Cross Currents (9 page)

Several months earlier, Patch had hoped that Ryan would help him escape. But it became clear from Ryan's terse emails that he had no interest in plans that might put Patch's life in jeopardy. In Ryan's opinion, an ocean journey to India wasn't an option; nor was sneaking across the border into Malaysia or Cambodia. Any of those choices, Ryan had argued, could lead to a grim fate. And because of that possibility, Ryan wouldn't discuss escape plans, no matter how much Patch wanted him to.

Patch picked up another brick, positioning it carefully. He looked back toward the village, noticing that the setting sun seemed to paint the coconut trees and the distant cliffs with amber. Suddenly he felt alone, almost as much as he had that night in Bangkok when he'd hidden from the police in some slums. That had been the worst night of his life. And though nothing on Ko Phi Phi compared to that horror, Patch needed to see his brother.

He stood up and started walking toward the pier, brushing sand from his chafed hands. On the beach in front of the adjacent set of bungalows, a Thai man was juggling burning sticks, a group of about twenty tourists around him. The fire sticks created glowing arcs as they rose and fell, moving without pause. The smell of burning oil drifted to Patch and he turned to his left, away from the beach. Though he knew that the evening ferry wouldn't arrive for at least another hour, he wanted to be on the pier when Ryan and Brooke stepped ashore.

His pace quickened, and he passed by the wooden storefronts without a glance. Reggae music and laughter emerged from the village, and he wondered which of the many restaurants or bars had organized some sort of party. There was always a party being held on Ko Phi Phi. The only questions were where, when, and what theme.

As he walked beneath a massive banyan tree and turned a corner, Patch stopped. Ten feet away, a guidebook in his hands, stood Ryan. His older brother saw him, lowered his book, and grinned. Patch noticed an attractive woman by Ryan's side, but his gaze quickly returned to Ryan's face. They came together and embraced, squeezing each other, their grips firm and unrelenting. Patch leaned back, lifting his brother off the ground in a bear hug.

“You're so thin,” Ryan said, his voice deeper than Patch remembered, almost out of place amid the reggae music and the echoes of foreign languages and accents.

“And you're a rock,” Patch added, finally releasing Ryan. “It's so great to see you.”

“You too.”

“I can't believe you're really here.”

“Brooke, this is my little brother, Patrick,” Ryan said, stepping back. “But we all call him Patch.”

Brooke smiled, extending her hand. “Hi, Patch.”

“Hi. Here, let me take your bag.”

“Thanks,” she replied, noticing the remarkable similarities between the brothers. They possessed the same blue eyes, prominent cheekbones, and angular noses. Ryan's blond hair had been cut short, while Patch's was below his ears and his eyebrows. A sun-bleached, tangled mess, it looked to have not seen a comb in weeks. The tropics had also left a mark on Patch's skin, which was quite tan. A white line encircled his wrist where a bracelet had been recently.

As Brooke assessed him, Patch lifted her suitcase, surprised by her tank top and flip-flops. He'd expected Ryan's girlfriend to be more serious-looking. Ryan had told him only about how the two of them had met in business school, how she was smart and strong and interested in the world. He'd never said that she would look right at home in a place like Ko Phi Phi.

Leading them toward Rainbow Resort, Patch asked about their trip and pointed out some of the island's highlights. Ryan inquired with careful, guarded questions about Patch's situation, while Brooke gazed about in apparent wonder. Patch followed her eyes, seeing what she saw, glad that the island seemed to enchant her.

He guided them to the best bungalow that Lek and Sarai had to offer. After they had settled in and changed clothes, they met him at the restaurant, where he introduced them to his Thai hosts. Sarai had prepared a feast of sorts—seafood soup in a lemongrass broth, fried rice, garlic shrimp, and vegetable curry. Just a few other patrons were seated, and after their plates had been cleared, only Patch, Ryan, and Brooke still ate. Suchin and Niran sat at a nearby table, laughing at the sight of Patch's big brother, joking in English that their mother must have given Ryan all their food. Suchin asked that the brothers roll up their sleeves, and couldn't stop giggling as she compared Patch's thin arm to Ryan's muscles. Niran brought the trio three beers and explained how Patch was building a brick path, how they were friends.

After more than an hour of eating, Ryan thanked Sarai and paid their bill, leaving her a substantial tip. Brooke had changed into a bikini that she wore under her shorts and tank top. She wanted to swim, and the brothers followed her to the shoreline. The sky glowed, alight with the energy of countless stars. Several fires burned along the beach. Music seemed to echo off the sea and the mountainous, shadowlike cliffs. Several idle longboats had been beached, miniature waves breaking against their hulls.

Brooke removed her top and shorts, and stepped into the water, which was warmer than she would have imagined. “It's like a bath,” she said, gesturing for the brothers to join her.

“It is a bath,” Patch replied. He took off his T-shirt and sandals, moving deeper into the water, avoiding the sight of her body. “All we need are a few toys.”

“Some squirt guns would be good,” Ryan said.

“Or some plastic dinosaurs. I'll be the T. rex.”

“No way. He's mine.”

Smiling at the beauty around her, Brooke walked farther into the bay, the water rising to her knees, waist, and finally chest. She dropped below the surface, ran her hands through her hair, and tasted the sea. Though she heard Ryan and Patch talking above and behind her, she didn't resurface until her lungs tightened with want.

Brooke swam underwater again, felt the sand with her fingertips, tried to do a handstand, and then rose to the surface and realized that Ryan and Patch's conversation had shifted to more serious matters. She stood up.

