by Diana Renn
Sage looked toward another cluster of rocks. “Race you?”
I felt something like emotional whiplash, trying to keep up with such a personal confession followed by a sudden retreat. “Uh, sure,” I mumbled, as she slid into the water.
We raced, sort of. She won by a huge margin, since I could only do a modified breaststroke to keep my face out of the water, and I’d never been much of a swimmer. That was fine by me. I was just happy not to be alone for once.
I wanted to ask her more about her brother. What he was like, what exactly happened. It was awkward because I didn’t know her. She’d told me this really intense, personal thing. Getting personal information from someone felt kind of like receiving a gift. But if I asked for more details, would I look interested, or just nosy? I didn’t want to screw things up. This was the closest I’d come to hanging out with a friend in two months, and I was desperate for company. The rules of friendship suddenly felt unfamiliar to me, the words that new friends typically say to each other like a foreign language.
As we climbed up the base of the next rock, Sage was still burying her confession by piling on questions about me. “It’s nice you and your mom came all this way to be with your aunt. Do you come to Turkey a lot to see her?”
“No. It’s our first time.”
She looked surprised. “Really? You didn’t come to your uncle’s funeral?”
I shook my head.
“Why not?”
I dipped a toe in the water and swirled it around, uncertain of how much to reveal about my weird family. Still, I felt I owed her something. “We were kind of busy. My dad was having some really bad, um, work problems. And then my parents sort of . . . separated.” There was talk of divorce; I just couldn’t bring myself to say it yet. I glanced at Sage’s face. She was listening intently, even sympathetically, but she didn’t seem to know what I was talking about. So maybe the news about the scandal hadn’t made it this far. And if she were from Oregon, she probably didn’t follow news in Massachusetts. I could still be anonymous here.
Sage made a sympathetic face. Then she shook her head, as if in disbelief. “But wait. You never came to see your family in Turkey? I heard your aunt runs a boutique hotel in Istanbul!”
“They only opened the hotel two years ago, when my uncle lost his museum job and he inherited the building from his parents. But no, we’ve never visited them. It’s just—I don’t know. The timing never worked out right. And my mom’s seven years older than my aunt. They weren’t that close growing up. Mom always said they were like two only children whose lives overlapped for a few years.” I didn’t confess what I thought was the real reason we’d never made it to Turkey before: Dad. He’d never liked my aunt and uncle very much. Once, I’d overheard him saying something to Mom about her “freaky hippie sister and that moody guy she married.” And then he’d go on about how she had to be crazy to live in Turkey, citing crime statistics, Kurdish militia groups, wars in nearby Syria and Iraq, terrorist cells.
“So where to next?” Sage asked.
“Istanbul,” I said. “We’ll stay with my aunt for almost six weeks.”
“That’s cool. But I meant, where should we swim to next? Another rock or the beach?”
A warm feeling spread through me. She wanted to keep hanging out. I felt like I’d passed some kind of test. I pointed to the narrow spit of beach about ten yards away; people from nearby boats were already headed in that direction. She nodded and dove into the water headfirst.
“I noticed your books,” I said when we sat on the beach to dry off in the sun. “Who’s Freya Stark?”
Sage decorated a sandcastle she was building with a pattern of tiny pebbles. “She was a famous British explorer. One of the first woman explorers to travel around the Middle East alone. She died in 1993, close to her one hundredth birthday.”
“A ‘passionate nomad,’” I guessed, thinking of one of the book titles.
“Yeah. She also traveled through Turkey alone, and wrote a lot about it. I adore her travel writing. ‘To awaken quite alone in a strange town is one of the pleasantest sensations in the world. You are surrounded by adventure.’”
“That’s cool. Freya Stark said that?”
“Yeah. Those words are like my personal motto.”
“I wish I had a motto.” My own motto, not my mom’s fake-optimistic family motto. I’d never thought much about what kind of life approach I wanted. It hadn’t ever been up to me to decide.
“You’ll find one. I’ll loan you one of her books, if you want,” said Sage.
