Wednesday's Words: Andean Adventure, Chapter 4

Did you miss Chapter 1? Get caught up now.

How about Chapter 2? Read it here

And you wouldn't want to miss Chapter 3: This is where it explodes

Chapter 4

The next morning when DeeDee made her way into the hotel lobby, she hoped she’d find Liam waiting for her, but he wasn’t. Not knowing what else to do, she took a seat on a small settee beneath the window and considered her options.

Anger flashed through her. She directed it at not only Liam for lying to her, but also Mom. DeeDee would never have been in this situation—barely clothed, starving, and sleep-deprived—if Mom hadn’t slipped her the Witching Well water.

But thinking of Mom reminded of her bag. On a whim, she pulled out her phone. Of course, there wasn’t any service. She switched it off to conserve her battery. Then, she turned her attention to the muffin. She tore into it and the crumbs melted in her mouth. She tried to remember ever feeling hungry or tired in her past dreams.

As her hunger subsided, so did her anger. It disappeared completely when Liam walked into the room. Their gazes met. He pushed his hat back off his forehead and strode her way. He swung the satchel he’d had around his shoulder off and dropped it onto the settee. He pulled out some clothes.

“What’s this?” she asked.

“For you,” he announced. “You’ll be a lot less conspicuous in these.” He straightened a smushed cowboy hat and jammed it on her head.

DeeDee’s lips curled when she shook out a pair of brown canvas pants and soft blue button-down shirt.

“If we cut your hair, you’ll look like a boy—although, a small one.”

She bit back any arguments she had, and said, “Thanks. What do I owe you?”

He grinned. “A map, but you can pay when we get you home.”

Home. The word brought tears to her eyes.

“Thank you,” she said again, but this time in a near whisper.

#

LiAM

When Delia returned from changing her clothes, Liam’s heart stuttered. She looked like Delia, but different. The missing breasts, of course, concerned him, but there were other differences, as well. The Delia he knew, brimmed with an almost frenetic energy. This Delia was subdued, hesitant. He’d caught flashes of the old Delia when she’d attacked Victor’s man, but, for the most part, this Delia almost seemed like a different person.

Had the head injury that had caused the memory loss also taken her personality? At first, he hadn’t believed her amnesia story, but now he wasn’t so sure. About anything.

She stood in front of him. “What do you think?” She smoothed down the front of her blue shirt and tucked it into the pant’s waistband. The clothes floated around her. She needed a belt. He could give her his own, but it would never fit.

“Maybe we could find a piece of rope or something to keep the pants from falling off.” She bent and rolled up the cuffs, showing off her slender ankles. “If my girls could see me now,” she chuckled.

“Your girls?” he echoed.

Delia straightened and refused to meet his gaze. “At the dress shop…where I…hmm…go.”

“Yeah,” he said. “You always look like a million bucks. This is definitely a different show for you.”

Delia took a deep breath, met his gaze, and smiled as if he’d paid her a pleasing compliment. “Shall we? The sooner I can get home, the happier I’ll be.”

He shouldered his knapsack and cast a glance at Delia’s bag. “You travel light.” He strode through the cantina, nodding at Mario behind the counter.

She matched her stride to his. “I didn’t know I was going on a trip.”

His steps faltered, and he turned to frown at her. “Really?”

She nodded. Her expression seemed sincere. “My most vivid memory is of almost being run over by your jeep. Everything before that is fuzzy at best.”

Liam held the door. “Tell me what you do know.”

Delia skipped past him, inhaling his warm scent as she did. “I know I live in São Paulo. I’m a writer—a novelist.” Her brow wrinkled. “I’ve met Hemingway.”

He stopped so abruptly on the boardwalk she bumped into him. She braced her hands on his back to catch her balance.

“You remember Hemingway, but not me?” he asked, disliking the hurt tone in his voice.

She backed away from him. “Hemingway—he’s out of the history books, right?”

Liam tucked his hands in pockets, fighting the jealousy he knew he shouldn’t be battling. “He is?”

“He’s a literary genius.”

“I didn’t know you thought so highly of him.”

Her lips lifted in a small smile. “He has all those cats.”

“Cats. Right.”

“And he drinks.” She made a face.

“You drink,” he pointed out, wondering if he needed to remind her of the night he had pulled her off the tables at that bar in Rio.

“Not anymore.”

His steps faltered. “Since when?”

“Since…” she waved at her sunken chest. “Since this. You must have noticed.”

“I did, but I didn’t want to ask.”

“I appreciate that, but it’s not a secret.” She hesitated before adding, “I had breast cancer.”

His face paled. “I’m sorry.”

“Me, too.”

His thoughts sputtered. She seemed so casual about her impending death.

“I’m fine,” she assured him.

“Fine?” No one with cancer could be fine. “That’s one way to look at it.” He’d always known her to be brave, but her cavalier attitude shocked him.

“It’s the best way to look at it.”

