“Why is the middle elevated?”
“This was an Incan city, and their leader—the Inca—had a spot up there so he could look out at all his territory,” Mark said.
“His seat’s still there,” Grace added. “It faces three directions.”
Perfect. She’d head up there and map out her plans as soon as they let her out. And get a picture for Lenka.
Mark whipped the old SUV down a back road and parked next to a mustard-yellow door. “This is where you’ll teach English classes. Want to see inside? It’s nothing to shout about, but it’ll do.”
The step beyond the yellow door was nothing like she expected. The façade fronted a small courtyard with a few potted flowers and two benches. Beyond that were two other doors.
“The back room there could maybe be turned into an office—you know, if we decide to spend more time in the city,” Mark said. “For now, though, you’ll just use this one.”
Patty opened the door to a plain, sunlit room—everything but the dingy white walls the color of clay. A long table sat in the middle with lime-green benches on either side.
“We know you’ll have three students, but it could be as many as six—and then they might invite their friends,” Mark said.
“And I’ll help you dress it up a little more. Curtains, maybe, a tablecloth? Something like I did with the flowers in the open there. We just rented the place last week.”
Kasia nodded, imagined the table surrounded by students. “I planned several lessons already—you said just topics for discussion, right? They know the basics?”
“They’ve all studied at least a year of English, but they need practice. A few might want to get together outside of class for more, if that’s all right with you.”
“Of course!”
Patty smiled sweetly and nodded to Mark. “Hon, we really need to get her settled. I don’t want Kasia to overdo it.” She placed a hand on Kasia’s back and nudged her toward the yellow door.
Kasia’s mind spun with ideas, frustrated by this flu-thing. She just wanted to get started. But she climbed into the vehicle beside Grace.
The city thinned as they drove on, and Kasia’s gaze roamed the landscape. “Where are we going now?”
“To home base,” Patty said, “about ten kilometers outside the city limits in a little town called Los Baños del Incas. It’s a little quieter and right at the foot of the mountains. Makes Mark’s travel a bit easier.”
Every kilometer seemed to shave off wealth. Not that Cajamarca was a city full of riches and prestige, but out here, the buildings were smaller, more rundown. There were fewer cars and more donkeys—carrying firewood, newspapers, enormous milk cans.
And she began to see more hats. The city people wore dated clothes, from the eighties and nineties, but these were the Peruvians whose faces graced the pamphlets and travel guides. Every one of them—old, weathered men, plump women with tired eyes, dirty and laughing children—wore a tall straw hat. The hats sat high, especially on the little ones’ heads, but the children were so beautiful. “The people don’t mind having their pictures taken, do they?”
“Not like some other cultures, but you should ask permission first,” Mark said.
“Does everyone out here wear those hats?”
Grace answered. “It’s a regional thing. Highlanders—around Cajamarca—wear those. The people in Cuzco wear felt derbies, around Chiclayo they wear fedoras, and—I’ll have to show you a picture of the Islanders.”
“Islanders?”
“There’s an island of reeds in Lake Titicaca. Houses, boats—everything’s made of reeds. Their hats are knitted…strange and colorful.”
“Have you been out there? To the island?”
Grace snorted. “No, but I do a lot of research about the people of Peru.” The corner of the girl’s mouth lifted as she turned to gaze out the window.
Kasia did the same.
Minutes later, they parked at the curb beside an immense gate. Iron bars surrounded a landscaped lawn and a sprawling house, a stark contrast to the rest of the neighborhood. Kasia followed the Cleavens inside, feeling a little guilty passing such poverty as she entered this…complex. But it was lovely to have a soft, homey place to stretch out. The brief walk inside already had her head swimming—maybe she could overdo it.
“How far am I staying from here?” she asked.
“Right over there.” Mark pointed.
Kasia turned to look out the large picture window and swallowed. Across the street, a crumbling concrete wall framed a bright green door and one tiny barred window with frosted glass.
Away went the guilt.
