“We'll take care of her, Laila jan,” one of the women said with an air of self-importance.
Laila had been to funerals before where she had seen women like this, women who relished all things that had to do with death,
official consolers who let no one trespass on their self-appointed duties.
It's under control. You go on now, girl, and do something else. Leave your mother be.
Shooed away, Laila felt useless. She bounced from one room to the next. She puttered around the kitchen for a while.
An uncharacteristically subdued Hasina and her mother came. So did Giti and her mother.
When Giti saw Laila, she hurried over, threw her bony arms around her, and gave Laila a very long, and surprisingly strong, embrace.
When she pulled back, tears had pooled in her eyes. “I am so sorry, Laila,” she said. Laila thanked her.
The three girls sat outside in the yard until one of the women assigned them the task of washing glasses and stacking plates on the table.
Babi too kept walking in and out of the house aimlessly, looking, it seemed, for something to do.
“Keep him away from me.” That was the only time Mammy said anything all morning.
Babi ended up sitting alone on a folding chair in the hallway, looking desolate and small.
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