“In no alternate reality could Simone count as being a chaperone. I meant an adult chaperone.”
I could not believe what I was hearing. “Daniel, there are two adults present right here, right now. Me and you. There’s no reason why we can’t go inside the house, have a conversation, eat some pie, watch a little television. It’s not like we’re going to be having sex in there.” I stopped as an awful thought occurred to me. “Wait up, is this about what happened the other day? About that conversation we had? Do you think I’m going to jump you or something? Are you not coming inside the house because you don’t trust me?” I was getting angry now.
Daniel sensed it and shook his head. “See? This is why I didn’t want to get into it. Because I knew you would react this way. You always do.”
“What way? How do I always react?”
“Exactly like this. Whenever I disagree with you, immediately you take it personally and you go on the offensive. We can’t discuss anything if all you want to do is fight with me.”
The truth in his words stung. Enough to make me bite back the angry words that had been my first reaction. Deep breath. “You’re right. I’m sorry. Let’s start again. Can you please explain to me why you think it’s a bad thing for us to be alone in the house together?”
He smiled to show me he knew I was making an effort. “Samoa is a small place with some unwritten rules for stuff like this. For couples. And for girls especially. I don’t want people thinking certain things about you.”
“I don’t care what people think about me.”
“But I do. I care what people think of you. There’s safety in a good reputation. And I want that safety for you. Especially if you and Simone insist on living here alone.” And then he grinned, and the teasing Daniel that I loved was back. “Besides, it’s not you that I don’t trust. It’s me.”
He got into the truck before I could decipher that comment. “What do you mean?”
A crooked smile, a stare filled with meaning as he looked me up and down, lingering on the glimpse of skin at my waist where my too-short t-shirt failed to meet my shorts. A stare that had me feeling flushed and foolishly happy. He spoke slowly, dragging out every word. “I mean, that I’m not worried about you ripping MY clothes off. I know my limits, Leila.”
And with that parting shot, he reversed out of the driveway. Leaving me very alone. Very flustered. And very hot.
After two weeks of flatting together, Simone and I had learned something very important. Neither of us could cook. Which made eating a bit of a challenge. Like the night I attempted chop suey. We both stood there in the kitchen and stared at the glutinous black gloop in the pot.
Simone gave a theatrical wail, “What did you do to our dinner? It looks like something a dog threw up.”
I poked at the mess viciously. “I don’t know. I followed the instructions on the packet.”
“I thought you knew how to cook? I moved in with you thinking that you were a good cook. Your Aunty Matile makes the best food on the Samoan planet.”
“It doesn’t mean I absorbed her cooking mojo by osmosis or something. I lived in her house, I didn’t take a chef’s course with her. Besides, you can’t talk. That koko rice you made last night was disgusting. I thought all fa’afafine were supposed to be amazing cooks?”
Simone gasped and then hissed in outrage. “Stereotypical much? How dare! So because I embrace my feminine mystique, therefore I must be an expert domestic slave? I am so offended.”
I knew him well enough now not to care about his dramatic state of being offended. Instead I regarded the mess that was supposed to be chop suey. Sadly. Sighed. “I really wanted to eat chop suey.”
A big sigh from Simone. “Me too.”
There was only one solution to this epic culinary fail. We chucked the chop suey in the rubbish bin and went to Aunty Matile’s house to scavenge for dinner.
Yes, Simone and I were going to Restaurant Matile for meals quite a lot. Which Tuala and Matile didn’t seem to mind. I quickly realized that she was making extra food in anticipation of our strategically timed visits. We were decent enough not to over-do it though, so we alternated with eating out and had found a few favorite food options. Monday was leftovers from Sunday toona’i from Matile’s, Tuesday was steak at the Hotel Millenia, Wednesday was pizza from Giordano’s, Thursday was High Tea at Plantation House, and tonight we had invited Daniel to join us at the Amanaki Restaurant, which was our favorite dinner spot. He was checking into a two-day training camp the next day in the build-up to the big paddling regatta, so I was happy for the chance to spend some time with him.
