The Keeper

by Oz Mari G.

  She didn’t know what to think about that. Veren had a mischievous twinkle in his eyes as he continued to eat. She followed his lead and finished her lobster roll.

  Little one, really?

  Like a puppy?

  Veren watched Anza surreptitiously. She ate like a child, with full enjoyment. She was prim and proper when she was conscious of what she was doing, as if she had to stop herself from being too enthusiastic, from immersing herself in the moment. Yet, when she forgot herself, when the experience overcame her reserve, she soaked it all in, full senses deep.

  It was stirring to behold.

  Is this how she lived her life? Like a flame trapped in a glass jar, slowly suffocating at the lack of oxygen?

  Anza reminded him of the young elephant he saw in Thailand a few years ago. It grew up tied to a metal pole, so it got accustomed to the limited movement of the length its leash allowed. The animal was so used to being bound that it stayed within that range even though it had doubled in size and could uproot the pole if it so desired.

  Anza was the elephant who walked beyond the range and uprooted the pole. However, the experience was so new to her that it scared her. She could still feel the imaginary leash of the Vis world and its restrictive power. She would never be free until the muscle memory of being reined in faded and left her completely. That would require exposure to the other side of her world, beyond her comfort zone and into unknown dangers.

  In that moment, Veren could empathise with Manuu Soledad.

  Anza roused something soft and intense in him, a sense of protectiveness that he had never felt for anyone before. She was like a kitten, all fluffy fur and claws; like a filly, ready to bolt anytime she got spooked. And Anza was a hair's breadth away from bolting deeper into a surrounding she was unfamiliar with.

  Anza reclined on the picnic cloth, stretched her arms overhead, and arched her back. Her actions were almost feline. He realised she must have been sore from the ride. She was rigid that whole time, despite the relaxed hold she had around his waist. It disappointed him that she wasn’t comfortable enough to lean on him. But then, they had only known each other for less than twenty-four hours. It would be odd if she lacked caution.

  With her eyes closed, he could observe her face. She looked very young, a bud still far from full bloom. Her youthful features, her size, her physique, her vulnerability called to his masculine protective instinct. He understood why her father sheltered her the way he did.

  Anza stirred as he was putting away the remnants of their lunch. She got up and collected the cloth, folded and placed it into the basket. She was going to take it to the bike, but he took her by the hand and towed her toward the lighthouse. He placed the basket on a wooden bench by the circular stairs.

  “Ready?” He smiled at her and pointed to the top of the tower.

  “We can go up?” Her eyes rounded with undisguised excitement.

  “Yes, we can. The view is best on the top.”

  She hesitated for a moment, gazing up. Her expression was a mixture of apprehension and thrill.

  “Let’s go.” He tugged more firmly at her hand and made her choice easier.

  With a giggle, she followed him up the narrow, winding stairs to the top. Their ascent was rushed. Halfway through, Anza stopped and gripped her sides, bent at the waist.

  “Hang on,” she gasped. Her face was flushed and glistening.

  He gave her a couple of minutes' rest. Then, he pulled at her hand and said, “Hurry, while we have the lighthouse to ourselves. You can take pictures to your heart’s content.”

  “How do you know I enjoy taking pictures,” she asked, curious but without even not a tinge of suspicion.

  Oops!

  “Don't all teenagers?” He kept his tone neutral. Anza trusted him, and he needed to keep that trust. “Don't you have any social media?”

  “Sure, I do, but it's private. Only for my consumption,” she replied.

  The familiar sadness flashed in her eyes.

  “Don't you have followers?” he asked. He wanted to keep her talking. They were in the last five steps to the top.

  She shook her head.

  “Will you allow me to follow you online?” He made room for her to step onto the platform, to the view. It unfolded before her, leaving her mouth agape, eyes wide.

  “Wow!” she breathed out.

  That drew a wide smile from Veren. Her delight gave him pleasure.

  “Wow, indeed!” he said, following her gaze towards the horizon.

