Caught Between (6 page)

She didn't let herself watch him leave. She tossed on her pajamas and curled up in bed, trying not to wonder why Ash liked her, whether she liked him as much, or why Luke still hovered in the back of her thoughts.

***

Heaving the sledgehammer high over his head, Luke blinked the sweat from his eyes. He brought it down -- hard. Pieces of rock splintered off in all directions, and he was relieved to see a crack beginning to split the rock in two.

"Nice job!"
Yusef cried, rubbing his palms together. "My turn."

Luke was happy to pass the sledgehammer and goggles to the eager Bedouin. He was exhausted. He grabbed his water bottle and collapsed in a corner of the pit with a grunt, a cloud of dirt erupting around him. He drank slowly, relishing the sensation of the cool water running down his throat, sating his thirst. He doused his
headcloth in water and used it to wipe his face. His nighttime activities, combined with the early-morning dig, were killing him. He managed to get a couple hours of sleep a night, and if he was lucky, he snuck in a nap between lunch and lab.

"You okay?"
Marya asked. She kneeled beside him, her eyes hidden by her hat. Dirt was smeared across her chin, and she looked adorable. Luke felt an ache in his chest, wishing he could reach out and rub the dirt from her face with his thumb. He imagined the look of shock she would give him if he did.
She'd probably bite me.
No doubt she had sharp little teeth.

He forced his thoughts away from her mouth. "Yeah, I'm good," he lied.

"You should get more sleep," she said, and there was no mistaking the bitterness in her voice.

He took another swallow of water. "You're probably right."

She'd been cold to him since he'd caught her following him. Not that he blamed her -- she could never guess what he was up to, and to her it must have seemed insane that he would want to be completely alone. She probably suspected he was up to no good.

He tossed the kerchief to the ground.
This sucks.
What sucked most about it was that he
wanted
to hang out with Marya. If he had met her under different circumstances... He'd never been much inclined to get serious with a girl, but then, he'd never met a girl he wanted to get serious with. Marya, however, did something to him. He thought about her all the time. Even when he was negotiating for AK-47s with the shady Iraqi in Jabal Al-Natheef, a destitute district in East Amman.

But now... Now was not the time for him to fall for a girl.
God, not now.

When they got back to ACMER,
Ducharme pulled him aside, looking him up and down with concern. "Edward, you haven't been sleeping enough," she said sternly. She knew he went out at night -- how could she not know? But she turned a blind eye because he was a man and her favorite volunteer.

"I'm sorry, Dr.
Ducharme," Luke said, rubbing his face. "I have some friends in town who need my help." Not a complete lie.

She shook her head briskly. "You can't keep up with the work if you don't get enough sleep. Eat your lunch, then skip lab today. Go straight to bed, do you hear?"

He grinned at her. "Yes, ma'am. Thank you."

Margot
Ducharme blushed like a schoolgirl and looked away. "Oh, pish. Don't thank me. Just go."

He had no problem doing as he was told. After eating his fill of
oddly-spiced lasagna -- did Arabs have to put cumin in
everything?
-- he headed straight back to his room and crashed. He managed to get his boots off, but was fast asleep before his head hit ACMER's sorry excuse for a pillow.

He awoke to the sound of scraping. In the moonlight, he saw Liz's long legs stretch down from the window above his bed. He shifted, making room for her as she climbed down onto him, a wide smile on her face. "Hey, baby," she murmured, covering his mouth with her own.

Luke turned his head away, his brain foggy with sleep. "Liz, I'm too tired," he mumbled.

"
Shhh, you don't need to move a muscle," she said, slipping her hand into his pants.

She'd done this before in the past -- climbed in through his window and had sex with him while he wasn't fully awake. He'd enjoyed it then. But tonight was different. Tonight, he was numb with exhaustion.
And Liz is not Marya.
He pushed her hand away. "No, Liz. I'm sleeping. You can sleep with me if you want, but that's all we're doing. We're sleeping."

"Fine," she snapped. He knew she was mad, but he turned to his side and fell back asleep before she could say anything else. When his alarm clock woke him up at four, she was gone.

7.

"
So Marya," Shannon
said loudly, a smirk on her face, "who was the hottie you left with last night?"

Somehow,
Marya knew Shannon would blurt something like this, and she desperately hoped Luke would hear her say it. As it was, however, Luke was absorbed in a discussion with Ducharme and wasn't listening. Marya hid her frustration and pretended to be enraptured with a particularly bland piece of pottery. "Just a friend," she answered in a bored voice.

"From the States?" Amy asked, nudging
Marya with her elbow.

"No," Shannon insisted. "He was Jordanian, no question. A very
rich
Jordanian."

"Where did you meet him?" Amy persisted, this time pushing
Marya's shoulder with her hand.

Marya
looked up, feigning annoyance. "It's no big deal. I met him on the plane over here. He gave me the ride from the airport."

Amy was glaring at her. "Why didn't you tell me a hot Jordanian gave you a ride from the airport? And that you planned on seeing him again?"

