Carly (17 page)

The bus driver merged onto the modern highway. Datsun pickups zipped around the big army bus. In the back of one, a young
camel was lying in the bed, its long neck high above the cab. Carly stared at this odd mixture of a modern vehicle and an
ancient beast of burden that had made up caravans for thousands of years. Another Datsun zipped past with goats crammed in
the bed along with a woman. Carly gaped at the sight.

Under cover of her
abayah
, she took Bowie’s hand, drawing strength from his nearness, his honest affection for her. He smiled and overwhelmed her slender
hand with his larger one. Suddenly it felt good to be alive.

As they approached the city, traffic increased. The road branched into many lanes of small, darting cars. Lorelle turned and
asked Carly where they were going in the city.

“I hear that they have some lovely jewelry shops,” Carly answered.

“Hey,” Joe muttered, “we’re not made of money, you know.”

Carly gave him a seraphic smile that she realized he couldn’t see and said, “Any girl who dates you deserves twenty-four-carat
gold.”

“Everybody, get ready for the Saudi Sweep!” The driver took a sudden turn and skated over four lanes of traffic. The maneuver
swept Carly almost onto Bowie’s lap. “Hey!” all the passengers exclaimed.

The driver laughed. “Hey, I’m just blending in. They drive like maniacs over here.”

So do you!
Carly surveyed the broad boulevard before them. Riyadh certainly looked like a modern desert city: stucco buildings with
arches, courtyard walls, many cars, and tall palm trees. Still the strange sight of women all dressed in the outmoded, cumbersome
garb, which Carly had been forced to adopt, made her uneasy.

If all the men had been attired in the traditional white flowing robes and Arabian headdresses, it would have struck her as
fair. But many men sported Western dress. It was definitely unfair and a bit intimidating. Carly moved closer to Bowie’s comfortingly
large form. And as always, nearness to him ignited an inner glow. Carly smiled secretly behind her veil.

The bus driver jerked to a stop and parked. He gave out maps of the nearby shopping district of Riyadh and warned the soldiers
to return by five o’clock for their ride back to base. Lorelle and Sam took over navigation and led them to a narrow street
of gold and jewelry shops. They strolled down the alley to get the lay of the land.

Carly made sure that she didn’t touch Bowie. She’d been instructed that no public physical contact was to occur between males
and females in Muslim areas. Smiling shopkeepers stood in the doorways of their shops, motioning them to stop in, speaking
some pidgin English. Carly still felt like a freak, wearing the
abayah
and veil. It was like attending a sick masquerade. A glance at Lorelle’s dour eyes told her she felt the same way.

They trooped to the end of the street and then paused. The three guys looked to her for guidance. She and Lorelle compared
impressions of the shops and led them back to one that had caught their interest. Carly stepped inside and everyone paraded
in after her. The proprietor beamed at them, greeting them warmly in Arabic. Carly walked to the glass-covered display case.
“Joe, here are some lovely gold chains. The quality looks good.”

The proprietor lifted one out and laid it on a black velvet cloth. He motioned for Carly to pick it up. She recalled the instructions
about haggling being important in this culture. “How much?”

The proprietor responded and Carly did a quick mental calculation between the two currencies. “Too much.” She shook her head.
Then she turned to Joe. “He wants more than I’d pay in New—”

The proprietor said something and pulled out another chain. He quoted another price, a lower one. Carly examined it and turned
to Joe. “This is a good deal. It’s twenty-four carat. See the mark?”

Joe looked at the proprietor and quoted a few drachmas lower price. The man beamed. “Yes. Deal.”

“Do you like chains, Carly?” Bowie asked as the proprietor was wrapping up the purchase.

She grinned up at him and then realized with chagrin that her expression was completely hidden from him. This made her cross,
but she didn’t let it tinge her voice. “They’re okay, Bowie.” She wanted to say, “Bowie, you don’t have to buy me anything.”
But of course, they were . . . well, they couldn’t exactly date. But they were a couple. The thought made her blush warmly,
and this time she was glad Bowie couldn’t see her face. In high school, she’d dated only a couple of times for big occasions
such as homecoming and prom. She’d never had a boyfriend, just guy friends—as Bowie had been at first.

