“This doesn’t feel safe!” she yelled above the swirling sand.
“I’ve got this,” Joe yelled back. “Whoa.” He yanked on the camel’s reins. The beast galloped faster.
Behind them, the Bedouin revved his ATV and hollered.
Sand dune after sand dune disappeared behind them as the camel sprinted. The sun reflected on the never-ending sand, making mirages on the far horizon. Joe yanked on the reins, his arms bulging from the pressure, but the beast continued galloping.
“Can you turn him around?” Kay clasped her hand on the right rein over Joe’s.
“I can try.” Dropping the left rein, he yanked in hard on the right. Slowly, the camel circled back around a dune.
Miracle of miracles, the animal subsided into a sitting position. She couldn’t feel her legs anymore and her tailbone ached as she swung off the saddle onto the sand. Her black abaya spread out over the yellow particles.
Joe slid down the other side of the camel, wearing an uncomfortable expression. “That’s not exactly how I planned that to go.”
“More exciting than any of my other days in Saudi.” She smiled at him. Reaching up, she took his hand and tugged. “Thanks for taking me out here.”
He sat on the sand beside her. “I imagine the Bedouin will come pursuing his camel in a few minutes. If not, I have GPS and we can walk back.” Gaze moving over the sand dunes, Joe searched the horizon.
Shrugging out of her abaya, Kay yanked off her niqab and held out her Android. “Smile, you’re in Saudi Arabia.”
Joe glanced to her camera and groaned. “More like, you’re in Saudi Arabia, run.”
A selfie that would cause the mutwas conniptions popped up on her screen. An unrelated man and woman with their shoulders touching, what an outrage. With a grin, Kay leaned back on one hand and turned the screen to him. “What do you think?”
His gaze flicked from the screen to her face. “You’re beautiful.” His voice lacked the flippantness that normally accompanied guys’ compliments. Rather, a meditative look shone in his blue eyes.
Her heart skipped a beat, and she felt the strangest urge to blush. “You’re not bad-looking yourself, but truly enlightened men compliment women on their intellect.” She shoved his chest, a tease in her voice. The flat of her hand connected with solid muscle.
“You approach everything you care about with passion. It’s why I like spending time with you.” He looked right at her, no wavering in his gaze. His lips were a dingy color, not fully red, nor fully tan, but his blue eyes lent more than enough color to his face. His cheekbones looked freshly shaved.
“So do you.” She traced one finger down his bicep. He had a different air than other guys. Her hair blew free against his shoulder, no suffocating face veil to separate her lips from his.
The wind whipped at his chest, flattening his shirt against pecs muscles large enough to prove that he truly needed an outlet other than the gym. If she leaned up and kissed him, would he respond better than that night at her apartment? Perhaps he hadn’t understood what she’d hinted at. He’d never mentioned the incident.
Gaze fixed on her, he brushed the edge of his forefinger down her jaw line. The roughness of his knuckle caught against her skin, no doubt rubbing off the concealer she’d layered over a blemish this morning.
Touching his knee, she leaned over her arm and touched her mouth to his.
For a split-second he startled, then he slid his arm around her and kissed her back. Gaze riveted on hers, he slid the roughness of his lips over hers. The taste of Carmex lingered on his mouth.
Her heart pounded as her lipstick smudged across his skin. She hadn’t brushed her teeth after breakfast, nor gargled. What if he didn’t like her kiss?
He touched the small of her back with his other hand. The bulk of his body made a shadow across her.
Mid-kiss, he pulled back, just parting his mouth from hers.
Heat burned across her face. “Too much coffee breath?” She wiped at her lips.
He stared at her, gaze motionless. “What?” He sounded in a daze.
“Bad kiss?” Felipe had always complained she gave sloppy kisses. She took a swig of water. Felipe had also complained that month she’d gained five pounds and pitched a fit when she told him that she personally thought he shouldn’t watch that many hours of porn now that they were in a relationship.
“You just kissed me.” Joe spoke as if from a trance.
“Yeah.” She searched his gaze. Was he pleased or displeased with her kiss?
