by Oz Mari G.
“I think … the crab,” she replied with a smile.
He was reminded of their slurping game and smiled back. “Yes, me too. It's a pity that it's an endangered species and we can’t eat them regularly.” They had tried to reorder another, but the restaurant limited each table to one order.
“Yes, that’s sad. But I heartily support that rule. It's for the good of the coconut crab population,” she replied.
“Are you a rule-breaker or a law-abiding citizen?” He now faced her as he handed her coffee back.
That gave her pause, although her stance was still relaxed. She took a sip from her cup and sighed. The sound was like a breeze on a scorching afternoon.
“I've never broken a law. I've always abided by it … but …”
He waited for her to continue. She seemed unable to.
“But not today?” he suggested. He kept his expression non-judgmental. He wanted her to open up.
She looked thoughtfully at him, as if gauging if she could take the step of trusting him with her secrets.
“Exactly—not today,” she said.
His heart jolted a beat faster. “So, will you tell me why you came to be here? Why you’re so far away from home?” he asked, staring at her.
She tucked the strand of hair the breeze had freed from behind her ear before she replied. “I ran away from home and came here to learn … independence.”
“What made you run away?” He needed to understand what drove someone like her to leave a family who seemed to love her, to put herself at risk in an environment she was unfamiliar with.
“I can’t tell you,” she whispered.
She spoke as if her heart was tight. He knew she was hoping he would accept her response and leave it at that.
“Is it something that can’t be resolved?”
“I don’t know,” she replied.
The sigh that preceded the words was heartfelt. He wanted to probe, but he couldn’t press her. Not yet. Then a dreadful idea dawned on him. There might be another reason she left home; one they did not consider.
He frowned. “Anza, were you getting hurt? Are you in any danger?” He prayed it wasn’t so.
She looked touched by his concern. And he was glad when she shook her head.
“No, Veren. I’m not in any danger. And I wasn’t getting abused at home. I … just can’t live the same way. I’m different from them, and I have to face that fact. Eventually, I’ll have to leave them anyway. I just want to have an early start and not get too dependent on their presence. It’s better to do it now while I’m young and able,” she said.
He knew it was the most she could tell him. It was very difficult not to reassure her that he understood what she was going through. Silence reigned between them as he digested what she revealed. Her cousin and her mother were right about her and what made her run away from home.
Anza looked up and was struck by the expression on Veren's face. It was like he just saw her for the first time. And yet the way he angled his head as he fixed her with a penetrating stare made her feel like a revelation to him.
“Do you not think your parents will be anxious about you?” Veren asked. His frown was etched with concern.
“I had planned to send word to them that I’m okay. Hopefully, it will suffice,” she said.
“That wouldn’t suffice. You’re very young, and pardon me for saying so, but you don’t strike me as someone who is used to this … spartan kind of life,” he said.
She couldn’t contradict him. Mrs. Bassig made the same comment to her earlier, and it was her obvious naivete that convinced Mrs. Bassig to offer her a trainee position as front desk and guest relations officer for the next six months.
“Is it that obvious that I’m inexperienced?”
“Hell, yeah! You look like a child, a sheltered child,” he said. His voice had increased in intensity. He sounded annoyed, almost angry.
“I’m not a child. I’m already sixteen. Most people call me a young woman!”
Veren sighed, reaching out to take her icy hands between his. He shook his head as if he regretted having raised his voice earlier.
“Anza, for most parents, sixteen is still a child. And you look younger than sixteen.” His tone was gentler.
“Well, I can’t help that I have baby face genes in me…” She felt like stomping her feet, but that would just prove his point. Instead, she pulled her hand from his and turned away.
There was silence from Veren. She waited for his comment, but there was none. And when she glanced back at him, his lips quivered from the effort not to grin.
“I suppose declaring that I’m an adult, then throwing a tantrum to prove it, is counterproductive,” she said.
Veren grinned.
Her own smile broke through her lips and spread to her heart.
5 The Development
He had been staring at his phone for almost an hour now since he returned from walking Anza to her room. He had been trying to decide what to report to Edrigu. Why he put himself up to the goal of convincing Anza to go home was beyond him.
A call-in for his progress for the day was due, and he didn’t want to lie. If he told Edrigu that he found Anza already, he might wonder why he had not told Anza's father about it. He could use Manuu Soledad's own desire to have Anza come home at her own choice as the reason, but Edrigu might point out that Manuu would want to do the convincing himself. All he had to do was let Manuu know Anza's location.
With Manuu, he could pretend that he misunderstood his instruction, but with Edrigu, there wouldn’t be any ambiguity. If his mentor gave him an order, he could not go against it.
Unless …
An idea came to him. He dialled Edrigu's number, pulse picking up. His mentor answered in two rings.
“Good evening, Veren. How are you coming along in Basco?” Edrigu's voice was clear despite the distance.
“I'm good, Sir. I just called in to report on my progress.” He kept his tone controlled to tamp down his own uneasiness at the minor deceit he would play on his mentor.
