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The Counting Tree

By Jennifer Arrington

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Part I

Northern Transvaal, South Africa

1987






CHAPTER 1

“Ladies and Gentlemen, this is your Captain speaking. We are about—”
Heidi jolted awake, an unopened bottle of water on her lap. She had barely slept an hour, but it was better than nothing. They would be landing soon, and then the adventure would really begin. She was scared to death.
She turned her face toward the window, her eyes not focused on the view below her. The problem with two days of travel was there had been too much time to think. What had she done? Up to this point, all the preparations and planning had propelled her forward. And now, reality crashed against her expectations. She was about to arrive and no longer felt anticipation or a sense of purpose. She was hungry, lonely, dirty, and tired, and she couldn’t even remember how she was supposed to find the people meeting her.
The plane banked, and she focused on the scene beneath her. The skyline of Johannesburg lay before her, and she blinked in surprise.
Was this Africa? She saw a large sprawling city that could’ve been any major city in the US. Building after building stretched before her, windows reflecting sunlight. The grid of visible roads was congested, and radio towers blinked their red warnings. Beyond the buildings stretched a network of highways and then suburbia and low-lying hills.
The seatbelt sign came on, and she shifted to the window seat, her eyes scanning the changing landscape. She had read that Johannesburg was dry, but the houses below her were surrounded by green dotted with ovals of blue. There seemed to be as many swimming pools here as in her hometown of Jupiter, Florida. Farther out, the hills looked dry. Maybe the towns were simply well-watered, and her reading hadn’t been entirely misleading.
Confusion clambered.
Africa could not be beneath her; Africa was supposed to be primitive and in need of American mission work. The city below didn’t seem to need anything but more room. She felt the twinge of changing pressure and worked her mouth to pop her ears.
Everyone had said that traveling to Africa to do what she could have done in America didn’t make sense. Maybe they had been right. Regardless, now she was about to land in Africa while America and everyone she loved was two days of flying and endless details behind her. She yawned again to relieve the ear pressure and swallowed. She needed to quit analyzing and start focusing on the present.
Heidi felt the plane bank once more, watched as the landscape rushed up to meet her, and felt the wheels jolt meeting the scorched asphalt.
Africa.
There was no turning back.
She unbuckled and stood with the other passengers, anxious to disembark. In a daze, she followed those in front of her onto the tarmac and to a waiting bus. She squinted against the harsh sunlight and dry heat as the bus maneuvered toward the terminal.
She followed the stream of people to passport control, where a stern-faced man greeted her.
“How long do you plan to stay?”
“One year… um, at least… maybe two?” Her voice felt foreign and brash in contrast to the clipped flat tones of the man standing behind the desk. She had initially planned to stay a year, but that was when she had hoped Chris would wait for her. Now, there would be no need to rush back.
Then, stamped passport in hand, she followed the signs to the luggage return and stood patiently waiting for her bow-adorned suitcases to parade by. She lugged the first one off the carousel and waited for its mate as the crowd around her thinned. She thought back to check-in in Miami nearly two days ago, remembering how the lady had told her that her bags would go straight through to Johannesburg despite her connection in Brussels. So where was the other one? She had packed so carefully, anticipating a scarcity of shopping – all her favorite clothes, pictures of the twins, her journal, shoes, extra toiletries, and make-up. Now half of it was probably sitting at a lost and found in Brussels or beyond. With a sinking feeling, she realized she couldn’t remember which suitcase held what, but she certainly hoped the one with her had the most important things.
The carousel shuddered to a halt. Empty.
Heidi glanced around in dismay at the backs of retreating passengers – passengers with their luggage. The signs above her pointed toward customs, and she moved slowly, wondering what to do.
Heidi squared her shoulders. Maybe the people meeting her would know. She walked on towards long low tables where guards were singling out people to search. She cringed, picturing a stranger pawing through her belongings, and kept her face forward, avoiding eye contact with anyone. She breathed a sigh of relief as she walked past, undisturbed, through the customs gate and on towards the ropes cordoning off the greeting area.
She scanned the people, searching for a sign with her name. Nothing. Her heart sank further; nobody was waiting. She would have to report her missing luggage and find a phone and try to contact the camp to see who was coming for her. But that would mean first exchanging her dollars for what they called rands so she could use a phone. She took deep breaths; she could do this, yet her pounding heart had found the logical response. Every fiber of her being screamed to turn around and get back on the plane and fly home. Instead, she found a seat, placed her solitary suitcase under her feet, and clutched her carry-on against her chest. Willing herself to breathe deeply, she studied her surroundings.
