Chapter Seventeen

It’s late afternoon by the time we exit the airport, and the sky is a splash of amber and rose. It’s a vista of fine color compared with the dusty brown parking lot in front of us, but the heat still hits me like a furnace.

Hassan’s taxi is a crumpled Mercedes that’s welded together with dents and paint chips, but it’s such a relief to leave the terminal that I covet it like it’s Jake’s Maserati.

After climbing into the back, I pick my way across the road maps that are strewn across both foot wells. Hassan leans over me with an apologetic smile and stuffs them into the seat pockets. Otherwise the car is spotless, though the smells are crisp and pungent. There’s a beaded pine air freshener dangling from the rearview mirror and a spicy incense stick burning on the dashboard. All in all, there’s an epic power struggle for odor ascendancy going on in here.

Jake chooses to sit up front in the passenger seat. No surprises there. Next to him, Hassan is fiddling with the radio, skimming through stations and excitable Arabic chatter until he finally settles on one that he likes. It’s playing the most bewildering, melancholic music I’ve ever heard, and I sit back to listen as we pull out of the parking lot. The heavy beats and jagged melodies are having a soporific effect on me. I can feel my eyelids drooping already.

“Today we travel through the High Atlas Mountains,” I hear Hassan tell Jake. “We should reach my village by nightfall.”

“What time will we get to Erizo?”

“By first light. Tell me, my friend, what business brings you to my country?”

“The business of liars, deceivers, and make-believers,” Jake says, gazing out of the window.

I’ve never heard him talk about the movie industry like that, and I make a mental note to ask him about it. You know, when we’re actually speaking again. Which might be in a couple hundred years, if today is anything to go by.

The next thing I know, he’s looming over me, smothering me with cedarwood and citrus and shaking my arm. Hard.

“Charlie, wake up.”

Surely, a hundred years can’t have passed by already?

I shift in my seat and open my eyes. “Are we there?”

“Not yet. Get out of the car. You need to see this.” He takes my hand and guides me out of the vehicle.

I’m half asleep but still hyper-conscious of his touch. “What is it?” I mumble, disarmed by his golden warmth that’s seeping into my skin.

“Quit talking and look.”

Reluctantly, I follow his outstretched arm. We’ve gained altitude since we left Casablanca, and the sunburned highway has undergone a stunning transformation. The scenery before us is a vivid patchwork of greens, rugged and lush, with small gray villages carved into the hillsides all around.

“Ourika,” explains Hassan, walking over to us. “It is lovely, no? You are lucky to have this view. In a few minutes this will all be darkness.”

There’s a strange swell of emotion rising up inside me. I never dreamed anywhere could be this beautiful. It’s like I’m standing on the edge of paradise.

“Once in a lifetime,” Jake murmurs.

Is he as moved by this as I am? For some reason, this surprises me.

“How long was I out?”

“Couple of hours.” Reality reasserts itself and he drops my hand like a stone. I try not to take it personally.

“Thanks for letting me sleep.”

“It’s been a long day.”

I wait for the inevitable snarky follow-up, but it doesn’t come. His dry, mocking undertone has disappeared, as well.

“What time is it?”

“Does it matter?” He turns to look at me, a slight frown on his face. There are faint shadows under his eyes and his stubble is at least two days old, but the sight of him is just as magnificent as the backdrop.

We stand together in silence, watching the horizon nibble away at the setting sun until the fierce orange glow is no stronger than a twenty-watt lightbulb. He’s right. Time has a magical pass here. Hours will drift at their own immitigable pace, regardless of deadlines and budgets. The frenetic rules of L.A. and London no longer apply, and we’re suspended in this alternative universe together.

“Come,” says Hassan, turning and strolling back to his car. “You must be hungry, and my village is not far from here.”