Cancer was a death sentence, and yet, she seemed completely unfazed. Maybe he’d underestimated her. She’d always been strong, but never spiritual. If he’d had to guess, he would have thought she hadn’t believed in an afterlife. He itched to ask her, but he couldn’t. He found himself grieving and missing her, even though she stood right beside him. “You’re different.”

“Thank you?”

He heard the question in her tone.

“You’re welcome.”

He pressed his lips together. “So, you remember breast cancer?”

She glanced at the front of her shirt with lips not quite smiling, but still twisted. “The visual reminder is hard to ignore.”

He nodded. “I guess I can see that.”

“I don’t want you to see it. The doctors did the best they could, but the scars aren’t pretty.”

He blanched. “I wasn’t asking you to take off your shirt.”

“Good.” She changed the subject. “How are we going to get to São Paulo? I don’t suppose there’s a train.”

“No. I’ve hired a truck from a local farmer, Matias Alba. It won’t be pretty, or even comfortable, but it will get us there.”

“How will you get it back to him?”

“His daughter lives in São Paulo. She agreed to drive it back.”

“You must have had this planned for a while.”

“No, surprisingly, it all came together after I drove my jeep into that tree.”

“I’m sorry about that.”

“You really don’t know what you were doing in the middle of the road?”

“I really don’t.”

“Maybe it will come back to you.”

“That would be nice, but somehow, I don’t think so.”

“Why? Don’t most people who lose their memory regain it?”

She bumped him with her hip. “I’m not like most people.”

“So I’ve noticed.” 

Liam expected Delia to turn up her pretty nose at Matias and Silvia’s humble home, but she didn’t. Without a hitch in her step, she followed Liam through the gate and across the yard, wading through the chickens and saying hello to Matias’ great beast of a dog lying on the porch and beating his tail in a welcome.

The door banged open and Silvia appeared. Her eyes brightened when she saw him, and she opened her arms. He gladly stepped into her embrace. She smelled of warm tortillas and mate’. She pulled away from him but kept hold of his wrists. She studied his face.

 “How are you, my friend?” she asked in Portuguese.

Liam nodded in Delia’s direction. “Let me introduce Delia Fleur.”

“Call me DeeDee, please,” Delia said, extending her hand.

“DeeDee?” Liam murmured.

Delia/DeeDee ignored him. But then Silvia ignored Delia’s outstretched hand and pulled her into a hug.

“Silvia doesn’t speak English,” Liam told Delia. “You’ll have to trust me to translate correctly.”

“You brought a senorita.” Silvia held Delia close. “How wonderful,” she said after pulling away.

“Wouldn’t I be a senora?” Delia tugged her clothes back into place. “I mean, I’m almost sixty.”

Silvia shook her finger in Delia’s face. “You fooled me. She looks like a boy.”

“This isn’t a fashion show. We’re trying to outrun Victor and his men,” Liam explained.

“Ah, she’s in disguise, no?”

“Sort of.”

Silvia held open the door and waved them inside. “Did anyone follow you?”

Liam looked over his shoulder in both directions. “I don’t think so.”

“Unless this Victor can see through walls. You’ll be safe here.”

The stiffness in Liam’s spine eased a fraction. “Thank you. Is Matia’s around?”

“He’s gone to a cattle show, but he told me you were coming. You are to take the truck to São Paulo, correct? My Pedro will drive it back?”

“This is a very kind thing you are doing.”

“Not at all. You’re the one doing me the favor by providing my son with a way home.”

Silvia motioned for them to sit at the kitchen table. “You must be hungry. Let me make you something to eat.”

“We couldn’t impose.”

“Tis no trouble. I wish to get to know this chica.” She gazed at Delia with a speculative glee.

Liam, not wanting to mislead his friends, battled on what to say. Could he honestly say he wasn’t romantically interested in Delia? Maybe once, a long time ago, but now?

“You have time enough to sit at the table and chat, no? It’s a small thing to ask for repayment for the truck.”

“I thought I was doing you a favor?”

Silvia waved at the table impatiently. “It will only take me a moment to fry up a couple of eggs.” She bustled into the area that served as a kitchen and poured boiling water into mugs. A fragrant steam lifted in the air.

Delia took the mug and her nose wrinkled. “What’s this?” she whispered.

“You remember Hemingway, but not mate’?”

“You need to get over Ernest,” she said with a trace of impatience.

Liam took a seat at the table and pulled out a chair for Delia. Silvia busied herself at the counter, cracking eggs—one brown and one pink—into a bowl. On the stove, fat sizzled in a cast-iron pan.

“I’m watching my cholesterol,” Delia whispered.

“Your what?”

“I try to avoid animal fats,” Delia clarified.

“Well, I suggest not trying to avoid Silvia’s tortilla de patatas. It’s delicious.”

“Now, my friend.” Silvia placed a steaming plate before Liam and Delia. “Tell me about these villains who chase you and why.”