Maybe she would see a place to change her money, and then she could find a phone and perhaps a snack shop. Yes. A plan. But the teeming monstrosity of humanity paralyzed her. She watched, a lump building in her throat, as people greeted their relatives and friends, rushed past her to their destinations, or, like her, sat waiting. She analyzed those around her. Could one of them be waiting for her? Wiping her sweaty palms on her jeans, she willed herself to focus on the detached people with signs and not on the joyous reunions mocking her aloneness.
There on the far wall, “Luggage Claim” caught her eye. Her suitcase!
Dragging her lone bag, she walked to the counter and filled out the required form. The lady behind the desk was brusque and unhelpful.
There was really no way of knowing when or even if Heidi’s suitcase would be found.
She headed back to the waiting area. So far, nothing had gone as she had imagined, and she needed to find her ride. Maybe the time taken in customs and baggage claim had been longer than she thought. Maybe someone was sitting right there and had a sign with her name on it.
Heidi craned her neck, analyzing each person, until her eyes came to rest on a young man at the end of her row, slouched low and sound asleep in a chair much too small for his frame. Thick dark blond hair stuck out at strange angles, a rumpled shirt stretched over broad shoulders, and his crossed arms masked what appeared to be a logo. An upside-down sign lay on his lap. Maybe he would wake up and flip it over. She kept up her vigil, studying the waiting people, her eyes repeatedly returning to the sleeping man. Could he be from the camp? If only he’d move his arms so the logo was visible or, better yet, drop the sign so she could see if it sported her name.
She sat, debating. She had assumed the couple she had corresponded with would meet her. She knew they had a daughter close to her age who also worked at the camp full time. They had said a camp would be in session the day she arrived, so maybe they had been unable to get away and had sent Mr. Snooze over there. She grinned slightly at her corniness. Back in America, safe in her own surroundings, who would meet her hadn’t even occurred to her. Now, sitting here alone, worried about her luggage, surrounded by everything foreign, it was overwhelming.
Her stomach protested again, and she glanced back over at the young man. The sign had started to slip from his grasp.
She swiveled around to scan the arrivals area again, hoping to see if new people were standing there with signs. It seemed everyone had someone greeting them. Everyone but her. Her thumb went subconsciously to where her ring had once been, and the emptiness there magnified the desolation filling her chest. What had she been thinking? She had left her family and flown halfway around the world to sit on her own in a foreign airport. What had possessed her?
As soon as the self-pity took hold, frustration washed over her. She would not be helpless. She needed to act. In a surge of bravado, she stood and lugged her suitcase nearer where the man slept. She would start with him. He was the closest, and he had a sign. He was obviously there for someone, even if he wasn’t there for her. She took a deep breath. Time for action. She leaned over and poked his arm with her finger.
“Excuse me,” her voice seemed to squeak out of her. She cleared her throat, embarrassed.
The man didn’t budge.
She leaned forward again and poked harder. A pair of startling green eyes flew open as he raised his arms in a defensive posture.
In any other situation, she would have laughed. But he was a stranger, after all, and he didn’t exactly seem happy.
“What the…?” He stood abruptly, and the sign landed on the floor, name side up.
And there it was: “Heidi Richmond,” scrawled in black marker.
It had been him all along.
***
Johann blinked furiously, looking around to see if anyone else had witnessed this rude invasion. But nobody paid them any attention, and the girl before him, with smudged mascara and wild hair, stood glaring at him, a mixture of anger and triumph in her wide brown eyes.
“It is you!”
He ran his hand through his hair. This was a first – being woken by an angry American who looked like she’d won a competition or something. Well, she had finally arrived, and she had found him. What a relief he didn’t have to hunt her down. Mentally shaking the sleep from his brain, he stuck out his hand, “Johann.”
She took his hand. “Yo-hahn?”
He shrugged. Close enough. “Is this all you have?” Most Americans came with enough luggage to open a small shop, and she only had one suitcase? Granted, it was large, but still, only one item.
“No, I….”
He watched in resignation as various emotions flitted across her face.
Then she took a deep breath. “They lost my other suitcase. They don’t know when I’ll get it.”
