every—”
“Don’t worry about me, David.” She didn’t intend the edge in her voice. Not entirely.
David looked away, obviously scanning the shore for unfriendlies. He dropped his paddle into the boat. “Stay put, I’ll bring us in.” Then he slid overboard and into the water.
I’m really sorry, David. But she couldn’t say it. Not when her voice might break and destroy the veneer of anger she so desperately needed.
David grabbed the edge of the raft and waded to shore, his colorful silk shirt whipping in the wind, the water soaking his jeans.
She couldn’t walk into town wearing her wet spiky heels, so she unzipped her boots, pulling them off. She flexed her wrinkled toes.
When the water reached knee-deep, she, too, jumped over. Not as cold as it had been way out in the Chinese Sea; still, the water made her gasp. Thankfully, the blazing sun would dry her in minutes. The waves, not anything like they’d been last night, hit against the back of her knees as she waded in.
David let the raft go and followed her to shore. The sand mortared between her toes and she stood there, just inside the rim of water, watching David. Although he’d been up all night, paddling to keep them afloat, he looked energized, even fierce, as his long hair tangled in the wind. An ethereal force buzzed around him that both fascinated and frightened her.
He scanned the beach briefly before he reached out and took her hand.
“C’mon. We’ll have a better chance at the market.”
Da, she would. She followed him, letting him hold her hand, strong and confident in hers. Sand kicked up behind them as they walked the twenty or so feet to the grassy edge, and finally hit the pavement. Two lanes of traffic piled tight and they waited at the light like two vacationers who’d been strolling the beach. Tourists…with ocean-crusted clothes and sporting a couple nasty bruises.
“I thought you said this was a village.” She had expected rolling countryside, perhaps an occasional house, dogs running, a central pump and a train station like her village of Georgivka. But no, this so-called village seemed a sort of extension of the city, with three-story buildings side by side along a main street that ran as far she could see on either side. The smell of exhaust mixed with the ocean and the faintest scent of meat cooking somewhere. Oh, lead her to it, her stomach begged, now feeling like a cavern.
Scooters jammed the road, some with one passenger, many with two, along with the occasional car. Riders wore face masks in bright colors over their mouths, one set of dark eyes after another. Beside her, at the light on the sidewalk, a short, elderly Taiwanese man in black polyester pants and a short-sleeved shirt glanced at her. She smiled. He smiled back, his teeth bathed bloodred.
“Betel nut juice,” David said softly. “It’s like chewing tobacco. Don’t panic.”
She kept her smile but beneath it muttered, “Phew.”
“It’s really not that bad,” David said, and winked at her. “But you’ll really like the fried frog burritos.” He nodded at the building across the street. “Tastes just like chicken.”
Yum. So maybe she wasn’t quite as hungry as she thought.
Although her ability to read Mandarin—or rather pinyin, the Latin-alphabet translation—was rough, she guessed that she correctly read the word market above the long, low warehouse-style building. Despite David’s descriptions, the smells were enough to make her stomach do cartwheels. Worse, her mouth felt on fire. She needed a drink, and soon. But nothing bloodred, or made from amphibians. “Do you think we can find a Coke somewhere?”
David glanced down at her as they waited for the light to change. “Can your stomach handle that?”
She made a face at him. “Sorry you had to see that.”
He lifted his shoulder in an easy shrug. “Feeling better?”
“Are we on land?”
His hand tightened over hers. “We’re going to make it through this,” he
“Don’t worry about me, David.” She didn’t intend the edge in her voice. Not entirely.
David looked away, obviously scanning the shore for unfriendlies. He dropped his paddle into the boat. “Stay put, I’ll bring us in.” Then he slid overboard and into the water.
I’m really sorry, David. But she couldn’t say it. Not when her voice might break and destroy the veneer of anger she so desperately needed.
David grabbed the edge of the raft and waded to shore, his colorful silk shirt whipping in the wind, the water soaking his jeans.
She couldn’t walk into town wearing her wet spiky heels, so she unzipped her boots, pulling them off. She flexed her wrinkled toes.
When the water reached knee-deep, she, too, jumped over. Not as cold as it had been way out in the Chinese Sea; still, the water made her gasp. Thankfully, the blazing sun would dry her in minutes. The waves, not anything like they’d been last night, hit against the back of her knees as she waded in.
David let the raft go and followed her to shore. The sand mortared between her toes and she stood there, just inside the rim of water, watching David. Although he’d been up all night, paddling to keep them afloat, he looked energized, even fierce, as his long hair tangled in the wind. An ethereal force buzzed around him that both fascinated and frightened her.
He scanned the beach briefly before he reached out and took her hand.
“C’mon. We’ll have a better chance at the market.”
Da, she would. She followed him, letting him hold her hand, strong and confident in hers. Sand kicked up behind them as they walked the twenty or so feet to the grassy edge, and finally hit the pavement. Two lanes of traffic piled tight and they waited at the light like two vacationers who’d been strolling the beach. Tourists…with ocean-crusted clothes and sporting a couple nasty bruises.
“I thought you said this was a village.” She had expected rolling countryside, perhaps an occasional house, dogs running, a central pump and a train station like her village of Georgivka. But no, this so-called village seemed a sort of extension of the city, with three-story buildings side by side along a main street that ran as far she could see on either side. The smell of exhaust mixed with the ocean and the faintest scent of meat cooking somewhere. Oh, lead her to it, her stomach begged, now feeling like a cavern.
Scooters jammed the road, some with one passenger, many with two, along with the occasional car. Riders wore face masks in bright colors over their mouths, one set of dark eyes after another. Beside her, at the light on the sidewalk, a short, elderly Taiwanese man in black polyester pants and a short-sleeved shirt glanced at her. She smiled. He smiled back, his teeth bathed bloodred.
“Betel nut juice,” David said softly. “It’s like chewing tobacco. Don’t panic.”
She kept her smile but beneath it muttered, “Phew.”
“It’s really not that bad,” David said, and winked at her. “But you’ll really like the fried frog burritos.” He nodded at the building across the street. “Tastes just like chicken.”
Yum. So maybe she wasn’t quite as hungry as she thought.
Although her ability to read Mandarin—or rather pinyin, the Latin-alphabet translation—was rough, she guessed that she correctly read the word market above the long, low warehouse-style building. Despite David’s descriptions, the smells were enough to make her stomach do cartwheels. Worse, her mouth felt on fire. She needed a drink, and soon. But nothing bloodred, or made from amphibians. “Do you think we can find a Coke somewhere?”
David glanced down at her as they waited for the light to change. “Can your stomach handle that?”
She made a face at him. “Sorry you had to see that.”
He lifted his shoulder in an easy shrug. “Feeling better?”
“Are we on land?”
His hand tightened over hers. “We’re going to make it through this,” he
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