TWENTY TWO

It was past five o’clock when Hâroon pulled up before yet another daycare center that was open from early morning until the mid-evening to cater to working parents. Ibrâhîm whined from his car seat, agitated due to the long day they’d had, while Yusrâ was completely silent.

The day had been long and exhausting for Hâroon and the children. Since they had left the house, they had visited a countless number of child care centers. They had only stopped long enough to have lunch, which they’d had in the car and then they had continued their visits. At each place they had visited, the answer was always the same; they were not equipped to handle a child like Ibrâhîm and their staff did not have the necessary skill set and experience. Some had been willing to accept him if Hâroon could send a caretaker with him, but the problem remained since he had no such person he could hire. The day had been exhausting and disappointing, and he had little hope that this last visit would be much better.

“I’m tired, Daddy,” Yusrâ moaned. “When can we go home?”

Hâroon sighed and turned to her with an apologetic smile. “Last one, hon. I promise. Then we’ll go home.”

“Can I stay in the car?” she asked hopefully.

“No,” he said as he parked, switched off the heater, and then turned off the car. Though Yusrâ was mature for her age, he was not leaving an unattended four-year-old child alone in a car. “Both you and your brother have to come in.”

“Why not?” she asked. “You left me in the car before. I’ll be good. Please, Daddy?”

That had been when Lila had been with her. He decided against reminding her of that fact. “No can do, hon. Come on.”

She sighed. “Okay.”

Hâroon opened his door and the warm, humid air greeted him as he got out of the car. He went to the back to unbuckle the twins from their car seats, starting with Yusrâ. As he set her down on her feet, he closed the door and moved around to the other side of the car to get his son, and she followed silently. As he lifted Ibrâhîm out, it seemed as if his protests and complaints became even louder.

Carrying Ibrâhîm on his hip, he trudged up to the building of the daycare center. Ibrâhîm cried and struggled, but his sister was silent, and her face looked pale and withdrawn, showing her exhaustion. Hâroon was tempted to turn back and take them home instead, but he pushed forward. Though he knew Ibrâhîm would probably act out once they were inside and that this center was unlikely to be any different than all the others he’d visited before it, he still held onto a small flicker of hope that maybe they would be just what he needed.

By the time he entered the hall of the center, Ibrâhîm’s crying had turned to screeching and screaming, and Yusrâ had clapped her hands over her ears to shut out the sound.

Polly Kennedy, a woman in her mid-fifties, dressed in a calf-length skirt and matching jacket and her graying blond hair pulled back into a tight bun, heard the commotion from her office and rose from her desk. Adjusting her silver-framed glasses on her nose, she stepped out to greet the visitors.

“Hello, I’m Polly Kennedy,” she introduced herself, holding out a hand in greeting. “I’m the manager.”

“Hâroon Scott,” he introduced himself, shifting Ibrâhîm in his arms as the child continued to cry and scream just so he wouldn’t have to shake her hand or go through the awkwardness of explaining why he didn’t shake hands with women. He tried to avoid looking directly at the woman before him, though completely averting his gaze would seem rude. Dealing with women was always uncomfortable.

“How may I help you, Mr. Scott?” she asked, quickly dropping her hand when she noticed the man wasn’t going to shake it.

“I’m looking for a place to enroll my children while I’m at work,” he said. Though Yusrâ was already registered in a play group, if the daycare was willing to take Ibrâhîm, he thought he would cope better if his sister was with him.

Polly looked between the two children, both of whom strongly resembled their father. The girl was quiet; the boy was not, but she could not judge a child that was agitated. “We’ll speak in my office,” she said. “We’ll let your children join the others in the classroom for a bit.”

Hâroon nodded his agreement, and she led the way to the nearest classroom, outfitted with round tables, rugs, cubbies for belongings, and shelves of toys and materials. Though most of the children had long gone, there were five remaining whose parents worked much later than the usual nine-to-five desk jobs. Tracy Wakefield, a teenage volunteer, had been left in charge of them until their parents picked them up, and she had them sitting on a rug in a circle as she read them a story.

“Tracy,” Polly said, bringing the young woman’s attention to her. “These two children will be joining you for a few minutes.”

Tracy, a tall, lanky girl of sixteen with chestnut-brown hair and blue-green eyes, looked up. “Okay, Mrs. Kennedy.” She turned a bright smile on the two children with the man she thought was dressed rather oddly. “Come on, you two. Would you like to hear a story?”

Hâroon had his reservations about leaving the twins with Tracy. Though she was definitely a better choice than twelve-year-old Patricia Collins, she still was unlikely to know how to handle Ibrâhîm and he could tell his son was already moody. Since he only planned to speak with the manager for a few moments to determine if she could cater to Ibrâhîm’s needs, he set his reservations and worries aside for the moment. Though he knew Ibrâhîm would definitely not settle down for a story, he hoped he wouldn’t cause too much trouble in the few minutes he was speaking to Polly Kennedy.

