The door was carved with lotus patterns; she placed her palms on the smooth, warm wood, resting her forehead on the carving.Anchoring herself with something familiar.
From somewhere inside came the soft chime of wind-bells, and a whiff of jasmine rice steaming.The fragile petals of bougainvillea blossoms brushed her cheek as Sophie reached into a hidden alcove and pulled a string that rang a bell inside.
A few minutes later, the door opened a crack, then wider as she was spotted.“Sophie Malee!”Her namesake aunt Malee sat in a wheelchair, backlit by afternoon sun filtering through latticework over a walkway to the house.
“Auntie,” Sophie said.“This is my bodyguard, Feirn.I’m sorry I didn’t call ...”
“Ah, my favorite niece.No need, you are always welcome.”
“I’m youronlyniece.”
“And you’d still be my favorite.”Malee’s dimples showed in a wide smile.Sophie came inside; Feirn followed, locking the gate behind them.Sophie leaned down to hug her aunt.She hadn’t seen her mother’s sister in five years.Malee’s fine-boned face was still beautiful despite lines of pain etched around her eyes and a streak of white in her dark hair.Her legs, visible beneath a simple blue sarong, were withered—the price of crossing Pim Wat when she helped Sophie get Momi back.
“I am so delighted to see you.”Malee’s voice was water over stones, soothing and full of affection; it brought quick tears to Sophie’s eyes.“Come.You look like you need food and a bed, both of you.And for that, you’ve come to the right place.”
Sophie pushed her aunt’s chair up a ramp into the elevated first floor of the house.The interior of the old place was a sanctuary of polished teak and aged silk.No air-conditioning, just ceiling fans turning lazily, stirring air perfumed with incense and the earthy sweetness of dried flowers.
The smell of rice cooking grew stronger when they reached the kitchen and eating area.A plump young woman, wiping her hands on a sacking apron, joined them.
“This is Ema.My helper,” Malee said.“Ema, my niece Sophie and her friend Feirn.Can you put on more food for us?And they will be staying here, so freshen up the guest rooms upstairs when you have a chance.”
“Of course.My pleasure,” Ema said, and bustled off.
Feirn leaned on a wall, monitoring the outside world with his ears and phone.Through the windows, from a distance, came the sounds of the neighborhood—vendors calling their wares, the sputter of motorcycles navigating narrow lanes, someone’s radio playing music, the distant clang of temple bells.
The Sig Sauer strapped to Feirn’s hip on one side and the sheathed blade on the other were discordant but currently welcome notes in the peaceful home.
Sophie collapsed more than sat on the woven floor mat cushions Malee indicated.Her hands wouldn't stop shaking.“I’m so tired, Auntie, but I can’t go to sleep.”
“Tea first,” Malee said, wheeling herself to a low table where a ceramic pot waited.“Ema just made it for me when you rang.Talk and food next.Then, you rest.”The cup Malee pressed into Sophie’s hands was thin porcelain, painted with tiny blue flowers.“You can tell me what brings you here when you’re ready.”
Sophie paused to sniff the fragrant chrysanthemum tea, then sipped.Light and faintly sweet, the herbal brew was counterpoint to the sticky ball of grief lodged in Sophie’s throat.
Through the windows she glimpsed the Ping River; brown water moved slowly in the afternoon heat, long-tail boats stitching white wakes across its surface.
“I need to get it out.”Sophie told her aunt why she was in Thailand, and what had happened at the fortress.She didn’t know she was crying until dripping tears hit her hands holding the teacup.
Malee’s voice was gentle.“The Americans and their solutions.So final, so ...”
“Destructive.Three hundred people died.At least.”Sophie’s voice cracked.“Maybe more.The whole stronghold, gone.And Connor—” She couldn’t finish.
“The man you loved.”Malee had been Sophie’s pen pal; they’d kept up via periodically exchanged old-fashioned letters.“Your mother spoke of Connor.She hated him.Because he killed her lover.”
“She told you about him?”This bit of information pierced through Sophie’s numbness.
“Once.Here, actually.”Malee gestured to the room around them.“The last time I saw her.When Pim Wat—cut me.”
“What?”Feirn roused from his place on the wall.“Pim Wat, your sister—she hurt you?”
“Pim Wat crippled me.”Malee tugged aside the blue silk sarong draped over her lap.She extended her shriveled legs, turned them at the ankle so a vicious, knotted scar above her heel was revealed.“Cut my Achilles tendons and left me to die.A punishment for helping Sophie get her child back.”
Feirn’s eyes went wide; he shook his head, seemingly unable to speak.
Sophie had known of Malee’s injury at her mother’s hands, but seeing it was another story.“Oh, Auntie.If there were any justice in the world ...”
Malee shrugged.“She did not kill me.I was rescued in time to live, though not for my mobility to be saved.I am grateful to be alive.And that her attack did not make me bitter; I refused to let it do so.The greatest freedom we have is to choose how to respond to the blows life deals out.”
From the kitchen came the homely sounds and smells of Ema cooking—garlic and onions hitting hot oil, filling the air with comfort.Sophie realized she hadn’t eaten in an endless long time; her stomach growled.