“Sure. I’ll read it. Hey, how’d you end up traveling alone?”
“My family was going to come join me here, to celebrate the end of my exchange program. But my mom’s been in and out of the hospital. Nothing too serious,” she added quickly, when I started to express concern. “But travel would be hard on her right now. So they paid for the Blue Voyage and said to take a friend. I like traveling by myself, so I came alone.”
“I can’t believe they don’t mind that you’re on a cruise all by yourself!”
“They don’t exactly know that part. I mean, parents don’t really have to know everything. Right?” She glanced at the hot first mate on the Anilar, who waved at us. Sage waved back, and, emboldened, I did too.
Oh, yeah. We exchanged a knowing smile. Parents could definitely remain in the dark.
Back on the Gulet Yasemin, I ran down to my room, reapplied my sunscreen and makeup, and changed into fresh clothes: a long skirt and a button-down long-sleeved blouse. I caught my reflection in the full-length mirror on the back of our door and made a face. I felt like freaking Laura Ingalls Wilder. But I wasn’t risking exposure in the midday sun.
When I went back to the upper deck to hang my swimming clothes to dry, I saw that besides the Anilar, three more boats were now moored in our inlet. All the passengers from our boat were either snorkeling or lounging at the stern. Then a put-put-put sound made me turn and look toward the front of the boat.
A motorboat had come right up alongside us. Whoever was steering it tossed up a line, and Sage caught it neatly and tied it in a perfect knot around the railing. A guy stood up on the motorboat and started talking to her. He was curly-haired, maybe our age, and more deeply tanned than the first mate on the Anilar. He wasn’t as hot as the Anilar guy, but he was still kind of cute. He held up a big silver tray and grinned at Sage.
Seeing me, Sage waved me over. “Baklava!” she said. “Want some? My treat.”
Baklava? In the middle of the water? She had to be kidding, right? But no. When I got there, I saw a tray with rows and rows of triangular pastries, phyllo slathered in honey and sprinkled with the greenest crumbled pistachios. There were also cheesy pastries, and powdered cubes of Turkish delight candy.
I took my time picking out pastries for myself, as well as for my aunt and my mom, and Sage did too, sampling some, licking honey off her fingers, and glancing slyly at Baklava Guy.
Sage bought baklava for everyone and asked me to distribute the treats to the rest of the passengers. “You’re buying for everyone?” I asked in disbelief.
“Consider it a gift from my parents,” she said.
I loaded up napkins with pastries and delivered the goods. When I walked back toward the prow, licking honey and sugar off my fingers, Baklava Guy and Sage were still talking.
Then Sage reached over for something on the guy’s tray. Something that flashed as she slipped it into her black canvas knapsack. It didn’t look like baklava.
Spotting Nils and Ingrid’s binoculars on a nearby table, I picked them up and put them to my eyes, my fingers fumbling to adjust the fit and the focus.
Sage reached for another item and put it in her bag. Then another. I didn’t know what she was buying now, but I was sure it wasn’t pastry.
There was no honey in the world that could shine like pure gold.
7
My heart thudding, I watched Sage transfer things from the tray to her knapsack. I zoomed in with the binoculars and saw what they were. Small gold figurines. They looked like little Oscar Awards. Each figurine was slightly taller than Sage’s hand; the head and the legs stuck out when she gripped one in her fist. I watched her take four of them from Baklava Guy and put them in her knapsack. Then she handed the guy a large stack of bills. I zoomed in as far as I could, just in time to see that they weren’t Turkish lira or Euros. They were American dollars, but I couldn’t make out the numbers on them. I wondered how much she was spending.
“Spot any beauties?” said a man’s voice behind me.
I spun around to find Nils, one of the Norwegians, pointing to my binoculars—no, his binoculars. My face warmed. I handed them over, not wanting him to think I was swiping them. “Sorry. I was just borrowing them.”
“It’s all right. Please, enjoy them.” The lines around his bright blue eyes crinkled as he smiled. “I take it you are interested in ornithology?”