As Yusrâ obligingly went to the circle to join the other children, Hâroon slowly and reluctantly set Ibrâhîm on his feet, watching as he wandered over to a shelf of toys. Hoping for the best, he turned to the manager to signal he was ready to have their discussion.

“They’ll be fine here,” she said and then turned. “Come along with me, Mr. Scott. We’ll discuss the enrollment in my office.”

Hâroon threw one last glance at Ibrâhîm. He was still crying, but he was picking up the toys on the shelf and looking at them, so it seemed he would be safely occupied for at least a few minutes. Yusrâ seemed well entertained by the story Tracy was reading.

He turned and followed Polly Kennedy to her office. They entered a small, tidy office, a mahogany desk on one side and two file cabinets on the other. As the woman seated herself behind the desk, Hâroon took one of the two chairs in front of it.

“Alright, Mr. Scott,” Polly said, removing two enrollment forms from the top drawer of her desk and setting them on top of it. “You wish to enroll your two children, correct?”

“If you can take them,” he emphasized. Though tempting to take her up on her offer to register them into the program without question, he knew it was dishonest and wrong, and the end result would be disadvantageous to his son since he needed someone well-informed and prepared for his difficulties in order to care for him properly. “But I need to be sure you have the proper facilities to take care of my children.”

“Mr. Scott, we have the best facilities in the city and have the most flexible hours,” she rushed to assure him. “Our teachers are highly skilled and trained for dealing with young children. Your children will be in good hands here.”

“Mrs. Kennedy, are you familiar with the term autism?” he asked, and any hope he had dropped when he saw confusion flicker across her face.

“I can’t say that I am,” she replied honestly, wondering what it had to do with his children. “What is it?”

“A developmental disability that affects social development and behavior rather strongly,” he said. “My son has autism, Mrs. Kennedy, and he has behavior issues that are probably worse than what you’ve seen in any other children. Do you think your teachers can really handle that?”

“Behavior issues,” Polly repeated thoughtfully. Perhaps the man just didn’t know how to deal with a child in the midst of a temper tantrum. Her teachers were experienced in that sort of thing and would see to it that his son made a complete turnaround. “I have the utmost confidence in my teachers,” she said. “I’m sure we can handle him.”

Before Hâroon could respond to her doubtful assurances, a high-pitched, blood-curdling shriek echoed through the halls, followed by screams of rage. He shot to his feet instantly and raced out of the office, barely noticing that the daycare’s manager followed behind him.

He entered a scene of absolute chaos when he stepped into the classroom his children had been left in. The other five children who had already been present were sitting on the rug in a circle and watching with wide eyes as Ibrâhîm tore around the room, grabbing all he could reach and flinging it across the room in rage as he screamed.

Yusrâ followed behind him, trying to stop him. “Ibby, stop!” she cried. “Why are you throwing stuff?”

Tracy appeared to have less of an idea on what to do with Ibrâhîm than his daughter. She watched with wide, horrified eyes as he wrecked the classroom, only moving into action when she saw Hâroon and Polly. She grabbed Ibrâhîm away from a shelf, but his strong kicks forced her to set him down and he zipped back to the shelf to continue his destruction.

“Is this what you meant by behavior problems?” Polly asked weakly. She didn’t think she’d ever seen such uncontrollable, destructive rage in a child before.

“Yes, Mrs. Kennedy,” Hâroon said in resignation.

“Then I was clearly mistaken,” Polly said apologetically. “If he can’t be controlled, I don’t think we can take him. I’m sorry, Mr. Scott.”

“Don’t be,” he said with a sigh as he grabbed Ibrâhîm away from a shelf and picked him up. “It’s what I expected.” As Tracy sighed in relief at his intervention, he called to his daughter, “Come, Yusrâ. We’re going.”

As Hâroon carried Ibrâhîm, kicking and screaming, toward the exit and Yusrâ trailed behind them, Polly followed. “You can still enroll your daughter, Mr. Scott. We can take her.”

“She’s already enrolled in a playgroup in our neighborhood,” Hâroon said. “I was going to transfer her here if you took Ibrâhîm since I prefer them to be together, but there’s no point in moving her so far if you can’t take him after all.”

“Very well,” she said. “I’m sorry. Perhaps one of the nearby centers has the proper facilities for him.”

“They don’t,” Hâroon said. “I’ve been to every center within a reasonable distance from our neighborhood. I’ll be looking into other options now.”