Reaching forward, Joe fingered a strand of her hair. “Pyramus’ Thisbe herself could not have compared to you. Cleopatra would have ordered you killed out of envy.”
A laugh blazed through her heart. “Whoa, man. If you make your compliments a little less outrageous, I might believe them.” She felt the corners of her mouth turning up. The laughter rattled inside her chest. What kind of movies did this guy watch?
“It’s true. I thought it since the first day I met you.” Joe touched her hand. His mouth curved up at the edges. “I didn’t know you kissed like Eurydice herself though.”
Okay, a guy quotes two Greek myths in five minutes, he gets another kiss, no questions asked. Smiling, she slid her arms up over his shoulders and kissed his mouth.
His lips tasted of desert sand. The blond stubble of his shorn hair framed his handsome face. His breath moved his chest in and out. Her heart pounded against his.
Pressing closer, she kissed him again.
His presence surrounded her, same as his hands that made a circle around her back. She felt the hardness of a concealed carry beneath his shirt.
Joe opened his mouth. “What did you think of those books on the USB?”
Way to break the mood. “I’m not interested in your religion.” If he could please stop foisting it on her that would be splendid. Straightening to a seated position, she pulled her hands into her lap.
Sand swirled over the dune in front of them. With a belch of oily fumes, an ATV crested the closest dune. Their turbaned Bedouin friend sat in the driver’s seat.
“Bet that is great for climate change.” Kay tugged her abaya up over her bare shoulders. The sandy wind blew her headscarf out in front of her.
“We’re in Saudi Arabia with fly-covered kids in the street, rampant domestic violence, no education worth speaking of for the majority of women, and you seriously still care about climate change?” With a groan, Joe stood. “And you call me the fanatic.”
The Bedouin climbed out of his vehicle and Joe crossed in front of camel stench toward him.
Her phone beeped, the sound incongruent with the blowing sand. Kay leaned back against the dune and swiped the screen.
Her friend’s avatar popped up. Samantha Tinsley, prep school buddy and now Broadway actress. Have a date to my opening night yet? You’ve got to stop the Felipe pity party.
Samantha had worked on this politically-charged musical for months now. When Samantha had gotten the part, she’d bought an extra ticket for Felipe. Kay swallowed hard. I’m with a guy right now.
Is he cute?
You tell me. She clicked send on the selfie. Across from them, the Bedouin still engaged Joe in talk, while entirely ignoring her existence.
!!!!! That’s me catcalling. Talk about HOT. Is he good in bed?
Kay clicked eye roll emoji. We’re in Saudi Arabia. I have to sneak around even to say “Hi.”
Future boyfriend?
Whoa, girl. We’re not even dating. She snuck a glance at Joe from the corner of her eye. Her heart hadn’t beaten like that for a kiss in years.
You need a date to my opening night, so I’d suggest you get busy.
She pushed the stick-out-tongue emoji. No way. Joe’s a conservative. He’d probably walk out of your production in protest. She drew her fingers through the hot sand, making little ridges and valleys. If only he weren’t.
Boots displacing sand, Joe walked back to her. He jangled car keys. “The man agreed to switch us a c
amel for an ATV on the drive back.”
“Praise heaven.” Kay laughed.
“Speaking of heaven, on that USB drive I gave you—”
“Joe, your proselytizing is not only annoying, it’s useless. Just let me be me.” She gave him an encouraging smile. He’d answered her call when Muhammad hit her. He was a great guy and his religion probably worked for him, but it wasn’t for her.
Throwing himself down next to her, Joe dug one hand into the sand. “Even C.S. Lewis was a vocal atheist at one time.”
She sighed. Faintly, she recalled the name Lewis from some undergraduate class. “All right, let’s have a conversation about all the ways we’re completely, totally different so you can stop trying to convert me to your religion and realize I’m happy as an atheist.”
Joe looked at the woman in front of him. Kay had kissed him. She had smiled at him too and let him touch her back as he pulled her closer for another kiss. The “Yummy T” group leader would have labeled him a heathen in danger of hell-fire by now, while Mom flipped out about him defrauding a young woman.