“Did you fill out the forms at the luggage claim station?”
“Yes.”
“Well, if they find it, they’ll contact us. You did leave the camp contact information, didn’t you?”
“Oh… no.”
“What did you leave?”
She palmed her forehead, clearly embarrassed. “My… my home address.”
“Ai-ja-jai, let’s go back over there then.” He stopped himself just short of griping at her. “We don’t want them to send your luggage back to America.” He hoped he’d tamped down his condescension sufficiently. Apparently, he hadn’t.
The American girl stepped back and snapped her head up. “No need to mock me; I’m not the one who fell asleep on the job.”
Amusement flickered in his eyes as he wrenched the suitcase free from her grasp. At least she had spunk. He’d give her that. And beautiful eyes. Normally he would apologize for falling asleep and scaring her. He would explain her plane had been late, and he was functioning on only a few hours of sleep. Normally he would be kinder and more patient. But being nice simply couldn’t be part of the grand plan.
***
Heidi turned on her heel and strode back towards the lost luggage section, not even bothering to see if he had followed her. What a rookie mistake giving them her home address. But she was tired and confused and dirty and hungry, and she had spent frightening minutes believing she was stranded in a foreign country. Nobody would think clearly under those circumstances. Regardless, she needed to get a grip. Even though the camp worker had fallen asleep, she still wasn’t making her best first impression, and the camp had picked her over other applicants.
Back at the lost and found counter, she hurriedly explained her error to the same lady who had first helped her. Quickly she located the camp’s address and altered the form, doing her best to ignore Johann looking over her shoulder, reiterating her statements in a language she didn’t recognize.
As soon as she’d finished, he took the suitcase from her. “We’d better go. We don’t want to get to camp after dark.” And with that, he took off walking so quickly she had to half run to catch him.
Anger at his rudeness surged, a welcome change to her earlier helplessness. “Fine! But listen, I really need a restroom, a money-changing place, and something to eat.”
“Yes, Madam,” he responded stiffly in mock condescension. “The toilets are right this way.” And he waved his hand with a flourish towards a large sign that did, indeed, proclaim ‘Toilets.’
Heidi sighed and marched towards the offensive sign, her carry-on in tow, her suitcase left with her unhappy chauffeur. Everything appeared clean. She went to one of the sinks and stood there for a moment, stunned by her appearance. Mortified, she turned on the faucet and began furiously splashing her face with cold water.
Then, she dug in her bag, located her face wash, and scrubbed until her skin squeaked. Finally, pausing to catch her breath, she turned to grab some paper towels only to realize the dispenser was cloth, and although it seemed you were supposed to be able to pull it down to get a fresh piece, it appeared stuck in one position. She wasn’t touching a pre-used towel. So, she wiped at her wet face, shook her hands off, and attempted to contain her hair with a scrunchie.
With fresh determination, she walked out. She had read the judgment in Johann’s eyes, but she would surprise him. She knew how to rise to a challenge. “OK, now I should change my money.” She kept her voice matter of fact.
He raised his eyebrows but, instead of responding, started walking again. Heidi tried to stay even with his long strides as they rounded a corner, and once more, he gestured with a flourish, this time towards a miniature bank.
Heidi rolled her eyes and walked away, wondering why Camp Guy had clearly decided to dislike her. She dug in her purse and took out all her dollars, finding the exchange rate worked in her favor despite the fact she couldn’t remember what she had studied about the currency they were counting out in her hands. Surely there would be enough to buy herself a decent meal and replace at least a few of the missing items. The vast city she had seen from the airplane must have plenty of places to shop.
Walking back over to Johann, she stopped before him to keep him from taking off again. “Now, I know we have time constraints, but is there any way we can get some food? I have money, and I’ll gladly pay for it. I haven’t eaten anything substantial since Brussels.”
He glanced at his watch, “Well, we’ll have to get something outside the airport. There’s nothing like that here.”
They navigated through the crowded airport and out to the parking garage, people pressing on them from all sides. Many were well dressed, confidently striding towards their destinations. But others looked beaten down, dressed raggedly, their demeanor of utter defeat. She wanted to ask Johann about the disparity but decided it would be best to remain aloof with her unwilling chauffeur.
As these thoughts clashed through her mind, she watched a man approach Johann. With his head downcast, he gestured towards her suitcase and said something.
“Ja, OK,” Johann responded and handed over the suitcase.