Before the woman could respond, he carried Ibrâhîm out of the building and to the car with Yusrâ trailing behind them. As they reached the vehicle, he opened it and put the still distraught little boy into his carseat and buckled him in. When he opened the door on the other side, Yusrâ climbed up and got into her carseat on her own and he buckled her in.

“Are we going home now?” Yusrâ asked, pressing her palms against her ears to shut out Ibrâhîm’s screams.

“Yes,” Hâroon said. Glancing up at the setting sun, he realized it was already nearing Maghrib. By the time they reached home, he would need to pray and then start on dinner for the three of them.

He closed the door and then circled the car to the driver’s side. As he got in, he started up the engine and turned on the heater. Then, buckling himself in, he closed the door and pulled away from the building and turned toward home to the tune of Ibrâhîm’s cries and Yusrâ’s sighs.

The traffic that maneuvered through the streets moved slowly. It was almost an hour later that Hâroon finally reached their neighborhood and street. In the time it had taken him to reach the house from the daycare center, the twins had drifted off, giving him a much needed reprieve. He hoped their late nap wouldn’t affect his success in putting Ibrâhîm to bed after dinner, though he knew it was very likely that it would. He was already a challenge to put to sleep on normal nights without having a nap too close to his bedtime.

As the house appeared in view, he pulled up before the closed garage. After opening the garage door and parking, he switched off the car and got out. He circled the vehicle to the backseat to wake the children, opening Yusrâ’s door first.

“Wake up, Yusrâ hon,” he said, slightly shaking her shoulder. “We’re home.”

Yusrâ opened her eyes, rubbed the sleep out of them with her knuckles, and yawned as she looked around. “We’re home?”

“Yes, hon,” he said as he unbuckled her out of the carseat.

As she started to rise, he helped her down, only removing his support when he was sure she was steady on her feet. Then he picked the diaper bag left on the floor beneath the carseat and closed the door. Then he circled around to Ibrâhîm’s side and opened the door.

“Ibrâhîm,” he said, shaking him.

“Ibby, wake up!” Yusrâ cried out.

He whined, but his eyes opened. Hâroon leaned over him to remove the seatbelt of the carseat, and as soon as he was done and straightened, Ibrâhîm extended his arms to be picked up.

He obliged, lifting Ibrâhîm into his arms and then closing the door and locking the car. Then he led the way to the door that linked the garage to the house, unlocking the door. Bogged down by both Ibrâhîm and the bag, he allowed Yusrâ to go in first and then followed her inside, setting Ibrâhîm down to lock the door behind them.

Ibrâhîm whined and extended his arms to be picked up again. Hâroon was glad to see that his son had calmed down now that they were home, but he couldn’t carry him around when he needed to prepare for prayer and start on the dinner. “Not now, Ibrâhîm,” he said as he set down the diaper bag by the coat closet. “Daddy has stuff to do.”

He yanked off shoes and parked them on the shoe stand. Then he turned to Ibrâhîm and helped him remove his sneakers. By the time he turned to Yusrâ, she was sitting on the ground untying her laces. He dropped to one knee before her to assist her.

Yusrâ leaned back on her hands to allow her father to remove the shoes and glimpsed her brother’s activities over her father’s shoulder. “Look what Ibby is doing, Daddy,” she said with a giggle.

Hâroon threw a quick glance behind him and was greeted by the sight of Ibrâhîm removing the shoes from the shoe rack and lining them up neatly on the floor by size. With a chuckle, he turned back to his daughter to continue pulling off her boots, thinking Ibrâhîm had the potential to be very helpful once his behavior was under control and he was trained.

As soon as her shoes were off, Yusrâ jumped to her feet. “I’m hungry, Daddy,” she said. “What’s for dinner?”

Hâroon placed her shoes on the rack. Ibrâhîm immediately grabbed them to add to his line of shoes.

“You and your brother can have a snack and then I’ll make you something after I pray,” Hâroon said as he watched Ibrâhîm.

He picked up the diaper bag and led the way to the kitchen, and he was followed by Yusrâ. Ibrâhîm remained behind, occupied by the shoes. As they entered the kitchen, he pulled out the empty containers and sippy cups he’d packed that morning and tossed them into the sink.

Then he set the diaper bag on the counter temporarily as he went to the refrigerator to find a light snack for the children. He pulled out an apple and pear, washed them at the sink, and then got a plate and knife from an upper cabinet and drawer.

He sliced and diced both fruits, removed the core and then set the plate on the table to be shared between them. “Go get your brother, Yusrâ.”

“Okay, Daddy.” Yusrâ skipped out of the kitchen and returned moments later, leading Ibrâhîm by the hand. “Let’s eat, Ibby!”

