Aisha was taking it the hardest. She seemed to swing between worry and fatalistic resignation. She was irritable. She couldn’t concentrate. She withdrew and wept alone. That night, after the other kids had fallen asleep, Kathy sat behind Aisha on her bed. She took her daughter’s thick black hair in her hands and kneaded it with one hand, brushing it with the other. It was something she had done with Nademah to calm her before bed, and Yuko’s mom had done the same with Kathy after their baths. It was soothing, meditative for both mother and daughter. In this case Kathy was humming a tune she
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