Perfectly Executed

1 A Quiet Cul-de-Sac Sultana Rafay couldn't have been happier than at this moment. It was the early evening of July 12, 1994, and Sultana had just gently laid out her Muslim prayer rug in the family room of her new home in Bellevue, Washington, an affluent suburb right outside Seattle. She had so many gifts for which to thank God: Her husband, Tariq, a gifted structural engineer and bridge builder, had recently started a new, $59,000-a-year job as a project manager with Alpha Engineering. Her nineteen-year-old son, Atif, a brilliant student and in many ways her best friend, had just finished his freshman year at Cornell University and was home for the summer. She loved spending time with Atif, discussing classic literature and philosophy. She wished that Atif would join her in prayer, but understood that, for now, her son didn't share the family's love of Islam. In fact, Atif had told his parents that he didn't believe in Islam. The three had held spirited discussions at times about religion, but Sultana thought Atif was just going through a phase. With time, she believed, that would change. Sultana and Tariq were devout Sunni Muslims and had long been active in religious and cultural events. Also at home was the Rafays' twenty-year-old daughter, Basma, who since birth had needed special attention. Sultana was happy that Basma seemed to be adjusting well to her new neighborhood. The Rafays' new home was in the Somerset section of Bellevue, a postcard-perfect community of contemporary houses built among tall Douglas fir and western red cedar trees that, on this cloudless summer evening, cut jagged silhouettes against the deepening blue sky. The Rafay home sat at the top of a cul-de-sac, with large living room windows that looked out at the houses below. Sultana felt as if she was on top of the world. Even though it was after 9 P.M., the soft summer daylight was only slowly yielding to darkness. Nearly everyone in this peaceful, hilly neighborhood had settled in for the night. It was so quiet; neighbors said you could hear the slightest sound, from a door closing inside a home to someone walking across a driveway. Sultana was a devoted mother. Her smooth face was dominated by her big brown eyes and radiant smile. She looked younger than her fifty-six years. Sultana had met her husband while earning a master's degree in nutrition at Colorado State University in Fort Collins. They had quickly fallen in love. Tariq had written poetry for her, a loving tradition he continued throughout their marriage. Once her children were born, Sultana had decided to become a stay-at-home mom. She prided herself on her dedication to her children and on running a well-organized household. It bothered her that there were still moving boxes around her that had not yet been unpacked. Scattered on the window ledge in front of her were half a dozen books and some business files. Perhaps tomorrow she would finish tidying up the family room. Upstairs in the master bedroom, Tariq had put on his long-sleeved blue pajamas and turned in for the night. He was in his usual sleeping position -- lying flat on his back in their queen-sized bed. With his head comfortably positioned between two pillows, Tariq was sound asleep. It was a warm evening, so he had left the covers at the foot of the bed. Like Sultana, Tariq was fifty-six. He was a slender man of medium height whose face bore the constant serious look of scientific intensity. He had a large, bulblike nose and dark eyes that were underlined with brownish folds, the permanent markings left from a childhood of poverty in his native Pakistan and years of hard work in Canada and the United States. Tariq was known as a solemn man, but at home he had a dry sense of humor. Where others might not get the joke, Sultana would often break an awkward moment with a giggle. She was her husband's best audience. But on the night of July 12Jackson, Jenna is the author of 'Perfectly Executed ', published 2007 under ISBN 9781416545316 and ISBN 141654531X.