Chapter 11

Tim was sitting in his car. He knew that Zahara felt it was silly that he was turning this simple instruction from Dr. Hicks into something so difficult and painful, and he could acknowledge that it was... but it was still difficult for him. He had not reached out to a person he didn't already know in a long time.

Salma and her current best friend Julia were playing in a park with a few other kids and it was time to pick Salma up and go home for dinner. Tim was sure that she'd beg for a few more minutes. That would force him to make conversation for those minutes. Even after everything he'd been through, Tim had a hard time with awkward silences.

Okay. Time to do it. He took a deep breath and got out of the car. He walked over to where Salma was playing and saw Julia's mom. He had met her very briefly when she had picked up Julia from their house once. So he at least knew her on sight and she wouldn't question who he was.

"Salma, it's time to go," he said.

"Baba!" Salma said when she saw him. "Can I play longer?"

Tim smiled.

"Please, Baba?" she begged. "Min fadlak? Please?"

"Okay, okay." He made a show of looking at his watch. "Five more minutes. That's all and then we have to get home for dinner."

"Yea! Shokran, Baba!"

Salma clapped her hands ran back to the playset.

"That's Arabic, huh," came a gruff voice from behind him.

Tim stiffened a little bit and then took a breath and turned to face the speaker. The man was older than Tim was. In fact, he looked more like a grandpa than a father, although Tim knew that he couldn't always make those kinds of judgments. He knew he'd seen the man at the Daddy Day in Salma's class, but he couldn't remember anything about him.

"Yes," Tim said. "My wife is from Morocco."

"Yeah. I remember you from last week."

Tim nodded neutrally. The man's tone wasn't particularly friendly but he hadn't said anything rude as yet.

"You always that nervous talking about yourself?"

Tim chanced a smile. "Often."

Then, suddenly, the man smiled a little. "How about now?"

Tim laughed awkwardly. "Yeah."

The man nodded and looked out at the playground. He pointed to a little girl with a mess of curly blonde hair.

"That's my girl out there. Celeste. I'm Abe." He stuck out his hand.

"I'm Tim. I hope you don't mind my asking, but is she your daughter?" Tim asked, shaking the proffered hand.

"Nah. My niece. Grand niece, actually."

"Oh, really?"

"Yeah. I know you're wondering about it. I'm too old to have a girl her age."

"It does seem different, but I knew I could be wrong."

"It is different. Long story, but my niece, God rest her, she served in the military. Helicopter she was on crashed. Everyone died. My brother, her father, died years ago. Single mother. Little girl needing someone to step up. My wife and I did. Never thought I'd be a father again. Never thought I'd like it. I'm too old and set in my ways to be taking in a little girl." Then, he smiled as he watched Celeste going down the slide in a chain with the other girls. "It was hard explaining to a two-year-old why her mother was never coming home again. We can't give her what young people like you can, but we do our best and so far, it's been enough."

Tim nodded. "That's amazing that you're doing that for her."

"Someone's gotta do it. When it's family."

"Right."

"Now... I could tell you didn't want to talk about it last week, but you mind indulging my curiosity?"

"Maybe," Tim said, knowing what was coming.

Abe chuckled. "If you're a computer guy, how come you have enough scars that you don't like to go swimming?"

Tim took a breath. He wanted to just leave it at the idea that he couldn't say anything about it, but that would not be following what Dr. Hicks intended. Tim knew it.

"Too hard to talk about?" Abe asked, more seriously.

"No. At least it shouldn't be," Tim said. He wasn't making eye contact.

"You got enough scars on you to be ashamed of them, you got the right to think it's too hard."

"Short, unclassified version," Tim said, softly, still not making eye contact. "I'm a computer guy like I said, but that's why I have the scars. Because people wanted what I know, what I can do... and they didn't want to take no for an answer. Actually, that's how I met my wife. I've got a scar on my back from that one...but you can't see it because of the shrapnel scars."

There was a long silence. Then, Tim jumped when Abe put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed it gently.