“I called the American embassy again,” Ryan said quietly. “Just before we left Bangkok. They'll help you with the police. They say you'll do a year of time at most. More likely nine or ten months. That's not so bad.”

Patch closed his eyes, the water up to his chin. “A year in hell isn't so bad?”

“It won't be hell.”

“I hit a cop. His blood was on my hands. How do you think they're going to treat me in jail?”

“You're an American. That'll help. And we'll be checking in on you.”

“Why would being an American—”

“Jesus, Patch. The guy at the embassy said it would help. I think he knows a lot more about it than you do.”

Patch reached out toward his brother, finding his elbow. “Relax, Ry. Just for a minute.”

“I don't want to relax. I want to get you out of this freaking mess.”

“Just look at the sky. You've come halfway around the world to a really beautiful place. Will you just look at it for a minute?”

Sighing, Ryan turned slowly in a circle, aware of the beauty, but thinking that for Patch, the beauty was an illusion, an escape from reality. His little brother had always sought out such escapes, and he was irritated that Patch wouldn't just face his fate. “Listen to me. Even a year in hell is better than getting caught trying to run. Then it'll be two years. Or something worse could happen. You think you're going to be safe as a stowaway on some ship? Don't be naive.”

“I'm not being—”

“I promised Mom and Dad that I'd talk some sense into you. They were going to come, you know, but I wanted to talk to you first.”

“I like it here.”

“Of course you like it here. It's paradise. But that doesn't change things. Really, it doesn't.”

Patch gazed at the stars again. “One mistake.”

“What?”

“One mistake is going to cost me so much.” He rubbed his brow, glancing at Brooke, who was watching them intently. “Should one idiotic mistake cost me so much?”

“No,” Ryan answered.

“Then why should I go to jail? I'll be in danger there. I'll humiliate Mom and Dad.”

“Because you don't have a choice. Because that's how you'll get your life back.”

“This is my life.”

“This is fantasyland. Or Fantasy Island. It's not your life.”

“I'm helping these people. And they're helping me. They took me in. They treat me like a son, and I want to repay them.”

Ryan shook his head. “These people? What about Mom and Dad? What about your family?”

“Mom and Dad will forgive me.”

Laughter drifted to them from a distant party on the beach. People were dancing around a fire juggler, shouting out encouragement. “A week ago,” Ryan said, digging into the sand with his feet, “I was in my marketing class. I had my laptop out, but instead of taking notes, I was thinking about you, worrying about you. Do you ever think about me?”

“All the time.”

Brooke looked from brother to brother, intrigued by the similarity of their faces, and the differences of their thoughts. “May I say something?”

Ryan turned toward her. “Sure.”

“Let's . . . let's take a hiatus from this conversation. Just for tonight.”

“Why?”

“Because you're tired from our trip, and we've got plenty of time to talk.”

“Being tired has never stopped me from doing anything. And I'm sure as hell not too tired to talk about this. And we're going to talk about it, Patch. We're going to talk about it until you do the right thing.”

Brooke watched the fire juggler, wondering if he ever burned his hands, if he lived with pain on a daily basis. She turned to Patch. “I don't blame you . . . for thinking about escape. And I don't blame you for what happened. Neither does Ryan.”

“Thanks.”

She was going to ask Patch about what there was to do on the island, but then Ryan ignored her request, as he sometimes did, and started to once again pressure Patch to turn himself in. Putting her head down, she swam out into deeper water. She surfaced and studied the stars, thinking that each star had a history, and that somehow each history now included her.

The starlight comforted her, soothing her pains, her memories. She began to tread water, looking for constellations, for ancient gods and goddesses who were shown to her when she was a little girl, when life had been simple and she could be carried away by the sight of bright figures on a dark page.

MONDAY, DECEMBER 20

Lek followed Suchin and Niran to the soccer field he had built long ago, in what seemed another life. In that life he was young, he hadn't hurt his hip, and his children didn't exist yet. In some ways, this earlier life was easier—certainly less painful, and full of exuberance. But now he was aware of a deeper meaning each morning when he awoke and watched his sleeping children. Their dreams had become his dreams. He shared their joys and sorrows. He realized with greater and greater conviction that his children were his footprints, his legacy. And though he still thought about himself and his pain, more often than not he focused on Suchin and Niran. His children and Sarai were, by far, the most important pieces of his life. And as long as his children had better lives, had more opportunities than he did, he would be content when he eventually faced death.

Tossing their old, frayed soccer ball toward the field, Lek watched Suchin and Niran hurry after it. He smiled. Mornings like this, when the field was empty and the other children were getting ready for school, comprised some of his best memories. Several times a week he played soccer with Suchin and Niran, laughing, feeling the sand beneath his feet.

About to step onto the field, Lek noticed Patch carrying some bricks to the far end of the path. Lek called out quietly, motioning for Patch to join them, which he often did. He set down the bricks, waved, and jogged over.

“You sleep good?” Lek asked in halting English, watching the sweat roll down Patch's face, wondering how long he'd already been working.

“Just fine, thanks.”

“Sheet okay?”

“I didn't even notice it. Really, it isn't a big deal.”

Lek smiled. “Maybe some soccer? Then work?”

“Sure. That sounds great.”

“That make children happy.”

Patch said good morning to Suchin and Niran in Thai, then jogged toward the center of the sandy field. As usual, the teams would be Lek and Patch against the children. Since Lek couldn't run, he played goalie. Either of the children could do the same, depending on who was closest to the goal when Patch was threatening to score.