“All the way to Phnom Penh? He agreed?”
“Sure,” he said. “For the right price.”
“Sounds dangerous.” I felt sick. And like I might need to go to the restroom.
He touched my shoulder. “I gotta get back, kid. It’ll be fine. Where’s your sense of adventure?”
“Uh…”
“It will be fine,” Deni said. “You like Land Rovers.”
“True,” I said.
“This sounds like a far better idea,” Deni added. “I do not like buses too much.”
“See?” Tom pointed out. “It’s unanimous! Let’s just hope the roads don’t get washed out,” Tom said, an uncharacteristic worry crossing his thick brow. He took in the rain that poured down the windows of the hotel, slamming into the frame so hard I was afraid it might shatter under its pressure. “Whose idea was it to come to Cambodia in monsoon season?”
“That would be yours,” I said, disguising the nerves in my voice.
“I was afraid of that.”
The first part of the ride wasn’t terrible.
Yes, it was pouring rain to the point of near zero visibility, but there were no other cars out on the road, and the street kids weren’t out begging. Even the oxen seemed to have found a drier place to shelter because they were nowhere to be seen, leaving the muddy, pot-holed road to us fools.
Deni and I sat in the nice back seat. Tom rode shotgun. The driver drove, or rather, tried his best to drive.
The first hour rambled along at that pace until the rain and wind picked up to such an alarming degree it looked like hurricane images on CNN back home somewhere in Florida or the Georgia coast—rain conditions that California kids like me never saw.
The driver said something to Tom in Khmer and then pulled off to the side of the road, leaning his chair back and closing his eyes.
“What’s he doing?” I asked Tom as the rain pounded painfully against our windows.
“Taking a nap.”
“Why?”
“He says the road ahead is closed for flooding.”
“How does he know?” Deni asked.
“Radio.”
“What do we do now? Just sit in the car?” l was just about to suggest we turn around and head back to the hotel with the restaurant and the nice lady and the pool and…
“Guess so,” Tom said, leaning his shotgun chair so far back, it hit my knees. “You’re the only one who slept like the angels, kid.” He cranked his neck in my direction and closed his eyes. “I’m heading into Snoozeville.”
“Oh great. Nighty, night,” I said sarcastically. Afraid. Annoyed.
I wasn’t tired at all.
Wait out a storm? What if the roads don’t reopen after the storm ends, whatever that means?
I looked to Deni who started laughing. He clearly wasn’t tired, either.
“This is a batshit crazy plan,” I said.
“Batshit crazy,” he said. “Yes.”
“You don’t know what I mean.”
“I know bat. I know shit. I know crazy,” he said with a shrug. Then I was laughing.
The rain slammed against our windows so loud I doubted the driver and Tom could even hear us.
“Is the road going to wash away and send us flying like a scene in an action movie?” I asked Deni.
“Maybe,” he said. But he didn’t look worried. His trauma symptoms sure had gotten better since Indonesia. I remembered the thunder freaking him out, but he just seemed entertained. This must be baseline Deni. Pre-disaster Deni.
I adored both.
He scooted me closer to him just as the rain smashed against the windows, splashing and crashing so hard the car shook. My hands shook, too, as Deni reached for one and set it upside down, palm up, on his lap where he slowly traced the outlines of the bones in my hand, like tiny bird wings. “Do not be afraid,” he said. “It is only rain.”
I shivered, not from the cold, not from fear of the storm, but from his gentle touch that awoke every one of my senses.
“Close your eyes,” he said.
I leaned back and closed my eyes, letting myself relax under his touch.
I felt his arm around me, pulling me in close, and while I couldn’t understand what he was saying, his quiet murmurs in my ear put me right to sleep.
I woke to skyscrapers and city lights.
“Welcome back to Phnom Penh,” Tom said.
“No more storm?”
“No more storm.”
We checked into another jungle-themed resort-y hotel, different from the one when we’d first arrived, and then got cleaned up. Rain-soaked clothes dried in an awfully uncomfortable way—like being stuck in a wet swimsuit all evening after swimming all day. I couldn’t wait to put on something else.
Deni showered and changed into a clean white short-sleeved shirt and tan pants. Tom dressed similarly. We sat in the beautiful lush courtyard overlooking a pool and ate rice and seafood and drank cool, apricot-colored juice.
In that moment, all felt right in the world.
And then the devil walked in.
“There he is. The guy from the boat.”
“The devil,” Deni added. And motioned to Tom.
The girls weren’t with him. Where were the girls?
“We need to find out if he checked in alone,” I said. “How did he get back here so fast in this weather?’
“I know this is important to you guys, but I have to get to the clinic,” Tom said.
“But what if he’s sold the girls, and we’re too late?” I pleaded, desperation fringing on my voice.
Tom paused for a moment, letting my words sink in or formulating a plan or both, then reached into his bag and pulled out his camera.
“Say cheese,” he said, and I posed, knowing full well he was taking a photo of the man behind me.
“Got it,” he said. “We’ll give it to the people at the clinic who know a guy on the FBI trafficking team who will run his face through the database.”
