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Laine made a scoffing sound. “It must have some kind of advanced root system.”
She approached the trunk, which was surrounded by a small fence. Not that the fence had deterred anyone from getting close to the tree. There were carvings in the bark, people’s initials and lines of script in Arabic, and yet it continued to thrive in spite of its scars and the brutal heat. It was morning, but the air around her shimmered and she could already feel the heat of the sand through the soles of her shoes.
“I don’t think there is a need to question it.” Aziz walked up to a branch and ran his fingers along the old, weathered bark.
“I don’t need to. I just want to. This thing is over 400 years old.” Laine traced a bit of script scrawling across the bark. The scarring made her like the tree even more. “This tree is older than America. It’s older than ‘I think; therefore, I am.’ It has lived through entire paradigm shifts. Don’t you find that exciting?”
“I do, but perhaps not in the same way you do.” Aziz twisted his lips and sighed. He scratched the side of his head. “It makes me think how short life is.”
Laine looked over to him with a frown. She pressed her lips together and then went over to touch his arm. Of course, longevity like that made him wonder how long they might live. She looked at it with possibility, but he saw it with a certainty that wasn’t entirely positive.
“I wish I were more like this tree,” Aziz said, a touch of humor in his voice. “I’m afraid I’m more like your roses—pampered with water and daily tending.”
“I don’t think the roses have ever had to live through cancer,” Laine said wryly, “Or catastrophic car wrecks.”
Aziz looked down to her, his eyes wide and curious. She swallowed and went mute as she fixed her gaze on the tree once more. The silence was grating, though, and she had to break it.
“I’m just saying. You’ve taken on a lot more than the roses have.”
Aziz slipped his hands into his pockets and leaned back against the tree’s wide branch. He looked up at the pale blue sky through the maze of its leaves. “This sounds suspiciously like you are paying me a compliment.”
“I might be.” Laine smirked. “Could this tree manage a vast, vast estate?”
Aziz shook his head and closed his eyes. “You tease me.”
“You like to be teased.” Laine sat on the railing of the fence and pressed her hand to the trunk. “You should look at this tree and see sprawling branches of possibilities. This tree has lived far longer than anyone expected. And if nothing else, you defy expectations, and I love you for that.”
Aziz said nothing for a moment. Then Laine realized what had just slipped out. That word weighed heavily in the hot air. Love. Laine’s heart began to race as the word hung, and began to sink, unanswered.
His answer came as a non-answer, with his lips on her cheek and his arms around her waist, and she let him touch her underneath this vivacious symbol. And then, for a little bit, under her clothes.
Laine knew she was not at all comparable to this tree, surviving as it had completely alone out here. If Laine was alone, it was entirely her own doing. If Aziz was, that was probably his preference.
Chapter Eleven
“Hey, little girl!”
Laine smiled at her father’s face on her laptop. Well…it was the top of his head. He never could work the webcam on his own.
“Hey, Dad. Could you move the camera down just a little? More, more…okay, that’s good.”
“You can see me?” Greg chuckled. “How’s Bahrain? Hot enough for ya?”
Laine laughed softly. Because what else would her father say? “It’s been interesting so far. I’ve spent most of my time in the palace, though.”
“Palace? I thought you were doing some guy’s house.”
“It’s a huge house.”
Laine spent a few minutes detailing what they’d been doing so far with the renovations, and her father nodded along, even though some of the details were a bit beyond him.
“Well, I’m glad you’re having such a good time, even though it’s mostly work. I don’t think I’ve seen you lit up like this since…honestly, I don’t know when, honey.”
Laine sat back and took a deep breath. He wasn’t wrong. But the situation confused her. She’d thought that she loved her job. She’d thought that everything she had in New York, even the parts that were hard, would be the stepping stones to her happiness, and they would help her support her family along the way.
The longer she spent here, though, the less she wanted to think about returning to her cramped apartment and her tense office. It was a battle every day there. A battle she was good at, but ultimately, there was never any progress in the war. It was the same fight, over and over.