 #

Delia couldn’t follow Liam and Silvia’s conversation, so she focused on the meal. Liam might not be telling the truth about everything, but he hadn’t lied when he’d said the eggs would be delicious. Ever since DeeDee had learned cancer thrived on fat, she’d tried to side-step anything oily or greasy. But if none of this was real and she was just living in a fantasy, she might as well eat eggs—or anything else her heart desired. Although when Silvia tried to pour her a glass of wine, she declined. To her surprise, Liam did the same.

As soon as they were alone in the Jeep, she started peppering him with questions.

“His name is Victor Monte,” Liam said.

“Why is he trying to kill you?”

“Because I deserve it.”

She tightened her lips and stared out the window at the jungle flashing past. “Really? Should I jump ship?” How long could she survive on her own?

He gave her twisted grin. “Maybe. Probably. But you won’t.”

“Why not?”

“You know why.” He flexed his fingers around the steering wheel. “I’m surprised you’d ask about Vic.”

She tapped her temple with her pointy finger. “Lost memory, remember.”

He shook his head as if he didn’t believe her. He probably didn’t.

“Vic and I used to be friends. We were roommates back at Baylor University. Both studied history. His father is an archaeologist. Quite famous. Since you remember Hemingway, maybe you remember him. Solomon Monte?” He shot her a questioning glance. “He discovered ruins in the Yucatan.”

She shook her head in response.

“He might be a successful archeologist, but not a terribly successful human being. For Vic, finding the Lost City of the Caesars isn’t just about the treasure. It’s about proving something to his old man.”

“If you’re both looking for the same thing, why not try to put your differences aside and work together?”

He gave her a funny look.

“What?”

“Cooperation. That’s rich, coming from you.”

“I can cooperate.”

He arched an eyebrow.

“Look, there are somethings that are really hard to forgive.” His jaw tightened. “I can’t believe you’re making me rehash this.”

“I’m not making you do anything. All I want is a ticket to São Paulo, which you agreed to provide in exchange for a map. But if we’re going to be chased and potentially gunned down by this Victor villain—that’s something I should know.”

For a moment, he looked as if he were considering his options. Finally, he said, “Twenty years ago, I accidentally started a fire that destroyed Victor’s farm.”

DeeDee gasped. “That’s terrible.”

“It gets worse.”

“Was anyone hurt?”

“His wife and daughter were killed.”

“But if it was an accident…”

“His father convinced him it was intentional.” His voice dropped. “I was lucky I got out alive.”

“How did you?”

He shook his head. “I was so drunk, I barely remember.”

“Is that why you don’t drink?”

He shot her a quick glance. “You remember?”

“No. I noticed you weren’t drinking with Silvia.”

Liam continued. “I tried to make restitution. But there are somethings that just can’t be replaced.” A look of pain flashed across his face, letting her know there was something he wasn’t telling her.

Fear waved through her. “Does he have any reason to hate me?”

“Only by association.”

“But do I know him? Have I met Victor the Villain?”

“You really don’t remember?”

“No, I really don’t.”

He laughed but the sound wasn’t happy. It carried a host of emotions she didn’t know how to define. She pressed her hand against her chest. “I like to think I didn’t ever give him a reason to hate me as well.”

“You can’t be around me and be friends with Victor. He’s dangerous.”

“Well,” she said, looking around at the jungle crowding around and threatening to overtake the roadway, “we’re probably safe here.”

“He has men everywhere.”

“How did a history professor become so rich and powerful?”

“Drugs.”

DeeDee itched for the Internet to do some research. She would have loved to be able to verify Liam’s story. But in 1947 there wasn’t a lot she could do, even if she had access to a computer. Her thoughts went back to her first job at a shipping business. In 1978, they had giant computers that could fill a barn, but they were as slow as molasses and just about as useful. She’d have to trust this man. She had no alternative but to carry on.

“I’m tired of talking about me,” he said. “Tell me what you’ve been up to?”

DeeDee didn’t even know where to begin. “When was the last time we saw each other?”

“Three years ago.”  He didn’t even have to stop and think.

DeeDee’s mind raced. She searched her memory is for what she knew about her grandmother. But then, she laughed. “You’re trying to trick me, aren’t you?” She jabbed a finger in his direction. “You’re trying to see if I’m fibbing about my memory loss.”

He smiled sheepishly. “Yeah, you got me.”

“Amnesia. It’s a real thing.’

“It’s also convenient cop out.”

“Well, you don’t have to believe me, but it’s the truth. Go ahead ask me something that you think I should know.”

“You’ll just denied it.”

She considered his argument before a larger, more pressing problem appeared. “Look out!” What was that?

Liam’s attention swung back to the road. He softly swore and swerved to the left. The car bounced off of the road and into a mass of ferns. Palm fronds slapped the windshield. Foliage engulfed them. They were being eaten by the jungle. An explosion shook the jeep.