“Everything loaded?” I ask Khalid, checking my watch.
“Almost, Mr. Aarons. Just two more cases.”
“We should have left ten minutes ago.”
“The desert will still be there in ten minutes,” Edmond says cheerfully, appearing with coffee from the hotel. “Anyone want one before we go?”
“We don’t have time,” I say.
“We have time for coffee,” Dr. Akkhad says with a smile, taking a cup from Edmond. “It’s a four-hour drive. Ten minutes won’t matter.”
I bite back a retort. They’re right, logically. But logic doesn’t touch the anxiety that’s suddenly back and thrumming through my veins. Every delay feels like failure. Every minute wasted is another minute further from answers.
Georgia appears with Ella on her hip, the toddler’s face blotchy from crying. Georgia looks exhausted already, her hair hastily pulled back, dark circles under her eyes.
“She’s not happy about the early start,” Georgia says unnecessarily.
“Will she settle once we’re moving?” I ask.
“Probably. Maybe. I don’t know. She’s fourteen months old, and her schedule has been thrown out the window.”
There’s an edge to her voice that wasn’t there yesterday. She’s tired too. We’re all tired, and the excavating hasn’t even started yet.
Lois appears last, moving slowly, and I feel a pang of guilt. The woman is seventy-three. Maybe dawn departures aren’t ideal for her either.
“Sorry,” I say, surprising myself. “I know it’s early.”
“Oh, don’t worry about me, dear,” Lois says with a wave of her hand. “I’ve been waking at dawn for fifty years. It’s the youngsters who need the sleep.”
There’s a flurry of activity as everyone figures out seating arrangements. Ahmed, who is doubling as second driver today, loads the last of the supplies. Khalid checks something on his GPS.
“Mrs. Lois, you’ll be most comfortable in the second vehicle with Dr. Akkhad,” Khalid says, gesturing to Ahmed’s SUV. “More legroom, and the suspension is slightly better.”
“That sounds lovely, thank you.”
I head to the first SUV, assuming Georgia and Ella will go with Lois. I plan to work during the drive. I need to review site surveys, answer emails while I still have some internet connection. Four hours is a long time, and I can’t afford to waste it.
But then there’s confusion. Ahmed is asking something in rapid Arabic, which I of course can’t keep up with. Khalid is responding, gesturing at the vehicles. Georgia has set Ella down to dig through the diaper bag for something, and the toddler immediately toddles toward the nearest car—mine.
“Ella, no—come back.” Georgia chases after her.
“Where does the car seat go?” Ahmed calls out in English.
“Second vehicle,” I start to say, but Khalid is already lifting Ella’s car seat.
“Here, I’ll put it in the first one. More secure mounting points,” he says, installing it in the back seat.Right next to where I’m supposed to sit.“There. Perfect.”
There, indeed. Just not perfect.
Georgia scoops up Ella and looks at the arrangement with a frown. “I thought…”
“This works better,” Khalid says, already moving on to the next task. “Ahmed’s vehicle has all the equipment and medical supplies. Safer to keep those separate from the baby.”
It makes sense, logistically. But it means Georgia and Ella will be in my vehicle. For four hours.
There goes my plan to work.
I should say something. Demand we rearrange. But everyone is already climbing into their assigned vehicles, and if I protest now, I’ll look like an ass who can’t handle being near a toddler for a few hours.