16
After the game, Zan caught a ride to Hedge’s in the back of a too-small coupe.
Hedge’s split-level seemed only slightly better maintained than his own housing, but Zan was after a buzz, not a vacation home. He grabbed a couple of beers and stepped out back into the quiet. Somehow, he wasn’t up for the party scene tonight.
He called home and chatted with his mom, found out Bailey had filed for divorce. Good for her. She needed to sever the connection with Mike as completely as possible.
Was Kasia having luck with that? Cutting ties with Nail-in-the-Tire?
He took a few long pulls of microbrew and stood there, alone, wondered what the year would hold. Markman’s team. New classes. And…
Back to Kasia Bernolak. Was she really as put off by him as she seemed at the store? Nah. He’d seen the almost smile. And she’d called him Forearms.
That was it. She just liked him more than she’d meant to. By the time he’d finished both bottles, daylight had dimmed.
This party had nothing to offer, so Zan headed back, took his time. Geneva was no sprawling metropolis.
After a month with Caleb and Chen, it still messed with him that they were so—so normal. At practices and ball games, they gave 110 percent. They cut up with the team and had the guys over to grill all the time. In fact, the only difference he’d noticed—other than their churchgoing and wholesome language—was how they’d just disappear when everybody went over to Hedge’s after a game.
The warmth of alcohol flowed through his veins, and the world floated in a mellow haze. With every breath, he tried to absorb the salmon-pink sky, swooping sparrows, and summer breeze. The gravel driveway crunched under his feet as he headed to the back door.
He let himself in and dropped his duffel beside him. Were the guys home? Zan flopped into the ripped-up five-dollar recliner, checked the den for signs of life.
The TV was off, but an open soda can and a half-eaten bowl of popcorn sat on the corner of the coffee table. Next to a Bible. Man, the thing looked like it’d been run over a few times. By a semi. He picked it up and turned it over in his hands, chuckled at the duct tape all over the binding. Somebody didn’t do much to take care of it.
“’Sup, Zan?”
He dropped the book.
Caleb grinned. “Had enough for tonight?” He bent down and picked up the Bible, set it on the table.
“Felt like relaxing is all,” Zan said. He poked at the Bible. “This yours?”
“Yup.”
“Why don’t you take care of it?”
Caleb picked at a loose corner of tape. “Rough-lookin’, ain’t it? I guess I read it a lot.”
Zan laughed louder than he meant to. “Is that why you don’t drink with all of us?”
Caleb sat. “Yeah, I don’t drink anymore.”
“Not allowed?” Got him this time. “One of those ‘thou shalt nots’?”
“Actually, the Bible says not to be drunk, but it doesn’t say flat-out not to drink. Just warns that it can bring trouble.” Caleb looked at him a second longer than was comfortable. “I don’t really miss it.”
Zan stared back, tried to figure him out. At least he seemed sincere. Zan picked up the book and thumbed through the pages. Stopped. “‘O Lord, how long shall I cry for help, and You will not hear? Or cry to You ‘Violence!’ and You will not sa
ve?’”
That sounded about right. “So the Bible might not be only crazy stories.”
“There’s truth in there.”
“I’m not into religion.”
Caleb slapped the arm of the couch. “Me either, man. Religion is a waste of time.”
Zan blinked.
And he almost asked what Caleb meant.
~*~
Kasia followed Mark and Patty across the street and stepped up onto the high curb. Strips of blistered paint peeled off the green door. Mark jangled the keys in the lock. Though a few parts of the outer wall had lost chunks of plaster, the brick underneath was strong. Ugly, but nobody would knock it down and come to get her. Blake couldn’t touch her here.
His threat to see her soon never had come to anything. Unless he’d followed her downtown when she’d met Kyle for coffee. Who cared anyway? She wouldn’t waste a second more on him. Not in Peru.
