Fury (14 page)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

              Slánaigh wasn’t anything like I thought it would be. Isolated on a bit of narrow beach in a secluded stretch of land that jutted out into the bay, it sat with its back tucked against the tip of the small peninsula. Three sides of a two-story, split-level bungalow were surrounded by dark, churning water and tall, thick, swaying palm trees.

The house was painted a seafoam green like so many of the homes native to the area and sat on tall stone stilts that prevented the overflowing tide, if the bay should ever flood, from ruining the home. A zigzagging staircase crawled up the front to a large natural wood deck that wound around the entire beach house. There was a roof made of what looked like flat discs of light terracotta washed out from years underneath the scorching sun and were stacked on top of one another like the scales of a fish. All the windows were open and large white drapes blew in and out of their frames with the sea wind. It was beyond picturesque.

We followed a winding seashell gravel drive slowly so as not to kick up the natural entrance and Finley directed me toward a line of motorbikes. I parked next to the bike farthest to the right, nearest the staircase that reminded me a lot of the natural woods I would see at home but bleached stark white by the sun. I let Finley get off, then followed her lead.

She removed her helmet and wrapped the straps around the handlebar. She set her clothing to right before looking at me dead in the eye.

“Please be respectful,” she began. I opened my mouth to argue that she knew better than to ask that of me before she cut me off. “I only say this because I need your head in the game, Ethan. We need to talk. Like, seriously talk, but until then, I need you to be aware of everything you do here. These girls have been,” she paused, taking a deep breath, “through a lot. Just be calm and quiet at first while I introduce you to Father Connolly and the rest of the staff. The girls watch everything.” She stopped and stared at me.

I realized she wanted a response so I said, “I’d do anything you asked of me, Fin.” I told her that in all sincerity, which earned me a strange look I’d never seen on her face. I didn’t know what to make of it, but it made my heart pound in my chest. I studied her as her mouth parted under my scrutiny. I struggled with the urge to reach my hands out, wrap them around her face, and study her lips with my thumbs just to learn what they felt like.
Whoa, where did that come from?

I glanced away from her to get control of myself, closed my eyes and fought to gain hold of what I knew was beginning to happen. I was starting to let my startling attraction for her tear at the facade I so carefully built. I didn’t need to be attracted to Finley. She needed a friend and a friend only from me, but the allurement there was undeniable and beginning to crack through with definite ferocity. I imagined the chemistry as something tangible, placed it in a box, and locked that box in my mind.  

When I opened my eyes and glanced her way once more, Finley watched me with curiosity.

“I’m ready,” I told her without explaining my odd reaction.

She took a deep breath and nodded.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Finley

              Ethan was in Vietnam.

Ethan.

Ethan Moonsong
was in Vietnam, standing just a few feet from me in all his gargantuan glory.

I was in the middle of teaching a few girls how to braid hair when Father Connolly approached me with his constantly changing cell phone saying it was An at the tea shop in town and she was asking to speak to me, which was beyond odd since An only emailed me, even if it was something important. I’d corresponded with her for months before I’d arrived in Vietnam. An and her dad were the only ones Father gave his numbers to. Those in the city, when they would hear any sort of report, or see anything suspicious, would ring An up and An would then call Father.

When she told me whom she had found on her doorstep, I had to have her repeat it twice.
Twice
. Panic had crept up my neck for several terrible reasons. One, Ethan didn’t know what work we were doing there and two, he didn’t know I was doing the work because I could relate to those girls more than he could possibly understand.

              My hands trembled in anticipation, in ill-feeling expectations.

              “F-follow me,” I said, my words fumbling on my tongue.

              I led him up the winding staircase up to the main house, the wood creaking beneath both our feet, an uncomfortable, heated warmth invaded my body. I had no idea how I was going to explain it all to him, and I felt sick to my stomach, unnerved, and terrified.

              The shadow of his huge body fell across my back, enveloping me and the ground around me, making me uncomfortable and yet
,
strangely,
feel as if he belonged there both at the same time. I could sense the temperature of his skin even from a foot away and it was several degrees above mine, scorching the back of my neck, the tops of my shoulders and head, and the entirety of my back. I wanted to regress, in more ways than just falling back into his chest. I wished to let his stride meet mine, to let him clutch me, soothe me, let his skin recompose my own, but I couldn’t. This journey was meant for me to walk in solitude. I wouldn’t ask for his shelter, not in this place. After all, I wasn’t the one who needed shielding.