“Okay. Do you have solid leads about Manuu's daughter's location?” Edrigu asked.
“Yes, Sir. I found her this afternoon,” he replied.
“Wow! That was fast. Have you told Manuu? What is the arrangement? When are you due back here?” Edrigu's questions made his heart race.
“I have not told Mr. Soledad that I found her. Ms. Soledad still does not know I am an Iztari, and I’m afraid if she finds out, she will disappear again. Her father wants her to come home willingly and telling him might not achieve that—he might show up here and spook her away.” He hoped his voice wouldn’t give away his exaggeration of the facts. “And, if she disappears this time, we may not find her again.”
Edrigu was silent on the other line. He had the impression that his mentor knew what he was doing. With luck, Edrigu would consider the logic in his explanation.
“So, you want to convince her yourself?” Edrigu asked. The tone of clarification made Veren’s heart skip a beat. His mentor read his intention with ease.
“Yes, I was hoping to do that, Sir.” He held his breath as he waited for Edrigu’s response.
“Okay. So, what kind of help do you need from me?” Edrigu asked.
Veren felt his relief like a loosening of a tight band on his chest.
“Help me reassure Mr. Soledad that he need not worry about his daughter, that I can convince her to come home voluntarily,” he said.
“How much time do you need to accomplish this?”
“A week, hopefully, since I would need to go to the mainland for sustenance by then,” he replied.
“Okay. I’ll take care of Manuu. In the meantime, I will give a heads-up to the Sustenance Supply in the mainland to prepare for your needs,” Edrigu said. “Just in case.”
“Thank you, Sir. I truly appreciate it.” His chest loosened with relief.
“You're welcome,” Edrigu said, then hung up.
He was sure, at that mom
ent, that his mentor knew exactly what he was up to and was giving him the latitude to do so. He felt better and guiltier by the end of that conversation. He fell asleep justifying to himself that he just wanted to complete the mission in its entirety.
Anza had been running through the night's events again and again in her head. The exhilaration she experienced tonight was all new to her. The mental back and forth of being hopeful and cautious, in giving meaning to each word and action that was part of this experience, had kept her unbalanced.
This must be what having a crush is like—being in constant awareness of his presence, his words, and actions.
Veren was the first male human she had spent this much time with. Her father's rules had prevented her from forming friendships, even with her classmates, limiting her to brief conversations and tepid, trivial pleasantries. The warnings of potential separation pain when they Transit was never far from her mind.
She blamed her own inexperience for her susceptibility to Veren's attention. But her father did not raise an airhead, so it would be an insult to him if she allowed a crush to sway her within a few days of being independent. Veren may be human, but she was not about to exchange a dependency from one species to another.
Besides, depending on a man's affection as a source of joy would be counterproductive for her search for true happiness.
Tomorrow, I will look at all the actions and words of Veren to be nothing more than those from an older brother.
Or a good friend …
No, an older brother … Nothing could develop outside of a brother-sister relationship.
She walked into the lobby, expecting to see Veren, but he was nowhere. She was looking about for him when he came out of the gift shop at the corner. He was carrying a bottle of sunblock, which he handed to her.
“Are we going to the beach?” She looked at the bottle in her hand.
“We’re going to a lighthouse. I don't know if the beach that comes with it is good for swimming, but I thought it best to be prepared,” he said. “Do you want to get your swimsuit? Just in case it’s possible to swim there?”
“I didn’t bring one.” There was a lake and a creek on their property, but like the previous trips, she was not expecting to swim, since her family always left her behind when they ventured into the woods.
Veren glanced at the gift shop, and she saw a rack of swimsuits inside. She stopped him before he turned back towards the shop.
“It's okay, I … don't want to swim today. There will be other opportunities. We are on an island …” She turned away and slid the sunblock in her backpack to avoid any more conversation about the topic.
Veren’s eyes narrowed. He looked like he wanted to insist, but she stopped him with a question. “Shall we go?”
“We're leaving in a while. I'm still waiting for something,” he said, a small smile on his face.
She nodded and sat down on the couch. She was a tad hungry but didn’t think she would have enough time to order a sandwich. Veren might be on a schedule, and she didn’t want to cause a delay.
A coffee shop worker came out with a small picnic basket just as she was thinking to buy a bottle of water to tide her over. She handed the basket to Veren, who thanked her with a smile. The girl blushed and tittered.
“Shall we?” Veren inclined his head to her, and she followed him out to where he had parked his motorbike. He secured the basket at the back of the bike while she picked up the helmet she used the day before and put it on.
"Do you have a jacket?" Veren looked at her flimsy T-shirt.
She shook her head. Veren took off his own backpack and fished out a long-sleeved shirt.
“Put this on—the ride is long. You’ll get cold,” he said.
He helped her slide her backpack off, holding the cotton shirt as she pushed her arm through the sleeves. It was soft and well-worn. It carried his natural fragrance and something citrusy. The man smelled good … and familiar. Yet, she couldn’t identify it.
She was picking through the catalogue of scents in her memory when Veren grasped the front of the shirt and buttoned her up into it like a child. His action startled her into stillness, allowing him to do the task quickly.
