by Tara Mills
***
Bruce, the bigger of the two contractors, met up with Dylan outside his room. He acknowledged Paul with a nod as he strode down the corridor to intercept them. Dylan closed the distance and handed Paul his duffel.
“I wrote down Ariela’s address and put it inside—just in case.”
Paul was grave when he took the bag. “I won’t need it. It’ll be here when you get back.”
Dylan gave him a quick nod and followed Bruce out. Paul walked away.
Rich and the professor were already standing beside the vehicle. The armored truck barked, Don’t fuck with us, clearly and in no uncertain terms, to whoever saw it. It was testosterone on wheels. Just the sight of it made Dylan feel better about what they were about to do.
Bruce handed Dylan a bulletproof vest, and he put it on. Body armor had been a necessary part of his life over here—in certain situations. Abdullah, however, seemed to be having trouble dressing in his gear, so Rich assisted him.
Next came a shoulder holster, not necessary, but it was something Dylan had requested since he was more familiar with a pistol. After that, he was handed an automatic rifle. Every weapon was pre-loaded, and Bruce pointed out Dylan’s back-up cartridges inside the truck.
“Hey, Scribe.” Bruce tapped Dylan on the shoulder. “The pistol is only for up close and personal, got it? Hang on to the M-16. Warn them the fuck off with the big boy.”
He walked around to the other side of the truck and opened the door, leaving Dylan to wonder if he’d be able to take someone out at point-blank range. He hoped he didn’t have to face that test.
“Put a lid on it,” Rich called out as they climbed inside. Four helmets went on.
Their Humvee kicked up dust as it rolled down the road, garnering little interest from the people going about their business. What felt pretty damn momentous to the men in the truck heading toward the gate, was little more than business as usual to those living inside the fortified compound. Dylan looked out his window, his hands cradling his weapon, and knew, in spite of how routine this appeared to everyone else, to him, it was an experience of a lifetime. He held his breath when they were waved through the large, intimidating gate. His eyes darted from side to side, sweeping the streets and crowds for threats.
***
Ariela went in to work early on Thursday. She couldn’t sleep in Dylan’s bed, in his house now, without tossing and turning. Ever since he’d sent his e-mail, she’d been an emotional wreck.
He’d raised a fair point. She did use his job as an excuse to hold him at arm’s length. Or she tried to anyway. Her heart had accepted the man far faster than her head had accepted the journalist. But he was so much more than that. She’d wept when she read his message. His pain had sliced her chest wide open, deservedly. She’d wounded him, withheld her affections, and for what? To make a point?
Even though he’d said he still had hope, she could read between the lines. He was letting her go. He’d given her up as lost already. Did he expect her to leave just before he got home? Just set his house key on the counter on her way out? Maybe he did. If he’d been any other person, she very well might have to avoid a scene. Well forget it. That’s not how she wanted this to play out.
She couldn’t stop shaking now, and it had nothing to do with the pot of coffee she’d polished off before driving over here. This was one bullet she wasn’t going to let him dodge.
Jean must have heard her, because she hurried downstairs in her bathrobe and slippers and dragged Ariela up to the apartment.
The television was on, and a black-and-white image from an old movie was frozen on the screen. Jean was as hyper as Ariela when she pointed to the nightclub scene. Ariela moved closer, finally comprehending her friend’s excitement. “That’s beautiful.”
“I know. I want that.”
Ariela glanced over. “You could totally pull this off. Are you going to do the hair too?”
“Maybe. Just a little less complicated. I love the side part and that sexy swoop, don’t you?”
“It’s fabulous. I wonder what color that dress actually was?”
“I don’t know.”
“I see why you’ve chosen silver. It looks like it might have been silver. It’s gorgeous, like she’s dressed in a waterfall the way it hugs her all the way down to the floor and pools behind her. Liquid. Quicksilver. Can I advance the frame to see more?”
“Actually, you’ll want to go back instead. There’s a good shot of the back of the dress.”