              I pushed up the last step and walked across the boardwalk to the center of the house, pausing at the door, one hand on its handle. I felt Ethan reach my side and I took a deep breath, meeting his stare.

              “Ethan,” I said, my breath hitching, but there was no need to continue because he raised his hand to the back of my neck, squeezing softly. The second the palm of his hand touched my skin, I calmed, my trembling breath evened out. I nodded then pushed through into a room full of shining, beautiful faces, but the second Ethan stepped through, their expressions changed from happiness to fearful anxiety, making me queasy.

              Immediately, I held my hands out, pressing the air in a sign that there was nothing to worry about. I fell back, wrapping my arm around Ethan’s back and placing my free hand on his forearm closest to me, and I smiled a happiness I didn’t really feel. Because I knew their anxiety. I’d tasted it myself many, many times. Anytime, really, my mother would bring home a man, so I recognized that fear.

My hand glided up and down Ethan’s forearm and I squeezed him closer to me, showing them what a dear friend he was to me. I did this because they trusted me. I did this because they knew their trust of me could extend, bend, and spill over to whomever I trusted. And I trusted Ethan. With my life. With a past full heart. With my now empty one. With my skimmed surface secrets. It was implicit.

My fingers pressed into the skin of his arm but he stood stock-still, honoring my earlier request.

“Ethan,” I said, introducing him to the girls and resting my cheek on his shoulder. “This is my Ethan, girls.”

Sister Marguerite stood from her seated position, set down her darning on her chair, and confidently, the only way Sister Marguerite knew how, strode over to us, extending her hand to Ethan. I unwrapped myself from Ethan’s side and let him take her hand.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Moonsong. I’ve heard so much about you.” Ethan looked at me briefly at the mention that I’d discussed him with her.

He turned to Sister and smiled his lopsided grin, bent slightly at the waist, no doubt to reduce his imposing height, and squeezed her small hand in both his massive ones. “Please, call me Ethan. It’s nice to meet you as well,” he answered her, his dark timbre resonating throughout the room.

His daunting presence had startled a few girls, and they had run from the room, but the remaining girls seemed entranced by him, their expressions finally softened by his apparent unclouded and soothing voice.

Ethan was an imposing force with his booming height, his long, dark black hair, bone-colored skin that stretched across his definitive cheekbones, Romanesque nose, and his light grey eyes. His presence was more than intimidating, it was borderline terrifying, but when he spoke… when Ethan
spoke
, all reservations, all hesitancy you felt over the impact of his striking existence dissipated into dust on the floor. He spoke with a softness, with a deep quietness that was in direct opposition to his sharp looks. He spoke with such a pacifying ease, you couldn’t help but feel protected.

And that was what Ethan emanated. He radiated the word
shield
and all that embodied. His name was synonymous with protector. You could
feel
what he was put on this earth to do. Protecting your body with his and all the while soothing your soul with his mollifying speech, these were his callings. You knew his words were not spoken unless there was one hundred percent certainty that they could be kept, that they were meant with a genuineness so sincere, and that he would do all those things even at great cost to himself because when Ethan spoke, he meant it.

Sister Marguerite’s shoulders relaxed and her eyes crinkled with her smile. “Come sit, please,” she asked, her French accent heavy in each word.

The first day I’d arrived at Slánaigh, I remembered wanting to sit at her feet just to hear her speak with her lilting, lovely accent, her back-of-the-throat consonants. She and Ethan had that in common, if for very different reasons, though. Sister Marguerite’s words were beautiful. Ethan’s were beautiful as well, but his had the added benefit of naturally, as if of their own accord, easing the worn edges of the listener’s heart.

She led him over toward her chair, her rosary beads singing in clinking charms as her heavy skirts swished side to side, and gestured to the wooden stool beside her. He sat with her, hulking beside her tiny four-and-a-half-foot frame.

As she picked up her darning, the sounds of the girls going about their business once more resounded throughout the room again, including, this time, a little giggling. I watched Sister Marguerite keep one eye on her needle and the other on our visitor.

“Why have you come here, Ethan?” she asked.

Ethan smiled at me and I couldn’t help but grin back. He cleared his throat. “I came to help, to protect my very good friend.”

Sister looked up at him, learning him, seeking something deeper in his words, but I didn’t know what. “Do you know what it is we do here?” she asked, twisting my guts into knots. My hands shook, waiting for his answer, and knowing that her response would reveal what I had longed for, worked so hard for him never to have discovered about me.