  The sun was no longer overhead. The sky, where gaps between patches of thick clouds showed, was a clear blue, but he could sense an oncoming rain. He felt the change of pressure in the atmosphere and smelled it in the air. Anza had better take her photos soon.

  A quiet sigh escaped Anza’s lips, and regret flashed in her eyes. He realised that, since he met her, he had never seen her use her cell phone.

  “Don't you want to take pictures?”

  “No.” She shook her head. There was a slight downturn at the corner of her lips. “It's all right. My social media isn’t that important right now.”

  “You don’t have to post it until you're ready.” He wanted to capture this moment for her. “It may be a long time before we return here, so take the pictures now.”

  She looked even more crestfallen. “I don't want to turn my phone on,” she said.

  “Why?” He frowned.

  “My father could be tracking my phone …”

  It surprised him that she knew about how cell phones worked. He didn’t expect it. Also, she was right. The Iztari office was tracking the transmission from her phone. Once again, he felt chagrined at his quick misjudgment of her capabilities.

  He took out his own phone and handed it to her.

  “What's this for?” Her eyebrows quirked.

  “Use mine. And click away,” he said. “I’ll transfer the photos to your phone later.”

  “Oh, thank you!” On impulse, she bounced on her feet and launched herself into his arms.

  “You're welcome.” He hugged her back. The jolt in his heart made him uncomfortable. “Now go, while the light is good. The clouds are rolling in …” He pointed at the sky.

  “Yes, boss!” She gave him a gleeful salute and a wide smile. Her face beamed with pure joy.

  Anza spent the next fifteen minutes taking shot after shot. She deleted those that didn’t meet her standards and showed him the images she liked. Her innate talent for photography was on full display.

  “Are we going somewhere else after here?” she asked as she handed him his phone.

  “No,” he said, sliding the phone in his pocket. “Sunset is beautiful here. The locals highly recommend it.”

  “That would be awesome,” she said, eyes lit up once again.

  “Let's hope the rain doesn’t come before that.”

  Luck was with them. The rain came as the sun sank across the horizon. Anza had just finished taking photos.

  It started as a drizzle, then turned into a sudden downpour. The wind drove the rain towards them and forced them inside the lighthouse for shelter. They sat together on the floor by the glass window, as the dark columns of rain undulated with the wind and lashed against the transparent barrier.

  Rainwater had soaked Anza's jeans, and the hem of the shirt he loaned her. Within minutes, she was shivering. The tremors that ran down her slim body travelled from her shoulders to his, where they touched.

  “You're cold,” he said, and pulled her closer to keep her warm. His arm curved around her.

  Her discomfort was significant enough that she didn’t resist. In fact, she gladly leaned into him, sighing as she did. He anchored her better, her head cradled in the crook of his arm and shoulder, her cheek pressed against his chest.

  The hum of the wind and the hiss of the downpour was hypnotic. Mother nature expressed its raw power in the churning waters of the sea, by the vertical drive of the wind, and the darkening of the sky. Veren knew Anza had dozed off. He
r weight had settled on him. He centred her body and head on his chest, to make her more comfortable.

  The rain droned on for hours. With her limp, warm body nestled against his, both of his arms around her, a cocoon of contentment enveloped him. He was at peace. He held her to him, this delicate creature with the tensile strength of titanium now temporarily in his keeping.

  Gladness seeped into his soul and lulled him to sleep.

  Anza surfaced from her nap in slow degrees. Her awareness first centred on a familiar scent, then the warm, hard flesh under her cheek, and a steady beating of a heart. It took her a moment to realise she was half reclined on Veren, his arm curved around her.

  He was still asleep. She was reluctant to leave the comfort of his arms, but she eased herself out, trying not to wake him. She sat up and looked around—they were on the floor, leaned against the concrete wall of the lighthouse.

  The slow flash of the light overhead reminded her of the cameras of old. The glass window mirrored her image back at her in intermittent flashes. It showed her hair in disarray. She pulled the hair tie off, then combed her fingers through her tresses, massaging her scalp.

