Amina looked up, her eyes brightening. “You’re an archaeologist?”
“Exactly.” Leila took a sip of tea. Although it tasted like old socks, the warmth soothed her sore throat. She set it aside and picked up the bowl of lentils again, put a spoonful in her mouth, and chewed. As much as she wanted to pour the whole thing down her throat, she ate it slowly. Abdominal cramps would make her regret it if she didn’t.
“That must be so interesting. What’s it like? Do you work inside tombs?”
With a smile, Leila filled her in on a typical day in the trenches, from the early hours to the thrill of finding a sealed tomb. Amina listened with wide, entranced eyes.
Before she spent all day talking about herself, Leila scooped up more stew with her spoon. “And what about you? Have you always lived here?” She took another bite.
Amina shrugged and poked at the flatbread with her stick. “My brother Abdullah and I haven’t been here at the camp for long. We grew up in a village by the Red Sea. But when we lost our home a year ago, we came here.”
“How did you lose your home?”
“A fire.” Amina kept her gaze locked on the sizzling dough.
Leila looked down at her lentils and stirred. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“It’s not your fault. How’s your food?”
“Honestly, it’s the best meal I’ve ever had.” That was no lie.
Amina smiled. She slid the bread from the pan, tossed it from hand to hand for a moment, then held it out to Leila.
“It’ll taste better with this.”
Leila took the bread, sank her teeth into it and chewed slowly, savoring the fluffy goodness, still hot from the pan.
Amina poked at the second flatbread toasting over the fire. “We chose this place because my grandmother lived here. She was the last family we had. A few weeks after we arrived, she passed away. Now, my brother and I don’t really belong here, either.”
“What do you mean?”
Amina removed the bread from the pan, put it on the burlap sack, and placed her palms on the ground behind her. “Do you ever get the feeling, for no particular reason, that there’s somewhere else you need to be?”
Did she ever.
Although, on second thought, Leila almost always had a reason to be somewhere, like Xander. Or work. But she didn’t want to say that out loud. Amina seemed to want to talk.
“Like wanderlust?”
“Not quite. I don’t need to travel. I just need to be somewhere else. Somewhere I can do things.” Amina sat up, clapped the dust off her hands. “Never mind. It’s silly.” She took another ball of dough and flattened it with her knuckles.
“What kind of things?”
Amina shrugged and she resumed her task, pressing the edges of the dough into a flat circle with a little more aggression than necessary.
Leila shifted her gaze to her empty bowl. It seemed wrong to sit and watch Amina work. She saved her life, and all Leila could do to thank her was wait until she got home and send some money.
She set the bowl on the ground. “Is there anything I can do?”
“No, I’m almost finished. Besides, you need to rest.”
Sitting around didn’t feel like much of an option either. But if she was going to be stuck here for a few days, something would come up.
“Let me know if there’s anything.”
Amina gave her a reassuring smile and continued with the kneading. After a moment, her movements slowed until she stopped and stared at the dough. She straightened, giving Leila a sideways glance. “Well, there might be something.”
“Really?” Thank goodness. She would be able to make herself useful after all.
“You’re an archaeologist, right?” Amina paused. Once Leila confirmed with a nod, the woman continued, “Can you read hieroglyphics?”
“Yes,” Leila said slowly. “But I’m not that great with hieratic. I don’t know all the symbols by heart, but I can usually at least understand the context.”
A smile flickered over Amina’s face. “I have an idea. If you can read hieroglyphics, maybe you can help me with something.”
“For real?” Leila’s pulse quickened. “I’d love to. Where did you find the hieroglyphics? Are there ruins nearby?”
“No, no ruins. It’s a journal.” Amina picked up a branch lying nearby and pushed herself to her feet. “I’ll go get it for—”
“Stop!” a voice shouted from behind Leila. In a flutter of robes, Abdullah swooped down on his sister, grabbing her forearm. The woman stiffened and stared up at her brother, her eyes wide.
“You won’t show anyone the journal,” Abdullah growled, “especially not her. We have no reason to trust her. She belongs in Cairo, where she can dig in the dirt like a dog. She’s going back as soon as possible. We don’t need her help.”
Leila ran her tongue over her teeth, tempted to say something. She knew better than to get involved, but did he really have to talk about her like that? As if she wasn’t sitting right there?
Amina opened her mouth, her gaze darting toward Leila, then snapped her mouth shut.
Abdullah turned to Leila. Lifting her chin, she met his death stare. Whether he saved her life or not, she wouldn’t let him bully her too, if that was his plan. He spat on the ground, then turned on his heel and strode to the shade of the tree.
