safe?

How could he comprehend all she’d gone through, all she’d done to survive?

Leila was about to get married and start a life with Michael. Yes, the Wright family counted Jasmine as one of their own, but only out of obligation. And family obligations went both ways. When Leila was married, what would being obligated to the Wrights cost Jasmine? What would they expect of her? Demand of her?

Only Derrick had chosen her, not out of obligation but because he liked her. When she told him the truth, would he still choose to be friends with her? Or would he judge her?

Would he hate her?

He was such a kind, gentle man, but even kindness had limits. Would Derrick reject her? The question sent fear to her middle and moisture to her eyes.

How would he react? She wasn’t ready to find out. Soon enough, her pregnancy would show, and there would be no more hiding the truth.

Until then, she would keep it to herself. Until then, she would enjoy their protection. She would enjoy Derrick’s friendship. Yes, the longer she put off telling him, the worse it would be. But she couldn’t bear to lose them—to lose him—before she had to.

She used the bathroom, washed her hands, and checked her reflection. She looked better than she had in Iraq. Now that she was in the US, now that the terrible sickness from her early pregnancy had passed, she felt healthier and stronger. Her dark skin had lost its yellow pallor. Her eyes were bright again, her long, straight hair silky and shiny.

She was herself again, like the Jasmine she’d been before Khalid.

But she shouldn’t, if she wanted to remain hidden. She should cut her hair. She couldn’t bring herself to do it, but she should try to disguise herself. She dug a hijab from her purse and wrapped it over her head, careful to tuck her hair in. Though she hated wearing the Muslim headscarf, at least it hid her long hair. Maybe she wouldn’t be as recognizable.

Not that she planned to run into anybody she knew. But it was possible Basma’s uncle knew Jasmine’s father. If he saw her and told Baba, then Baba would tell Khalid. And Khalid would know where to search for her.

Derrick had finished the French toast and was handing their waitress money when she slid into the booth across from him. He thanked the server, then looked at Jasmine—and frowned. “Why are you wearing that?”

“I do not want to be recognized. I wish to be…blending in.”

His eyebrows hiked. “Do you see any other woman here wearing a head scarf?”

She scanned the room. “But I thought, in the city⁠—”

“Wearing that will make you stand out.”

“But Michael says my hair is distinctive. And my height. I fear I will be recognized.”

Derrick straightened, his brows lowering over his dark eyes. “Who are you afraid of? Is there a chance your father will be there?”

“No, but Basma’s uncle probably knows him. They would have worked together for a time.”

Derrick’s expression turned to a scowl. “You didn’t tell me that. Why didn’t you…?” He blew out a breath. “Jasmine. What are we doing? This is too risky.”

“I must help her. She is my friend.”

“Yeah, but…” He pressed his lips together, then slid out of the booth and shrugged into his brown leather jacket—a bomber jacket, he called it. It was distinctively Derrick. “Come on.”

She followed him to the exit and out into the gray day.

Halfway across the parking lot, he said, “We have a couple of hours before your friends’ll be ready. There’s a mall nearby. Let’s get you a better disguise.” He glared at her head scarf. “Please take that off.”