“Orni-what?” Maybe that was Norwegian for spying on people.
“Ornithology. Bird-watching. Perhaps you can help Ingrid and me to find the elusive Smyrna kingfisher.” Nils stooped and picked up a thick bird guide he’d left on the deck. “Or, if not the kingfisher, then any of the fifty bird species we are hoping to identify on this voyage.” He unfolded a checklist from the back of the guide and pointed to the Smyrna kingfisher’s mug shot. It was a beautiful bird with blue feathers, a chestnut head, white throat, and bright red beak. “After that we can look for the Dalmatian pelican. Some make their nests in rivers and deltas such as this one. It is the largest of the pelicans, and has quite distinctive curly nape feathers. You see?” He showed me the picture.
“I’ll keep my eyes peeled,” I said, jogging toward the front of the boat to join Sage.
The line tethering the motorboat to the Gulet Yasemin slipped off as Baklava Guy zoomed back toward the rocky cove, heading for the mouth of the Dalyan River.
“How did everyone like the pastries?” Sage asked when she saw me.
I coughed from the motorboat’s gasoline fumes. “What were you buying just now? From Baklava Guy?”
“Baklava.”
“After that. It didn’t look like food.”
“Oh! Gifts for my family. I just didn’t want the crew to see how much cash I was carrying. I like everyone on the boat, but you just never know who to trust.”
I got that. I didn’t trust people easily either. And I knew Mom had divided up her cash and hidden it throughout our luggage; she was obsessive about checking to make sure our suitcases were always locked. Still, it surprised me that you could buy jewelry and souvenirs without even going to shore. “I didn’t know he had other stuff for sale,” I said.
“Most people have other stuff for sale,” said Sage. “If you ask them. Anyway, jewelry and knickknacks are way cheaper here on the coast than in Istanbul. Want to see what I bought?”
I did. Sage reached into her knapsack and took out her scarf. She set it to the side, then took out a small box. In it was a pair of teardrop-shaped gold earrings, with cobalt blue stones set inside, ringed with smaller turquoise stones, as blue as the water around us. “Those are so pretty,” I said. My hands twitched with the urge to touch them.
“Aren’t they? I love them. I’d wear them myself, but they’re for my mom.” She held them up to the light, letting them sparkle and dance. “And I also got these.” She took out the four small statuettes I’d seen through the binoculars.
“Interesting,” I said, picking one up. It was surprisingly heavy. The little figurine had no clear facial features, and the gold was bright yellow and gleaming.
“Just little statues. Gold-plated replicas of stuff from ancient civilizations,” said Sage. “They make great souvenirs. My dad’s a History Channel addict. He’ll love them.”
I thought of Aunt Jackie’s urn, the gold-plated replica she’d brought for the ceremony.
“The gold on these earrings is real, though,” said Sage. “Eighteen karat. Too flashy?” She frowned, holding the teardrops up to the sun. “Turkish gold is so yellow. More yellow than most Americans are used to.”
“I’m sure she’ll love them. It’s a great gift,” I said. “And I’m sure your mom’ll be excited to see you again. How long have you been in Turkey?”
“Ten months. Not nearly long enough,” Sage added, putting the earrings back in the box.
“Really? I can’t even imagine being away for so long.”
“I’m not ready to go back. I love it here. I love travel. I don’t want to stop. Ever,” she added with unexpected fierceness.
“But don’t you think your parents miss you?”
She shrugged and slipped the box into her knapsack, then packed the scarf around everything. “My parents always said you have to travel while you’re young. Like, for graduation last year? They gave me a compass and a suitcase. And they said two words: Just go. I can’t think of a better gift than a suitcase. Anyway, these are the gifts. I’m done shopping. This stuff cleaned out the rest of my cash.” She swung her knapsack over her shoulder and stood up. “Hey, Selim said the Lycian Society arranged for a guide to row us down the Dalyan River if we want to see the village and the ruins down there. Do you want to come?”
