Excerpt from In the Time of Our History by Susanne Pari, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

"Hello," he said.

Stunned at the sound of the wrong voice, Mitra clenched her jaw. She couldn't remember her father ever leaving for the office later than eight thirty. Then again, it had been seventeen years since she'd been witness to his schedule.

She swallowed dryly. "Hello, Baba."

Silence. Would he hang up?

Go ahead, Mitra thought, hang up. And he did.

CHAPTER 2

His hand tingled from slamming the receiver into its cradle. A chip of plastic had flown off the machine and been swallowed by the nap of the bedroom carpet. The one morning Yusef Jahani had slept in, had not set his alarm for 6:00 a.m., and had indulged in the sight of the news anchor's sleek legs while he looped the ends of his silk tie, was the one morning that the telephone rang at 9:15 and his wife was not the only person home to answer.

He shouted into the hallway: "That was your daughter!" But Shireen was already down in the kitchen. Scowling, he donned his suit jacket in one swift motion, snapped on his gold watch, swept up his briefcase, and descended the stairs at an age-defying clip.

"That was your daughter," he barked across the kitchen at his wife's back.

"Oh!" She pivoted from the sink, an eager smile lighting up her raccoon-eyed face. He glanced at the table—an omelet, warmed lavash bread, feta cheese, honeycomb, waiting for him. Shireen's smile evaporated, her mouth twitching with remorse. "Yusef-joon," she pleaded. "I'm sure she thought you were at the office."

"Thanks to you, Shireen, I am not."

She took a tentative step forward, wiping wet hands on her apron. "Did you speak to her?"

He snorted, shook his head in disgust, and strode for the door that led to the garage. The woman was impossible. After all these years, she still held out hope that he would reconcile with their diabolical daughter. How had he tolerated such a simpleminded woman for more than four decades? He slid into the tumescent seat of his Jaguar. She appeared at the door then, her hand raised timidly for him to "wait" or "stop" or "please," and he put the car in gear, watched her worried features grow dimmer as he backed out into the sunlight, and exhaled with satisfaction as he pressed the button to close the garage door, making her disappear.

She deserved it, he thought, coming to a brief stop at the bottom of the driveway, then turning leisurely in front of a car that was, he felt, traveling far too speedily, driven by a pimply-faced teenager. This was what happened when a man spoke to his wife about business matters. Last night he'd been more irritated than usual, and he'd made the mistake of complaining about a young Irish painting crew who had stolen the Westchester project's only fourteen-foot ladder. Instead of merely listening, she started in with her pampering: Oh, but, Yusef-joon, you've worked so hard all of your life and now is the time for you to rest a little. He reminded her that he was never going to be like an American husband who spent his final years grazing on a golf course. At least go in a little later to the office, Yusef-joon.

You deserve it. Right. Her suggestions were always idiotic. Furthermore, if Shireen were a properly loyal wife, she would not be speaking to Mitra either. She was lucky he hadn't forbidden it over the years. But what did he get for being nice? Disrespect, that's what. And that gleeful look on her face when she heard that Mitra had called—aah!

He glanced in the rearview mirror. Why, the pimply-faced punk was tailgating him! Not only that, the boy was craning forward, scowling, and giving him the middle finger. Yusef snorted and put his foot on the brake. At the busy Pilgrim Avenue intersection, he stopped and waited for a school bus to lumber up the hill before turning, which allowed him a few moments to gaze appreciatively at the condominium complex he had built, with its brick veneer, white Georgian columns, and double-story sunburst windows. The yuppies had bought them all.

Excerpted from In the Time of Our History by Susanne Pari. Copyright © 2023 by Susanne Pari. Excerpted by permission of Kensington Publishing. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.