The sleeves seemed a foot longer than her arms when she held it up. Veren grinned and folded it back to allow her fingers to show.
“Shall we?” He nudged her chin with a knuckle. She nodded and followed, straddling the bike behind him.
I'm a little sister to him.
He's like the big brother I never had.
She repeated the words to herself as they zoomed along the country road, her arms wrapped around his waist, her thumbs hooked on his belt loops.
They drove through cliff-side roads that offered stunning views of the sea, and interior rural streets that oozed with quaintness. They zipped past towns humming with country life: women sweeping front lawns and hanging laundry; kids playing with sticks and well-used traditional toys; men walking with a purpose towards somewhere, and domestic animals and livestock meandering about.
It was such a simple, very human existence. She was both sad and glad to be in the middle of it. Life on this island contrasted sharply with her previous one. It was almost poetic that she had ended up here to start her new life as a human. It was a perfect representation of back to basic and starting from the bottom.
But if she was to start her life with this new beginning, she could not have chosen a more appropriate location. She was far safer here than if she had chosen the big city. A simpler life was easier to achieve among simple people and surroundings.
The ride took three hours. Her butt went numb, her throat dry, her stomach protested in hunger, yet she didn’t ask for a break. She didn’t want to inconvenience Veren. Her job was to be his companion, not a dependent. She was wondering how much longer the trip was going to take when they turned right into one of the country roads, and there it was: the Basco Lighthouse.
It gleamed white from the distance, standing solitary and imposing at the edge of a hill. It reminded her of the immobile Beefeater that guarded the Tower of London. Maybe because it appeared as dependable? This concrete guard looked like it watched and waited for passing ships in perfect patience for decades.
Their bike purred to a halt by the parking area in front of a building with a blue roof. It was a closed café. She hopped off to allow Veren to kick open the bike stand and secure it in place, then she removed her helmet to better view her surroundings. The sea, a deep aquamarine that blended into the intense blue of the sky. The hills were lush and emerald, like undulating pillows of vegetation.
And the air tasted of sea salt and adventure.
On impulse, she ran closer to the safety railing that protected the visitors from falling off the cliff. A wooden stairway with thick ropes for support snaked across the face of the hillside down to the beach.
The exceptional beauty and serenity of the scene drew her eyes in. The sound of the waves in a perpetual race to the shore, the bright blue sky that forced her to squint, and the light breeze that swept in from the sea soothed her ragged spirit. It seemed like the world had given her permission to dare. To live.
She looked back to check where Veren was. He had untied the basket from behind the bike and carried it with him as he approached her. He led her towards the lighthouse. They stopped by the grassy area in front of the circular tower. Veren unfolded a fabric she recognised to be a tablecloth from the coffee shop at their lobby. He knelt and unloaded the contents of the basket: bottled water, sandwiches, and packed garden salad.
“Let's eat first.” He tugged at her hand to make her sit down. She slumped beside him, almost landing on his lap. Veren chuckled and gave her a bottle of water, cap loosened. She drank it down to half and sighed in relief as the cool liquid soaked the parched tissues of her throat.
“I figured you were dehydrated,” he said. Amusement glittered in his eyes.
“How could you tell?” She picked up a sandwich.
“You
r lips were dry.” He tapped the bow of her lips with a gentle finger.
Her gaze flew to his as her fingers covered her lips in defence. “It was a long … and windy ride,” she mumbled, focusing her gaze on the sandwich in her hands to will away the heat that bloomed on her cheeks.
It was a long roll that looked like a hotdog bun. She opened it to examine the filling. The scent of lemon and dill wafted from it. By the look of it, this was a lobster roll sandwich, the specialty of the coffee shop, but one she had yet to try.
“Eat. That looks delicious,” Veren said. He was holding a big cheeseburger.
She took a bite and almost moaned—the chilled lobster meat was fresh and sweet, with a hint of mayonnaise, celery, lemon juice, and dill. The bread was soft and the combination of flavours sublime.
Veren shook his head at her, his expression a mixture of regret and amusement as he took a bite of his burger. She realised Veren might have ordered the lobster roll for himself, and she took what she wanted without care, without asking him.
“Oh, did you want this?” She felt guilty that she hadn’t even asked Veren before she took the lobster roll.
He laughed. “It doesn’t matter. It's just … your appetite is contagious.”
“No, truly, we can share. I cannot finish this.” She set down the bun to search for a knife to cut the roll in half. Veren stayed her movement, his cool hand on hers.
“No need to slice it. Eat and enjoy it. I’ll finish the leftovers if there are any,” he said.
“Won't that be off-putting … to eat my leftovers?” she asked.
“You don’t have rabies, so I’m not worried,” he said. He stopped her protest by lifting her chin to close her mouth. “Stop arguing, little one. Just eat. I know you didn’t have breakfast this morning.”
Little one?
“How did you know?” She hoped she didn’t look starved.
“I asked. They said you hadn’t come down to breakfast.”
“Oh …”