Patty hadn’t slowed her orientation spiel, so Kasia needed to tune in before she missed something crucial. The door led into an open courtyard. The grass—if you could call it grass, all wiry and coarse—was sparse, but it was still her own little corner of the world. And there was a hot mineral spring right in the middle of it.
Steam rose from the pool, wet the roughhewn steps down into the dark water. “Is this safe to get into?” she asked. If she had to spend the next three days here within the walls, a personal hot mineral spring would be fantastic.
“Oh, sure,” Patty said. “The perfect way to end a long day. This area is full of them. This is where the town got its name—the Incan Baths. The landlord put in some pipes and a drain, so you can just let the water out and clean it if it gets murky. Grace’ll show you how.”
Cool. A reason to spend some time with Grace. She definitely had a busy schedule of her own with all the behind-the-scenes aspects of the Cleavens’ work. She designed and maintained their websites in both English and Spanish, wrote their prayer letters and updates, blogged, and handled all their publishing and literature. Kasia planned to read her orientation packet—right after she emailed her family.
Maybe she could bring it out and enjoy the spring awhile.
Her apartment was bigger than she expected but had only the bare bones: beds and well-worn living-room furniture. Mark offered to hook up her laptop while Patty showed her where everything was.
Kasia wandered into the kitchen. An old gas stove sat in the corner next to the sink and one standalone cabinet. A cast-iron candlestick was the only decoration, but she liked it. A small, wobbly-looking table rested against the wall. “You know how to cook with gas?” Patty asked.
Kasia shrugged and offered a smile. “I’m a quick learner.” She ducked to do a brief inventory of the cabinet contents.
“I’ll drive you into town tomorrow morning for some staples to get you through the next few days. Make a list of the things you think you’ll need. You’ll have to soak any fresh vegetables in iodine before you eat them.”
“I got a typhoid immunization before I left the States.”
“That’s good, but they could still carry cholera. You can’t be too careful. Most volunteers stick to sandwiches, pancakes, simple stuff. So there’s some of that already in the fridge.”
“Sounds great. I’ll explore and experiment on my own first, though, and keep a list of questions. I don’t want to bother you every five minutes.” Kasia smiled as she took in the ancient contraption that must be the refrigerator, humming with effort. How could she have missed that old clunker?
Mark rejoined them then. “All set. Ready, Pats?” Her hosts headed toward the door. She was almost free to do her own thing—inside.
But Patty turned back suddenly. “Oh! If you want a shower, turn on the water heater and wait about two hours. Gosh, if you’d just hopped in there, I’d have felt awful. Icy, icy. I forgot to tell that to the last volunteer team. Poor guys.”
And then they were gone.
She had her email up in a heartbeat.
Wow. Kyle was totally making himself at home with her family while she was away. Lenka was already way too avid a fan, and Kasia did not need extra pressure when she got home. She blew out a breath, sat back in the chair, and loosened her braid—just needed to be in control of something inane for a minute.
She might have re-braided her hair a little more roughly than she needed to.
She opened one from Lenka:
Subj: Seriously. RU there yet?
I check this thing every two seconds, I think. I should know better. Dad looks glum already. He puts on his brave face whenever Mom asks how he thinks you’re doing though. Don’t you love him? ~Lenka
PS—Mom says she wishes she could be there with you.
PPS—Also, can you BELIEVE you would’ve been getting married at the end of this month? Thank God, huh?
The last words sucked the breath right out of her. She’d totally blocked that out. All those things—last-minute arrangements, bridal photos, packing for her honeymoon. The thought shook her.
Nope. Not doing this. She shut her notebook, defiant. What she needed right now was a whole lot more Peru. She stood up and knocked her braid back over her shoulder. Where should she start? She could unpack, maybe take a shower and let the warm water wash away the stress…in two hours.
Well, at least she knew the first order of business. She strode into the bathroom, flipped the switch on the side of the enormous tank hanging right over the small toilet, and the whoosh of the igniting flame made her jump. Dear Jesus, please do not let this thing explode in my face. Her eyes dropped to the toilet. Or fall on my head when I least expect it.
