I felt so much anger inside. I was furious at him for not respecting me and staying behind. Furious that he knew about my dirty past. Furious at my mother. Furious at the men she brought to our doorstep. I was just so furious.
“You shouldn’t have come,” I gritted, fisting sand in my palms. I turned my red-rimmed eyes his direction. “I’m so tired of feeling powerless, and your being here just shows me how little you respect me.” I paused, deliberating my next words, knowing they would be irreversible, knowing they would wound poor Ethan, but the venom slipped out anyway. “You’re no different than the men who hurt me as a child. Forcing me to do things against my will.”
And as I’d predicted, as soon as the words slipped from my mouth, I regretted them. Ethan recoiled as if I’d hit him, his breath rushed out of his mouth in defeated sadness.
“Ethan,” I said, my voice trembling. I reached for him, but he pulled back from me, leaving me feeling so alone I thought I’d drown in the black hole I’d created for myself. “Ethan,” I repeated, his face looking so distraught, I felt like vomiting. “Please,” I said, hating myself. I lunged for him but he stood, wavering on his feet before turning his back on me and heading down the path through the trees back toward the house.
I fell on my side, the sun-warmed sand against my cheek, but I felt so cold, so dead inside. Being at Slánaigh woke feelings inside me I had thought I’d come to terms with. I’d convinced myself I was healthy enough to be there, but I knew in that moment I wasn’t. I knew I’d made a mistake in sending Ethan away with such a hateful accusation. An accusation I didn’t really feel, not even in the slightest bit because Ethan was nothing like the men who’d stolen from me. He may have had his downfalls but they weren’t mortally wounding. He loved and wanted to love, and I shoved that in his face.
I felt myself shake I was crying so hard but I couldn’t hear or see or even taste the world around me. I could only feel, and I had no idea how long I’d been there before a shadow crossed over my face. If I’d had all my faculties, I would have looked up, seen the man before me, but I didn’t have the energy. I had lost the one thing I thought I’d always had, the one thing I’d prided myself on always possessing. I had lost hope.
A thin blanket crossed over my body and I closed my eyes, waiting for whatever, not caring of what that whatever was. Abruptly, my body was hoisted up into someone’s lap, the blanket wrapped around me, and then that someone sat in the sand.
“Shh,” the voice consoled me as I realized I was still crying. “I have you now.”
The voice was Ethan’s.
I was convinced it was my imagination, but I didn’t care so I told him, “You’re not like those men. Not at all.”
“I know,” his deep voice reassured me.
“If you were really here, I’d tell you that I feel so very alone.”
“You’re not alone.”
A few tears escaped at his words.
“If you were really here, I’d tell you that I talk a big game, that I can only give the sage advice I know I’m supposed to follow myself but can’t.”
“I know,” that lovely voice told me.
“If you were really here, I’d let you know I’m cut so deeply there aren’t sutures sturdy enough to stitch me back together again. If you were really here, I’d tell you that I’m ruined. My mother ruined me. Those men ruined me, Ethan. I’m ruined.”
“Nothing could ever bring you to ruin, Finley Dyer. And because you are so permanent, I will sew you together again. You’ll see the seam will only make you stronger.”
I so desperately wanted his words to be true. But how could I believe him?
He wasn’t really there.
Minutes passed and passed and passed.
Hot skin touched my hand, tempering the storm brewing within my soul.
My eyes opened slowly to find Ethan’s face. I raised my fingers to meet his cheek and he smiled down at me, making my eyes burn.
“You didn’t go.”
“No, Fin, I didn’t.”
I choked back a sob. “But I clobbered you.”
“Please, Finley, you only hurt my feelings a little, and how many times have I done the same to you and you’ve always come back at me tenfold, saving me from myself? I’m here because you taught me that people aren’t always as they seem. Just as I am not always as I seem, you are not always as you seem.”
“I’m so grateful you’ve come back.”
“I’m so grateful you’ve come back for me too.”
“You are the most perfect friend for me,” I told him, huddled against his chest.
He laughed, tucking me even closer. “Agreed.”