"Sorry about that. You got a look in your eye... like the ones who went to Vietnam. I was a little too young for it, but my older brother wasn't. He was never the same when he came back. You looked like him for a moment. He never liked talking about it, either."

"Nothing that grand," Tim said. "I'm just a geek that got pulled into a world he can't handle."

"No offense, but I doubt that you're just anything."

Tim finally got the courage to look at Abe directly. He was surprised to the the older man simply smiling sympathetically.

"Sometimes, I wish I was," Tim said. Then, he looked at his watch. "It's time to get home. Nice to meet you."

Abe nodded and Tim strode over to the playground.

"All right, Salma. It's time to get home. No more minutes."

"Baba!"

"I told you already. Waqt athahābi," he said sternly.

Salma sighed melodramatically but she nodded and waved good-bye to Julia and then skipped over and took Tim's hand. Tim walked with her back to his car and saw Abe walking over to get Celeste. He was impressed by a couple who would take in a young girl at that stage of their lives. For three years so far and looked to be doing that permanently.

"Baba, what's for dinner?" Salma asked, interrupting his thoughts.

Tim smiled and looked down at her.

"I don't know. I haven't been home yet."

"Does that mean you have your gun?" Salma asked.

"Yes, but you can't touch it. Remember that you aren't supposed to touch any gun. I only use it for work."

Salma nodded.

"When I'm grown up can I use a gun, too?"

"It depends on what you do for your job, but when you get older, we'll talk about teaching you to use it."

"Really?"

"Only when you're older."

"Okay."

"Good. Now, do you want to call Mama on our way home and tell her we're coming?"

Salma clapped her hands happily and willingly clambered into her booster seat. Tim handed her his phone and listened with amusement as she called home.

"Mama! We're coming home!" Salma said. "What's for dinner?"

Tim laughed.

"Baba, can we get pizza tonight?" Salma asked him.

"Is that your mother's idea or yours?" Tim asked.

"Mama said."

Tim pulled up to a stop light and reached his hand back.

"Let me have the phone."

Salma was generally trustworthy, but she wasn't above pushing her luck. She handed him the phone and Tim took it.

"Is Salma telling the truth?" Tim asked.

Zahara laughed. "Yes. She is. This time. I had not really chosen anything to make. If you got pizza on your way home, that would be something we could all enjoy."

"All right. We'll do it. See you in a few."

"Did you speak to someone?"

"Yeah. Celeste's uncle."

"Oh, Abe has not been very friendly most of the time. He keeps to himself. He's not rude but he rarely talks to anyone."

Tim smiled a little.

"So we have something in common, then."

"You are friendly...just not outgoing."

"Right. Well, we'll get pizza on our way home and we'll get something we all like," Tim said, looking back at Salma who giggled.

"I will see you at home, then."

"Love you."

"Love you, Mama!" Salma shouted.

"Salma loves you, too," Tim repeated. "Bye."

"See you soon."

Tim hung up and they drove over to a pizza place they liked. Salma talked him into getting a dessert pizza as well as the regular pizza and breadsticks. However, he did say no to the brownie bites. One treat only. Then, he and Salma took their dinner home and it was a nice meal together. Salma and Jonathan went to bed mostly willingly and Tim read them a story.

Then, he sat down on the couch and leaned back. Marra came over and tried to climb onto his lap, but he made her get down. She put her head on his knee and looked at him soulfully. Tim shook his head and patted her.

"I'm fine, Marra. No need to worry about me," he said, softly.

Zahara walked over and sat down beside him.

"Are you sure?" she asked.

Tim smiled a little. "No need for my dog to worry about me."

"Marra sees when you are not feeling well. I am surprised at how much she knows." Zahara kissed him on the cheek. "Tim, you will always have people... and animals... who care for you and want you to be happy. Even Marra, although she may not know it."

"Abe asked about my scars."

"What did you say?"

"Not much. I only mentioned the easiest ones."

"Which of your scars are the easiest?" Zahara asked.