“Wait!” Heidi gasped. Why was he giving her suitcase away? She grabbed his arm to protest and then realized the man was walking along with them.
Johann shrugged her off and continued walking, engaging the man in talk Heidi couldn’t understand. The language sounded less guttural and more phonetic from what he had spoken to the woman at the counter. But what did she know? Maybe her brain was too befuddled to recognize any differences.
When they finally got to his small truck, Heidi watched in interest as Johann paid the man. It must have been more than he was accustomed to because the man clapped one hand on top of the other in what seemed to be a gesture of thanks. Then, Johann took a folded sheet of paper from the front of the vehicle and called him back. He handed the man the paper, gesturing and explaining, all in that same phonetic language.
Johann took her suitcase and slid it into the covered back of the truck, so she turned and opened the door only to stop abruptly.
“So, you are going to drive us back to camp?” He stood right behind her, his tone amused.
Another rookie mistake: she should have remembered their steering wheels were on the other side. Avoiding his gaze, she turned, pushed past him, and walked around to the passenger door.
But it was locked, so she had to wait. Pretending not to care, she glanced around at the other cars, noticing they also had steering wheels on the wrong side, and the majority were high-end.
Of course, she would be getting into the only beat-up truck.
Finally, she heard the lock click. She opened the door and got in, pulling the creaking door closed.
“You have to give it more effort than that!”
“What?”
“The door,” he gestured. “Open it and close it much harder; otherwise, you will fall out when we turn a corner.”
“Oh,” she mumbled lamely and fumbled with the door, opening and shutting it again, this time a little harder.
“Ai-ja-jai,” he muttered, unceremoniously reaching over and opening and shutting the door with gusto. She scooted back as far as the seat would allow, holding her breath at the close contact, trying not to notice his fresh outdoorsy scent, and determined to keep her expression neutral.
He put the truck in gear and turned to back out of their parking spot. “Seatbelt’s broken,” he offered, glancing her way.
The door might swing open, and the truck had no seatbelt. She would die before ever seeing the camp.
***
Johann squelched the niggling guilt at his actions, doing his best to feign indifference. He had wanted Marie to get the counselor job this Heidi girl had taken. It frustrated him beyond measure that the camp board had picked her. Hopefully, the faster Heidi realized South Africa wasn’t for her, the faster she’d leave.
There weren’t enough available funds to pay Marie, and Heidi had apparently agreed to stay at least a year, maybe even two, not requiring a salary. That was the problem with these Americans. They had too much money at their disposal. So, here he sat, driving the wrong girl to camp.
He shook his head in regret making a right turn onto the highway as Heidi gasped in fear, grabbing the dashboard in front of her.
What now? He glanced over questioningly.
Her eyes were wide and turned on him, “Sorry, I… um… I thought we were going to have a wreck.”
He didn’t know how to respond to that.
“You… you drive on the other side of the road here,” she offered lamely. She gripped the dashboard as sweat began to bead over her skin.
“Are you going to be sick?” He didn’t like how she looked; campers got that look right before they were sick all over everything.
She closed her eyes and shook her head. “No, but I think finding food will help everything.”
“OK,” he acquiesced, softening his voice. “Why don’t you roll down your window.”
He watched her wrestle the half-broken crank into compliance, lowering the window, and raised his eyebrows. Even Karl struggled with that crank. She had turned her head into the wind; her eyes were closed. It appeared the fresh air was helping. The last thing he needed was a sick passenger. The week at camp had been hard enough. That, coupled with almost zero sleep the night before and that he’d had to drive to Johannesburg to get Heidi, had left him in a terrible mood. He hated leaving camp before it actually ended. And to think, all the campers he had spent a week building a rapport with would be gone when he returned. But Karl had insisted, and Karl was his boss, so here he sat, sleep-deprived himself, playing taxi.
His conscience nagged him for falling asleep at the airport. But he had arrived so early, there was time to close his eyes. He simply hadn’t expected to sleep so deeply or for so long. He couldn’t imagine Amy or even Marie approaching a sleeping stranger in a foreign airport and poking them awake. Truth be told, Heidi had grit.
He glanced over again, surprised, albeit grudgingly, at how pretty she appeared. Her curly brown hair was escaping that huge hair thing she had donned at the airport; her profile serene, faced into the wind as if it could wash away all her discomfort. And those large brown eyes of hers. They were so expressive; even red-rimmed and angry, he had noticed her eyes. And her smile.