As Yusrâ climbed up on one chair, Ibrâhîm clambered on the one beside her. The two began to grab pieces of fruit and shove them into their mouths.

“Say bismillâh,” Hâroon reminded his daughter.

“Bismillâh!” she said promptly around the fruit she was chewing and then swallowed. She turned to her brother. “Say bismillâh, Ibby.”

Ibrâhîm continued chewing with no acknowledgment of his sister’s words. He swallowed and picked up another piece.

As soon as the children had finished, Hâroon took Ibrâhîm to have his diaper changed. Then as Yusrâ sat on her bed with a baby doll, he sat him down with the same activity he’d been doing that morning with the hope that it would keep him occupied long enough for him to pray. He had already delayed longer than he was comfortable with.

“I’m going to pray and then I’ll make dinner,” he told Yusrâ. “Call me if your brother does anything he shouldn’t.” He was uncomfortable having to rely on such a young child to watch another but with no other adult in the house, there was no help for it at the times he needed to pray.

After quickly performing wûdhû in the shared hallway bathroom, he went to his bedroom. He flicked on the lights and then closed the door. After retrieving the folded sajâdah at the foot of his bed, he shook it out and placed it on the floor in the direction of the qiblah.

After Hâroon finished his prayer, he returned to the twins’ bedroom to check on them. Just as he reached the entrance, Ibrâhîm released an ear-splitting screech that made him wince. He curiously glanced inside to find out what had the child so wound up.

Ibrâhîm had abandoned the stacker, the pieces lined up in rows, and had climbed up onto his bed and started jumping. With every bounce, he screamed, but since he was causing no real harm and the bed was sturdy enough to take the impact, Hâroon didn’t stop him. If jumping on the bed kept him occupied and out of trouble while he cooked, he would leave him to it.

Yusrâ, still seated on her bed with her baby doll, stared at her brother with wide eyes. “Daddy, Ibby is jumping on the bed,” she said when she noticed him.

Hâroon smiled. “I can see that.”

When her father made no move to stop her brother, she added, “It looks like fun. Can I jump, too?”

Hâroon shrugged. “I don’t mind. Go ahead.”

She set her doll aside, got to her feet, and began jumping, laughing with each bounce. “This is fun! You should try it, Daddy!”

“I think I’m a bit too big for that,” Hâroon remarked with a grin. He turned to the door. “I’m going to make dinner. You two have fun.”

“Okay!” she called after him.

Hâroon stepped back into the hall. He imagined his mother’s expression of horror if she had seen him allow and encourage his children to jump on the furniture, something she had spent his entire childhood trying to discourage him and his brother from doing. He grinned and then continued on to the kitchen to start on the dinner as screams and laughter echoed through the house behind him.

🌾

Five days after Lila Kendall had swept out of their lives Hâroon was at the end of his rope in finding someone to care for Ibrâhîm during his working hours. He had spent the last few days touring the city for a daycare that catered to special needs, searched the classicals for anyone looking for a position as a children’s nanny, and even put in his own ad. Nothing had panned out. The two daycares he’d found that catered to children with special needs could not handle Ibrâhîm’s behavior and were geared more toward learning difficulties and developmental disabilities; none of the nannies were willing to take on Ibrâhîm once he explained his problems; and the women who answered his ad quickly changed their mind when they met his son.

His only saving grace was middle-aged Mrs. Blythe, who came over on those days she was available so he could go to work, but since she wasn’t available more than twice a week, he ended up staying home three days out of the five and doing overtime on days Mrs. Blythe was willing to stay late to make up for the days he hadn’t been in the office. However, he returned home overly exhausted and then had to put the children to bed, which was always tiring and time-consuming, especially when it came to Ibrâhîm, so it wasn’t a retainable option for the long-term.

Today, he had an on-field assignment, which meant visiting a farm to discuss a contract that the company he worked for wished to conclude. Since Mrs. Blythe wasn’t available, his supervisor had suggested it could be a good chance for both him and his children to have a field trip. Hâroon appreciated the thought but Brandon obviously didn’t know what having a child with autism entailed. He hadn’t known how to explain to him that visiting a place with dangerous machinery and large animals was probably not the best idea when having Ibrâhîm in tow, and didn’t want to make it seem like he was looking for excuses to not work, so he had accepted the assignment and made the necessary preparations to ensure there was very little chance of Ibrâhîm getting away from him and finding trouble. That assurance came in the form of a child leash, something he’d had on hand in case of emergencies but had never felt the need to use before.

