Chapter Three
I’m such a dork.
She’d made the classic holiday mistake: fall for a guy, sleep with him, and then pine away as he moves on with his life.
She’d returned home late yesterday; Hakan had promised to call at her grandmother’s first thing in the morning.
The phone hadn’t rung once, and it was nearly noon.
She’d move on, too, no question. Once she got back to Montreal, anyway. It made a great vacation story after all and, if she had to admit it, had been the best affair she’d ever had, making up in intensity what it lacked in duration.
This morning, though, her idiocy was still raw. She had no cell phone, so couldn’t text him. She knew his last name, and the next time she had Internet access, she might try a Google search. Ridiculous.
She wasn’t about to invent an excuse to stay home the rest of the day, hoping in vain that the phone would ring, so she had to go along with her family’s latest plans, and feign enthusiasm. Something about an afternoon concert inside a network of underground Byzantine cisterns, with three cousins she only vaguely remembered from childhood, one of whom was a guy. Maybe she could pry into the Turkish male psyche.
Why hadn’t Hakan called?
* * *
The outing didn’t help. Ayşe was still going over every detail in her mind of her time with Hakan by the time she got home early that evening and withdrew to her room. She rooted through the closet, searching for an outfit to change into for dinner, which her grandmother said would be at a seventeenth-century hammam, converted to a fancy restaurant. She wanted something elegant, something to make her feel desirable.
Hakan had driven her the long way home, and they’d kissed for so long she’d thought maybe he wanted to come up, whether her grandmother was there or not. But then he’d pulled away, and she’d said she’d better go in, and that had been that.
She’d waved at him from the doorway like some teenager, instead of a grown woman. He hadn’t even mentioned seeing her again. She’d accepted all his noncommittal phrases without question at the time, because she’d been so certain of the strength of her own feelings that she hadn’t stopped to doubt his. His sure touch and firm hand had driven all caution from her mind.
“Ayşe!”
Rousing herself from self-recriminations, she tugged a bolero on over her maxi dress and, sandals in hand, headed to the living room.
“Telephone’s for you,” her grandmother added.
More relatives, probably. Or her parents. Dropping her sandals by the front door, she picked up the receiver of the extension in the hall and answered in Turkish. “Efendim.”
“Benim.” It’s me.
“Hakan?”
He switched to English. “Yeah. I’m calling long distance.”
He’d left her, and apparently even left Istanbul. “Why, where are you?” And why couldn’t you let me know before?
“Out east. Iskenderun. Near the refugee camp. Look, I’m sorry I didn’t call you. I got a message from—from someone at the camp. It was an emergency. I had to get here earlier than planned. I couldn’t wait for a flight and had to take a coach. This is the first moment I’ve had to myself.”
“Oh.” He sounded harried, which made his voice breathy, reminding her all too easily of yesterday, and how he’d whispered her name in the hammock. “I guess it’s a long bus ride,” she said inanely, debating whether to accept his apology. She hadn’t had to press him; he’d come right out with it. That was one point in his favour.
“Not the worst. It’s mostly overnight, so you can sleep. I was, uh, kinda hoping you might be willing to take it.”
“Take what?”
“The bus. To come here.” He rushed on before she could reply. “I know it’s long, and I know I didn’t call, but it looks like I’m going to be down here for a couple of days at least, and I’d really like to see you again. More. As much as I can. You’re only flying back to Montreal next Friday, so maybe once I’ve finished here we can go somewhere on a proper holiday. Antalya or the Islands something. No uncles or cousins or—”
“Hakan!” She stopped him before he could stumble over more arguments. She had reasons that went deeper than his clumsy words, endearing as they were. He didn’t realise it, apparently, but she’d read a lot into his talk over lunch. His dedication to his work, his aim to volunteer more of his time and skills, and in harsh conditions, attracted her all the more because she had always hoped to meet someone who did not pull back from difficulties but forged ahead. Someone who would match her drive to do the same. What lay between them could grow into something long-term, and her heart leapt at the thought that, maybe, he might be there to support her, when her turn came to throw herself into her work.
“What?”
“I’ll do it.”