It was another steaming hot night in Apia as we chose a table and gave our orders to the waitress. Mine was the usual sashimi appetizer followed by oka, raw fish marinated in coconut cream with little chunks of cucumber and tomato. The owners of the restaurant also owned several open-sea fishing boats, so they always had the freshest fish in town. Tim, the head barman, knew us so well by now that before we could order drinks he sent over tall glasses of Diet Coke brimming with crushed ice.
Daniel raised his eyebrows at our drinks. “I think these are a sign that you two come here way too often.”
Simone rolled his eyes at him. “Pugi. No, it’s a sign that they love us here and we need to come here way more often.” He blew a kiss at the tall, dark-eyed bartender who always had a frank, easy smile for us.
While we waited for our food, I pestered Daniel with a barrage of questions, eager to make sure that I understood what was happening when we went to watch him at the regatta. He would be racing in the individual events as well as in team races.
“Double-hulled outrigger canoes were used by our ancestors who navigated the Pacific ocean in search of new lands to settle. We use single-hulled boats, called va’a, for racing now. It’s different from rowing, we sit in line facing toward the bow of the canoe, in the direction that we’re paddling towards,” explained Daniel. “All six paddlers have different roles. The steerer is the skipper and he sits in the last seat of the va’a, seat six. The most experienced paddler is usually the steerer.”
I asked, “So is that what you are? The steerer of the va’a?”
“No. Are you kidding me? I’m new to the sport, remember? I’m a number one, the stroke. I set the pace for the team.” He faked a flex, “That means I’ve got a high level of fitness and endurance.”
Simone interjected, “And I thought you were the stroke because you were good with your hands. But fitness and endurance is very helpful too.”
“Just ignore him, Daniel.” I frowned at Simone’s cheeky smile, “He’s had too much caffeine.”
The food came, and Daniel kept talking – this time about the setting up of the race course, which he was helping the Pualele club president with. It sounded like a rather complicated operation that involved orange buoys and GPS measurements and a compass and such stuff. I tried to stay interested but my brain always shut down when it came to the mysteries of measurement and distances and, finally, he gave up with a wry grin.
“Okay, your eyes glazing are over. I’ll shut up now. I can see that you’re not willing to be a supportive girlfriend and at least pretend to be fascinated by my sporting passion.” He faked an aggrieved look, which I merely rolled my eyes at.
“Of course I’m fascinated by outrigger canoeing. What girl in her right mind wouldn’t be? A bunch of half-naked guys, sweat dripping off their tattooed muscular bodies as they stroke their way through the water – totally fascinating stuff. Right Simone?”
“Oh girlfriend stobit! You’re getting me all excited and the regatta hasn’t even started yet.” A shriek of laughter, which had several other diners looking over our way in irritation. Simone ignored them. Of course. “Daniel daahling, we L O V E outrigger canoeing. And the only reason why we are coming to the regatta is so that we can cheer for you. We will have eyes only for you. I mean, I don’t know where Leila’s eyes will be, but I bromise you, my eyes will be only on your glistening mu
scles.”
I mouthed a curse word at Simone’s treachery, and Daniel laughed. “Thank you Simone, I knew I could count on you. Can you make sure my girlfriend doesn’t get distracted by all the other rippling muscles tomorrow? I’ll be busy paddling and she might run off with some hot paddler.”
Simone adopted a serious expression and patted Daniel’s arm reassuringly. “Einjo. You can count on me baby. If necessary, I will even sacrifice myself for you. If some enticing paddler boy tries to lure Leila away from you, I will throw my body on the line and offer him everything I have, just to keep him away from her. You see the lengths I’m willing to go to for you?” Another burst of laughter added extra emphasis to Simone’s declaration.
I didn’t bother to argue, just poked my tongue out at both of them. “Like Simone will be anywhere near me. As soon as he sees something he likes, he’ll abandon me. I’ll be the lonely idiot girlfriend cheering for her boyfriend while he’s surrounded by adoring female fans.”
“I have adoring female fans? Where? I’d love to meet them.”