He shook his head, frustrated she was pretty and frustrated she was American and the most frustrated with himself for noticing. She was the opposite of Marie. Marie was slim and toned and perfect. Marie didn’t need make-up or brightly colored hair things to tame her sleek blonde hair. She was his girlfriend, and he shouldn’t be sitting here comparing her to this stranger.
***
Heidi felt the truck stop and cautiously opened her eyes, appreciating the drier heat than in South Florida, where an open window in the summertime wouldn’t have helped a bit. It appeared they were in the center of a town, and she turned toward Johann, questioning.
“We can eat here,” he gestured.
Heidi liked how his “here” sounded, more like “heah.” The low timbre of his South African accent resonated with her love of all things foreign. Of course, she would like his voice; she liked all accents, so she dismissed the positive thought, gingerly opened the creaking door, and climbed onto the sidewalk. She grabbed the side of the truck to get her bearings as Johann came around to her side.
“Are you dizzy?”
She didn’t respond but gratefully allowed him to take her by the arm and guide her toward the restaurant. Her safari-chauffeur was an enigma: equal parts abrupt and perceptive.
They walked into a restaurant called “Wimpy.” Heidi hoped that wasn’t a negative foreboding about the food but was pleasantly surprised when a few minutes later, a plate of French fries and a hamburger were placed in front of her. She hadn’t even remembered ordering, but everything was perfect. She sipped the coke and finally glanced up at Johann, who was slowly and thoughtfully consuming his own plate of food.
Maybe they needed to start over. She stretched out her hand. “Hi, my name is Heidi.”
He quirked an eyebrow, stared at her offered hand, and reached out to grasp it.
“And my name is Johann.” And then he smiled.
She smiled back, appreciating how his smile brightened his face, making his eyes seem alive yet intense. Brianna would call him hot. She glanced down quickly, hoping to hide her thoughts. She hadn’t come to South Africa looking for a cute guy, especially a cute, obnoxious guy. They finished their meal in silence.
When they got to the truck, she paused, deliberating. “Do you mind if I look in my suitcase?”
He looked at her quizzically.
“I, unfortunately, can’t remember which one has all the important stuff, and I need to check.” She felt her face flush with embarrassment. How could she explain to this no-nonsense guy that one of her suitcases contained items like Pop-Tarts, pictures, and books? She had packed those items to stave off any possible homesickness, but now she simply felt sick, knowing none of those items would do her any good if she didn’t have clothes to wear.
He glanced at his watch in resignation and reached under the tarp to slide her suitcase towards her.
Gratefully Heidi quickly unzipped it, and with one glance, she knew she had the wrong one. She took a deep breath and turned towards him. “I’m sorry, but I have to stop at a store.”
“You want to go shopping?” His voice was a mixture of incredulity and frustration. Any friendly gains made during their meal were gone.
She wanted to cower, but instead, she stood straighter and stared right into those green frustrated eyes. “I don’t want to go shopping; I need to go shopping. Just for a few items. All my most important items are in the missing suitcase.” Heat flooded her face as she stood her ground. Johann was clearly ready to hop in the truck and leave her on the sidewalk, but she needed to stand her ground.
“You mean, with all those things, you don’t have enough to last two weeks?”
Her voice climbed a notch. “No, I don’t!”
“Well, what’s all that stuff in there good for then?”
“If I must spell it out to you,” she retorted, “I need personal stuff.”
He blanched but kept staring at her in bewilderment.
“You know,” she forged ahead, “panties and bras and… and...”
He held up his hands to stop the flood of words, twin splotches of embarrassment on his lean cheeks.
“Ja, ja, OK, I will take you somewhere, just… just….” Then he leaned across her awkwardly, zipping her suitcase closed and sliding it back under the tarp. Without another word, he got in the truck and started it, waiting for her to get back in.
They rode in uncomfortable silence as he jerked the truck from gear to gear, mumbling under his breath at the traffic.
Eventually, he parallel parked on another busy street, not saying a word until he had killed the engine. Then he pointed down the street. “See down on your right?” Not waiting for her to respond, he went on. “There’s a Woolworths there, and they will have everything you… um… need. I will wait here.”