  The rain had stopped. The air smelled salty from the sea and tasted sweet from the wet grass. They should probably be heading home now. It was already dark, their ride was long, and she was hungry. Maybe she could ask Veren to stop by a convenience store for something to eat and drink. She gave Veren a gentle prod to rouse him.

  “Hmm?” He blinked awake, looking up at her. He seemed disoriented and stared at her for a while.

  “Shouldn't we go now? We have a long way to go,” she whispered.

  “Don't you want to wait for dawn? You can take photos of the sunrise to match your sunset shots,” he murmured. Then he sat up and stretched his long limbs, a slight wince on his face.

  “I would if I wasn't so hungry,” she replied, and got up. Blood rushed to the numb places in her limbs, making her groan. “Pins and needles …”

  That made Veren smile.

  “Do you think we can stop by somewhere for food?” She asked this to distract him from her embarrassment.

  Veren’s smile turned indulgent. He glanced at his watch. “I can do better. There’s a cafe nearby.” He jumped up and helped steady her on her feet.

  “The blue and white building?” She gathered her hair back to tie it in a ponytail. “Isn't that closed?”

  “It opens at 6 p.m.,” he said, then stayed her hand. “Leave your hair down—it will help keep you warm.” With a light touch, he smoothed the strands away from her face.

  She found the affectionate gesture sweet.

  Hand in hand, they walked down the circular stairs. They were the only two souls in the lighthouse. The weather discouraged tourists. The picnic basket was where they had left it, the motorbike still at the front of the cafe that was now open. A white car was parked nearby. After securing their basket on the bike, they proceeded inside.

  There were three people in the cafe, two boys and a girl. They all swivelled and gaped at Veren and her as they walked in. She felt self-conscious, as the two boys' interest was fixed at her. She glanced up at Veren. His face was impassive, but he was looking at the boys as well. A slight tension emanated from him. Veren seemed wary and on guard.

  The server greeted and ushered them to a table at the other end of the room. Veren pulled the chair where she could see the three in her peripheral vision. The guys were still looking at her. Veren sat beside her with a direct vantage point to the other table. His relaxed pose was misleading.

  She wanted to look at the other table, to see what had caused his stress, but she didn’t want to be obvious about it. The menu proved to be a useful shield, as she peered at them from behind it. The boys were still throwing glances her way.

  She then noticed the girl with them had her eyes on Veren. She was older than her, with waist-length, shiny, straight hair and a self-confidence that made her feel uneasy. Her interest in Veren was as obvious as the interest her companions directed at her.

  A stirring of animosity against the woman rose in her. She glanced at Veren. He was busy reading the menu, uninterested in the woman's gaze from across the room.

  “What would you like to have, little one?” Veren asked, his eyes still on the menu. “How starved are you?”

  She was, earlier. At the moment, her annoyance had lessened her appetite. But she wouldn’t let the other woman ruin her dinner.

  “Very,” she said, “I would like this one,” She pointed to the chicken dish on her menu.

  He lowered his menu and looked at what she pointed at. “Okay. Is that enough?” he asked. His gaze went back to his menu after a cursory glance at hers. “No soup or salad?”

  “No. The chicken is enough.” The bite of satisfaction lessened her growing irritation. Veren didn’t even glance in the woman’s direction.

  Veren signalled the server over and placed their order. She kept her eyes on him as she thought of ways to keep Veren from exchanging looks with the woman ogling him. The odious girl was now waiting for a chance to catch his eye, a small, ready smile on her face.

  “You look irate, little one,” Veren said. He reached over and picked up a lock of her hair and tickled the side of her nose with it. “Is that hang-ger?” His tone was teasing.

  “Hang-ger?” She frowned in confusion. “You mean hunger?”

  “No. Hang-ger. Hunger-induced rage.” His eyes twinkled in mischief.

  “Oh … No, I’m not …” Anza began, her temper heated. She realised it was a better explanation for her attitude, “I guess I am.” She smiled at him apologetically.