“Sure!”
“Great!” She grinned.
“I just need to grab something from my room.”
My mood was improving by the second. I ran to the back of the boat, toward the stairs that led down to the cabins.
Mom was just coming up. “We’re going on the ruins excursion. The guide is waiting for us in the tender.”
“I’m coming. I just need to grab some stuff first. Is Aunt Jackie going?”
“She said she’s not in the mood. I couldn’t convince her.” Mom sighed. “Maybe all the stuff about ruins hits too close to home for her. This was Berk’s great passion. Anyway, hurry up. We don’t want to keep everyone waiting.” She smiled at me. “Hey. I’m glad you and Sage are hitting it off. It’s good to see you hang out with someone so nice.”
“Nice?” My rising mood went down a few notches.
“Nicer than some of the kids back home.”
“Ah. Is that what made her pass quality control?” I asked.
Mom sighed. “Oh, Zan. Do you have to twist everything around to the negative? Honestly, it’s exhausting.”
“What’s exhausting is every compliment from you is actually a backhanded criticism,” I said.
“What’s exhausting is fighting with you every minute of the day.”
Thanks to Mom, my enthusiasm for this shore excursion was rapidly dwindling. I ran down to our cabin and threw into my backpack everything I’d need to ward off Catastrophic Makeup Failure: sunscreen, cover-up, a compact mirror, a floppy hat.
On my way back down the hall, I noticed Aunt Jackie’s door was open a crack. I peeked inside and looked around the room at her clothes draped across the end of the bed and at her suitcase. Her bathroom door was closed, and I heard her rustling around in there. I should have left, or called out to her. But I didn’t. I opened the lid of her suitcase—and waited, wondering what to do next. I sifted through a layer of clothes. I didn’t know what I was looking for, but my instinct for snooping took over.
Usually I snooped or stole stuff when I felt like things in my own life were out of control. At least, that was my therapist’s theory. And I’d usually get this weird, light-headed feeling, kind of a rush. But now I was in my aunt’s cabin, poking around. It didn’t feel so good.
I was backing away from the suitcase, toward the door, when something in the trash caught my eye. One of those candy tins Aunt Jackie was always opening. I kneeled down to inspect it. The candies were made by some British company; the price tag showed both British pounds and Turkish lira.
I read the label: Ginger Preggo Pops. Take as needed for morning sickness.
I backed away as if I’d just found a loaded gun. Was Aunt Jackie pregnant? Then I heard retching coming from the bathroom. The toilet flushed.
“Aunt Jackie?” I tapped on the door. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” she said between sniffs. “Don’t worry about me, Zan. You don’t want to miss that shore excursion.”
I left her cabin, my stomach twisting. Should I leave Aunt Jackie alone, when she felt so sick and miserable? Or run off with the others—with Sage—and have an adventure?
I remembered too well what it felt like to have no one to count on. Everyone bailed on me when I needed them most. So I called up to Mom to tell her I had changed my mind, and I went back down to Aunt Jackie’s cabin. As I sat on her bed to wait for her, I noticed spreadsheets strewn on the floor.
I was about to reach for one when Aunt Jackie emerged from the bathroom, red-eyed and pale. She looked startled to see me. “What? You didn’t go?”
I shrugged. “It’s hot out. And I kind of hate the sun.”
She smiled. “It is hot. And you know what? I kind of hate the water. So we’re a good pair, you and me.” She winked. “I’ve always been prone to seasickness,” she went on, taking a seat beside me on the bed and tucking her legs up beneath her. “Ever since I was little.” She passed me a tin of gingers. “Want one? I should have passed them out to everyone when we hit that chop this morning, but I’m hoarding them. My stomach’s so sensitive lately.”
“Sure. Right.” Seasickness. So probably that’s all it was. But still, I had to ask. “Aunt Jackie . . . I know it’s none of my business, but . . . you’re not pregnant, are you?” I whispered, even though no one was around to hear.
She hesitated, then grinned.