Ariela picked up the remote and reversed the action. A huge grin spread across her face. “Now I get what you meant by a fan at the back. Wow. Stunning.”
“I can’t believe how long it took me to put two and two together. I knew I’d seen it somewhere.” Jean rocked back and forth, foot to foot, with absolute adoration for the dress in her eyes.
“I have an idea. Can I take this DVD?” Ariela asked.
Jean’s eyebrows popped up. “Yeah, just don’t lose it.”
“No worries. I’ll meet you downstairs.” Ariela pulled the disk out of the machine, shut off the television, and headed down to her computer. She now had a mission of her own, something to distract her from her worries about Dylan. The last thing she wanted to do was bring him up and screw up Jean’s happiness. This was a positive outlet for her energy, her thoughts, and she hugged it to herself like a float ring.
Minutes later, the third view of the dress was just rolling out of the printer when Jean joined her in the office.
“What a great idea!” Jean picked up one of the images with a smile.
“Now we have something to go on. Grab the telephone book. We have calls to make. We’re going to get you this dress.”
They were able to find the perfect seamstress, recommended to them by the second woman they called, and they sent the images over the computer to her. When she called them back, she was very excited about the job, and working within their time constraints wasn’t going to be a problem. She looked forward to the challenge. Jean was glowing when she got the news.
Ariela grinned. “Ron is going to fall in love with you all over again when he sees you in that dress.”
“I...can’t...wait.”
Would she ever be that happy? Only time would tell.
***
Driving through the unpredictable city without an escort made all four men in the Humvee-from-hell feel extremely exposed. Even tanks could be blown up.
Every muscle in Dylan’s body was vibrating with tension as his gaze swept the moving landscape for danger. His finger rode the side of the gun, ready to slip instantly to the trigger. Slow, steady breaths, his attention to every little detail sharp and focused, he was poised for trouble.
When he began seeing familiar buildings and intersections, he grew even more alert. He’d walked this way, sick and lame, escorted by the women he’d come back to rescue. Not far from here, he’d been shot and his friends killed. Familiar didn’t always translate into comforting.
Abdullah looked over at him. “We’re getting close.”
Dylan nodded without turning away from the passing scenery.
When they turned down the women’s street, Dylan felt a momentary wave of nausea hit him. He’d huddled under sniper fire for hours, mere yards from here, and now he wasn’t even sure where to look for the threat he’d felt.
Bruce drove right onto the yard from the street, bouncing over the neglected landscaping and throwing the truck into reverse. He backed right up to the front door, only allowing enough room to open the back. Leaving the engine running, both armed escorts kicked open their doors and dropped to the ground, using the doors as shields while they swept the area for risks.
Rich barked, “Clear!”
Dylan and Abdullah leaped out and made their way to the house as fast as they could while the other two kept guard. The women must have been watching for them because the door opened at exactly the right moment, letting them inside.
Rich moved backward, shoving the profe
ssor’s truck door closed in the process, and went to throw open the back of the vehicle. Only after it had completely shielded the front door did he follow them in. Bruce remained outside, alert and on guard behind the driver’s door.
The ladies had been busy. Parcels and stacks of books were tied together and piled around the room. After a quick and emotional greeting between the family members, everyone started a fast hustle, loading the books and a few of their precious belongings into the truck. It was a relief to see that the old woman had resigned herself to flight, but tears glittered in her eyes as she prepared to leave her home and the majority of her possessions behind. She knew she wouldn’t be back.
Everything was loaded in ten minutes, faster than expected. Rich hoisted Abdullah’s youngest sister into the back then closed the hatch. Tucked against the books and parcels, she lay down, out of sight.
Rich waved the other sister forward, and she left the house, falling back for a moment when he threw out a hand and peered across the street. Once he deemed it safe, he waved her into the vehicle. From behind his door he pointed at Dylan and nodded. Being armed, he knew he was expected to help cover the professor and his mother as they hurried into the vehicle.
