Chapter 33The difficulty is not so great to die for a friend, as to find a friend worth dying for.
—Henry Home, Scottish judge and philosopher
Late July, 2014
Sinopli, Turkey
“Mama, remember this?” Zara asks playfully, holding up a garment half her size.
Her mother beams as she runs her hand along its fabric. “Your ninth birthday. I remember this dress, the one you picked out with Roza.” She laughs. “That is, after the dozen others she told you were not appropriate.”
Grinning right back, Zara reaches into her closet pulling out another dress. “And remember what Roza said about this one I bought with my aunt Birca in Erdil?”
Hand in front of her mouth, Maryam says, “Oh my. You nearly gave my mother a stroke when she saw you wearing that one.”
Holding the lithe dress in front of her,
