CHAPTER SIX

 

Livvy

 

It was after noon when we finally arrived at Santiago's friend's house. We hadn't talked a whole lot, and though I'd drawn him out a little bit earlier, Thomas obviously preferred not to chitchat, cool and calm as he maneuvered the vehicle off the highway and down paved back roads, and finally onto dirt roads filled with potholes, slowing for a wild boar and then a group of goats as they meandered across the road. I'd finally relaxed and dozed a little, though I'd slept hard the night before. I still felt fidgety and agitated by my earlier reaction to Thomas. Being close to him like that, feeling his solid body beneath my palms had been completely intriguing. There wasn't an ounce of fat on the man. He was chiseled and rock hard. I'd wanted to explore him everywhere. I swallowed. Not good, Livvy. Not good.

For a moment, there had been something between us, full and weighty, something I didn't know how to define because I'd never experienced it before. It troubled me because I'd been with other men, I'd been engaged to be married for the love of God, and yet . . . that buzzing excitement, that something, had been completely new to me. It was scary and confusing and completely unexpected.

Oh God, I could not be distracted by some completely inappropriate girlish infatuation with my hired guide. For one thing, I was on my way to find and confront Alec, and for another, because of the potential danger, I needed all my wits about me. Yeah, he had an insanely good body, and it was only normal I’d notice. What woman wouldn't? But I would do my best to ignore my sudden awareness of the man and focus on the reality of this situation—he was doing a job, and in a week I'd never see him again.

With that settled, I'd been able to close my eyes and get a little rest. And now we were pulling up in front of a small, wooden house where chickens roamed the front yard.

Thomas got out of the car and I followed suit, joining him at the front of the vehicle and rolling my neck on my shoulders to work out the kinks from sitting for hours. "Have you met Santiago's friend?"

He nodded as we began walking toward the house. "Once. Santiago called ahead to tell him to expect us. We won't be staying." He glanced at me. "We walk from here, and I'd like to get on the road so we can find a safe place to camp before dark."

Thomas knocked on the door and we waited, listening for footsteps, but when none came Thomas stepped off the porch and used his hand as a visor to look behind the house. "Could be out in the field," he murmured.

After a second, he turned on his heel. "I'm going to leave the keys for him. I don't know how long it'll be before he's back, and there's no need for us to wait."

"Where will you put the keys?"

"Glove box. He'll know to check there."

Thomas got back in the car for a minute and then met me at the trunk. He opened it and we both took out our backpacks. He rifled in his for a second, tossing a bottle at me. I caught it, looking at the label. Sunscreen. "Put it on," he said. "You'll need it."

I applied it to my face and arms and tossed it back to him. He returned it to his pack and donned that same black cap he'd worn the first time I met him. Seeing him in it now, under the sunshine, didn't diminish the danger I'd first felt in that dark bar, but now the danger took on another layer of meaning. He glanced my way and caught me watching him; his eyes narrowed the barest bit, his jaw ticking ever so slightly as if he'd followed my thoughts somehow and they'd irritated him. My cheeks flushed as I looked away.

Fifteen minutes later we were back on the dirt road—on foot this time—the house a speck in the distance.

"The main road through this area is completely obliterated, and they've just started clearing it. It's the reason aid relief has trickled in so slowly to the small towns and villages beyond this, to the epicenter of the earthquake and the areas affected by the tsunami. You probably know all this."

"I've read everything available, yes, but news about what's been going on in rural areas is so lacking. I'm sure, like anyone else, news crews can't get in."

The farther we walked, the denser the trees and brush became, and though it was harder to move through those areas, I was grateful for the shade, for the reprieve from the hot sun shining relentlessly on us. Thomas walked smoothly and seemingly effortlessly, and I had to move quickly to keep his pace, but I didn't complain. I'd hired him to do this, and I'd drop dead before I asked him to slow down. He'd mapped this route, and I would defer to him on the speed we needed to travel. Still . . . he must know I had nowhere near the endurance he had. I was sweating like a pig, my muscles were burning, and I had several blisters on my feet. In my misery, I irrationally wondered if the man was punishing me for something. I knew it was pain and fatigue talking, so I pushed that notion aside and hurried to catch up.

