Guarding the Soldier's Secret by Kathleen Creighton Page A

the hotel, but only to get their things. Laila’s mom said that was nice of him but not necessary, if he would call a taxicab for them. Akaa Hunt said it was necessary, because they would be staying with him. Laila’s heart jumped when she heard that! Then Akaa Hunt made his voice very soft and she had to strain so hard to hear she could almost feel her ears growing bigger, and he said, “Until I get to the bottom of what happened yesterday.”
    Laila’s mom didn’t answer.
    Laila said loudly, “Are we going to see a farm today? You said we could, Mom. You promised .”
    Mom opened her mouth but didn’t say anything. Akaa Hunt said, “Out of the question.”
    Laila felt a lump growing in her throat and was afraid she might cry. She didn’t want to cry in front of Akaa Hunt. She whispered, “You promised,” then stared hard at Akaa Hunt, willing the tears to go back inside her head and out of her eyes.
    Akaa Hunt looked back at her, frowning in a way that made him look very fierce but for some reason didn’t scare Laila one bit. She kept on looking at him, and after a moment, he turned the fierce look on Laila’s mom and asked in a growly voice, “Where is this farm? Whose is it? How did you arrange it?”
    Laila’s mom cleared her throat and explained. “The family of one of our translators has a farm. It’s not far away—just south of the city, off the Kabul-Gardez Highway. It’s a secure sector.” She lowered her voice so Laila had to strain to hear again. “It’s completely safe, Hunt. You must know I wouldn’t even consider it otherwise.”
    Akaa Hunt said something Laila couldn’t hear. Then he looked back at Laila with that frowning face and said, “Okay, you can go—under one condition. I’m coming with you.”
    Laila’s mom lifted her eyebrows and her lips got tight, as if she might be about to say no. Instead, she looked at Laila and said in a company voice, “How about it, Laila? Is it all right with you if Hunt comes with us to visit the farm?”
    Laila shrugged and said, “Sure,” hiding her face behind her cup of sweet milk and tea.
    Inside, her heart was dancing.
    * * *
    Riding along the dusty highway in Hunt’s dusty Mercedes, watching the dusty land go by beyond his austere profile, Yancy felt as if she’d entered the Land of Oz—only in reverse, going from a Technicolor world to one of sepia tones, where even the familiar seemed unreal.
    The car was ordinary, the highway one she’d traveled before. She was familiar with the rumbling trucks and crowded buses, the occasional donkey cart clanking along the shoulder. The landscape of cultivated fields against a backdrop of dun-colored hills, broken here and there by a cluster of mud-brick houses, was one she’d passed through before. The man’s profile was familiar to her, too, most often gently silhouetted against the glow of lantern light and molded with shadows.
    Separately, these things were commonplace, unremarkable. Taken together, they seemed otherworldly. Dreamlike.
    Yesterday at this time she’d been shopping in a Kabul marketplace with her daughter, picking out presents for her sister, Miranda, enjoying Laila’s delight in rediscovering her roots. If Hunt had entered her thoughts, it had been with poignant regret that Laila’s father could not have lived to see her grow up. Her life had seemed secure, her paths clear, her choices her own to make, for both herself and for her daughter.
    Then, in a matter of minutes, everything had changed.
    Today, not only was Laila’s father alive, but he was driving them in his car. He had taken control of their lives—hers and her daughter’s. And on this outwardly peaceful, sunny day, Yancy felt engulfed by clouds of mystery, uncertainty and fear.
    Fear? Why now, when I’ve never been afraid before, not in a decade of reporting from battlefields and smoking ruins?
    Yes...but then I didn’t have a child.
    Yancy turned to glance back at Laila, who was gazing out at the