Page 49 of Skipping Stones
Hi, it’s Derek’s friend Linney. I’m in Toronto.
How’s he doing?
Not great, but at least he slept yesterday. He’s on his way in to work.
Glad you came. How can I help?
Don’t know yet. I can’t stay for long, but I can get him back on his feet. You might have to help him stay there.
Do you think she’ll come back?
I’m going to try and find her today and see if I can convince her.
Good luck.
It didn’t take too long, with Linney’s investigative skills, to track Olivia down. She had used her credit cards to book her flight to New York City and for the hotel she was staying at. She’d got a new cell phone number and Linney knew she’d put down a deposit on a condo there. Linney told Derek all she’d found that evening.
“Derek, do you want me to go? Try and convince her to come home? Maybe she’ll talk to me.”
His eyes gave her the answer. “Would you? I’m desperate. She won’t answer my calls. I’ve tried. She just disappeared.”
* * *
Linney sat in the hotel lobby, waiting. Eventually, Olivia would have to sleep. It was dark when she walked through the lobby door, beautifully dressed. She wore a chic coat over a form-fitting suit and carried an expensive-looking briefcase. Judging by how it was bulging Linney thought it looked like Olivia was planning to do more work that evening. There was a smile on her face and no hint of the exhaustion of a working mother of a baby and a toddler.
“Olivia.” Linney met her in front of the elevators, prepared to plead with Derek’s wife.
The taller woman stopped but didn’t lose her composure.
“Linney.” She shook her head firmly. “You shouldn’t have come. There’s nothing to say. They’re better off without me.”
“How can you say that? Derek loves you. Leo and Ivy need you.”
Olivia shook her head again. “I just can’t do it. I was drowning, and I didn’t recognize myself anymore. I wasn’t meant to be a mother. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.” Olivia pushed the elevator button, and the door opened. She got in and turned back to Linney. “Linney,” she said definitively, in a cold detached voice. “Tell him to forget me. I’m not coming back. The children are so much better off with him than they ever would be with me.”
The door closed, leaving Linney staring, open-mouthed. Something told her this was the last time she would see Olivia.
In the end, Linney stayed with Derek for a week, helping him build a new routine and working with Zuzanna to see where she could help a little more. She was by his side when he called his mother and together, they told Kirsten, Anna, and Danny. Aiden came for dinner and Derek began to understand he had people he could lean on. He made an appointment to see a therapist at Linney’s encouragement. It wasn’t going to be easy, but by the time she left for London, he knew he was going to be okay.
19
Linney arrived back in London to the exciting news that they’d finally cracked the bureaucracy and she’d have all her papers for Syria within two weeks. Suddenly the threat of danger became real, and she was alternately terrified and exhilarated. She, Linney McDonnell, was going to open TCN’s first bureau in Damascus.
Grant, her cameraman, would join her in a few weeks, once she got the in-county bureaucracy out of the way, with the help of Hassan, the amazing fixer they’d found. Hassan, who was fluent in English and French along with his native Arabic, would use his local knowledge to help her arrange interviews, to translate, and smooth the waters for anything TCN wanted to do in Syria. But before that, he would be indispensable in getting the bureau set up and introducing her to the city so she could get around on her own. From Damascus, Linney planned to travel to other countries to report on elections, uprisings, and other world events. It was a great place to be situated.
When she met Hassan, greeting him in the little bit of Arabic she’d learned so far, she was so pleased with the choice. He was a well-educated, honest, liberal-leaning man who sometimes wrote for a Syrian media outlet that was critical of the government. He knew what she needed, and he made sure she got it. Nobody would be ripping Linney off with Hassan by her side. And Hassan was equally pleased to be working with Linney, and TCN in particular.
Grant was equally impressed when he landed. “Salam Alaykum,” he greeted Hassan.
“Alaykumu salam,” the young man answered back with a warm smile and they knew they’d both passed some kind of test.
Time roared by as Linney and Grant climbed a steep learning curve. They spent time with the expat journalism community getting the lay of the land. One evening, they were sitting in a local tea garden when a slim unassuming man who Linney guessed was in his late fifties approached them. “You are from TCN, ja?” he asked. “I am Ernst Zimmerman. I work sometimes with ATV in Germany as a photographer and they have space in the same building as you. Please let me know if I can help. I’m only here for a few days now, but I know Damascus well.”
Linney’s eyes lit up, and she stuck out her hand. “Linney McDonnell. We’d love to pick your brain. Will you join us for a cup of tea?” One tea turned into three and soon Grant called it a night while Linney and Ernst continued to trade stories, tossing out names to figure out who they had in common. It turned out that they’d covered many of the same international events recently, but somehow had never run into each other. Ernst was lovely—and modest it turned out. Over the next weeks, Linney met with him for tea or a drink at least once a week and managed to tease out of him the number of awards he’d won for his photography. She was beginning to feel settled in Damascus in a way she never had in Jerusalem. Her apartment was spartan but functional, and it was close to the office. Hassan spoke with the caretaker regularly and he had helped her find the best souks and a good grocery store. Linney was more interested in work than making a home.
Hassan invited Linney and Grant to his house for the Eid al-Fitr celebration, which marked the end of Ramadan. They met his wife, a beautiful hijabi with a university degree in chemistry and good, but tentative English. This was a dichotomy Linney was learning to understand and accept. Their son was keen to show off his language skills in English and French. Linney and Grant enjoyed their visit in Hassan’s fig-tree-shaded garden. At the end of the afternoon, they were stuffed with Syrian delicacies and sweets, along with gallons of strong black tea and dates. It was a lovely peaceful afternoon amid the chaos of reporting the news and Linney made plans to see Hasan’s wife outside of work, trading English conversation or Syrian cooking lessons.
* * *