Where the Sea Takes Me

by Heidi R. Kling

  He leaned forward and touched my shoulder, glancing down at my body. Everything heated up under his gaze, even though the pool was cool.

  “So,” I said, clearing my throat, fighting through the obvious sexual tension. “Suck in a deep breath so you’ll have air in your lungs to help keep you up and, uh, kick your legs into my hands.”

  “Kick my legs up?” he cocked an eyebrow.

  I grinned bashfully. “Sure. Yeah.”

  Totally confident move, Sienna.

  “Okay,” he said. “Here goes.”

  He sucked in a breath dramatically before he flopped back and kicked his legs up.

  “Ha ha,” I said, dragging him back upright. “Nice try. Get under the water. All the way under.”

  He stared at me for a beat. “You are a mean teacher.”

  I splashed him.

  He splashed me back.

  Before I could get him again, he dove under the water and kicked his legs up, kind of scissoring them. I tried to grab his ankles, but they slipped out of my hands. We wrestled around a little before he popped out of the water with a dazzling grin.

  “How was that?”

  Irresistible, I thought.

  “Terrible,” I said.

  “I like your bikini,” he said again.

  “You said that.”

  “It is very…how do I say it, sexy?”

  “Deni!” I slugged him, grinning. “Focus.”

  “I am trying, but it is not easy.” His eyes flickered toward my chest, and I pushed him back. The moonlight shone on the pool, puddling the water in light.

  “Okay, now try blowing bubbles in the…no not like that, I’ll show you…not like. Deni.”

  He frowned playfully. “Okay. I will take it seriously.”

  Mirroring me, we faced each other and blew bubbles.

  We were moving closer to each other in the pool when a light shone in our faces and rapid-fire Khmer interrupted our night frolic.

  “Pool closed! Pool is CLOSED!” the guard said in English. “Get out of water.”

  Laughing, Deni put his arm around me, and we reluctantly climbed out of the pool.

  “We can’t catch a break,” I said to him, and nestled into his side as we rounded the corner.

  Soaking wet, we plodded through the hallway. We stood, lingering, dripping wet and giddy from the pool, from getting caught, outside my hotel door. For a second, I thought he was going to finally kiss me.

  But he didn’t.

  “Good night, Sienna,” he said instead.

  I sighed disappointed. “Good night, Deni.”

  I watched him walk back to his hotel room.

  Maybe it was easier this way. We couldn’t dive right back in to where we left off. Things had changed too much, and I still didn’t know just how much. At least on his end. And we only had this trip. If we remained friends, if we didn’t let things deepen…it would be easier to say goodbye.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The next morning Tom suggested we go to Angkor Watt.

  “We have three choices: tiny plane, bus, or boat. Which do you two prefer?”

  Deni and I looked at each other over the breakfast of fried rice and fruit and Jasmine tea, and we already knew the answer: “Junk boat!” we both said.

  I was exhausted from tossing and turning half the night, wanting to knock on Deni’s door and demand he tell me the whole story about Rema. Eventually I talked myself out of it. The tension in the pool and kiss-that-might-have-been outside my room.

  The hand holding.

  The way he held me poolside after he saved my life?

  I didn’t want any of this to end.

  And I was torn as to whether or not I wanted more. I mean, my body and heart and soul did, but my cautionary part thought otherwise.

  “I want to check out those junk boats,” I said. “It’s a goal of the trip.”

  “And see the floating villages,” Deni added. “It’s a goal of the trip,” he said, winking at me.

  Exactly.

  “We should sit on the roof,” I said. “Remember what we read in the travel book?”

  “It will be an adventure,” Deni added. He looked tired, too. Was he up all night thinking about me that way I thought about him?

  “Great. So….” Tom poured over a travel book. “We’ll leave for Siem Reap via the Mekong River and across the Tonle Sap. From Siem Reap we’ll take a tuk-tuk to Angkor. We’ll pass junk boats and the famous floating villages on the way. You guys don’t need to get back home any certain time, right?”

  “After yesterday, we’re taking a break from swimming lessons for a few days,” I said.