We sat, him holding me, in the sand until it got dark, time an irrelevancy. We sat until I could feel myself come back a bit, until my heart beat with a regular rhythm.
“Ethan,” I said quietly, afraid of my own voice, it seemed.
“Yeah.”
“What happened to me as a little girl,” I began, but he cut me off.
“I don’t need to hear anything, Fin. I don’t need the details, I just need to know your pain.”
“I feel run through. Like someone has taken a sword, dug it into my belly and out the other side.”
I felt Ethan’s body sag as his eyes closed and his breath rushed over his lips.
“Let me guess. You feel exposed, vulnerable, numb yet still feel everything acutely.”
“Yes.”
He squeezed me. “I am going to help you heal, Finley.”
“I know you are.”
“Tell me,” he said. “Tell me what we’re doing here.”
This was a moment I’d been dreading since I’d seen his beautiful face outside the tea shop.
“Hạ Long Bay is a tourist attraction, lots of Westerners and the like.” He shifted, obviously uncomfortable by the words he knew were coming. I swallowed. “They come to see the wonders of Hạ Long Bay, its beauty, its rarity, its gorgeous people and amazing food, but with those extraordinary wonders come equally extraordinary horrors.” I couldn’t say any more so I kept silent, letting the truth sink in.
“How bad is the problem?” he asked, after some time.
“Worse than you could imagine.”
His eyes squeezed shut. He looked as if he were wishing the problem away with every ounce of his being, and I loved him for that.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Ethan
My fragile Finley.
“We should head inside. Sister Marguerite was wondering what I was up to when I asked for this blanket. I don’t want her to think anything untoward is going on.”
Finley laughed, making my heart skip a beat in relief. “Well, let’s go unburden her.”
I shifted Finley’s weight and she made a move to stand but I wrapped my arms around her, lifting her easily as I stood. She gasped, stirring my heart even further.
“I’ve got you,” I told her.
“I-I know,” she stammered. “I just was-wasn’t expecting you to lift me like that.”
I started walking up the path through the trees again, carrying her with me. She squirmed.
“Stop it,” I told her.
She smiled softly. “Aren’t I kinda heavy?”
I laughed, loudly this time. “You weigh nothing to me, Fin.”
She rolled her eyes but accepted it, which made me happy. She’d felt so delicate to me in that moment I couldn’t bring myself to let her walk. I knew Finley was strong, knew it very well, but I could not let her carry more weight than she so obviously was taxed with already, and I felt as if it was my fault. If I’d only listened to her, if I’d only stayed away, maybe she wouldn’t have reopened her wounds and her experience at Slánaigh wouldn’t have had to be as painful. Then again, even knowing what I knew then, could I have let her walk alone at Slánaigh? No, I knew I was there for a reason.
I set her down at the foot of the winding staircase and walked side by side with her up to the boardwalk and to the front door. I had yet
to meet Father Connolly.
When Finley let me through, the main room I’d seen all the girls in earlier was empty, and I finally took in the room itself. Rather large, it contained several sitting areas as well as table areas. A few of the tables had what I could only assume was schoolwork on top but it was in Vietnamese so I couldn’t tell for sure. There were dolls, books, and building blocks covering almost every square foot of the floor.
Suddenly, I remembered the anxious looks of all the girls in the room and realized that each one of their innocent faces was there for a reason. I felt ill knowing their reason for finding solace at Slánaigh.
“Ach! Who’s this at me door?” I heard a man yell from behind me.
Finley and I turned around to greet a slim, elderly-looking gentlemen in a black cassock standing five foot eight or so with wild chin-length grey hair, long beard that met his chest, bulbous nose, and permanent laugh lines crinkled around his eyes. He sported a long, dark ancient-looking walking stick with weathered knots along the thick collar. It looked to me like more an accessory than an actual needed aid, though, because he swung it toward me on obvious sure footing, lifting his cassock a bit and exposing, surprisingly, a pair of black Chucks. He reminded me of a modern-day Gandalf with shorter hair.