Dylan looked at Abdullah, and the older man took a deep breath. Nodding once, the older man grabbed his mother around the waist and moved her out behind Dylan. She somehow managed to pull her front door closed behind her as he dragged her away. Dr. Hadad boosted her into the truck and followed after her. Dylan fell back and ran around to the other side and jumped in. Only when they were secure did the two security men jump into the front.
They managed to get the women out without firing a shot. Still, the tension inside the vehicle was high as they drove off. Though they hadn’t encountered any threats so far, that didn’t mean they wouldn’t. Urban warfare didn’t allow for comfort when out of doors. They remained vigilant, all the way back to the Green Zone. Lives depended on them.
***
Dylan felt drained, exhausted as he stowed his pack under his seat on the plane. Sinking into the cushions, he drew the belt across his lap. The roar of the engines lulled him into a sleepy state, his mind drifting back to the last twenty-six hours. Now that the adrenaline rush had faded, he was amazed at how smoothly everything had gone.
Though he’d been prepared to return hostile gunfire, no one had shot at them nor, thankfully, had they run into any roadside bombs. It was a hell of a relief. He would have fired his weapon, instinct and training had prepared him to respond, but shooting an actual person rather than a target, wasn’t something he wanted to do if he could avoid it.
Once safely inside the compound, the Hadad family were able to greet each other properly. Dylan meant to give them their moment, but to his surprise, they drew him over and each family member embraced him, warmly, beginning with the old woman. She ran her hands up over his flak jacket, straightening him up just like his mother used to tidy him before school. Only when Mrs. Hadad was done did she step aside and allow her son and daughters to thank him themselves.
Dylan asked Dr. Hadad, his friend Abdullah now, to translate his thanks to the ladies for risking their lives to save him. He could see it meant a great deal to them. One of Abdullah’s sisters asked through her brother, what Dylan was going to do now and whether he was going to continue to work in the region.
Dylan shook his head and felt a bit bashful when he said, “I’m going to go home and get married, if she’ll have me.”
When that statement was translated every face looking back at him lit with joy.
The old woman said, “Who could refuse you?” and clearly meant it.
She patted Dylan’s cheek with affection then stepped back as a man approached. He informed them their transportation was already waiting to carry them to the Canadian Embassy in Jordan, and from there, to an even bigger family reunion in Toronto.
Dylan had been happy to see them go. Then it had hit him there were a lot of people he’d never see after this. He’d gone looking for Paul to retrieve his bag and they’d said their goodbyes for the last time right before he hitched a ride back to the airport and the cargo plane heading out. It was unlikely they’d ever meet again, but it didn’t weigh on him. Dylan was ready to move forward. His focus had changed.
He honestly couldn’t say how his career would evolve next. He couldn’t discount the possibility he’d want back in the thick of the action in the future, but for now, he knew where he wanted to be most, where he needed to be. He loved Ariela, enough to make some painful sacrifices.
He couldn’t help thinking about Jim and his failed marriage. Jim never could find a balance in his life. He thought he had to choose. He’d chosen the job. But he couldn’t forfeit his wedding band, or the pictures of his wife and son he'd carried in his wallet. They were worn and frayed at the edges from being handled so often. Did Jim ever put on his ring and wind it on his finger as if he could turn back the years and change his decision? He must have. All evidence pointed to a man unsettled with his choice and plagued by regret.
Was there a compromise to be found with Ariela? Dylan wanted it, he wanted it all. He wanted her, the home, and the children to offset the stress and strain, and incalculable rewards he got from his job. He honestly didn’t know.
Preparing himself for the disappointment of his life, Dylan drifted off to sleep as the plane rose in the air.
***
Ariela was leaning against the railing bisecting the wall of windows in the airport concourse when she spotted Dylan’s head bobbing in the crowd. She stretched up on her toes and looked hard for anything she could see of him as little flashes of his body were exposed, then closed out of sight, between the moving crush of people surrounding him.