The early morning had passed by normally enough. Hâroon had woken up before the children as usual, prayed Fajr, and then busied himself at the computer doing paperwork. Then shortly before they woke up, he had started on breakfast. By the time he heard their voices, the food was ready and waiting. After they had eaten, he had washed the dishes, cleaned the kitchen, and then started getting them ready, which took little time at all. The twins both seemed excited and happy to go out, but Hâroon wasn’t sure Ibrâhîm would be as excited once he strapped the leash on him.

“Where are we going today, Daddy?” Yusrâ asked as he helped her tie her shoes. “Are we gonna look at more places for Ibby?”

“No, hon,” he said as he finished and then straightened. “We’re going to a farm today.”

“Like Grandma and Grandpa’s farm?” she asked, lighting up.

“Something like that,” he said. “But it might not be exactly the same. The farm belongs to someone else. Daddy has some work to do there.”

Hâroon took his keys from the hook by the front door and retrieved the diaper bag he’d packed earlier, sitting by the door that led to the garage. He unlocked the door and led the children into the garage.

Hâroon loaded the diaper bag into the car and then buckled both children into their carseats. After unlocking and raising the garage door, he got in the front and reversed out of the garage. Then after lowering the door and putting the padlock on, they set off.

The drive to the farm took them to the next county. It took about fifteen minutes. In the backseat, Yusrâ talked and chattered about anything and everything as she looked out of the window and Ibrâhîm banged a toy on his carseat.

Minutes later, the city streets had turned to hills and fields of green. A turn off that led down a long, bumpy dirt road took them to an expansive property line, surrounded by a wired fence and enclosed by two iron gates. A sign was attached to the arch above the gates identified it as Tall Oaks Farm. It was significant in size and possibly larger than the farm that had been in the Scott family for several generations, though it was also quite vast in size. Hâroon noted that Tall Oaks was probably more secure and not open for unplanned public visits. The gates were closed and he could see men guarding the tall fence to prevent unauthorized entry. It was a rich contrast to the farm he had grown up on. Though the animals were watched and guarded to prevent rustling, the entry gates were kept open and everyone from the wandering neighborhood kids to absolute strangers could visit at any time they wished and even picnic on any of the unused fields as long as they didn’t litter. This farm had a more commercial production feel to it than the one he had grown up on, which cut off any sort of attachment he might have formed otherwise. Tall Oaks, unlike the farms that dotted the countryside he’d grown up on, was just a business—his father’s and grandfather’s farm had always been so much more.

He parked, switched off the air conditioner, and turned off the car. Then he turned to look at the twins. “We’re here.”

Ibrâhîm hummed and smashed his dump truck against the side of the carseat. Then he screeched.

Yusrâ craned her neck to look beyond the windshield. She scrunched her face and shook her head. “I don’t like it. It’s not like Grandpa and Grandma’s farm. It looks scary.”

Hâroon smiled, secretly agreeing with her assessment. “We won’t stay long. I just have to talk to the owner for a little bit and then we can go.”

Yusrâ sighed. “Okay. Then can we go somewhere fun?”

“Of course,” he assured her. “We can go to the park or something later.”

She smiled then, pleased. “Yay!”

Ibrâhîm added his own two cents with a loud screech.

Hâroon removed himself from the car and helped Yusrâ out after unbuckling her from her car seat. Then he turned his attention to Ibrâhîm, hoping for the best since this would be completely new territory for the both of them.

He opened the diaper bag and pulled out the child leash he’d packed in it among the snacks, drinks, clothes, and diapers. Maryam had given it to him on his last visit to his hometown. She told him it might come in handy in specific circumstances. He never had the need to use it before, so he had almost forgotten its existence. Though he saw no need for any kind of restraint when taking Ibrâhîm to the park, a place filled with large animals and machinery was a completely different story, and he didn’t want to risk his son getting severely injured or worse.

After he unbuckled Ibrâhîm from his carseat, he stood him up and then began to put him into the safety harness, pushing his arms through the shoulder straps and then buckling it around his chest at the back. Ibrâhîm wasn’t very happy and began to struggle against it, but Hâroon managed to have him in it and buckled fairly quickly.

“Daddy, what’s that you’re putting on Ibby?” Yusrâ asked curiously.

“Something to make it harder for him to run off without permission,” Hâroon said honestly. “This farm has a lot of dangerous machines and big animals, and Ibrâhîm doesn’t listen very well, so I have to make him wear this so I can make sure he stays with us and doesn’t get hurt.”

“How about me?” she asked curiously. “Do I get one, too?”

“I don’t think you need one, do you? You can listen to Daddy, can’t you?”

She nodded. “Yeah...”

“Then you’ll be fine without one,” he said as he ensured the harness was secure.