They stopped at a few more stores. Carly was beginning to feel more comfortable. Shopping in the quaint foreign shops was
not much different from shopping in some areas of Greenwich Village. Along with the guys, she purchased jewelry for her female
relatives and then Bowie said, “Carly, just step outside the door a minute, okay? Lorelle, you stay?”

Carly blushed again. It was obvious that Bowie wanted to buy something for her and ask for Lorelle’s approval. She stepped
outside, joy bubbling inside her.

Without warning, she felt herself lifted off the ground from behind. She yelped. Shock lasted mere seconds. Then she launched
herself into a rigid backward arc. Her heels kicked muscle and her assailant cursed. She jabbed her elbow back into his breastbone
and he groaned, his grip loosening.

Then Bowie descended. Over her head, he slammed his fist into the Arab. The man went down like a sack of wet sand. Released,
Carly sprawled onto the dusty street, her
abayah
tangling around her legs. She struggled to breathe, the wind partially knocked out of her.

Bowie leaned over and helped her up. Her pulse raced. Her veil had shifted and she righted it. Joe and Sam were circling the
downed Arab, cursing him and taunting him. “Stop that, you two,” Carly gasped. “We need to move on. We don’t want an international
incident.”

“He can’t manhandle one of our women and get away with it,” Joe objected. Then he shoved the Arab again and challenged him
by taking up a boxing stance.

“Stop that!” Lorelle ordered. “You’ll have the police on us. Come on. They warned us in training that Arab men have some really
weird ideas about Western women, especially American women. They all think . . . well, you can guess what they think.”

Suddenly there was the sound of boots running toward them. Two armed Arab policemen shoved their way through the crowd that
had gathered around Carly and the rest of them. The first cop barked something in Arabic at them.

“We only speak English,” Lorelle said respectfully.

Bowie moved closer to Carly.

Carly felt her heart thumping. How could they explain that she was the one who’d been attacked? Were they all going to end
up in a Saudi jail?

Greenwich Village, the same day

After dusk, Leigh paced the kitchen waiting for Nate to come home. She wanted to tell him her news. She dreaded telling him
her news. But putting it off would only increase her stress level.

To have time alone with Nate to explain everything to him, she’d already fed Michael his supper and put him to bed. She’d
read him
How the Grinch Stole Christmas!
three times, but he was finally asleep. He wouldn’t be awake to hear the argument she was sure would come. She rubbed her
taut forehead. She could have easily lain down next to Michael and fallen asleep herself. Fatigue dragged at her spirits.

Over the past week, since Carly had been airlifted to Saudi Arabia, Leigh’s nights had been sleepless and before that, they
hadn’t been that good since Kitty’s funeral. Leigh glanced up at the clock for the thousandth time. Nate had said he’d be
home at 8:30. It was now 8:36 p.m. She rubbed her arms, resisting the urge to rake them with her long fingernails.

Ever since earlier that year, when Kitty had moved back to Ivy Manor, the silence from the downstairs apartment had depressed
Leigh. The phrase “as silent as the grave” now haunted her. Kitty would never be coming home, and Carly was in harm’s way
in a war zone thousands of miles away. Tears spilled from Leigh’s eyes. Angrily, she wiped them off her face and stiffened
her spine. “Deaths don’t come in threes,” she insisted to the empty room, the universe at large. “That’s just nonsense. I
won’t give in to morbid sentimentality.”

But her heart longed for Kitty, yearned for the woman who’d twenty years before known Dane so well, who had stood by Leigh
through her pregnancy when her mother had practically disowned her.
I love you, Kitty. I always will. I just wish I’d done better. I should have left New York and come to you as soon as Grandma
Chloe called, but I was a coward. I couldn’t face losing you and so I delayed. I’m so sorry for that. Please forgive me
.

She heard the door open downstairs and braced herself for Nate’s arrival. At the kitchen sink, she splashed cold water on
her warm face and wiped it dry with a paper towel.

“Hi, honey,” Nate said as he strode in. He glanced at the wall clock. “Just a few minutes late. I don’t have to go in till
later tomorrow so I’ll take care of getting Michael off to school in the morning.” He kissed her cheek.