There were trails and dirt roads in some areas, and in others we had to move through dense trees, creating our own path. I followed behind Thomas, keeping his pace. I was breathing harshly, sweat pooling between my breasts and sliding down my back, whereas he hadn't even broken a light sweat.

Just when I thought I was going to die, he'd stop so suddenly I'd almost run into his back. I tried to act nonchalant, but each time he told me it was time for a water break, I was so thankful, I felt tears sting the backs of my eyes. He'd hand me the canteen he carried and I'd drink the water slowly, trying to drag out our rest time as long as I could. And then we'd continue on, the sky eventually dimming as the sun lowered.

When Thomas stopped suddenly again, I did run into him, letting out a startled gasp as my front collided with his solid back. "Oomph," I said, disoriented. I'd been walking in some strange trance, tuned inward, only halfway aware of anything around me.

Thomas turned, steadying me. "We'll camp here."

I almost groaned with relief, but held it back, simply nodding. I lowered myself gingerly to a rock a few steps away, attempting not to grimace, looking at the area he'd chosen. It was in a copse of trees, but there was an open area mostly clear of brush and a few rocks scattered here and there. It was cool and serene, with shafts of muted light filtering through the leaves overhead. As my heartbeat slowed, and the blood no longer rushed in my ears, the soft swish of swaying branches and the chatter of birds penetrated my exhausted mind.

Through a gap in the trees, I could see that the sun had almost completely dipped below the horizon. I took out my cell phone and saw I had no reception. I'd sent Christina a quick text as we'd left Rionegro that morning and she'd texted back to be careful and that she loved me. Apparently that would be the last communication I would send until . . . well, until I could.

Thomas took off his backpack and sat on a rock across from me. He uncapped the canteen and brought it to his mouth, tilting his head back and watching me as he drank. His throat moved rhythmically as he swallowed, and the sight seemed intimate for some reason. Uncomfortable, I looked away. "You want to take your pack off?"

I met his eyes, nodding, as he screwed the cap back on the canteen. "I will. I just need a minute."

He stared at me for a few beats, his eyes moving from my feet to my face, seeming to assess my condition. His expression remained enigmatic. "You did good today."

"Thanks." I pulled myself up, moving slowly, my muscles crying out to have to exert the smallest effort after they'd just been getting a break. I took a step and couldn't help the wince that accompanied the rubbing of one of my blisters. I couldn't even pinpoint where the blisters were anymore. It felt as if both feet had been rubbed raw. "I need to go to the bathroom. I'll be back."

Thomas stood, taking the few steps, his expression suddenly tense and angry. "Sit down. Let me see your feet."

I shook my head. "I just have a few blisters. They'll be better by morning. I feel fine."

"Like hell. Sit down," he commanded again, and though I didn't appreciate the tone in his voice, I followed his order anyway, sinking back down on the rock.

Thomas squatted in front of me, removing both shoes and peeling my socks off as I winced again. He turned my feet one way and then the other, swearing under his breath. "Why didn't you tell me about this hours ago?"

"You told me not to complain."

He stared at me, his expression stern, but those frosty gray eyes seeming to warm minutely. Like a ray of sunshine hitting a cold slab of stone. "I meant don't complain about small shit. You must have been in pain for miles."

"I handled it," I muttered.

"I see that." He stood, grabbed his backpack, and removed a first aid kit from the front pocket. "I'll treat your blisters and bandage them and give you some Tylenol. We can slow it down tomorrow."

"That's not—"

"I make the rules, remember?" His gaze was sharp as he glanced at me.

I crossed my arms. "Yeah, yeah," I muttered, working not to roll my eyes. I turned my head, but when I stole a quick glance, I saw one side of his lips quirk up. As quickly as it was there, it was gone and then he got to work on my ravaged feet.