He lifted Ibrâhîm out, looping the leash around his wrist and then handing his son the toy he’d been playing with, which the boy accepted with a happy cry. He removed the briefcase that held the contract to be concluded from the trunk of the car, where he had placed it the night before, and then locked the car. It was rather impossible to hold two children by the hand when he had one hand occupied, so he used the leash he’d attached to his wrist to lead Ibrâhîm and held Yusrâ by the hand with his free one. He led the twins up to the intimidating gates.

One of the guards at the gate, fair, blond, and muscular, stepped forward. He turned a penetrating stare on Hâroon and the children. “State your name and business,” he said.

The request was another reminder of the stark contrast between the farm he had grown up on and Tall Oaks to Hâroon. There were not stiff security guards in place to demand identification and reasons for the visit before allowing entry to the grounds. “Hâroon Scott to see Charles Tyrell. I have an appointment.”

“And the children?” Steven asked in the same stiff, unmoving tone. “There was no mention of children.”

“I had no one to leave them with,” Hâroon said. Brandon had severely misjudged the kind of place Tall Oaks was. This was not a fun place to take Yusrâ and Ibrâhîm at all.

“Children aren’t allowed on the farm,” the guard said, eyeing the children as if they were an unsolvable problem, raising Hâroon’s hackles.“Mr. Tyrell’s rules.”

Though tempted to snap at the guard, he was only doing his job,  so Hâroon reigned in his temper. He looked at the twins. Ibrâhîm was oblivious to the conversation and clutched his truck to his chest as he rocked on his heels, but Yusrâ looked terrified and miserable.

He looked back at the guard. “Well, tell him I’m here then. I had to bring them with me. I don’t have someone to watch them.”

“Fine. ID, please.”

Hâroon removed his wallet from his pocket. He pulled out his driver’s license. As the guard opened the gate just several inches, he handed it over and watched as the man walked away.

“I don’t think they like kids here,” Yusrâ observed, sounding more plaintive than he’d ever heard her. “This isn’t a very nice place.”

“I know,” he said in a consoling tone. “I’m sorry I had to bring you, but I have work to do and Mrs. Blythe was busy today. We won’t stay long.”

Yusrâ sighed but nodded.

It was several minutes before the guard returned to the gate. He kept his expression blank as he opened the gate and returned Hâroon’s identification. “You’re cleared. You may enter.”

As the man held one side of the gate open, Hâroon led the children through.

A second guard stood on the opposite side of the gate, looking straight ahead. A tall, muscular man who looked to be between his late twenties and early thirties, he had a medium complexion, chestnut-brown hair, and dark eyes. He seemed to look straight through Hâroon and the children.

The blank stares of the two guards unnerved Hâroon. Tall Oaks felt less like a farm and more like a fortress.

The first guard pointed to the path of interlock that would eventually lead up to the main house. “Follow the path.”

With a nod of acknowledgment, Hâroon started down the pathway with the twins. He heard a clang behind him as the gate was shut once again, making him feel unusually claustrophobic. Trying to tamp down the feeling of being closed in, he walked on with the two children, uncertain of what he was actually looking for.

The land and fields that spread on both sides of the path were covered by grass. Groups of men operating machinery and animals grazing in corralled fields met his eye. Though similar to what he might see at Elm Creek, there was a tense, harried pace to the work that didn’t exist back home.

“I don’t like it here,” Yusrâ mumbled. “It’s not like Grandpa and Grandma’s farm at all. I want to go.”

“I know,” her father said kindly. “Just be a little patient.”

After several minutes of walking, a large extravagant home appeared in their line of vision. It was nothing like the one Hâroon had grown up in alongside his brother and sister, which had been a traditional, average-sized farmhouse. In contrast, the one he saw was three stories high and was built like a mansion. He cringed at the sight of it.

They met Charles Tyrell in the midst of their walk, just as they were nearing the house. He was a tall man of middle age, fair with graying dark hair that curled around his ears and at his nape and gray eyes. Though broad in build, he did not have the look of a man who worked the fields. He was too polished, too refined—more businessman than farmer.

“My farm isn’t a place for a field trip,” he said pointedly as he stared at the twins. “When did it become a thing to bring children to business meetings?”

Hâroon tried not to bristle at the offense. It would not do to lose his temper with a client. “I realize that,” he said in a composed tone. “I had no choice but to bring them. I live alone and there was no one available to babysit today.”

“Very well.” Charles studied the children with an unnerving stare that made Hâroon feel uncomfortable and made him feel that the man might not like children, and Yusrâ shrank under his gaze. “Will they cause any trouble?”

“My daughter is well-behaved,” he promised. “My son can be a bit disagreeable and rowdy sometimes. As long as this doesn’t take too long, they should be fine.”

Charles nodded. “I’ll have someone keep an eye on them until we’re done. Hopefully she’ll keep them out of trouble.”