Her laptop caught her eye again. She’d forgotten to let her family know she’d gotten in safely. Two minutes and done.
Now to fill her mind with anything but Blake Hamilton. She pulled over her lesson-plan book and jotted down a few new ideas.
17
When the Catfish finally had a Sunday off, most of the guys decided to grill out and invite local girls again, but Zan felt done with that whole scene. He’d hang with the wholesome crew for the day. Not go to church with them and all, but he could occupy himself while they were gone.
Zan knocked on the broken bathroom door. Made a mental note to buy another set of hinges and fix the door while they were at church. “Hey, Caleb. Can I use your tablet for a sec?”
“It’s on the kitchen table,” Caleb shouted over the spray of water—at least the shower had good water pressure.
Zan pulled up his social-media account. Still nothing from Kasia. Well, he wouldn’t bug her. But man, he’d give just about anything to hear back.
A couple hours later, when Caleb and Chen came home from church, he’d just dropped the last tool in the box. The bathroom door now hung properly, and he had a spread of twelve-inch subs on the table. After lunch, they decided to take a road trip to see the baseball hall of fame. The guys jumped into his Jeep, and Zan kicked up gravel as he pulled onto the empty New York road.
The two-and-a-half-hour drive went by quickly, and—as they followed the main route into Cooperstown—a sense of reverence settled over them. Nobody spoke for a while.
The town itself wasn’t a big deal, except that it was the mecca of every true baseball fan. Zan’s father would love it. He’d have to find a souvenir and get Caleb to take his picture in front of the museum.
The street was lined with memorabilia shops, and it was all Zan could do to ignore them. He’d enjoyed countless hours with his dad, collecting cards, when he was in Little League, and things were so different now. The slideshow of memories almost made him call home.
But not quite.
The guys wandered through the exhibits, lingered longest in the oak-walled plaque gallery. Light glanced off the bronze faces of the baseball greats, and Zan stood there, reading about their feats. He swore to himself he would do whatever it took to stay in the game. He couldn’t blow this opportunity.
In the gallery, they split up for a few minutes, each drawn to th
eir own heroes. The Honus Wagner card sheet had Zan’s attention.
“Incredible story, huh, man?” Caleb stood behind him.
What a powerhouse Wagner was. Zan’s dad had joked for years that he’d find the card one day. Up in an old attic or somewhere. Never mind that the card was worth over two million because it should never have been printed. “It’s pretty incredible to see an entire sheet of them—uncut.”
“Pristine. But I’m more impressed with the dude’s integrity,” Caleb said. “That’s what makes it worth so much.”
The Pirates shortstop had demanded the American Tobacco Company pull his card from their cigarette packs. “Could’ve been because he wanted more money.” Zan enjoyed playing devil’s advocate with Caleb. Their debates had been fun—and intriguing.
“Or it could be what everybody else believes. Wagner didn’t smoke, didn’t want his baseball card encouraging kids to smoke.”
“Yeah, maybe.” Zan grinned and knocked Caleb’s hat off.
“Or maybe the money. Naw, seriously, man. When I grow up, I want to be like Honus.”
The more than thirty-eight thousand pieces of memorabilia crowded Zan’s senses after a while. He wanted to remember everything to rehash with his dad so he could enjoy the camaraderie baseball offered, but he was cruising toward overload.
Chen fell asleep in the back on the way home, and Caleb was mercifully silent.
Zan was the first to speak into the quiet. “You and your father get along, Caleb?”
“Yeah. He ain’t perfect, but I respect him. And when he messes up, he’s quick to try and make it right.”
Zan ran his fingers through his unruly hair. “My dad’s a financial advisor. Always with clients, investing…you know. I see him at parties, business dinners.”
“We’ve never been rich, but my dad’s good at investing his time.”
There it was. As far as time went, their relationship was bankrupt. Ironic.
Strains of Silence Page 13