“If he’s a match, will they help us find the girls?” I asked.
“I hope so,” Tom answered.
I needed to fill him in on everything. Here goes. “Well, there’s more to the story. I sort of…waited until he left his hotel and I spoke to the girls.”
“You spoke to the girls, how?”
“Deni and I learned some Khmer. You know, from the guidebook.”
“You did?”
“Yes. Desperate times,” I added.
He didn’t seem mad at all. “What did they say?” he asked.
Instead of chastising me for engaging in rogue international police work, Tom leaned in listening carefully to both my description of the girls and their behavior.
“I hate to say it, but I think you two are right. This sounds like a classic case of abduction.” Tom eyeballed the guy again, while we leaned down, not wanting him to see us, or to recognize Deni. Deni told Tom the bit about following him to the lewd bar as well, the one with all the gambling for oranges going on in the dark corners, and his suspicious behavior there.
“He never saw you again, Deni?”
“I don’t think so.”
Tom nodded. “Okay. Here’s what we do. When he turns away to order, we bolt toward the exit, keep your faces hidden. Got it?”
“Yeah.”
“One at a time, slowly and casually. Sienna first. Go.”
Heart racing, I scooted my chair back, and facing the direction of the lobby, face hidden from possibly prying eyes, I headed toward the lobby, followed by Deni, followed by Tom.
We made it to the lobby, then outside, and quickly hailed a driver.
I carefully watched out the back to see if he was watching us.
I didn’t see anything, but I swore, when I scanned the windows of the hotel, I saw a girl’s face.
Before curtains quickly closed around her.
Chapter Thirty
There was a knock at my door.
I quickly splashed water on my face before cracking open
the door. I was only wearing a tank top and underwear, so I hid my body behind the door from whomever it might’ve been and peeked out the narrow crack.
“Hey,” Deni said.
“Hi,” I said, relieved. “Hold on a second.”
I dashed to my suitcase, pulled a sweatshirt over my head, and slipped some yoga pants on. Better. I opened the door with a grin. “What are you up to?” I asked. “Come in.”
“I was just editing the new film. And wanted to come see you.”
“How is it so far?” And he wanted to come see me.
“Good, I think. Though it is hard to tell. Do you want to see it?”
“Of course! I’d love to. Come in,” I said again. He looked past me into the hotel room, like he wasn’t sure if he should enter or not.
“Deni, come in, it’s fine. Here, we can sit on the edge of my bed.”
We both looked at the bed, then waited in an awkward flushy silence.
“Or the little table,” I added. “If that’s more comfortable?”
“Okay,” he said. “That might be better.”
Deni, ever the gentleman.
He set up his equipment on the small, round table. He showed me his footage so far, and it, as expected, was all amazing.
“Deni?” I asked when he was finished.
“Yeah?”
“Where are you…I mean, where are you going after this?”
He held my eyes. “To dinner with you.”
I grinned. “No, I mean, after Cambodia. And don’t say, ‘where the sea takes me.’”
“No river, either?” That half grin.
“No.”
He licked his lip.
“You know our friend in the clinic?”
“Which one?”
“Hunt.”
“Sure. Amelie’s dad.”
“Yes. He spoke highly of Australia. Good for travel. Good to live.”
“Yeah, it’s supposed to be awesome, but what does that have to do with you?”
“I…” Deni looked away.
“Deni. What?” He wouldn’t tell me.
And the bit about protecting my heart.
Deni would leave after this. He’d go back to Indonesia.
I’d go home alone.
I knew how this ended with Deni.
Us apart, and me with a broken heart.
My eyes swelled with tears as I waited for my world to come crashing down.
“I cannot go home,” he said.
“What?” I was so shocked by the twist in what I thought was about to happen. I cleared my throat. “Why not?”
“Because. Like the girls we see who are afraid to go back to their villages, I am the same almost.”
“What do you mean?”
He didn’t answer.
“Deni.” I grabbed his forearm. “What do you mean?”
He pulled away and moved from the table to the center of the room before sitting on the edge of the bed, his face in his hands.
I joined him, sitting by his side. I touched his smooth back. “I’m here, Deni. What happened? You can tell me anything and I’ll understand.”
I kept my hand on his soft, hot skin. Our thighs, side by side, touched. I switched gears as fast as I could, but it was a struggle.
“My family, my friends in Aceh. They all hate me because of Rema. It is why I left for school in Taiwan. I could go back, but no one loves me there anymore. Rema’s family, my uncle, my friends in Aceh. They say I am a bad person. Spoiled. I have embarrassed them…they said my feelings for an American are also wrong. Why did I do this? I should marry someone from my village. The American ruined me, they say.”
I was stunned into silence.
That was not the story I expected. Not the confession. My deepest fear, even though Deni insisted they weren’t together, was that Rema was waiting at home, waiting for his return. That I was somehow still coming between them.
My prediction was way, way off.
“You…they all knew about me? I mean, how you felt about me?”
He nodded, like obviously. “They met you. You were with me in the village. They all saw you. We stayed with my friend’s family, you remember?” He frowned. “Or do you not remember?”