Finley smiled at him. “Father Connolly, this is my friend Ethan. The one I told you about.”
He set the walking stick at his side, his weathered hand resting at the rounded handle, and smiled at me. “You’re Ethan, are ya?”
“That’s me.”
“What ya waiting for then? Come here, son,” he said, waving me over to him.
When I came to stand near him, his eyes bugged and traveled up to my face. “Ach! But ya are a big beast, ya are!”
I tried not to laugh. “I guess.”
“You’re treelike an’ that ain’t the half of it, boyo.” He examined me for a moment, deciding something. “Fine then. You’ll do. Ya can stay with me on the houseboat.”
I was confused by this and looked over at Fin. “Houseboat?”
“Father stays off property for propriety’s sake but also for the protection of the girls. He’s a wanted man,” she added seriously.
Father laughed. “They come for me, they do, but they never get me! They get close but never close enough, they do,” he said, swinging his walking stick wildly, making me step back. “Ach! But it is the price I pay for the work we do here.” He set the walking stick down then smiled at me as if he just noticed me. “What say ya to a bit of supper, son? Finley?” he asked her as well, before turning toward a hallway.
When Father Connolly was a bit ahead of me, I asked who comes after him but she just shook her head with a look that promised she’d tell me later.
We followed him into a room filled with young girls ages five to probably seventeen as well as Sister Marguerite and a woman I’d yet to be introduced to. I glanced down at a girl who was no more than a baby, really, and my blood burned with a horrible, terrible need to find the men responsible for putting her into the girls’ home. I closed my eyes and took two steady breaths to regain myself, to remove the red from my vision, when a hand met mine and my heart steadied itself. I looked down at my right and saw Finley. She nodded in understanding, like she knew, like she could feel what I felt, and I knew then that my enraged reaction wasn’t just a product of being me, of being that Ethan, it was a product of being human.
The woman I hadn’t been introduced to yet walked over to Fin and me, holding her hand out.
“Ethan, I presume?” she asked.
I took her hand. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Ethan,” Finley began, “This is Dr. Nguyen. She’s the on-call physician and surgeon for Slánaigh.”
“Nice to meet you, Dr. Nguyen,” I said, smiling.
“Nice to meet you as well.” The doctor gestured toward a table with the other adults and we followed her. “I understand you come from Finley’s hometown?” she asked without a trace of an accent.
“Yes, ma’am. Well, from Bitterroot actually. A town a little ways from Finley’s Kalispell but close enough that we all blend nicely.”
She smiled as we all sat. “How do you like Hạ Long Bay?”
“It’s one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever seen,” I told her.
She began passing around huge ceramic bowls just as three busy-looking Vietnamese women went bustling around the tables, laying down burners with pan-fried spiced fish, heaping plates of green herbs and vegetables, as well as large bowls of rice noodles and small ramekins’ worth of a light brown sauce. One of the women placed a setting in front of Finley and me. I watched, fascinated, as Finley dumped the bowl of herbs into the hot pan. I recognized dill, scallions, and assorted herbs as well as smelled turmeric and garlic. It was such a different dish than I was accustomed to, but it looked and smelled delicious.
“How do you know to do this?” I asked Finley as she took my bowl and filled it with noodles.
“I don’t really. It’s what they have for dinner every night, and I’ve only watched them a couple of times.
She handed me back my bowl and I studied her myself. She piled the now hot herbs and fish as well as a little bit of oil from the pan on top of her noodles then sprinkled crushed peanuts and red chilies on top. I followed suit, copying her every move, feeling out of my element.
“Now, the pièce de résistance,” she said, taking the bowl of light brown sauce.
“What is that?”
“Shrimp paste,” she answered matter-of-factly. I felt my eyes bug and she giggled. “It’s much better than you think,” she said, offering to pour some for me.
“I’m trusting you on this, I guess.”
“Duly noted.”
She poured some over my noodles with the flat-bottomed spoon I’d seen at Asian restaurants back home then set the bowl down.
I stared at my bowl.
“The trick is to get a little bit of everything with every bite.”
