Cross Currents (35 page)

Patch turned toward her. “You did?”

“Around midnight.”

He sighed, studying her face. “I wanted that too. But I'm glad you stopped.”

“Why?”

“Because I couldn't be with you . . . like that . . . with Ryan nearby. I don't want to hurt him any more than I already have.”

“I hurt him too. That's why I turned around.” She rubbed an insect bite on her shin and realized that she hadn't shaved her legs for a few days. To her surprise, she didn't mind if Patch saw her stubble. “If Ryan was back in America, if a few months had passed, what would have happened last night?”

“Something beautiful.”

“Tell me.”

A long-billed bird with a blue chest and yellow wings landed nearby, hopping closer to them. “I would have tried to give you something . . . an experience you've never had before.”

She smiled. “I'm not a virgin, you know.”

His face remained serious. “There's more to making love than touching someone.”

“So . . . what would you have done?”

“Really? You want to know?”

“I want to know everything.”

“Well, I'd have tried to make the night special, so that we would always remember it.” He studied her face, his mind replaying a scene that he had imagined over and over. His heartbeat quickened as he wondered whether telling her everything might be too much. “I would have asked Lek to borrow his longboat, and I'd have driven us around the island, to a secret cove I know about. We would have anchored there, shared a swim, another kiss by the boat, and later a bottle of wine. Then I would have lit a hundred candles and put them at the front and back of the boat. And I would have created a little bed out of tapestries and blankets, and then . . . made love to you like it was the first and last time that I ever would. Nothing would be rushed. Just savored. And later we would have blown out the candles and watched the stars.”

Brooke bit her bottom lip, sweat building between their hands. “You . . . you thought about this already?”

“Last night. I couldn't sleep.”

“I want that night.”

“I know. Me too.”

The bird hopped closer, as if eavesdropping. Brooke shut her eyes, envisioning the scene that he had described. She longed to ask him to reconsider his decision to turn himself in. If he was imprisoned, anything could happen. As likely as not, the night he had described would never occur.

But needing to honor his wishes, she stilled her desires and reached into a nearby backpack, removing an envelope. “Yesterday, when you were with the children in the tree house, I went shopping for you.”

“For me?”

“I wanted to get you something that would help you, and that would remind you of me. It's not really a Christmas present, but more of a . . . token.” She handed him her gift. “I'm not through helping you, but this is a start.”

Patch thanked her and carefully opened the envelope. Inside was a small glass vial. He raised it to the light, his eyebrows coming together as he tried to discern what was sparkling inside the glass.

“They're little diamonds,” Brooke said. “Ten of them. I bought them at that jewelry store in the village.”

“Why?”

“When the time comes you can sneak them into jail, maybe by carrying them in the corner of your mouth. Then, if you need to, you can bribe a guard, another prisoner, someone who can keep you safe.”

“I—”

“And whatever ones you don't give away, you can keep. And you can look at them, and remember that night we had, under those stars. That night when you told me that I was still whole.”

“I don't know what to say.”

“Don't say anything. You don't need to. I just want you to be safe. And I think . . . I think these little diamonds will help.”

He saw tears forming in her eyes and leaned forward, kissing her. “How is it . . . that I just met you . . . but that I want you so much?” he whispered. “I didn't know it was possible . . . to feel like that.”

“Neither did I.”

“I think I'm falling in love with you, even though I hardly know you. Am I crazy? Am I so worried about jail that I'm just . . . reaching for something?”

She kissed his lips, his cheek, his forehead. “You tell me.”

“I'm not reaching,” he replied, then shook his head. “Just falling. Falling toward something beautiful.”

“Whatever you're doing, don't stop. Just keep doing it.”

“I will.”

Hearing the emotion in his voice, and then asking herself how scared he was to go to prison, she put her hands behind his head and ran her fingers through his hair. “I'll help you,” she whispered. “The diamonds are only a beginning. I'll help you get through this. And you will. You'll persevere. And then . . . we'll meet and whatever we want to do, we'll do.”

“All I want is the chance to be with you.”

“Good. You think about that . . . when you're in there. You think about me waiting. That'll keep you strong. And you'll need to be strong. Strong and resolute.”

His lips touched hers, so gently that she wondered whether he was actually kissing her or she was just imagining it. And so she kissed him harder, needing to feel his presence, to know that he was real. He responded in kind, moving faster, with urgency, not stopping until the glass vial fell from his grip. It shattered, sending the diamonds tumbling onto the limestone.

Nearly breathless from a multitude of desires, they drew apart, cleaned up the glass, collected all of the glittering stones, and then walked, hand in hand, back toward the beach.

SARAI LOOKED FROM SUCHIN TO Niran. “Patch has to leave us,” she said softly, reaching for their hands, unaware of the other people on the pier. “He loves you both, but he has to leave us.”

Suchin shook her head, her mouth opening and shutting as if she were a fish out of water. “Why . . . why would he leave?”