“Of course, I remember. I remember everything. But we told them all we were friends…”
“They all remember, too. They are not blind. They could see how I was with you. And when I was acting strange after you left, strange with Rema, strange with everyone who I used to know so well who were suddenly strangers to me, because my heart was so sad…”
I swallowed, spreading my hand across the smooth muscles of his back. He turned around, facing me. He stared at me so deeply with those deep brown eyes I wanted to lose myself in them forever. “Why was your heart sad?”
I knew. But I didn’t KNOW.
This was all new.
He looked at me miserably. “Because I am missing you. Loving you. Wishing you were the girl by my side.”
Thunk.
“They said, “What is wrong with you, Deni? This is a miracle you have returned, and Rema is returned, why are you not smiling? Why are you not all the time smiling and happy like you used to be before the wave came?”
His eyes shone with emotion. “And I could not smile. No matter how much I tried, I could not smile anymore.”
My eyes filled with tears all over again.
Deni didn’t love anyone else. He never loved Rema again after he met me.
He missed me like I missed him.
And he’d been punished for it.
My heart swelled with tears, my heart broken on his behalf. “That’s why you went away?”
“Yes.” He nodded. “Because I could not stop thinking about the American girl who saved me, it was true. Finally, I admitted that it was true to myself and to them, to Rema, too, and they still thought I was a bad man. That I have offended God by missing you.”
The knife in my heart twisted deeper.
“And so, I looked into school and scholarships and I left home. Again. I thought, ‘Maybe they are right. Maybe God is angry with me, I will make things right.’ And so I spent time working, all my time studying and working, and I made new friends eventually, in Taiwan, and I tried to forget you.” He looked at me, deep into my eyes, pulling at my heart. “I tried to forget you, but no matter what I do I cannot forget you, my rambut pirang. My rambut straburo. I cannot forget you.”
“I couldn’t forget you, either,” I choked out, because he needed to know my truth, too. How much I hurt. How much I tried to forget him, but how every single thing reminded me of him: every time I hopped onto my scooter, the very reason I bought my scooter, when I looked at a certain rock on the cliffs of the beach, and it reminded me of our last conversation. Every time it rained, especially our rare warm rain, I remembered the two of us and our first secret unforgettable kiss in the alley.
“But people are hurt. My village hates me, and now you…this Spider is angry, and now maybe your dad will be angry at me, too.” He fiddled with his fingers, looking down. “And Ms. Vera, and I do not want anyone angry at you or me.” In a throaty voice he said, “I do not know why something that feels so right and good should make so many angry.”
We were quiet for a minute letting the weight of the confession sink in. Everything was different, but we weren’t backing away from it.
He couldn’t take back what he said. Neither could I.
We couldn’t take back what we felt, either, and that was the scariest part of all.
“So, what do you think we should do?” he asked.
It was only after I told him all of this, after my confession, that we were kindred spirits in all this heartbreak and disappointing of people we loved, only then he smiled.
“Are we broken?” he asked me, his eyes warm and sweet, soft and scared. “Why can we not forget? Why do we want what we cannot have?”
I had no idea. I thought about what Amelie said to me and what I said to her. About how Deni and I
have an all-or-nothing relationship.
No.
No way.
I used to think I was broken, but Deni was the opposite of broken. I knew I had to fix it. I grabbed his wrist. He might have been cracked, but never broken.
“Deni, you are unbreakable.”
“No…”
“I used to think there was something wrong with me, but I don’t anymore,” I said. “I think…I think when you meet someone and they mean this much to you, maybe it’s not something you can get over. I mean, maybe I’m not meant to get over you. Maybe you weren’t meant to get over me. Maybe this is it. Maybe we had these two years apart so we could realize that we can’t get over and—” I paused, sucking in a gutsy breath. Just say it, Sienna, just finally say it. “Maybe we shouldn’t have to.”
Heart pounding, I waited for his response. My world threatened to tilt on its axis, until I felt him tilt my face up to look at him. I knew. I just knew he felt the same way I did.
No looking back.
No regrets.
I made a raspy hiccup-y noise and suddenly Deni was kissing me. Softly at first, and then deeper, harder.
My arms wrapped around his neck, explored down his back, hugging him close. After a moment, he pulled away and looked at me, making sure I understood the gravity of what he was saying.
I entwined my fingers in his. He held them for a while, before slowly flipping my hand over and gently raking his fingers across my palm. He brought the flesh of my palm to his lips and gently kissed it. Sweet shivers swirled from my sensitive flesh and rooted itself in my core. I closed my eyes, making myself mark this memory, savor the feeling that could be so fleeting, that we could lose in an instant.
Something shifted.
I didn’t want to fight for every single second anymore.
I didn’t want to scrapbook Deni as he was happening.
I wanted this over and over and over again, not once every two years, but every day, every hour, every second.
“We are going to fight like hell not to lose each other this time. I mean it, Deni. I’m not going to walk away so easily this time. I’m not going to give you up.”
Where the Sea Takes Me Page 17