Ethan looked at me with deliberate slowness, his eyes piercing my own. “You save children from slavery,” he whispered in answer, his gaze still on my face.

All the breath left in my lungs rushed out through my nose, my body rocked back, as if his words held weight and when they reached me, pushed me back on my heels.

He knows.

              My eyes stung with a shame I hadn’t felt since I’d been a little girl. Ethan knew my dirty secret, my dirty past, inflicted upon me by the same type of men I’d hoped to save the girls sitting around me from ever knowing again. I was at Slánaigh to cleanse myself, purge myself, of every single touch I’d ever received that had never been welcome. Those moments I’d never get back, the ones that had been stolen from me, the moments I was supposed to give to the name of my choosing. Slánaigh was my therapy’s end point. A time I would dedicate toward forgiving the things that had happened to me and when my year was over at Slánaigh, I would continue to give to them with time, energy, and money, but never for those reasons again. This single trip was a self-imposed border, one I would never, ever cross again.

             
But he knows
.

              A single tear slid down my cheek so excruciatingly slowly I could sense every creeping roll, every shifting inch, desperately convincing me to recognize it. It begged me to swipe it away so I did so with the back of my hand and let my hair fall forward. I avoided both their gazes as they returned to their conversation, unaware of my secret torment.

              “Yes, we rescue children here from a fate worse than death,” Sister Marguerite spoke with sincerity.

              “I am here to help you,” Ethan added again with that dogged earnestness. “And I will do it, whether you want me to or not, if I have to camp outside this house on the lane, I will be there for every trip, every investigation.”

              I peered their direction once more, noticing Sister Marguerite’s hidden smile of amusement. “No need, young man. We would never refuse the help of anyone worthy of helping, and Finley has assured us that you are.”

              Looking surprised, Ethan glanced at me with wide eyes, his expression unreadable. He turned back to Sister Marguerite, “Well, thank you for allowing me to stay.”

              She leaned toward him and lowered her voice, “Prepare yourself then, Ethan Moonsong.”

              Confused, Ethan only nodded.

              I needed to talk to him, take him somewhere I could really talk to him.

              “Sister Marguerite, do you mind if I take Ethan down to the shore for an hour before dinner? I want to explain a few of the, uh, delicacies of the girls here,” I asked.

              “I believe he should speak to Father before you do that, though,” she answered.

              “Father’s gone out to talk with an informant then visit An and her dad. I promise as soon as we see him back, we’ll talk to him.”

              She looked at me then nodded, returning her attention to her work.

              “Ethan,” I said, his name thick on my tongue. I swallowed.

I started walking around the small groups of girls on the floor and made my way toward the door. Before long, I could feel the temperature of Ethan’s skin near my own and I nearly cried at his proximity. Knowing what I was about to reveal to him had me feeling sick to my stomach.

I pushed through the door and onto the boardwalk then down the winding staircase. As soon as my feet hit path, I abandoned my flip-flops, and took off running toward the shore, my breath panting as I passed through the grove of thick trees that canopied the path to the ocean. When I reached the beach, I fell to my knees within the shadow of a tall crag covered in green. My hands felt sand and I realized I’d fallen forward, my gut aching in a sorrow I hadn’t let myself feel in years.

I sensed Ethan’s heat once more hovering over me. “Why did you have to come here?” I asked in sobbing gasps.

I felt him fall beside me, his arms encircling me, soothing me against my will.

“Stop!” I demanded, throwing his arms off me. “I don’t want to be comforted, Ethan! I want to feel every inch of pain. I need to feel this.”

“You don’t have to suffer anymore, Finley,” he said quietly in my ear.

I whipped my face toward his, startling him. “Don’t you get it? I want to feel the pain again, Ethan. I know if I can just see it, feel it, I can grab it with both hands and hoist it away from me. I know I can do this. I need to do this.”

He pushed off his heels, sitting back, and looked out into the bay, his hair whipping behind him with the ocean wind. “I don’t want you to hurt anymore,” he told the air around me.

Tears streamed down my face. “It’s not for you to decide,” I told that same air. I sat back, my legs tucked beneath me. “Couldn’t you leave it alone? Why couldn’t you leave it
alone
? I didn’t want you to know that side of me. Ever.” I turned to him, to look at his beautiful face.