Four Weddings. Fiona Lowe

many more questions than I had answers. “Who am I? Why did she give me up?” I didn’t feel I belonged in Australia and I didn’t know anything about Vietnam, I couldn’t even speak the language.’

      ‘Halfway between East and West?’

      ‘Something like that.’ His fingers trailed across the backs of her hands, tracing each finger.

      Mini-explosions of bone-melting desire whipped through her, zapping her concentration. She delved deep, needing to keep on track, needing to hear his story.

      ‘Mum’s a nurse and one day when I was being a right pain at sixteen she suggested I go back to Vietnam as an adult, and give something back to the country that had tried so hard to keep me but couldn’t.’

      ‘She’s a really wise woman.’ Bec pushed away the sadness about her own mother who hadn’t been able to find the wisdom or the help to save herself. To save her daughter. ‘So you’re here and you’re giving back. Is it helping?’

      He dropped her hands and sat back, avoiding her gaze. ‘This is my country. My people.’ His voice emphasised the words but frustration crossed his face.

      ‘What about your Australian mum and dad? How do they feel now?’

      ‘They’ve only ever encouraged me. At the start they joined me in the search, but their life is in Australia.’ A muscle spasmed in his jaw, his shoulders stiff and defensive. ‘And my life is here. Vietnam is the missing bit of me.’

      A niggling feeling pricked her. His body said one thing and his words another. Did the truth fall between?

      ‘You’re still searching for your mother?’

      He nodded. ‘This orphanage visit is part of that diminishing search. We’ve no idea which orphanage I came from.’ He shrugged. ‘I do it in stages. You need to gear up for this sort of thing.’

      A stream of white-shirted children with red ties and blue shorts filled the orphanage grounds, their excited voices competing with the noise of the traffic. School was out.

      Tom stood up quickly, the small plastic chair toppling behind him. ‘I promised the boys a game of soccer. I’ll catch up with you later.’

      He’d deliberately ended the conversation as if he regretted telling her his story. She watched him walk away from her and stride toward the boys. Stride toward what he knew, aligning himself with people who understood. Kids abandoned like himself.

      She had this utterly ridiculous feeling of wanting to hold him tight and shield him from the world. Make everything better for him. Find his mother.

      But no one’s life was perfect and no one’s parents, real or imaginary, ever lived up to expectations.

      Perhaps one day she should tell him that.

      Sighing, she headed back to the nursery, planning to give Minh another cuddle. Hoping to see a spark of interest in his eyes.

       CHAPTER SIX

      BEC MANAGED TO carefully remove an insect that had become lodged in a ten-year-old’s ear. Heaven knew how long the bug had been in there but it was causing a festering infection and hearing loss.

      Simple things could quickly become severe and disabling as medical attention wasn’t readily available in remote villages. As she applied antibiotic drops, Hin translated the continuing treatment for the child’s mother.

      ‘I hope they follow the instructions.’ She waved goodbye to the girl and her mother and then turned and smiled at Hin. ‘Take a break. I think we both need it.’

      She and Tom were doing physical examinations on the children in a poverty-stricken village in the central highlands, a couple of hours drive inland from the coast. Her mind continued to grapple with the fact that children here had to leave school after receiving the most basic education, to work and earn money for the family. This diminished their prospects to go on and really improve their lives and those of their families.

      Sweat beaded into droplets and rolled down her stomach. How she wished she could be in shorts and a vest top with a breeze against her skin. But it wasn’t an option.

      She glanced around and waved to Tom, who was walking toward her, holding some cool drinks in one hand and balancing some sweet sticky rice pyramids in the other, the distinctive banana leaf wrapping green against his palm.

      He always brought her over a snack and insisted she take a break. He did it in his quiet, laid-back, no-fuss way. She often wondered if this was an innate part of him or something he’d learned from practical farming parents. Country hospitality personified.

      A blend of unease and longing shimmered through her. She could get used to this sort of caring. She treasured it each and every time it happened.

      And she hated it that she did. Depending on someone makes you weak. She would never again open herself up to being that vulnerable.

      Tom smiled as he handed over the afternoon snacks. ‘You’ve been spraying your clothes with permethrin, right?’

      She rolled her eyes. ‘Yes, Tom. And I have been sleeping under my permethrin-impregnated mosquito net.’ That wasn’t strictly true but she wasn’t about to tell him the real story.

      Each night she lay underneath the mosquito net attempting sleep. But whenever she closed her eyes, images of Tom would waft through her mind—Tom playing soccer, his athletic frame nimbly kicking the ball, Tom racing her to the beach, his long stride easily carving up the distance, Tom’s hands gently encircling her waist, his body’s length against her own, and his lips grazing hers with the most tender touch she’d ever known.

      She shook away the image, swinging her hair off the back of her neck. ‘I’ve also stopped using my perfume and discarded my show-no-dirt navy for this pale green colour.’ She grimaced at the streaks of dirt already evident.

      ‘Want to go home, city girl?’ He grinned again, his banter dancing around her.

      She laughed. ‘No, but one night soaking in a tub filled with bubbles would be utter bliss.’

      His twinkling eyes darkened for a moment before a spark of desire flared in their depths.

      A wave of heat exploded deep down inside her, streaking through her like a rocket-fuelled missile. What had she not been thinking? What had possessed her to talk about bubble baths with him? She’d learned years ago to dress non-sexually and not to draw attention to herself as a woman.

      That way she couldn’t be hurt. But here she was, hurling an image of herself naked out between them, breaking every rule.

      He cleared his throat. ‘How many children do you have left to see?’ His husky words hung between them.

      ‘I don’t know. Enough.’ She busied herself with her equipment, not risking looking at him, scared she might again see desire in his eyes.

      Scared because she wanted to see desire again in his eyes.

      Just plain scared.

      He stood silently, deep in thought. Watching her. Finally, he shoved his hands in his pockets and turned to go. ‘Right, well, I’ll leave you to get on with it.’

      His thoughtfulness prickled against her fear like a burr caught in a sock. ‘Thanks for the rice and the water but, really, you didn’t need to bother.’ The moment the words had left her mouth she wanted to snatch them back. She’d just taken away her thanks and turned them into a criticism.

      He shrugged and spoke quietly. ‘I realise you’ve had to look after yourself for a long time, Bec, and that’s made you very independent. But part of being on a team is looking out for other team members. You might think about letting someone take a moment to do that for you every now and then.’

      He walked away, his shoulders stiff.

      Guilt