Heidi, grateful to escape the confines of the small truck, grabbed her wallet from her carry-on and hopped out, slamming the door behind her as loudly as she could. But, out on the street, her bravado instantly vaporized. There were crowds everywhere, and she was completely disoriented. She heard the other truck door slam, and Johann was beside her.
“Come on!” He grabbed her arm, guiding her firmly down the street. She heard him mumbling about helpless people, but she didn’t care. She was simply grateful for Johann’s presence. She would have gotten lost in the mayhem and knew when to concede defeat. Besides, she would have plenty of time in the days ahead to prove to him that she was anything but helpless.
After walking into the store, she was amazed. How could this be Africa? It was as modern and pleasant as any store in the US. Still, with a grip on her arm, they took the escalator to the correct floor, and Johann released her. “Now, I am going to sit here and wait for you. You have to do this part by yourself.” He spoke like he was talking to a 2nd grader, but she nodded in response. Now was not the time to be affronted.
Once in the right section, she hurriedly made her selections. The sizing was all in centimeters, and she hoped she was grabbing what looked like the correct sizes. Then she found a changing room and, with the salesperson’s help, hurriedly narrowed her choices down. She could tell the salesperson wanted to engage her in conversation and that she was openly curious about the rugged man waiting on the periphery, but Heidi stuck to business. She didn’t want to turn this into a pleasure trip and anger Johann further.
Eventually, she returned to him, bag in hand, hoping she had spent wisely and anxious to get back on the road. He appeared relieved to see her so quickly and stood to lead her back down to the store entrance, then down the even more crowded street back to the truck.
He kept glancing at his watch. “Ai-ja-jai, we are going to get stuck in a traffic jam now.”
Heidi looked over at him, but there was nothing she could say. She had her personal items and one suitcase. She had a full stomach, and even though he was grumpy, she knew he would safely get them where they needed to go. Maybe once they got out of the congestion, he would relax a bit and talk to her, but if he didn’t, she would be fine.
She watched in awe as they drove through the city, craning her neck to see the buildings, amazed this huge thriving city was Africa. She had so many questions but didn’t attempt to ask them.
At length, the traffic began to thin as they headed north. The sun was starting to set, and the barrage of sights and constant fear every time they turned onto what seemed like the wrong side of the street made her close her eyes. She felt confused by her preconceptions of Africa and the reality surrounding her. She had known, in theory, she was coming to a modern place, but she hadn’t expected it to be America-modern. She was full of questions and wished Johann would act more like a tour guide and less like he was trying to hate her, but she wouldn’t force conversation.
Instead, she balled up her jacket and smashed it between herself and the side of the truck and, with the wind in her face, gave herself over to sleep. She opened her eyes once to glimpse Johann’s profile, her reluctant rescuer.
At least he had gotten her food and found her a store, and she was safe from all the apparent danger her dad had warned her about before coming. With that thought, she succumbed to the overwhelming need to sleep.
***
Once her breathing was even, Johann allowed himself to look over at her. He wanted to dislike her but sleeping like that with her hair blowing around her face, her carry-on clutched on her lap, her new purchases at her feet, she looked utterly serene. The earlier anger and fear and disbelief at his rudeness she hadn’t been able to contain was gone, replaced by a relaxed relief. His conscience assaulted him once more for being so impolite. He couldn’t imagine Marie handling herself the way Heidi had, but Heidi was the interloper, and he needed to remember that.
He knew Marie was young for his 24 years. From the first day of camp, when he had seen her standing on top of the capture-the-flag hill, pumping her fist in victory, he had decided she was the girl for him.
And then, later that night, when she had picked up a guitar and strummed along while they sang choruses at campfire time, he was smitten. If he was honest with himself, he knew it also had to do with the way her hair fell in front of her face as she leaned over her guitar, the way her long tan legs were folded underneath her, and the way she caught his eye over the heads of the other campers.
He glanced over at Heidi once more, still sound asleep, her arms hugging her carry-on, legs crossed beneath her, bright pink toenails adding color to an already colorful outfit.
He supposed she would sleep the rest of the drive, knowing she had probably lost the majority of a night during her trip, and he felt his prior resentment begin to dissipate. She had flown halfway around the world to come to a strange place, lost her suitcase, and was then confronted by his animosity. No wonder she had responded so aggressively. Maybe she wasn’t as pampered as he had surmised.
He felt a strange sense of protectiveness pervade his senses and then hit the steering wheel in frustration at his own disloyal thoughts.

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