“I bet you would” I threw some fries at him and he ducked, his easy smile deflecting my aggrieved tone.
Simone shook his head at us. “Untidy. Children please, try to behave yourselves. You’re embarrassing me.”
Daniel stood. “I hate to break this up, but I’ve got early training tomorrow and I need my beauty sleep. You know, so I can try to look good next to the paddlers from Hawaii.”
In the parking lot, Simone took my keys and went ahead, leaving me and Daniel alone in the moonlight beside the green bomb. He leaned against the car, took my hand in his and gently pulled me to him, further into the shadows. I went willingly, gladly. In his arms was always where I wanted to be. He nuzzled his chin against the top of my head as I burrowed into his warmth. His strength. There was a cool breeze blowing in from the harbor, and his skin felt cool to the touch. I closed my eyes and placed a kiss on the bare skin of his shoulder before he held me away slightly so that he could raise my face to his. His voice was soft in the darkness. “Did I tell you how beautiful you look tonight?” I shrugged, ridiculously pleased. No matter how many times I heard him say it, a part of me would always react with disbelief. That he loved me. That I was beautiful in his eyes.
We stood there for a moment that lingered on the edge of perfect. Everything in my life was going so well. There had been no signs of Sarona. There was no telesā sisterhood stifling my every thought. I was doing good things at the Center. My fire gift seemed to have settled down and I wasn’t always struggling with erratic power surges – some days I even forgot I was a telesā. Best of all though, Daniel was happy with me.
From somewhere in the dark parking lot, a car horn blared. Simone yelled at us. “Hello, I’m waiting!”
Perfect moments. They’re rare, few and far between. Hold them close when you find them. They will give you strength when the storm comes.
EIGHT
It was a perfect day for the beach. Sunny, but with the sauna-like heat swept through by a brisk breeze coming in off the diamond sea. The road running along the Mulinu’u coast was lined on both sides with cars and it took me a while to find parking, with Simone impatient beside me.
“Hurry up already. All the good ones will be taken by the time we get there.”
“I won’t even ask what kind of good ones you’re referring to, you skanky thing.”
It was the biggest outrigger canoeing event thatSamoa had hosted, with teams from as far away as Hawaii and French Polynesia. Daniel’s first race was up next. The men’s individual event. There were twelve single-man boats at the start line and my eyes were only on him in the bright yellow Pualele t-shirt. I was apprehensive for him. He was naturally fluent on the rugby field but here on a glistening blue ocean, he was a newcomer. The whistle blew, bronzed arms flexed, dipped and the boats darted away, gliding through the water. Daniel was focused with intense concentration on the course ahead of him as he powered through the water.
I exhaled with relief as he skimmed across the finish line in second place after the paddler from Hawaii. I waited for him as he came up the rock steps to where I stood on the seawall. “You were amazing out there.”
He smiled with unrestrained pleasure and my heart missed a beat at the golden glory of his happiness. “It felt great to be on the water. Once I got my rhythm, it was like I could keep paddling forever. But hey, that paddler from the Hawaii team was on fire out there. He didn’t even look like he was breaking a sweat.” He looked around at the milling crowd of people. “Where is he? I want to congratulate him.” He took my hand in his, “Come with me, let’s go find him.”
“Sure.” I would have walked barefoot through the Sahara desert as long as Daniel’s hand was in mine. We made our way slowly through the crowd as people smiled and congratulated Daniel until we came in sight of the red-shirted team, gathered around their canvas shelter.
“There he is. I think that’s the guy.” Daniel’s hand slipped from mine as he quickened his pace towards a paddler standing somewhat removed from the others. A slight figure with his back to us, who unlike the rest of his team, was wearing a full t-shirt instead of a singlet.
“Hey, nice win out there man,” Daniel said with an open smile.