Personally though, he didn’t see how a God who inspired the Song of Solomon could frown on a few kisses. Besides, if one turned a relationship with Jesus into merely one big laundry list of “thou-shalt-nots,” how did one really differ from Islam or any other religion? Joe felt his ears sizzle. Wow, Dad would label him a liberal for thinking that.
“First off, what’s your favorite kind of music?” Kay put her hands behind her head and leaned back on the dune’s incline. Her abaya gapped open, revealing loveliness to put Dante’s Beatrice to shame.
“How is this relevant to religion?” None of these feelings he had could come to fruition until Kay converted. He’d thrown everything at her, the proofs from science, philosophy, ethics, and medicine. What if she didn’t convert? A sick feeling washed over him. “I listen to country music.”
“No one listens to country.” She rolled her gaze to the blue skies above, a dark beauty beneath those long eyelashes. “Is that like a homeschool thing?”
Homeschool? He choked on a snort. To this day, Mom would flip out if she knew he’d listened to Brad Paisley’s “Online.” The church he grew up at banned country music as evil. Besides, in country music, the stars kissed before marriage and that alone was from the pits of hell to hear his old pastor talk. Not that he would mention any of that to Kay. No need to give her more reasons to label Christians as nut jobs.
“Convinced you can’t convert me yet?” She squared her lovely shoulders. A necklace hung down past her clavicle, the gold chain shining against her amber skin.
“No.” He’d buy her Geisler & Turek’s book, I Don’t Have Enough Faith to Be an Atheist. He’d spent so much time bolstering his arguments for Christianity, he hadn’t given her enough arguments against her belief system. Geisler & Turek’s book would do that. Relief spread through his sand-caked limbs.
She sighed and glanced away. Was she as much in reverie as he? In her company, the ground seemed lighter, the palms greener, the water fresher and cleaner.
Thrusting her elbows back against the sand dune, Kay looked to him. “What’s your political party?”
“Libertarian.”
“I’m a Democrat. How about views on abortion?” Kay shoved her hair behind her ear.
Democrat? At the word, he tasted the foul tang of garbage. He’d need to get her to change her voter registration too. Simply knowing who ran on the Democratic presidential ticket this year should make her not walk, but run to the voter registration booth. He scooped up a fistful of sand. “Pro-life.”
“Pro-choice.”
He froze, hand half buried in desert sand. How could any woman with a heart be pro-choice? Tracy’s words about incompatibility rang in his ears. No. He refused to believe he’d heard Kay correctly. “You meant pro-life.”
“No, I didn’t. Do you know how high maternal fatality rates are in countries that outlaw abortion? Not to mention how utterly misogynistic it is to force a woman to be a parent against her will. What about rape victims?”
A nauseated feeling rolled over him. Kay still sat there, dark hair falling around her shoulders, lovely eyes reflecting the sunshine, but an entire world seemed to have moved between them. She was a pro-choice, atheist, Democrat. It didn’t get much worse than that.
Only moments ago, she’d had her mouth pressed to his, magic in each kiss. Now this? The sun blazed on his aching head. How did he marry a girl who was a pro-choice atheist?
His phone beeped. Joe turned weary eyes to the screen.
Hey Bro. Charity’s message icon popped on the screen. Was his sister suicidal today?
He didn’t have energy to deal with this right now. His heart accelerated as he touched the screen. How r u?
Beep. In an instant, Charity’s reply showed. Not good Bro. I need money.
The worry that tightened his chest every time Charity contacted him grew just as intense now seven thousand miles away as the dozens of times he’d gone to a crack house looking for her or bailed her out of jail. What happened to your federal assistance check? Are you on coke again? Adrenaline pumped through him.
The state took Gina again, cut off the check.
Are you on coke? She had to be, or the state wouldn’t have taken her daughter. How could Charity go back to cocaine? She’d abandoned her own daughter for that fiendish substance. Joe’s eyes stung. If only he could shoot a bullet through addiction.
No, Bro.