Hâroon didn’t like the idea of entrusting his children to a practical stranger, even for just a few minutes, and especially not Ibrâhîm. This person Charles had in mind would likely have no clue of what to expect from his son or how to handle him if he started acting out. “No, that’s not—” he began, but the man wasn’t listening.

“Mrs. Drew has some experience with kids so I’m sure she can manage,” he said and then pivoted, leading the way to the house.

“I don’t want to go with Mrs. Drew,” Yusrâ said. “I want to stay with you.”

Hâroon didn’t want that either, but he followed the man in silence, determined not to stay long. He liked the “farm” less and less and didn’t particularly like its owner.

They entered a house of servants. There were no signs of children or any hints of a family. It appeared that the only people to share Charles Tyrell’s home with him were hired staff to keep him comfortable.

A blue-eyed young woman who probably served as a housekeeper stepped forward as they entered.

Charles’s only acknowledgment of the woman’s presence was to shrug off his coat and hand it to her. There were no words of gratitude or appreciation. Hâroon couldn’t help thinking that his mother would give him the lecture of his life if he didn’t bother to thank people for what they did for him, even if it was an employee doing her job.

Another housekeeper who looked about a decade older joined her.

“Take these children to Mrs. Drew,” Charles said to her.

“Yes, sir. ” When the woman tried to lead the children away, she was met with failure. Neither child was willing to go with her.

Yusrâ shook her head vigorously and stepped back. “No!”

“I thought you said your daughter is well-behaved,” Charles remarked disapprovingly. “There’s no need for a temper tantrum.”

It took every drop of self-control Hâroon had not to snap back at the man. He evidently knew nothing about children. Yusrâ was in a place that made her uncomfortable and unhappy. It was guaranteed that she might act out a little. 

She tried Ibrâhîm next, but as soon as she reached for him, he screamed and pushed her away. Then he darted behind his sister to hide, though he was almost double her size and at least a head taller. If Hâroon hadn’t felt sorry for his children’s discomfort, the sight would have been comical.

Charles tsked. “How unseemly your children behave, Mr. Scott. They need to be trained on how to act appropriately when in public and other people’s homes.”

“They’re four, Mr. Tyrell,” Hâroon said stiffly. “And this is way out of their comfort zone.”

“Mrs. Drew!” Charles called out. “Please come here.”

Moments later, a third housekeeper appeared. She was the oldest of the three Hâroon had seen so far, appearing to be between her forties and fifties. She was a tall, slender woman, fair, and she had dark hair and gray-blue eyes. “Yes, Mr. Tyrrell?”

He gestured to the twins. “Take these two off our hands for a few minutes. We need to discuss business.”

“No!” Yusrâ cried loudly and grabbed onto the sleeve of her father’s thawb. “I don’t want to go! Keep me with you!”

Charles growled in impatience, but Hâroon ignored it as he turned to his daughter, crouching down to her level. “Yusrâ hon, it will just be for a few minutes. I can’t watch Ibrâhîm while I’m doing work and I need you to be with him so he doesn’t get scared. Can you do that for me?”

Yusrâ didn’t look very enthusiastic but she nodded. He straightened and addressed the woman, “You can take them now.”

Mrs. Drew nodded. Then she noticed the child harness on Ibrâhîm and stared at it pointedly. “Is that necessary?”

Hâroon didn’t respond. He was aware of the controversy behind the use of the child leash. However, he could take criticism and judgment over putting Ibrâhîm at risk. He could read the woman’s disapproval but didn’t bother trying to explain or defend his actions. He simply unattached the leash but left the harness buckled on since they would be leaving soon anyway.

“Come with me,” Pauline said. She took Yusrâ by the hand, but when she tried to take Ibrâhîm as well, he immediately wrenched away and moved out of her reach.

Ibrâhîm had little fondness or patience for strangers, so Hâroon was unsurprised by his actions. He liked them even less if they touched him. The second time Pauline reached for him, he smacked her hand away and then took off down the hall.

“Catch that child,” Charles ordered the maid. “Then keep him and the girl with you until their father is done.” He pivoted. “Come, Scott.”

Hâroon had grave misgivings about leaving Ibrâhîm in the care of someone who obviously had no idea what she was doing, but the faster he got the contract signed, the faster he could round up his children and leave, so he didn’t argue and followed. He just hoped they finished up quickly and before Ibrâhîm could cause any damage in a house that was probably filled with expensive display items that he could scarce afford to replace.

