“University of Vermont,” he replied. “Environmental studies. 9/11 didn’t have that kind of impact on me.”
She wiped her neck with the wet cloth, always keeping an eye on the open window when she talked. “I never could get how people weren’t stunned by those attacks. But for a lot of them — I guess you, too — it wasn’t such a big deal.”
“I’m not saying that,” he responded quickly. “It’s just that I might have seen it differently, being born in Saudi Arabia. That kind of anger toward the U.S. didn’t surprise me.”
“I didn’t know you were born there.”
“Why would you?” he asked.
“I guess no reason,” she said.
“Thirty-four years ago, right in Riyadh.”
“So did you think 9/11 was justified? What they did?”
“Absolutely not.” He felt like he was being grilled by the customs officer who “welcomed” him back to the U.S. the last time he’d visited Riyadh and several other major cities in the Middle East and South Asia. “Are you kidding? And it was painful to find out that a bunch of Saudis carried out the attacks. So, no, I didn’t think anything justified it. But it was a huge mistake for U.S. intelligence to have missed all the static out there. And then the country made a mistake of historical proportions by invading Iraq.”
“What about Afghanistan?”
Talk about being put on the spot. Ruhi opted for honesty: “That didn’t work out so well, either.”
She took a deep breath. He sensed she was about to explode, but she breathed out slowly and surprised him, saying, “No, it didn’t. Sometimes I can’t even stand to think about the buddies I lost over there, or the ones still in Walter Reed.” She looked at him. “Were you angry at the U.S.?”
“No — do I look like an angry guy to you?” He watched her closely as she turned back to the window. Her feet were up on the sill. He didn’t mind her questions. In fact, he was flattered, because he thought there was a good chance she was asking them to figure out whether they could possibly be compatible. He didn’t have a political litmus test for a potential mate. Life was too short for that.
Candace shook her head, but kept her eyes trained on the street. “No, I’d have to say that you don’t seem like an angry guy to me. I was around a lot of them in the service, so I know what they’re like. Not much fun. I have a simple policy about angry guys: Avoid them.”
He let the silence settle between them. And then their eyes met. Kiss her, he thought at once. The stillness held for another second. He was about to lean forward when she looked away. He almost groaned, then reminded himself that she’d at least shown interest in his background and his thoughts about her country. He still had trouble thinking of it as his nation, despite his citizenship.
Candace sat on the edge of the love seat, scanning the street. “So who do you think did it? As long as we really can rule out aliens.” Deadpan with that last comment.
Ruhi lifted his feet to the windowsill and leaned back. “I know the grid end of things, and I’ve read some articles about cyberwarfare, stuff in the Post and Times, but that’s about it. I’m sure you know a whole lot more about it than I do.”
He was going to have wait to find out if she actually did because right then — and directly outside his door — they heard what sounded like a dozen young men pounding up the stairs, opening fire seconds later on the second floor.
Candace was already down behind the love seat. Ruhi joined her right away.
“Four weapons,” she whispered. “Handguns.”
“You can really tell?”
“Of course.”
“Sounds like they’re back for blood,” he said, realizing that those words had never before crossed his lips, not with any seriousness, anyway.
Candace scrambled over to the couch, keeping her head below the top of the bureau, listening carefully. Ruhi crawled up beside her, arriving just as a gunshot went off close by. It sounded like it could have come from right outside his door. He wondered if the guys out there had stopped long enough to read the names on the mailboxes — and if they were worldly enough to know that Mancur could belong to the “raghead.”
“Being this close is not a good idea,” she said softly. “We’d better back up.”
He followed her behind a breakfast bar that set off the kitchen from the larger living area. More footsteps issued from the stairs.
“Do you think they’re still going up?” he asked.
She shook her head.
“I hope Mrs. Miranda doesn’t come out of her apartment,” Ruhi said, nodding toward the wall that he shared with his elderly neighbor.
“Does she leave her hearing aids in at night?”
“I have no idea. She likes to wander out when she hears things. I think she’s lonely.”
“Oh, Christ,” Candace said, “that’s scary. If I hear them taking down her door, I’m going to have to be able to get out there.” She nodded at the furniture blocking his door.
And do what? Probably more of what Ruhi had seen up in her apartment.
“Let me know if there’s anything I can do,” he said, feeling wholly ineffective.
“Just stay down,” she replied, “till I say different.”
“I can handle that. What do we do if they try to burn the place down?” It didn’t seem like a remote possibility, given the orange glow in the night sky.
“That would be the biggest mistake any of them would ever make.” As if by reflex, Candace checked her load.
Even now she didn’t appear anxious. Calculating, yes. Alert, absolutely. But not at all fidgety, while he thought he had enough nerves for a roomful of insomniacs. His jumpiness had him flinching when they heard loud crashing noises on the stairs.
“Sounds like your furniture is dying,” Ruhi said.
“It’s not actually mine,” she replied. “Mine’s not showing up for a few weeks. I had to ship it from Indiana. It’s the landlord’s. He said he was happy to loan it to a vet. I’ll bet that’s the last time that happens. I hope he’s covered.”
Me, too, thought Ruhi, or the rent’s going up. The guy was tighter than a tourniquet.
The distinct sound of breaking glass quickly followed.
“The mirror,” Candace said calmly.
Then footfalls came heavily down the stairs. In seconds, the two of them heard pounding on Mrs. Miranda’s door.
“Don’t open it,” Ruhi and Candace both implored quietly at the same time.
“Is she always there?” Candace asked right away. “Does she have family she might be staying with because of the outage?”
“I haven’t seen anyone since her husband died last year.”
The pounding on Mrs. Miranda’s door ceased. But Ruhi flinched again when the thugs beat on his door.
“Open up.”
“Yell ‘Go away,’” Candace whispered. “They hear a woman, it’s going to get worse.”
“Go away,” Ruhi shouted, deepening his voice and glad he sounded as American as the next guy.
“Open up or we’re coming in, you fucking raghead.”
“Tell them you’re not some ‘fucking raghead’ and that you’re armed and you’ll shoot.”
Ruhi did as directed.
Three bullets blasted through the door in response. The last sounded duller than the first two and must have hit the dresser. He wished they’d put the back of the bureau to the door — and hoped his couch had been spared.
Candace aimed and fired twice, but high, as she had initially in her apartment.
“I don’t want to hit anyone right now,” she said to him. “It’ll just escalate if I do. I’m hoping they’ll go look for low-hanging fruit and leave the building. I can’t imagine they want a real firefight.”
They didn’t, evidently. They moved on without another shot. But from then on, all through the night, either Ruhi or Candace kept watch in two-hour shifts. She always kept the gun, even when she napped a foot away on the couch, assuring him that she was never more than a blink from battle.