If only he believed that. Joe pressed his thumb hard against the phone, each typed word taking as much as effort as if written in blood. Why did they take Gina then?
Okay, yes, I dabbled a little.
You need to check into rehab.
I can’t afford rehab. No more coke, I promise. I just need food. Wire me money. Charity had promised that a hundred times before.
I’ll help you pay for rehab. He dug his finger into the phone lip. Six thousand a month was the going rate for rehab. He’d paid ten thousand dollars to the rehab center Charity had chosen eighteen months ago and his sister had walked out on week three.
The phone rang. Charity. His heart sank as he answered.
“Joe, think about Gina. I can’t get her back if I don’t have food in the house. She’s in a group home.” Charity’s voice sounded hoarse from too many cigarettes.
“You can’t get her back unless you get clean. Please go to rehab, Charity.” Joe choked on the words. When they were kids, she used to sew stuffed animals. He still had the koala she’d made for each of the siblings twelve years ago. She wanted Beanie Babies, but Mom had nixed them as too worldly.
With an expletive, his twin sister hung up. Uploading File flashed across the screen. The image Charity had sent popped up. His niece, Gina, stood in front of a broken sofa wearing a backward baseball cap. Last month, she’d turned eleven.
Gina didn’t even have a foster family. She’d failed more grades than she passed these last few years, aftereffects of fetal alcohol syndrome. In the picture, Gina smiled, her brown hair tucked back in pigtails.
Mom and Dad had taken Gina in the first four times the state had intervened, but Charity never worked on getting clean when Mom and Dad had Gina.
Joe dropped his head into his hands. His eyes felt scratchy and he couldn’t even blame it on the sand. Ten years he’d tried to save his sister. Nothing ever worked.
“What?” Kay touched his shoulder, concern in her eyes.
He pushed her hand off his shoulder. “You don’t even believe in life. You wouldn’t care.” His niece, once again, was just some foster kid whom Kay probably thought would have been better off aborted.
Had the social worker drugged up Gina again? She always vomited when they gave her those psychotropic meds.
Dad used to say, “Starting a relationship isn’t so very different from starting a marriage. Once you commit, you see it through come heck or high water.” If only his niece’s father had treated his sister that way.
�
��Hey, if you want to throw women into the dark ages by being pro-life, at least tell me your reason.”
Kay scooted closer. Joe looked like the world’s troubles had descended on him. Had something gone down on the money laundering front? She’d given him the information, despite Dr. Benson’s warning.
“Her.” Joe held up a picture. A girl stared back, her blue eyes too large for her taut face. The child bore a resemblance to Joe.
“You have a kid?” Kay’s eyes widened. She wouldn’t have pegged him as having a kid. Had he joined the army to pay child support?
“What?” Joe startled, the sand shifting beneath him. “No. Gina’s my niece. She’s why I’m pro-life.”
A personal story about a kid they loved, the oldest pro-life straw man argument in the book. Most aborted babies had lethal birth defects anyway. At least let the poor kids die in peace rather than torture them with NICU equipment. “Just because your sibling had a wanted kid doesn’t mean that’s the situation for all women.” Kay rolled her eyes. If she saw one more rich, white mom post a picture of her healthy preemie baby labeled “this is why I oppose abortion,” she’d spit.
“My sister’s on drugs. Gina’s in a group home.” Joe’s voice sounded unsteady. He didn’t meet her gaze. Were those tears in Joe’s eyes?
“Oh.” Kay swallowed.
“Let’s talk about something else.” He turned away from her. Shoulders set, he stared out into the desert.
“I’m sorry about what I said. I’m listening.” She touched his hand.
Joe dug his hand into the sand. Bringing his fingers up, he let the specks fall in the tiny ditches. “It’s people, you know, the abortion debate. Like yeah, I don’t want this for Gina. But it doesn’t mean I don’t want her.”
“And tell me, would you want your sister to keep procreating? Wasn’t it Planned Parenthood that gave her the birth control so she didn’t harm another baby with her drug habit?”
Veiled By Privilege (Radical Book 1) Page 18