They entered an office that could rival the size of Hâroon’s home. Every surface was cluttered with expensive display pieces that probably came from every corner of the world, some of them possibly antiques—definitely things a parent of young children could never buy. On one side of the room, there was a mahogany desk with a black leather office chair behind it and two comfortable chairs before it, also black leather, for guests and clients. Cabinets and shelves of business files and books took up the wall space on the side and there were proudly displayed certificates of achievement for both the business and the individual behind it hung above the desk. Then, on the opposite side of the room was a private seating area that included beige leather chairs and a glass coffee table. There was also a refreshment station to the side that included a miniature refrigerator that probably stored cold drinks; a mahogany stand to the side for preparing coffee and tea that had an electric water kettle, bottles of water, a jar of instant coffee, tea bags, a container of powdered cream, and sugar; and a small cabinet that kept mugs, glasses, trays, coasters, and even a selection of packaged snacks. The shelves of the sitting area had few books, mostly about business and farming according to the titles, but were a center of display for decoration pieces, awards, and pictures of events Tall Oaks had taken part in.

Charles gestured to the comfortable seating area. “Sit down, Mr. Scott.” As Hâroon obliged, taking the loveseat and placing his briefcase at his feet, he crossed over to the refreshment station. “Coffee? Tea?”

“Just water, thank you,” Hâroon said. He had never been a tea drinker and instant coffee made for low-quality, revolting black coffee in his opinion.

Charles poured hot water in a mug from the water kettle, added instant coffee, powdered creamer, and sugar to it and mixed. Then he took a bottle of cold water from the refrigerator and poured it into a glass. He placed both the mug and glass on a tray and carried it to the sitting area, sitting down across from Hâroon after setting down the tray on the table.

Hâroon picked up the glass, said the basmallah, and took a sip.

Charles raised an eyebrow but made no comment. He picked up his mug and took a sip.

As Hâroon watched, he couldn’t help thinking of his Uncle Arqam. Though Charles certainly couldn’t be blamed for drinking creamed coffee since it was the only way instant coffee was palatable, or at least to Hâroon, Arqam Paisley had always insisted that real men drank their coffee black.

Hâroon had gotten his first taste of black coffee when he was ten, though it had not been much, and he had found it extremely bitter and not particularly appealing to a child who enjoyed sugar and sweets. He had initially asked to appear more grown-up and like his father, but he hadn’t asked again. Then he’d noticed that his mother drank her coffee with cream and sugar. He took a sip when she wasn’t looking and found he liked it much better than his father’s bitter black coffee. He had started drinking it that way, though not very often since his mother limited the amount he was allowed because of his age.

When he was thirteen, he had started spending more time with the men, alongside his cousin fifteen-year-old ’Itbân, and less with the younger boys. So when his father, uncles, and older cousins gathered together for coffee in his mother’s kitchen in the middle of the day, he joined them. That was also the day he had changed his coffee drinking habits.

🌾

The men passed around the carafe of black coffee that had been brought to the table to fill their mugs. Including Hâroon, there were six of them. Arqam Paisley, his mother’s eldest brother, was the oldest. Next was his father and then Tâhir, his second uncle and only a few years older than his mother. Then came his two older cousins, Arqam’s sons—Khaboor, two years older than Maryam at twenty-one, and fifteen-year-old ’Itbân. Thirteen-year-old Hâroon was the youngest of the group. He was also the last to serve himself, waiting for everyone else to take first out of respect.

After his mug was filled, he reached for the cream and sugar left on the table that his mother may have left specifically for him. However, just as he picked up the cream, Arqam cleared his throat and he paused, looking at him.

Arqam, holding his mug of black coffee aloft, speared him with a pointed look. “Real men drink their coffee black,” he said with emphasis.

Hâroon looked around the table and noticed he was the only one who had touched the cream. Even ’Itbân, just two years older, was drinking his coffee black. He drew his hand away from the cream and picked up his mug.

The coffee was just as bitter as he remembered it. He tried not to blanch or show his dislike. When he glanced at his uncle beneath lowered eyelashes, Arqam was smirking. He had a feeling he knew his discomfort and was even enjoying it.

🌾

From that day on, Hâroon had always taken his coffee black. He had even grown to like it that way. Seeing Charles in front of him now, though he knew logically that the way one drank his coffee had no real bearing on his manhood or masculinity, he couldn’t help smiling as he thought of what his toughened uncle would say. This man, with his smooth hands, expensive attire, and impeccable appearance, wouldn’t even qualify as a farmer to Arqam. He hid his smile by taking another sip of water.

“Let’s get down to business,” Charles said as he set down his mug. “I’m a busy man. I have a lot to do today.”

Hâroon didn’t take offense to the subtle hint that Charles wanted him out of his home as soon as possible. He wanted to leave just as much as the man wanted him to. Without a word, he set down his glass, picked up the briefcase, and drew out the contract Brandon Eckhart had dropped by his house the day before when he had given him the assignment.