"He mentioned two of the camps where he worked with her," she told him. She thought for a moment. "Another thing. The last time I crossed the border, I was a teenager. There is so much that I don't remember. It will be a relief to have a guide who knows the area."
Austyn patted Ken on the shoulder once and went to the van to get their bags.
"You're still upset," Fahimah said consolingly. "I appreciate your concern, Ken. And I am grateful for your help. But Austyn is in charge and he does not seem to have a problem with this change in plans."
'That's fine. I follow orders." He shrugged.
He looked at Austyn and then kicked the dirt a couple of times with the toe of his boot. He finally looked up at her.
"So, will you come back with him or are you going to stay in Halabja?" he asked, looking a little like a teenager.
The realization was slow in coming, but she finally got it. Ken was attracted to her. Fahimah didn't know how she should feel about that. She couldn't really decide if she liked him or not… as a romantic interest, that is. Sometime during the past five years, all thoughts of this kind simply disappeared. She never thought anyone would ever look at her this way again.
"I haven't had time to think what I will be doing or where I will be going. Up to a few days ago, I would not allow myself to think of tomorrow or next week or the week after. And since my release, other matters have been pressing."
"If you decide to come back to Erbil, will you let me know?" he asked.
She frowned. "Pardon me for saying this, but you never answered Austyn's question about being married."
Ken actually blushed. "No. No wife."
"So you're not married?" Not that it made a difference, but Fahimah sensed that he was not being entirely truthful, and she found herself getting some enjoyment out of seeing him squirm.
"We're separated."
"Naturally," she said. "You are here, and I assume she is in the United States."
"No… no… We were separated before I came over here. It just works better this way, as far as benefits and all that."
"I have our bags," Austyn said, joining them.
Fahimah was relieved. She shook Ken's hand and thanked him repeatedly before crossing the road and allowing Austyn to make whatever arrangements he needed to make with the other man.
The peculiar feeling of having someone show this kind of interest in her tugged at something within Fahimah. The last time she'd actually dated someone had been when she was twenty-four years old and in graduate school in England. Her last offer of marriage had been when she was twenty-eight and teaching at the university. A Kurdish physician who worked in Toronto, and whom she'd never met, had asked for her hand in marriage by sending a delegation to her house. The delegation had consisted of his mother and sister, who was a student of Fahimah's at the university. Fahimah's answer had been no, and that had been the extent of her love life.
She was past that stage of her life, she thought, reaching the other side of the road and looking for Ahmad. She had another path to travel now.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Airman First Class Joseph Sawyer had yet to get a letter from his mother, but he didn't really blame her. A single mother, she worked two jobs to put food on the table. She just stunk when it came to picking husbands. Twice now, she'd been dumped with an infant and no child support or help of any kind. Still, making a mistake like that twice in her life, almost fifteen years apart, wasn't too bad.
Joe and his friend Ron Miller, members of the 455th Air Expeditionary Wing, came to Bagram together in the summer of 2006. The 455th served the Central Command Air Force, providing strike, rescue, survey and airlift capabilities to U.S. and Coalition forces, and they had been here since the beginning of Operation Enduring Freedom. They both shipped over from Goodfellow Air Force Base in Texas, where they'd met the first time. While Joe had left only his mother and his teenage brother back in Mobile, Alabama, Ron came from a very large family in northern New Jersey.
Naturally, Ron got mail almost every stinking day. Besides the almost daily letters, he got a care package sent to him at least once a week from his mother, or one of his sisters, or sisters-in-law, or some PTA people in his niece or nephew's school.
The Miller family's generosity was, of course, a sweet deal for Joe. Ron got too much of everything, and after he went through the gifts himself, he let Joe have first dibs on picking what he wanted.
Paperback books were a frequent gift, as were CDs and personal hygiene items. Cookies, Joe could do without. Even though they were homemade, by the time they arrived they were rock hard. Salsa and chips fared better, but Ron usually invited a whole bunch of guys over, and they attacked that food like a swarm of rats.
The bars of dark chocolate were Joe's absolute favorite. And since he'd included a thank-you note in with one of Ron's letters home, he could always count on his friend's family to add a few for him.
A couple of hours ago, Joe had seen Ron walking back to the containerized housing unit they called home, along with the four other guys in their squadron they shared it with. The housing units were better than tents, but they were nothing like what they had at Goodfellow back in the U.S.
When Joe saw him, Ron had another package under his arm.
Both of them were off duty this morning. Usually, they'd spend the time in the gym. This morning, though, Ron was feeling worse. He'd been fighting a sore throat for a few days now, but he never was one to go to the infirmary, and Joe knew better than to bug him about it.
The door to the unit was ajar, a big negative with all the dust in Bagram. It was as hot as summers in Mobile, but dry as hell and dusty as the inside of a Shop-Vac.
Joe went in, sure his friend would be feeling better. A care package from New Jersey always seemed to do the trick.
"Hey, Ron, you in here?"
The room was dark. The shades were drawn to keep out the unbearable sun, but it was still stifling in the unit. The fan wasn't running, which meant the electricity was out again… for the third time this week.
"Christ, it stinks in here," he muttered. "Ron?"
The way it smelled, Joe figured his buddy was using the crapper. At one end of the rectangular room, a faux-wood panel partitioned off the small bathroom. Six cots and built-in lockers lined the wall. There was no shower in these housing units; the showers were in a special unit down the row.
Joe's gaze focused on the open mailer sitting on Ron's cot. He crouched down next to it.
"Ron, you alive in there?" he asked over his shoulder. "Jeez, boy. You should get your folks to send you some of that potpourri shit. Man, you're killing me out here."
It looked as if Ron had already sorted through the box. New paperbacks were stacked against the wall. Joe's bars of chocolate were sitting in front of them, and there was an envelope in front of the chocolate with his name on it.
"Bless you, good people," he murmured, opening the envelope and reading the note. It was from Ron's mother, inviting him to stay with them when he and Ron came stateside for their two weeks' leave in the fall.
"Boy, you must have been adopted or something," he called to his friend, pawing through the items on the bed. "Your folks are too good to have birthed a shithead like you."
Ron's mother had sent cold medications — bottles of over-the-counter stuff, vitamins and samples of all kinds of things. Joe noticed that Ron had already opened a couple of the boxes of cold medicines and vitamins. The wraps and cotton balls were next to the carton.
Out of habit, Joe gathered up the trash. Being in the air force had turned him into a neat freak.
"Are you coming out of there?" he asked. The sealed package of chocolate chip cookies at the bottom of the carton was still untouched.