  “And I have enough footage of the pool. I need more in the nature now,” Deni said.

  In the nature. Adventure. Deni and I on the junk boat. The cautious part of me was starting to lose ground to the part that wanted to give in to what I still felt for Deni.

  “Too bad it’s the wet season,” Tom said, glancing out the window at the rain pouring down the glass. “But what’s a little rain?”

  A little rain? The pounding rain looked more like a monsoon or a hurricane but whatever. Tom had traveled all over; he should know. And a professional touring company wouldn’t let us do something too dangerous, right?

  “We go where the river takes us,” Deni said. “Rain or no rain.”

  “That’s the spirit!” Tom clapped him on the back with adventure in his eyes.

  I texted Amelie and told her where we were going.

  Sienna: Keep in touch. Let me know if you see anything unusual.

  She immediately texted back.

  Amelie: You got it.

  Sienna: Please tell the girls hi, and I’m sorry about what happened. Let them know I’m fine and I hope they are, too.

  Amelie: Okay. They are spooked but okay.

  Sienna: Remind them to never stop moving.

  Amelie: Never stop moving.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The speedboat left from the dock at the northern end of Sisowath Quay in central Phnom Penh. The journey was six and a half hours, arriving in Siem Reap on the dock of Chong Kneas floating village 6.8 miles south of Siem Reap. From there, we’d take a tuk-tuk to the temple.

  We packed snacks, lunch, and bottled water because we’d heard they didn’t sell any refreshments onboard. We’d also heard that some of the riverboat cruises that travelers purchased were fake—so we made sure to buy our tickets at our hotel. We all traveled light, carefully making sure our passports and money were safely hidden in our clothing, hanging around our necks like camping badges or IDs on little kids. I half expected our boat to resemble the Jungle Cruise at Disney ride, but the riverboat itself looked like an old airplane crossed with a submarine. The seats were vinyl—red, white, blue, and vintage—like something Captain America might cruise around in. Cambodian flags flew high from the rickety dock, and the blue-painted rail, displaying the temple in two blue and one thick red stripe. Tom pointed out Cambodia was depicted on the Jungle Cruise ride, and I remembered my dad saying, “We’ll take you to the real place when you’re older,” and now there we were.

  The thought of Dad, Mom, and me floating down the fake river in Disneyland listening to the host make goofy puns and jokes pinged at my emotions, inviting that terrible feeling of homesickness that’s specific to being a young girl lost.

  “The roof deck,” Deni said, and pointed out backpackers sitting atop the boat. “Let’s go up there.”

  “Is that seating?” I asked, shielding my eyes from the sticky, already sweltering heat of the day, even though it was barely midmorning.

  “Up top is the best way to take in the vistas.” Tom gave the side of the boat a loving pat. “Hang on tight. This old girl is faster than she looks.”

  “This hunk of junk can’t go very fast—look at it,” I said.

  Tom grinned. “You’re messing with the gods with that kind of talk, girl.”

  “Whatever.” I brushed away his teasing. “Can we leave
our stuff down with you?”

  “Sure thing.” Tom secured seats inside, and wiggling our bags along with him, he stuffed them in front of his seat in the front row. After declaring his plans to sleep the duration of the journey, and before we finished our conversation, he stuffed his baseball hat over his sunburned nose. “Your pack will make a great footrest.”

  A big plus about traveling with Big Dr. Tom was that even though he was as harmless as a guinea pig, he looked intimidating. No one was going to swipe our stuff out from under those giant feet.

  “Come on, Sienna,” Deni said, and I smiled up at him. I still couldn’t get used to him being here. It felt like one of these evenings I’d go to sleep, wake up, and he’d be gone again. I’d spent so much time, so many sleepless nights, struggling to forget him, that his presence felt unbelievable. Imagined. But no—he was here, flesh and blood, reaching out his warm hand to me. I accepted it and carefully climbed up, sitting beside him, air thick between us, vines tangled above.

  “Hang your legs over the side,” he said. “Like this.”