"I honestly didn't know if I'd see him again," Marya admitted. "We didn't exchange numbers or anything. He just showed up."

"Where did he take you?"

"Do you like him?"

Marya
chuckled and told them about Abdun and the night clubs, how gorgeous the girls were and how under-dressed she had been. She left out the whole "talk of revolution" thing, of course. It didn't escape her notice that Liz was sitting nearby, appearing to be focused on her work, but no doubt hearing the conversation.

Two nights later, Ash returned. This time,
Marya made him wait as she hurriedly dry shaved her legs, somewhat fixed her hair, and drew on some eyeliner. She slipped into the nicest clothes she'd brought -- a linen skirt and a white fitted tank top -- and returned to the ACMER foyer, where he was waiting. She wasn't surprised to see Shannon and Amy keeping him company, firing question after question at him.

Ash glanced up, relieved to see her. "Ready?" he asked, standing.

"Yes," she said, looking quickly around for Luke. He was nowhere to be seen.

"Have fun," Shannon said with a grin.

"Hurry before Margot sees you," Amy hissed, waving them away.

In the car, Ash reached for her hand. "It's good to see you," he said. "What have you been up to?"

Marya sighed, enjoying the way his palm felt against hers. "Same old stuff. We still haven't found anything in our section. It's frustrating. But on the bright side, a bunch of us are going to Petra this weekend." She smiled brightly. The prospect of seeing the ancient Nabataean city of Petra truly had been the light at the end of the tunnel for her. It was going to be a wonderful break -- especially since neither Luke nor Liz was going.

"Ah, yes, Petra," Ash said with a smile. "It is magnificent. You will love it."

He took her to a shisha bar in Abdun, and she met more of his friends. They were all young, mostly well-off, and studying in Europe or the US. They made her laugh with their knowledge of American pop culture and the way they insisted, "We love Americans!"

She could feel Ash's eyes on her that night, and every time she met them a shiver ran up her spine. There was no question that she was a
ttracted to him. But so many intangible thoughts made her hold back, made her want to run and hide. It wasn't until they sat in his car later that night that she began to try and articulate them.

As they sat in the steamy silence of the car, Ash stared out the win
dshield and said, "I don't know how you guys do this in America."

"Do what?"
Marya asked.

His cheeks grew pink. "This... dating thing. I know American girls are... more willing to..." He ran his hands through his hair, letting out a laugh. "I sound like an idiot."

Marya smiled. "No, you don't. I think I know what you're trying to say. Yes, American girls are more open to dating guys and all that, but... I'm a little different." She took a deep breath. "My parents are from Syria, and they're very conservative in that respect. I've never dated anyone, never had a boyfriend. It's frustrating, because all of my friends have... experienced a lot, and I'm like a nun or something." She was twisting her skirt in her hands. "But I'm twenty-one, and I've decided I'm done waiting for my parents to approve someone for me. This is the first time I've ever really been on my own. I just want to live, you know?"

He tilted his head. "I think I do. Look, just... Tell me if I do som
ething you don't like, or if I go too fast. I really like you, Marya. You're a breath of fresh air. A taste of freedom."

A taste of freedom.
Yes, those words were right in so many ways. Her lips met his halfway this time, and there was nothing soft about this kiss. It was a hungry, demanding kiss. It was too quiet; she could hear her heart thumping rapidly, their lips moving together. When he covered her breast with his hand, she broke away.

He removed his hand, panting. "Too much?" he asked.

She didn't know how to answer. It hadn't been too much at all, just too much from
him
.

"I'm sorry,
Marya," he said.

"No, no," she insisted. "Don't be sorry. I love kissing you. I... just need to think a little."

"Sure," he agreed. "Whatever you want."

He took her back to the hostel and made her promise to go out with him before her trip to Petra. She agreed
, feeling frustrated by her lack of decisiveness.
What the hell is wrong with me?

The following day, Luke caught
Marya completely off guard by asking, "So, who's this mystery man you've been sneaking off with?"

They were digging with hand trowels in different corners of the pit while
Yusef sang some Arabic folk song. She didn't look up, although her heart was pounding. "A friend," she answered cryptically.

"I hear he's the same guy you got a ride with from the airport."

"He is," Marya confirmed simply.

"You shouldn't do that, you know."

Marya turned to look at him, her eyes flashing. "I shouldn't
do what
?"

He cocked an eyebrow at her. "Don't look at me like that. I'm not some pretty, petite American girl who's hungry for attention -- "

"
Who
is hungry for attention?" Marya tightened her grip on the trowel, practically brandishing it at him.

"
Marya, come on. I'm just telling you to be careful."

"Well, stop," she snarled. "Or so help me God, I will beat you sens
eless with this trowel and enjoy every second of it." She stood and dropped the trowel to the ground. She couldn't stay in that pit with him another minute. She climbed out and headed for the outhouse. Even the awful stench in there was better than his company.

"Ah, a lover's quarrel!"
Yusef cried gleefully.