Hours later, after a dinner of spaghetti that came in a small brown package, and a bottle of water, I stretched my tired body onto the lightweight sleeping bag I'd bought. It folded into a bag so small it fit in the palm of my hand. Thomas had brought something similar and he stretched out a short distance from me, his hands behind his head the way they'd been the night before.

The waxing moon was yellow and bright, and I could see a slip of skin as his T-shirt pulled upward with his movement. I felt a buzzing in my blood and looked away, forcing myself to bring to mind Alec's handsome face, remembering the way his sandy-blond hair would fall over his forehead and I'd brush it back. What had it felt like? I could barely remember anymore. It made my heart clench with sorrow. Loss. 

I turned on my side toward Thomas, my eyes growing heavy even though I'd lain down only moments before. For some reason I felt like I needed to justify this trip right then—maybe not even to Thomas, maybe just to myself. Thomas had no idea I was feeling guilty for noticing his physical attractiveness when I was risking so much for another man. But I did, and it was causing me to feel sad and sort of desperate. It made me feel as if I should be questioning things, and it was too late for that. I'd lived and breathed every question possible since Alec had disappeared. No, I'd made my choice, I was here, in a makeshift camp, backpacking through a foreign country, and I had to see this plan through. There was really no alternative because Thomas was headed to Palomino with or without me, and I knew he wouldn’t turn back because his client's feet were beginning to get cold. Again.  

"I told you I was adopted," I said and though Thomas didn't move, I knew he was listening. He remained still, his arms bent behind his head as he stared at the bright moon. "My records were sealed but I have this memory . . ." I curled my arm under my cheek and pictured that shabby room, envisioned the little girl who sat in the corner crying, snot smeared across her cheeks. She'd smelled like urine, and I knew she’d wet her pants. "I had a sister—she was younger I think, or at least that's the impression I have, though I don't know by how much. I . . . I took the meanness—that's what I remember thinking of it as—when there was a man around, one of our mother's boyfriends I guess. I remember my little sister crying, and I remember trying to figure out what to do because it had been a couple of days since our mom had come home. I remember being hungry. I remember that feeling." I was quiet for a moment as I recalled that vague misty pain deep in my gut. "So much of it is so . . . hazy, so riddled with holes, and I don't know if they're memories or dreams I manufactured in my own mind. I can't tell one from the other. I was so, so young. But I do remember the feeling of . . . being a team, of wanting not only to take care of myself, but of knowing I had to take care of her, too, because we were family. I remember that feeling of purpose." Love.

I paused for a brief moment. "Alec is an orphan like me," I said softly. "He lost his parents when he was young and I am . . . was . . . am all he has." I closed my eyes as I gathered my thoughts. "Still, I know there's a good chance that Alec left me. Looking back now, I see things that maybe I should have paid more attention to. Things . . . well anyway," I said, knowing that was a whole other conversation, one I hadn't even fully had with myself yet and wasn't prepared to do with someone else, "I know chances are good that if I find Alec in Palomino, he won't be especially ecstatic to see me. I'm prepared for that." I think. I opened my eyes and saw that, although Thomas was in the same position, he'd turned his head to look at me. Even from several feet away, I could feel the intensity of those unusual eyes boring into me, seeing into me.

"I was abandoned once," I whispered. "I lost my sister, and my mother, and maybe my mother wasn't a good person, maybe she had made a whole slew of bad choices, but I still feel that loss—even now—and I wonder if she had been given a chance, some help, if maybe she could have turned things around." I paused again. "Maybe Alec made some bad choices as well, maybe he messed up and he got scared and ran. But maybe he needs to be reassured that everyone deserves a second chance and that I will stick by him and we will face those problems together because that's what family does. I won't abandon him, because I know what that feels like, and I refuse to do it to someone else. And if it turns out that I am a fool, then at least I'll be a fool who has closure. At least I'll know I fought."

My final words drifted away as my eyes closed and my tired body and my troubled mind began giving in to the call of rest. Just before I faded away, I heard Thomas say quietly, "He's the fool, Livvy."