All We Have Left: Chapters 21–37

“It was Muslims who planted the bomb the last time, you know,” he says suddenly, and it’s like a chasm opens up between us.

As hard as I search, the only thing I find about Travis is a small obituary in the New York Times, and the generic yearly articles in our local paper.

As hard as I search, the only thing I find about Travis is a small obituary in the New York Times, and the generic yearly articles in our local paper.

We went out on a cool morning when the Gunks smelled of wet earth, the cliffs draped in frothy pink and white blossoms, and lady’s slippers quietly bloomed in the dappled fall of sunlight.

Dad walked me through the basics and then set me loose on the side of the mountain, his hands steady on the belay rope as he talked me through those first terrifying moments as my feet scrabbled for purchase.

Thankfully, neither of them seems to know what I did, so I don’t have to field the furtive glances and meaningful pauses when I walk into the room.

“We’re stuck between floors,” Travis says bleakly.

Travis and I have made it to a landing, and below we see a few men beating on a door that inexplicably bars the way.

“And why’s it locked?” a woman asks in a wavering voice, holding a hand to the baby bump of her belly.

Ahead, we see a man with another fire extinguisher dousing the flames.

“You’re a genius,” I exclaim.
“I know. My mother had me tested,” Emi says, and her mouth quirks.

If I’m spelling it right, ‘Alia’ means sublime, lofty, or exalted.

If I’m spelling it right, ‘Alia’ means sublime, lofty, or exalted.

She sounds like the fact that the towers are so tall reflects on her, like they do the whole city proud by their sheer, unabashed size.

“You don’t look this good and not have to fight every once in a while.”
He says it deadpan, and I sneak a look at his face, but he doesn’t smile.

Travis is in baggy jeans and an oversized T-shirt, with a small, kind of wistful smile.

Everybody here knows I don’t have a partner, and people are already pairing up, avoiding my eyes. I feel the hot prickle of tears, but try to act like the obvious snub isn’t bothering me.

At the top, I kneel on the jutting overhang so I can see Adam on the sheer face of the cliff.

“Tell that to God,” he says wryly.

“Neither of us had anything to do with what happened.”
“But we’re left dealing with the fallout,” he says.

Sometimes religion seems so messy and full of arbitrary rules, and really, why does it have to be so complicated?

The scarf was stretched across a frame, wide swaths of wax already covering it.

I snuggled back into her arms and watched Nenek’s quick, deft movements.

I knew that making batik cloth was a long process, and that there would be more applications of wax and dye before it was complete, but when it was done it would be all mine, imbued with the love of my mother and grandmother.

Travis plods down next to me, his head lowered, and I wonder what he is thinking.

Their expectations were like carrying around something delicate and unwieldy, something way too heavy for me.

Streaks of dirt mar its surface, and other, darker stains, which I’m afraid might be blood.

I’ve been here since four helping set up, and as Sabeen and I billow the last tablecloth onto a table, she says worriedly, “The thing about parties is you never know if people are going to show up, you know?”

“Let’s go,” the older firefighter says, and though his voice is unflappable, I can sense his urgency.

I gesture at the purse he’s carrying, meaning him trying to steal from the guy in the sky lobby, which is a little oblique, but he seems to get it.