A Thousand Splendid Suns

"Of course you do. Shut the curtains before you go, my love," Mammy
said, her voice fading. She was already sinking beneath the sheets.
As Laila reached for the curtains, she saw a car pass by on the street
tailed by a cloud of dust. It was the blue Benz with the Herat license
plate finally leaving. She followed it with her eyes until it vanished
around a turn, its back window twinkling in the sun.
"I won't forget tomorrow," Mammy was saying behind her. "I promise."
"You said that yesterday."
"You don't know, Laila."
"Know what?" Laila wheeled around to face her mother. "What don't I
know?"
Mammy's hand floated up to her chest, tapped there. "In here. What's
in here." Then it fell flaccid. "You just don't know."
18.
A week passed, but there was still no sign of Tariq. Then another week
came and went.
To fill the time, Laila fixed the screen door that Babi still hadn't got
around to. She took down Babi's books, dusted and alphabetized them.
She went to Chicken Street with Hasina, Giti, and Giti's mother, Nila, who
was a seamstress and sometime sewing partner of Mammy's. In that
week, Laila came to believe that of all the hardships a person had to face
none was more punishing than the simple act of waiting.