“He doesn't want to. But he has to. His family needs him back in America.”

“But we need him too.”

Squeezing her daughter's hand, Sarai glanced at Lek, wondering where his thoughts had taken him. The four of them stood at the end of the pier. A ship carrying supplies had just docked, and Lek held the handle of a cart, which would soon be filled with crates of beer, bottled water, and soda. “You'll see him again,” Lek said. “Someday, you might even see him in America.”

“That's if you work hard,” Sarai added. “If you study hard, anything is possible.”

Niran released his mother's hand. “But he just finished the tree house. And now he won't even get to play in it.”

Men started to carry supplies off the ship, loading nearby carts with electronic goods, building materials, medicine, foodstuffs, and mattresses. Sarai dropped to her knees so that she was eye to eye with her children. “There are some people, Niran, who will come into our lives, and who we will never see again. And there are some people who we will meet, leave, and then who will come back to us, time and time again. I think Patch is one of those people. I think you'll see him again. You'll play with him again.”

Suchin saw that Niran was trying not to cry. As her mother rubbed Niran's back, Suchin turned to her father. “But Patch helps you. He does so much. And if he goes, who will lift the heavy things? Who will climb up and fix the leaky roofs?”

“You will,” Sarai answered. “You and Niran will help your father, just as I will. The four of us can do anything we want. That's what families do—they help each other. And that's what makes them so strong. And that's why, in a few minutes, when they've loaded our cart, we'll push it back home together. Your father can't push it by himself. But when we work together, it will be easy.”

Lek nodded. “Your mother's right. She's always right.”

“Of course I am,” Sarai replied, longing to see smiles alight on her children's faces. “Did your father marry me for my money? No, of course not. For my looks? No, he's not blind. So, he must have married me for my brain. And my brain tells me that everything will be fine, that if we always work together, we won't need the help of anyone else.”

Though Suchin nodded, Niran appeared unconvinced. “But Patch was going to build me a stone pit. For my hermit crabs. We were going to do it together.”

“You were?” Lek asked.

“Right over by the tree house.”

Lek reached into his pocket and removed two pieces of hard candy. He gave one to each of his children. “I can build that pit. We can build it together.”

“You won't have time.”

“Look,” Sarai said, pointing. “They've almost filled our cart. We need to pay them; then we'll push it home. While your father and I unload it, you two can swim. Then we'll make your pit, Niran. We'll make such a great hermit crab pit. It will be deep and wide, and if Suchin gets too feisty, you can stick her down there too.”

Niran smiled, then picked at a scab on his elbow. “She's always feisty.”

“You'd be feisty too if you had a little brother,” Suchin replied.

“No, I wouldn't.”

“Yes, you would.”

A pair of men finished loading the cart. Sarai double-checked the inventory, then handed one man a roll of bills. A few months earlier, he had tried to raise the price of his delivery, but Sarai had refused him and started walking toward one of his competitors. Since then, their arrangement had been unchanged, though occasionally Sarai sent him back with a bag full of hot food.

Satisfied that the correct items were on the cart, Sarai once again turned to her children. “Are you ready to push?”

Niran thought about Patch, and felt sad that he would be leaving soon. Patch had always been eager to talk about fish, to play a game of soccer. The thought of Patch leaving seemed to create a dampness within Niran, as if a fog had settled inside him. But when his parents and sister placed their hands on the cart, he did the same. The cart began to roll down the pier, slowly at first, but soon gaining momentum. As Suchin started to tell their parents about a story she was writing at school, Niran put all his weight against the cart, wanting his muscles to grow, knowing that without Patch, he would have to help his father even more. Though Niran often pretended not to hear his parents' whispered concerns about money, he understood the obstacles they faced. So did Suchin.

Grunting, Niran pushed harder, thinking about how Patch had become the big brother he'd always wanted. “I'll miss you,” Niran whispered, glad that he looked at the ground, that no one could see how his eyes glistened. When a tear fell, he wiped it away and continued to push, his legs and arms tired, but his determination stronger than ever.

“IF YOU HAVE TO WORK, of course I'm going to be your customer,” Ryan said as he stepped into the massage parlor. “But you don't need to do anything to me. I'll just lie down and you can pretend to work.”

She shut the door behind him and smiled. “But then I no get tip.”

“Oh, I'll give you a tip. Tonight.”

“You naughty, King Kong,” she replied, slapping his shoulder. “Why you want to be so naughty?” She watched as he undressed and put on the thin shorts that she had handed him. “Your muscles look tired. You get too much exercise last night?”

“You wore me out.”

“What you talking about? I only visit your room, say hi. Maybe you drinking beer before I come. Maybe you drunk and remember something that never happen.”

He let her lead him to the massage table. “In that case, will you say hi again tonight? I'll get some more watermelon.”

“Ah, watermelon is my favorite. Yes, please get more. So much more.” She poured oil on her hands and started to rub his back.