“Here goes nothing,” I said, picking up my chopsticks and gathering a bite.
I clumsily shoveled it all in my mouth, causing a few of the girls around us to giggle, and swallowed.
“This is amazing,” I told her.
“I know, right?”
“What is it?” I asked, gathering another bite.
“It’s chả cá.”
“Chả cá,” I repeated, testing out the language.
“It’s a very old dish, “ Dr. Nguyen added. “Do you like it?”
“Very good,” I told her.
She smiled and went back to her bowl.
We all ate in silence for a few minutes before Finley leaned over her own and whispered, “How did you find me?”
“It’s embarrassing,” I confessed. “I, uh, took the creepy route and just started remembering little details from our phone conversations, piecing them all together with random searches.” She sat back, her eyes watching me. My shoulders hunched under her scrutiny. “What?” I asked.
Her eyes narrowed. “Nothing,” she lied.
“Did I just freak you out or something?”
She cleared her throat after a bite. “Uh, no, it’s just… You’re quite clever, Ethan.”
I beamed at her compliment. No one had ever called me clever. I’d always been defined by my height, my ranch-hand abilities, my knowledge of the mountains, and especially by my expertise with my double swords, which I’d only remembered to pack at the last minute. No one saw me as anything other than the physical force I was.
“Thank you,” I told her, shocked by how badly I’d needed to be recognized as more than muscle.
“No one’s ever called you that before,” she said matter-of-factly.
I dropped my spoon in its bowl and stared at her. “Never,” I answered after a moment’s pause.
She stared back, “How is that possible?”
I didn’t know how to answer so I just watched the expressions change on her face from disbelief to empathy to something else I didn’t re
cognize, something I was burning to decipher, though.
“Ethan,” she whispered.
That single utterance turned the room invisible. Suddenly it was her and me. Finley and Ethan.
“Yes?” I asked her softly, my voice dropping an octave, surprising even me with how deep, how raspy it sounded.
Her eyes softened, glistening with unshed tears. I reached across the table, running the back of my hand across her porcelain cheek. One single tear fell as she tucked her face into my palm, so I swept it away with my thumb. I pleaded with her with words unspoken, begging her to stop hurting. My hand slid down her face to her neck and rested there. I let my skin soothe her, hoping my touch helped her as much as hers helped me.
“It’s like a balm for a blistered burn, Ethan,” she answered, making me wonder if I’d spoken out loud. She must have read the confusion on my face, because she explained, “You wear your words, Ethan. In every pained expression, I feel your meaning. I’ve seen what my skin does for you. Know it works for me as well.”
My fingers threaded through her hair at the top of her neck, the weight of that revelation burying itself in my chest with a permanent ferocity. My stomach flipped on itself. Check yourself, Ethan. She needs you more than you need to fall in love with her. And you’re starting to.
With a slam, I shut that door, checked my expression, letting my hand fall to her shoulder, squeezing in the friendliest way I could think how. Don’t think about standing up. Don’t think about the fact that you want to stand, walk over to her side of the table, and take her in your arms. Don’t think about it. Don’t.
I rested my forearm on the edge of the table near my bowl and smiled at her but when my eyes met hers, she wasn’t smiling. She looked scared, actually, and I wondered if I’d offended her. I opened my mouth to speak but the moment passed when her eyes broke our gaze and she reached for her spoon. Deflated for reasons I couldn’t fathom, I followed her lead, picking up my spoon again.
When I looked up, everyone was busy eating, seemingly unaware of our exchange. Everyone, that is, but Sister Marguerite. She sat with her hands folded on the table, watching me closely. Her eyes met mine and I wondered if she was upset that I’d touched Finley but when one brow shot up, her expression said that she had my number. Frightened that she might blow my cover to Finley, I shook my head at her, making her grin. I practically fell into my bowl, desperate to erase that moment but knowing how disappointed I’d have been not to have known Finley’s skin one more time. Any touch I got or received from Finley was a windfall I didn’t think I could live without, and every single touch since that first was building my addiction to her.