*
They piled into the Land Rover and set off for Derinkuyu. “I hired a guide,” Keenan said, looking at his phone when they pulled into the parking lot. “He’s meeting me by the bazaar.”
“We just need to use the ladies’ room,” Grannie said.
Amused, Rose watched Keenan control the lift of his eyebrow. “Be prepared to stop at every gas station, rest stop, and caravanserai between here and Istanbul.”
“Where will you be?” he said.
“Right here,” she said, and sat down on a rock outside the entrance.
Ten minutes later she’d had ample time to think about how little she could do without cell phone access or the ability to read or understand the language flowing around her. She wandered through the stalls set up outside the entrance, examining the colorful scarves, pottery, statues, and evil-eye symbols available for purchase. More practically, she picked up an English-language book on the site. By the time she’d returned to her spot, Keenan was back with the guide, but no Bucket List Babes.
“Where are they?”
“You haven’t spent much time with old ladies, have you?” Rose said mildly, flipping through the book.
Grannie and her entourage reappeared moments later. “You would not believe the toilets,” she said gleefully. “Marian practically had to take one apart to get it to flush.”
Marian was drying her hands on her water-wicking travel pants. Rose’s eyes widened. “Soap, but no towels,” Marian explained.
“Maybe we could save the stories for the ride to Konya?” Keenan said, eyeing an enormous bus that was pulling into the parking lot. “This is our guide, Recip.”
“Hello,” Recip said.
“Hello,” everyone else chorused.
With just a look Keenan indicated he’d go first and help the ladies up or down as necessary, while Rose should bring up the rear and make sure no one wandered off into the maze of corridors and caves. The caves were a United Nations World Heritage site, and absolutely fascinating. Rose found herself drawn into Recip’s tales of bandits and Roman soldiers, of the tunnels opening far into the hills, of the groups that survived for months on stored grain. They duck-walked through tiny passageways carved into the rock, sidestepped down narrow staircases, and examined grain storage rooms, kitchens, sleeping alcoves, and worship spaces complete with chancels and altars. At the end of the tour Grannie cornered Recip, who clearly loved an enthusiastic and engaged audience.
“How much do we tip him?” Rose asked under her breath. “Whatever it is, he was worth it.”
“I took care of it,” Keenan said just as quietly.
“You built in time for them to shop?”
“Ninety minutes,” he said, with a look on his face that said she’d better not say they needed more than ninety minutes to shop.
“Grannie won’t last that long,” Rose said. “I could use some tea, though.”
A shop with a small patio was set up across the path from the stalls. Rose bought herself a glass of apple tea, steaming hot and served in a glass cup with a handle and a tiny silver spoon. The smell was fragrant, sweet, and soothing. She found a spot still warmed by the setting sun, sat down, sipped, and closed her eyes. She dreamed she was back home, arguing with the management team and Jack about the inoperative toilets on the thirty-sixth floor.
A not-quite-subtle nudge to the sole of her boot made her jump. Keenan stood by her table, drying his hands on his pants. “Wake up. I’ve lost your grandmother.”
“What?”
“I went to the head,” he said, hands now on his hips. “When I came back out, they were gone. I looked down every aisle of the market, but no luck. “
Rose rubbed her eyes and looked around. Still in Turkey. It wasn’t a dream, and neither was Keenan.
“If they’ve gone back into the caves, our schedule’s fucked,” Keenan added.
Rose stood up and looked around, then stood on her chair for a better view. “I know where they are,” she said.
She led Keenan around to the back of the tea shop, then up a slight rise covered in tall grass bending in the breeze. Over the crest she pointed into the middle distance, where three bright fleece jackets huddled together. “Grannie, Marian, and Florence are all lifetime members of the Lancaster Garden Club,” she said. “Toilets first, then the nearest green space.”
Keenan grunted, then stuck two fingers in his mouth and gave a sharp whistle. The ladies and a border collie on the opposite hillside all perked up. “We leave in ten minutes,” he bellowed.
Grannie waved back with a hand clutching a small thicket of flowers plucked from the field.
“She’s going to want to identify those flowers. What do you know about Turkey’s flora?” Rose asked, eyes still on the group.
“Not a goddamn thing,” Keenan said. “You?”
“I kill cacti,” Rose said.
He stared at her, incredulous. “You kill the only plant you don’t have to water?”
“Yes.”
“Well, shit,” Keenan said.