His kiss warmed her as always in a way nothing else could. But she felt as if she didn’t deserve his kiss. He was going to
be so angry with her. “Good,” she murmured. “I’ll put your plate in the microwave.” She moved, but his arms stopped her as
they wrapped around her from behind.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, “I miss them both, too.”

She didn’t mistake his meaning. He missed Kitty and Carly. She drew a shaky breath, dreading the impending conflict. She forced
herself to nod and proceed to the refrigerator and microwave. Within minutes, she was sitting with him at the table while
he ate. She bided her time, knowing it would be poor strategy to broach anything while he was hungry and thirsty.

“You’ve got that look in your eye,” Nate said between bites.

“What look?”

“The look that comes right before you tell me something I don’t want to hear. It’s as if you’ve girded yourself for battle
and we’re facing off for round one.”

She stared at him, nonplussed.

“Leigh, I know you.” He wiped his mouth and fingers with his paper napkin. “You’re the only woman I’ve ever loved. You’re
my wife of seven years and the mother of my children. When will you learn that I’m not some Joe Schmoe who doesn’t get it—who
doesn’t get you?”

“Do you know what I’m going to say?” she challenged.

“I know it probably has something to do with Carly. So what is it?”

His astute surmise shook her confidence. But it gave her the opening she needed. “I’m flying to Saudi January thirteenth so
I’ll be there for the deadline of January fifteenth.”

A shadow crossed his face, and then Nate stared at her. “No discussion? Just ‘I’m going’?”

“My editor wants me to do an in-depth analysis of the modern woman in the army in a combat zone.”

“You mean you convinced your editor you should do an in-depth analysis.” He shoved his half-eaten food away. “You don’t fool
me, Leigh.”

Chagrined, she flushed. She had indeed convinced Dorcas to send her. It was expensive for the magazine and difficult to get
accommodations in Saudi Arabia, especially for a woman reporter alone.

“And what are Michael and I,” his voice sharpened, “supposed to do while you and Carly are in Saudi Arabia, getting bombed
with Scuds and perhaps
engulfed
in chemical warfare?”

“I’ll get a nanny to come and stay with Michael. Or maybe Grandma Chloe will come up—”

“Chloe is ninety years old,” Nate snapped. “She can’t take care of Michael. He’s high energy.”

“Well, what about your mother?”

Nate stared at her. “What if I tell you I don’t want you to go? Why do you think that you can just make life-altering decisions
and never check with me? Are we married or not? More and more you act as if I am a nuisance, not the man who should be at
the center of your life.” He leaned forward, pinning her with his intense gaze. “What is going on, Leigh?”

She buried her face in her hands. His words stabbed her right in the soft spot of her hurt. “Why is everything so out of control?”
she whimpered.

“What are you talking about—the Iraqi invasion?”

“Why can’t life ever be easy?” Leigh felt her panic rising. “Why couldn’t Carly just go to college? Why did she have to put
herself into harm’s way?” She began rocking on her straight chair.

Nate took over and began asking questions. “And why didn’t your fiancé live, and why did you have a one-night stand with Carly’s
father, and why couldn’t Kitty live forever?” He reached out and snatched her hands with his and gripped them. “Life is never
going to follow your orders.”

The strength in his hands didn’t frighten her. He’d never do anything to hurt her. And everything he’d said was true, but
she couldn’t stop herself from keeping her assignment to the Gulf. “I have to go.” She wouldn’t meet his eyes.

“Do you think that your presence in the Gulf will protect your daughter?” He squeezed her hands as if wringing a confession
out of her.

“Of course not.” Still, she wouldn’t meet his eyes.

He leaned close as if to kiss her. “What would you say”—his warm breath wafted against her face—“if I said I will divorce
you if you go?”

The Saudi policemen yelled more Arabic at Carly and her friends. Then the proprietor of the shop they’d just left pushed his
way forward. He began speaking rapid-fire to the policemen, gesturing toward Carly, her companions, and the man who’d accosted
her, who also contributed a few sullen words to the exchange.

In a lull, Lorelle spoke up in her MP voice, “I’m a police officer. Does anyone here speak English? Please?”

A woman draped in black moved forward. “I speak English.”

“Great,” Lorelle replied with relief. “Will you tell us what’s being said about us?”

“The policemen want to know why you have attacked this Saudi citizen. And the shop owner is explaining that this young woman
was attacked first.”