They flew. To take her mind off flying, Sameh had been asking about Naomi since they left the base, and she kept asking for the next seven thousand miles.
She asked in the creaking old Blackhawk, older than both of them, as they watched the world tilt and sway beneath them and clenched their tummies against a bullet coming up through the floor. She asked in the rattling hajji air turboprop, shouting over the engine noise, and in the supersonic mega-airliner leaving Dubai, holding each other, whispering in the dim cabin, as other passengers slept. Sameh was obsessed with not knowing about Naomi, how Ellie hadn’t told her, and had kept asking, over and over, so Ellie had explained in little bits, in disjointed pieces, as questions occurred to Sameh to ask.
“How did I never know?” Sameh said over and over.
“I just didn’t tell you,” Ellie said. “I was fifteen. It was a long time ago.”
“Tell me now,” Sameh said, in the helicopters and airliners, and in the screen and scanning queue at arrivals at Sydney airport, and in the automated taxi heading into the city.
Ellie answered sometimes, and ignored her others, and eventually Sameh stopped asking.
“You’re okay with what I’m going to do?” Ellie said to Sameh.
“I’m okay.”
“You’re sure? If you’re not, you can go back before I start. I’ll be fine on my own.”
“Don’t be an asshole,” Sameh said. “Really.”
Ellie looked at her.
“You need me,” Sameh said. “I can turn it on and off when I want to. You can’t.”
Ellie nodded, because it was true, and kissed her, and said, “Thank you.”