  The river, thick and brown below our dangling feet, looked intimidating. Like quicksand threatening to suck us up.

  “You still scared about yesterday?” he asked me, taking my hand.

  “A little,” I admitted, scooting back from the edge. “I don’t care about myself, really, but letting my student flounder like that freaked me out.”

  “If you fall, I will get you.”

  I leaned into him. “I know you will. But then who will save you?”

  The hot air stuck to our faces, clinging our loose clothes to our bodies. Morning air was already thick with heat. The floppy hat I wore did little to protect my skin, but I was grateful for it. Grateful, too, that I’d learned I couldn’t protect my heart in quite the same way.

  Whatever was in store for us was raw and scary, but I was ready to embrace wherever the river took us.

  “I can’t wait to see the temple,” I said. But what I meant was: I love that we’re here together. I can’t believe this is really happening.

  “Me, too,” he said. And in his voice, I heard everything else.

  The driver cranked the engine, and we took off faster than predicted. I fell into Deni, clutching on to him. He laughed, putting his arm around me protectively. From the top of the boat we had a fantastic view of Cambodia river life. The engine was loud while moving at 45 KPH—so we didn’t talk. Small children fished on the river’s edge or ran about kicking cans. I wondered if they could swim, and guessed the answer was no. Don’t fall in, I urged, a silent prayer.

  Women carried baskets of wares to and from the river. Maybe laundry?

  We leaned against the piece of the boat that protected the wheelhouse and took it all in.

  About two hours in, I sat up, confused and sweaty and realized I must’ve fallen asleep. The air was peak-of-summer hot, and I wiped my mouth in case I was drooling. It looked like I’d been asleep on Deni’s chest and shoulder.

  “Good afternoon,” he said with a grin, touching the tip of my nose.

  “Was I snoring?”

  “Not too much. Look.” He pointed out a floating village. “We almost missed it.”

  As we watched villages float by, he rubbed my damp pink hair. “Rambut tidak ada rambut stramburo.”

  I smiled. “Are you hungry?” I asked Deni, offering to climb down and get our lunch.

  “Always. Careful,” he said, lending me a hand as I scrambled down the roof.

  I slipped, banging my ankle hard.

  “You okay?”

  My heart clenched when I realized the space between the head of the boat and the entrance to the cab area was about eighteen inches at most. The boat cruised at full speed. If I lost my footing, even a bit, I’d be in that brown muck of a river.

  I looked up to Deni for reassurance before proceeding. His response was flashing a thumb up. When I finally made it inside the cab, I found Tom chatting with European backpackers.

  “You know why these look like bus seats?” Tom asked me.

  “Because they are bus seats?” I guessed as I dug out our food and water.

  “How’d you know?”

  “Just a guess.”

  The climb back up to Deni was less arduous, but only because I’d just done it and knew what to expect.

  As we ate, we passed rickety boats packed with rowing, howling boys, some of whom waved. We slipped deeper and deeper into the jungle.

  By hour four, I wondered why we didn’t take the bus.

  Butts sore from sitting on the hard top of the boat, Deni and I finally retreated below to join Tom in air conditioning that made the bus cab feel like a refrigerator. Everything in Cambodia so far was in extremes.

  That was when I noticed the man with two young girls sitting in the far corner of the boat. The girls looked maybe fourteen; it was hard to tell. They both looked Cambodian. He had a meaty look about him, thick fingers, thick arms, thick jaw. He caught me staring, and the smile he flashed me made me feel dirty.

  Frowning, I looked away, grateful I was with Deni and Tom.

  I pulled a book out of my bag and pretended to read it. After a couple minutes, when he wasn’t watching me anymore, I sneaked a better peek at the girls. Sitting upright, they didn’t look comfortable. They didn’t look scared, happy, or any specific emotion. No telltale sign that anything was suspicious other than the fact that an older white man was traveling with two young girls. He could be their father. Amelie’s stories had me paranoid.