The boy turned. My first gut impression of him was – danger. He seemed to be all tattoos and piercings. His neck and forearms spoke their inked patterns abrasively. He was shorter than Daniel, smaller – about the same height as me, lean and lithe, with skin the color of burnt sugar. Black hair cut razor short. An awkward scar pulled at his right eyebrow that sported a gold corner piercing and as he moved forward to shake Daniel’s proffered hand, my eyes were drawn to the banded tattoo that covered the length of his forearm. Not so much the tattoo but the scarred markings of skin underneath it. I puzzled at it. It seemed this boy was inked strategically to conceal scars. Lots of them. I gave myself a mental shake and forced my eyes back to his face, to his unsmiling eyes as he accepted Daniel’s congratulations with a curt nod.
“It’s not like it was a difficult win. None of you have had much experience have you?” He spoke with a strong American accent, which for some reason I found annoying. Never mind that until a few months ago, I had spoken with the same marks of America. I prickled defensively at his coldness. Why was he being so unfriendly?
Daniel seemed oblivious to the boy’s coldness. “You’re a natural on the water. You been paddling long?”
A casual shrug. “Long enough.”
“I take it this isn’t your first competition then?”
A smirk that grated on my nerves. “Nah. You’re looking at Hawaii Waka Ama Junior champion for the last three years.” He jerked his head towards the regatta oceanside. “This? This ain’t a competition. It’s a massacre. Pathetic.”
I barely restrained my snort of disdain at his arrogance and instead merely rolled my eyes. Daniel chuckled, “I’m new to the sport so I’m just glad to be getting a chance to compete.”
“Yeah, I could tell you were fresh to the water.”
I couldn’t resist throwing in my two cents worth. “I’m surprised your team even decided to come here for this regatta – seeing as how we’re so pathetic and all.”
He turned to me, his lip curled in sardonic disdain. “And you are?”
Before I could reply, the race marshal announced the next event. An announcement that had Daniel moving. “Oh, sorry, Leila, I gotta go. We’re up next right after this one and I have to get stuff ready. Be back right after, okay?”
A fleeting kiss on my cheek and he was off. My gaze followed him, lingering on the play of light on his body, the restrained power in his every movement. Would I ever tire of looking at him?
Beside me, the tattooed boy laughed, a low, mirthless sound. “Oh, so that’s who you are.”
I turned back to him, impatient to follow after Daniel and find the best vantage point to watch him compete. “Excuse me?”
The boy was staring at me with that sca
rred eyebrow raised slightly. Like Khal Drogo from Game of Thrones. “You. You’re his chief groupie. The leader of his fan club.”
His words cut at me. Because they hinted too closely to the truth. “What are you on about?”
He spoke slowly, carefully. “You. I asked who you were and yet, I see I didn’t need to. You’re his bitch.”
I reeled, unused to the direct coarseness of his language and grasped for words to respond. For one wild moment I envisioned flaming his sneering face with a mini-fireball and that thought more than anything, forced me to speak calmly, “What is your problem?”
A casual shrug, a jerk of his head in Daniel’s direction. “Nuthin. Just sayin it like it is. He’s the golden pretty boy, the one all the girls drool over, and you? You’re his lucky chosen flavor of the moment.”
I gaped at him. This complete stranger who stood there calmly tossing insults into the wind. The sane, reasonable me said to walk away from this fool, he wasn’t worth my anger. But the Leila who could burn people’s faces off with a thought took charge. “Just shut it. You have no clue what you’re talking about.”
A smile flashed across his face, he leaned forward and dropped his voice suggestively. “Oh, I get it, you two are in love! You’re deluded enough to believe that aren’t you?”
“Where do you get off? You talk to me for all of two seconds and you know everything about me?”
He faked a yawn and folded his arms. “Sure do. Age old story, maybe you’ve heard it before? Girls everywhere worship hot stud. Hot stud bestows his favors upon one …” he stopped to look me up and down, the rake of his eyes had me squirming uncomfortably “one plain and worshipful girl. Fireworks explode in her universe. Then hot stud realizes life is boring with only one girl to hang on his every word, so off he goes to broaden his horizons, leaving behind one very sad, broken-hearted little girl.” He faked a mournful gaze but still that charcoal dead look in his eyes betrayed a lack of any emotion.
When Water Burns Page 14