  “A bit of patience, little one,” Veren chuckled.

  He reached out and playfully pinched her cheek. Pleased with their exchange, her brain scrambled for ways to keep him engaged. None of her previous experiences with her father or cousin Xandrei seemed applicable. She had never had to manipulate her father or cousin to keep their attention on her. Then she remembered their deal.

  “Don't I owe you stories for the meals?” she asked.

  “Oh, yeah.” Veren’s smile widened. He looked pleased to be reminded of it.

  “So, what would you like to know?” She was thrilled her ploy worked.

  “Tell me about your childhood.” Veren scooted his chair closer, an encouraging smile on his face.

  She hesitated for a bit as she thought how much she could divulge without giving too much, without revealing her true identity.

  “I'm an only child. My mother died of birth complications. My dad raised me alone for the first three years of my life, and then he married my stepmom. I call her Momstie,” she began. She paused as the server arrived with their drinks. She wanted no one else to hear of her life story.

  “Momstie?” Veren asked as he unwrapped the straw and pushed it into his drink.

  “Ah … Momstie, short for stepmom …”

  Veren nodded. He seemed impressed with the nickname.

  “How was your relationship with your parents? Your dad, in particular.” He blew on his coffee.

  “It's a great relationship. My dad doted on me, but he was … overprotective.” She stirred the straw in her iced tea.

  “How so?”

  She felt a twinge of guilt at the thought of talking about her father to a stranger. She sighed, “I’m not allowed to make friends, not even with my classmates.”

  “You have no friends of your own age?” Veren’s focus was solely on her now.

  “None … Just my cousin, rather, my step-cousin Xandrei. He's eighteen. He's the only one I’m … close to,” she said.

  “Did your cousin know?” he asked, his expression appraising. “Your plan to run away, I mean.”

  She shook her head. “No, he’s overprotective as well. He would have told Momstie.” She took a sip of the iced tea to loosen the knot in her chest, buying time should he ask for more details. As a compulsion, she reached out for the paper straw covering; the flame of the lit candle on their tabl
e beckoned.

  “Okay.” Veren seemed to understand. He reached out and covered her fidgeting fingers with his. “How about your stepmom? Do you get along with her?”

  She nodded. “Yes—she treats me like her real daughter. Momstie is cool. Nothing bothers her. In short, we’re very different.”

  Veren said nothing. He just continued to look at her and seemed to wait for her next words.

  The arrival of their food interrupted their conversation. Veren's eyebrows knitted in a quick reaction, but his face became a pleasant mask when he turned to the server.

  The tone of their dinner changed. Their interaction had always been lighthearted, but now there was a depth, an added layer to their relationship. It was almost tangible, the finest of threads, yet strong. She waited for him to ask questions, to cue her to return to their previous topic, but he kept their conversation friendly and casual.

  Veren ordered grilled lobster for himself. It reminded her that she stole his lobster roll sandwich earlier.

  “I'm sorry …” She felt driven to apologise again.

  Veren looked up in surprise. “For what?”

  “I took your lobster roll this morning.” She pointed to his dish.

  He shrugged. “It's no big deal. Actually, after seeing you eat the roll, it made me crave lobster.” He scooped a chunk from the shell, dipped it in the lemon butter sauce, and popped it into his mouth. “Oh … that is good …” His voice deepened in appreciation.

  “So, you really bought the roll for me, and the burger for yourself?” she persisted, wanting reassurance.

  Veren chewed and swallowed before he replied with, “I bought both for either of us. If you had chosen the burger, I would have happily eaten the lobster. It was a simple matter of getting something I thought we would both like.”

  “Really? Are you—”

  He cut her off. “Anza, eat your food. It's getting cold.”

  She smiled at him. In return, he gave the lock of her hair a slight tug and continued with his meal. There was a noticeable increase in the camaraderie between them during the rest of the dinner. They shared each other's food. She cut him a portion of her chicken and placed it on his plate. He reciprocated with his lobster but insisted she take a bite from his fork.