"The one from getting stabbed in the back and the shrapnel. Those hurt the most, but I didn't feel guilt because of them."

Zahara's expression was sympathetic but also a little pained. She reached over and caressed his back where that scar remained.

"That is the scar I hate the most," she whispered. "It is the one I was involved in."

Tim turned to her and hugged her tightly.

"I know, but I don't regret that scar at all. Not one bit...except that my plan was such a miserable failure at getting us free."

As he had hoped, Zahara laughed a little. He never teased her about that injury. Her grief and guilt had nearly ended their relationship and Tim knew the feeling of guilt. He would never want her to feel the same way.

"I love you, Tim," Zahara said.

"I love you. Always," Tim said.

"Let's go to bed."

"Okay."

They went up to their rooms, pausing only to check on their children (both asleep for the moment) and then got ready for bed and slept.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

The winds were beginning to calm. The rain had stopped. The cleanup could begin. The storm had taken them by surprise because it had hit them in the middle of a shamal. It was a combination of weather patterns that none of them had ever seen before and there had been plenty of damage to the tents. No serious injuries, thankfully, but it would take time to get everything back in proper order.

Suhayl strode through the camp, checking on all the members of the tribe. He had been summoned but he would not answer that summons until he was sure all was right with his family.

"Baba!"

Suhayl turned and raised an eyebrow at his daughter as she ran over to him.

"Na'am, Samia?" he guessed that she would answer in English. She had finally begun a serious study of the language and was now practicing as much as she could.

"Mama says that our water is still good. We have enough to spare for Adnan."

Suhayl nodded. Adnan's tent had been on the north side of the camp and had received the brunt of the damage. Some of his water storage had been damaged.

"Good. I will bring it to him later."

He started to walk again.

"Baba."

He stopped and turned back. Samia looked very serious. She had taken after him in height and at fifteen years old, she was the same height as her father. She could easily meet his eyes and she did.

"Yes, Samia?"

"Are you leaving us again?"

"I will. But not yet."

"Why do you leave us, Baba?"

Suhayl gently bent Samia's head down and kissed her on her thick hair.

"To protect you, ya saghīratī. If I could stay here, I would. The world is a place that is not safe for us, but it is worse to ignore it. The world may touch us at any time, and I leave to be sure that its touch does not hurt us. I will have to leave, but I will not until I am sure we are prepared."

"What you do is... khatīr."

"Dangerous," Suhayl said.

"Yes. Dangerous."

"It is. The danger is worth it to keep us safe."

"Will you tell me where you go?"

"No. None here know where I go. That cannot change. We do not even speak of it unless it is necessary. Now, go back to our tent and prepare the water for Adnan. I will be there."

For a moment Samia looked rebellious at his denial of her request.

"Min fadlik, ibnatī?"

Reluctantly, Samia nodded and walked away.

Suhayl smiled at her departing figure. His daughter was becoming aware of the wider world. She would have to learn to move within it, but he hoped to keep her in this cocoon of safety for a little while longer. She was still young, but she had inherited his determination to know and his refusal to stay in safety. However, for now, he could keep her here. When she was older, she would be given the choice of staying or leaving for an education as he had. Suhayl knew that his wife Layla was equally unhappy about his choice, but they had spoken and she had accepted it.

But he didn't enjoy having to leave. Would that he could stay here and ignore what the rest of the world did, but the world had become too small for that. The Bedouin could not continue their nomadic ways unless they made a world in which it was still possible.

For now, it was.

And soon, he would have to leave once more to make sure that possibility would continue.

But for now...

"'Imād! Hal saqa Farad maksūratan?"

"La, Suhayl," 'Imād said. "Lakin kalihahu usīb bi-atawa'i."

Not what he had hoped, but it could have been worse. They would have to stay put for a few days. Quickly, Suhayl put some of the younger men to work in organizing their supplies and preparing for what might be a slim few days.

But that might give him the time he needed to leave and return. It was unlikely, but it was possible.

It was possible.