  A horn shot off outside, and it was a good excuse to get some air. The heat bore down on my shoulders and cheeks. A boat next to us, if you could even call it a boat—it was more like a canoe—was in bad shape. Filled with six passengers, one of whom, a woman in an orange dress, scooped buckets of water out of the leaking cavity and back into the river. It looked like it was about to sink, but none of the passengers looked alarmed.

  Our driver honked again, before pulling over and stopping.

  One of the workers yanked something out of the propeller. A net.

  “Fishing net,” came Deni’s voice from behind me.

  “Check out that boat, too,” I said, glad he followed me out.

  Boat crew guy stripped down to his long, raggedy shorts, and with a large stick unhooked it from our craft, releasing us back to the river.

  An hour later, we arrived at a wide part of the river. No more banks. No more rowing boats, but whole floating houses in bright colors: sky blue, barn red, canary yellow—all with slanted tin roofs. Next to the bright blue floating house was a long green boat with bright pink curtains. Postcard perfect while something out of a dream. I’d seen houseboats, sure, but whole villages floating in the middle of a brown river?

  “Floating villages!” I exclaimed. “Finally.”

  A cloud of black, chemical-smelling smoke followed us out the back as we passed floating villagers on their floating homes, passing clumps of broccoli-looking trees alongside of us. The wind picked up and caught my hat, which twisted in the wind. Deni caught it put it back on my head.

  Like a whale-watching excursion back home, after we’d passed the villages, the tourists—me included—put our cameras away.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  When we went back downstairs, the suspicious man and the blank-eyed girls were gone.

  Passengers, in a rush to get off the boat, pushed and shoved.

  I double-checked that my passport, money, and credit cards were there—they were—before disembarking.

  On the dock, the sun blared baking circles on the splintered wood, but moments later, the sky darkened, and the wind picked up. Passengers held their hats, which threatened to fly off into the hot wind. Clutching our belongings, we pushed our way through the wind and off the rickety dock.

  The sky opened, unleashing a pounding of rain. I frantically scanned my surroundings for Deni and Tom, who were right behind me. “Deni!” I called out. “Tom!”

  I was shoved to the right as frant
ic passengers scurried for shelter.

  In front of me was one of the backpackers we had been chatting with. I focused on the rainbow patch on her pack: “Jesus Loves Me.” The rain fell harder, and I slipped on the slick dock. I was about to panic when I felt a hand on my arm, pulling me back onto my feet. “There you are,” Deni said.

  I’d never been so relieved to see anyone in my life. “Deni. That’s twice you’ve saved me.”

  Deni grabbed my hand and we ran toward the town, which looked like a row of street vendors, stopping under a shelter next to rows and rows of colorfully stacked and shaped fruit.

  Water poured off the tin roof and onto the now-muddy ground in front of us.

  I wiped my eyes so I could see.

  “A little bit of rain, says Tom,” Deni said.

  “Right? Where’s is he anyway?”

  “I do not know.” He frowned. “I have not seen him since the ferry. Where is your phone?”

  “In my bag.” I dug it out and turned it on. I’d been carefully preserving the battery I had when we left the hotel this morning, not knowing when we’d make it to the second hotel and have an opportunity to recharge.

  It slowly sprung to life, and I tried to call Tom. Nothing ever went entirely smoothly while traveling—that was both the charm and horror of it.

  The phone rang a couple times before the call dropped.

  An operator spoke in Khmer. “I don’t understand,” I said, handing the cell phone to Deni.

  Listening, he shook his head before hanging up. “We are better looking for him.”

  We watched the rain pour down, people scrambling this way and that for some semblance of shelter. The wind picked up. Baskets full of wares tipped over, spilling onto the muddy street. Somewhere, a child cried out.

  The crowd shifted from tourists to locals until I didn’t see anyone I recognized from the boat. “Tom said to take a tuk-tuk to Angkor Watt. We can find one and meet him there?” I suggested. It was the only thing that made sense. Knowing Tom, if he couldn’t find us, he would move on to the next meeting place.

  Then I saw them. The meaty guy, his arms wrapped around two scared-looking girls, headed down the street. “It’s that man again. With the girls.”