He was walking into the afternoon sun, his brilliant, blue eyes glittering like sapphires, so he couldn’t see her yet, but she could tell he was searching for her too, craning his neck and casting looks around people. Despite how hard she tried to hold it together, tears started to collect in the corners of her eyes. She swiped them away, irritated at anything that might interfere with a clear view of him. Then a gap opened up in front of him and Ariela took it. She charged Dylan like a linebacker, colliding hard with his body and knocking him back a step as he tried to identify what just hit him.
It might have been her scent, or maybe the familiar feel of her body pressed to his, but whatever it was that he recognized first, it tore a groan from his throat, and he grabbed the back of her shirt and lifted her off her feet, crushing his mouth over hers. They laughed and cried as they embraced. The pedestrians divided around them, without breaking stride.
He kissed her salty tears then went back to her mouth for another taste before breaking off to say, “You’re here.” He said it as if he still couldn’t quite believe it.
Ariela reached up and touched his beautiful cheek, her heart breaking that he still doubted her. “I figured something out.”
“Oh yeah? What’s that?”
“I was so afraid of losing you that I was going to lose you.”
The corner of his smile twitched. “Took you long enough.”
“Hey.” Then she gave a little laugh. “I’m sorry. I can’t promise you won’t see the occasional episode of worry and insanity from me, but if you’re willing to tough it out, I’m willing to love the man and support the journalist.”
“You mean it?” He nuzzled into her neck as he hugged her again.
She sighed, squeezing him tight. “I do.”
He eased back, one eyebrow raised. “Remember those words.”
About the Author
I’m a pampered wife, mother to three fantastic sons, one super daughter-in-law, and proud nana.
I write the stories I like to read. Life is difficult. Love makes it bearable.
Please visit me at www.taramillsromance.com
I’m also on Facebook, Twitter, and Google+
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
No writer is an island, which is why I’d like to send an
extra word of gratitude to my husband for reading all of my work—over and over again. Your input, suggestions, and criticisms have helped shape me as a writer. Mark Morris and Nola Cross—thank you both for agreeing to proof this. Your help and encouragement mean the world to me. Thank you to my family and friends who share my work and related announcements in whatever way works best for them.
And last, I’d like to send out a warm hug to the ladies of TKS, now, sadly one treasured member short. Without so many of you blazing this trail ahead of me, I wouldn’t be here now. Sorry for pestering you with all of my related questions, but you helped make this happen. Thank you.
Bibliography
Books:
The Occupation: War and Resistance in Iraq by Patrick Cockburn, London, Verso, 2006
Reporting Iraq: An oral history of the war by the journalists who covered it, Edited by Mike Hoyt, John Palattella, and the staff of the Columbia Journalism Review, New Jersey, Melville House Publishing, 2007
Beyond the Green Zone: Dispatches from an unembedded journalist in occupied Iraq by Dahr Jamail, Chicago, Haymarket Books, 2007
Love Thy Neighbor: A Story of War by Peter Maass, New York, Vintage Books, 1997
The Hydrogen Economy: The Creation of the Worldwide Energy Web and the Redistribution of Power on Earth by Jeremy Rifkin, New York, Putnam, 2002
Articles/Magazines/other sources:
Kill the Messengers, National Public Radio, This American Life, March 2007, http://www.thisamericanlife.org/radio-archives/episode/327/by-proxy?act=2 ,
What’s In A Number?—2006 Edition http://www.thisamericanlife.org/radio-archives/episode/320/whats-in-a-number-%E2%80%94-2006-edition
The ugly truth about everyday life in Baghdad—A Confidential Memo from the US Ambassador Zalmay Khalilzad, Baghdad to Condoleeza Rice, Secretary of State, dated June 20, 2006, http://www.independent.co.uk/news/world/middle-east/the-ugly-truth-about-everyday-life-in-baghdad-by-the-us-ambassador-404742.html