"Shut up,
Yusef," Marya snapped as she stormed down the tell.

The rest of the day was difficult. She had to take orders from Luke since he was her field supervisor, but she refused to look at him. He thought she was hungry for attention. Well, she was twenty-one years old and sheltered her whole life, so
no shit
she was hungry for male attention. She had a right to be. And if he wasn't going to be the one to give it to her, then he could just mind his own damn business. 

The night before the trip to Petra,
Marya went to dinner with Ash. They sat in a corner of the dimly-lit restaurant, enjoying the privacy of their booth. Ash was pensive tonight; Marya could tell that something was on his mind.

"I'm just concerned that all of our hard work, all of our peaceful pr
otesting, is getting us nowhere," he said softly to her, his brow furrowed. "No one is listening."

"But Ash,"
Marya said, "what can you do?"

He looked up at her. "A lot. I know people. I know an American -- he is helping to arm the Syrian rebels across the border. He can help us."

Marya held her breath. "Think about this. Are you really willing to sacrifice your life, the lives of your friends and family, for this?"

His eyes shone with conviction. "If someone doesn't sacrifice som
ething, then nothing ever changes."

He dropped her off that night with only a single, chaste kiss on the mouth. "Have a good time in Petra. When you return, I will come visit you."

Marya left him with a feeling of unease in her gut, like she could sense the wind of change. She was scared for Ash, more than she would admit to herself. Why couldn't he just go back to London and forget this place? She knew the answer, of course. It was for the same reason she loved the Middle East and always would -- it was in their blood.

***

Luke was seeing red.

There'd been a lull in his trafficking duties, and he'd planned to spend more time with the archaeological team... more time with
Marya.

But he hadn't seen her for two nights now, and that was when he learned she was sneaking off with some wealthy Jordanian man.

What the hell?
She didn't waste any time, did she?

He looked down at the stack of books in front of him, piled high on the table. He'd come into the library to seek solitude, under the guise of doing "research." But what he really wanted to do was use something -- or someone -- as a punching bag. He reined in his fury and flopped down in a chair, cradling his head in his hands.
Old habits die hard.
Despite all his efforts to separate himself from his roots, it took little provocation for him to feel like he was back in Flatbush, Brooklyn. He was still the skinny white kid with the impish grin, his knuckles bleeding from landing punches, his face bleeding from taking them.

What was he thinking, anyway? The Syrian girl with the big, black eyes was
way
out of his league. Hadn't they always been? In his borough, they were everywhere -- quiet, beautiful, smart. Sometimes wearing headscarves. Some were scandalized by him, others were intrigued. From the moment he began living with the Makloufs, his awareness of them consumed him. He was a twelve-year-old gutter rat, and they were ephemeral beings -- completely untouchable.

He remembered
Rasha in particular. Rasha, who dared speak to him, who dared befriend him. She had thick, glossy ringlets that rioted around her perfectly round face, no matter how much she tried to tie them back. He was sixteen and madly in love with her. He never touched her, not once. But that didn't stop her brothers from beating the shit out of him one night. And it didn't stop her father from sending her back to Syria to live with her aunt.

Luke opened one of the books in front of him and stared at the table of contents. He'd looked for her on Facebook, MySpace, whatever. She was, of course, not anywhere on the Web. Not that he'd expected her to be. He often wondered what her life was like now, whether she'd su
ccumbed to tradition and become a good Syrian wife and the mother of too many children. He hoped with all his heart she was nowhere near the violence occurring in that country now.

The library door swung open. He wasn't surprised when Liz walked in, her eyes trained on him. She came over to his table and sat next to him. "Are you going to work all night?" she asked.

He shrugged. "I don't know. I just got here."

"Are you mad at me?"

He looked at her then. She bit her full lower lip, her eyes wide with concern. He suddenly felt bad for the past few days -- he'd been dismissing her, avoiding her presence. He sighed. "No, Liz, I'm not mad at you."

Looking down at her hands, she said, "I know you're under a lot of stress. I expected it. But it seems like you don't even want to touch me anymore."

He winced inwardly. It was true -- he
didn't
want to touch her. What had once been a fun, pressure-free relationship was becoming anything but. Still, he couldn't hurt her like that, so he lied through his teeth. "That's not true."

Liz looked at him hopefully. "Then will you come and hang out with me? Just a little? You don't have to do your research now, do you?"

He met her gaze.
Why the hell not?
Marya was living it up with some guy, doing who knows what. He didn't have to stay imprisoned in the library. He stood. "Let's go."

They smoked shisha on the patio,
then Liz inevitably followed him back to his room. Inside, she approached him tentatively, as though afraid of another rejection. He said, "Liz, I want you to know that I'm thinking of going to Petra tomorrow with the volunteers."

She blinked, digested his words. "Why?" When he didn't answer right away, she said, "It's because of
Marya, isn't it?"

"No," he lied again. "I just want to get away."

"From me?" she asked, unable to mask the hurt in her voice.

"From Amman," he answered. "From my work. All of it."