A Steal of a Deal (15 page)

Aunt Weeby gets her Perry Mason look in place. “But they weren’t hit too hard around these parts by that there earthquake. There aren’t many
earthquake
victims here in this here Soupjam town.”

She’s had her issues with the town’s name. “Soomjam, Aunt Weeby.”

Her hand draws a lofty wave. “Fine. But I don’t see a whole lot a’ ruination and destruction out here. Oh sure, they aren’t rich or nothing, but they’re not desperate either.”

Rich approaches my outspoken aunt. “And you would be . . . ?”

Aunt Weeby pats her upswept do. “I’m Andrea’s auntie.” She holds out her hand. “Olivia Adams Miller. Pleased to meet you.”

“The pleasure’s all mine,” the reverend says, a genuine smile on his lips. “And, you’re right. This area was spared the worst of the quake. I’m on my way farther northwest, toward the Pakistani part of Kashmir. That’s where the worst devastation happened.”

Max steps forward. “Good to meet you, sir.” After they shake hands, he adds, “Is this a convenient stop on the way?”

“Mr. Xi La and his family are well known for their hospitality.”

“Rich, son!” a woman calls from upstairs. “Did you find my shawl?”

“Not yet, Mother. I’ve just met the other Americans.”

Footsteps clatter down the stairs. The woman who rushes out is a surprise—to say the least. Tall, close to or maybe even taller than my five foot ten, she’s slender and dressed in Madison Avenue–worthy garb. Her camel-colored trousers— probably custom-tailored—emphasize her long, slender legs, and the ivory turtleneck under the long-sleeved sage-colored silk blouse is cashmere. Trust me. I know these things.

Her gray-blond hair is in a short, spiky cut, mussed to chic perfection, and her exquisitely made-up face is youthful and radiant. My careful scrutiny reveals no telltale tugging of a face-lift or the freeze-factor of Botox. She’s not beautiful, but she’s not the kind that goes under the radar, either.

“How wonderful!” Her scarlet lipsticked smile lights up the courtyard. “It’s such a treat to meet fellow Yanks so far from home.”

She freezes in front of me. “Oh!” She spins to her son. “Why didn’t you tell me?” She whirls back. “I can’t believe it’s you!”

Her hug throws me for a loop. “I’m tickled to meet you, Andrea. Eleanor Dunn here, but please call me Nori. Everyone does.”

Yikes!
Nori Dunn, Miss Mona, and Aunt Weeby on the same continent. Look out, world!

I ease away. “I’m afraid I’ve got dust all over you. But it is a pleasure to find fans even out here.”

“Fans?” she asks, then winks. “Friends, Andrea. Friends.” How do you answer that?

Fortunately for me, the three ladies and Pastor Rich yammer away, no interest in whatever I might’ve said. I take the chance to head up to my shared bedroom, my knees still wobbly from our hasty retreat. I lie down on my sleeping bag, close my eyes, take deep, slow breaths. Was that insane trip to the mine area worth the danger?

Father God? Did we storm up here by mistake? All I really
wanted was to help the Musgroves, The Father’s Lambs, and
any quake victims you led me to.

In the dim, quiet room, I bask in the wonder of a God who has blessed his children with the gift of prayer. Whether his answer comes later rather than sooner, I know he’s there, listening, loving, leading. I pray for the patience to wait and listen, for the grace to keep from bumbling and stumbling and getting in his way.

Again.

900

The next morning, after a simple breakfast of
stot
—a small, round bread studded with poppy seeds—and all the hot green tea we can drink, I come to a rotten decision.

Now I have to break the news to everybody else—fun.

Not.

“Hey, guys. I checked out the footage we shot yesterday, and I hate to say it, but we have to either do a couple more takes or scrap the whole thing.”

The S.T.U.D. people, seated down one side of the table, while Pastor Rich, Nori, and the Musgroves line the other, don’t take my news well. They offer their opinions—all at once. And loudly.

Those on the pastor’s side stare.

While everyone yaps, movement at the top of the stairs catches my eye. Xheng Xhi slinks in, but instead of joining us, or even greeting us, he scoots across the room in the shadows and up the stairs to the top floor. Strange, but then he is a strange guy. At least he’s safe.

My fellow travelers, oblivious to his return, gripe away. I’ll tell them of Xheng Xhi’s return later, when they’re done objecting to my statement.

Finally, the chaos dies down. “Okay. That wasn’t the response I’d hoped for.” I turn to Glory. “What did you think of the film?”

She wrinkles her nose. “We have a couple of good bits, but . . . I don’t know if it was the rapid retreat that caused the problem or if the tape itself was bad, but a large part of what we shot taped grainy. You can’t tell what’s going on. And that’s if we don’t count all of you and Max arguing over . . .” She shakes her head. “Whatever. But since that’s what you guys do anyway, we need to think about the grainy video.”

I blush at the mention of Max’s and my ongoing onscreen skirmishes. “So you think I’m right. We either scrap or redo.”

“Oh no,” Miss Mona says, shaking her head. “We’re not going back out there. We’re done with this project.”

Half of me cheers; the other half protests. “Oh, Miss Mona, I know I wasn’t very positive yesterday, but that’s probably because I was so tired.” And freaked by our close-enough encounter of the Taliban kind. “Those men only showed up after we’d been out there filming for hours. I think we might be able to get away with a quick reshoot and then hurry back without rousing them. And no tents and picnics this time.” Max sends me his trademark glare. “You are nuts, you know.”

I glare right back. “Do I take that to mean you’re not interested in another chance in the spotlight?”

“I’d rather live another day to do another spot.”

Aunt Weeby slaps both hands on the table and stands.

“Aw . . . sugarplum! Don’t you worry yourself none. I’ll go with you. I’m sure our Glory-girl here can show me how to make her camera work. A camera’s a camera, right? Hers is just bigger’n mine. You’n I can get the job done.”

Aunt Weeby and the Taliban . . . the Taliban and Aunt Weeby. Hmm . . .

I’m no dummy. “Miss Mona’s right. I’m sure we can make do with what we have.”

“I don’t have a problem going back to the mine site,” Glory says. “But I don’t think we should all go.”

“You won’t get an argument from me,” Allison says. “I’ll even give you my war paint, Andie. Knock yourself out.”

“I’m with Allison,” Max says—to my surprise. I would’ve thought he’d Gorilla Glue himself to the very appreciative Glory.

Miss Mona shakes her head. “I can’t let you girls do that. Just think about it, Andie. Two of you against seven armed tribesmen. You won’t even be able to explain yourself, since they don’t speak much English in these parts.”

“I’m sure you’re not going to believe me,” Max says with a wink and a smile, “but I’m not ready to lose my cohost to a bunch of crazed rebels. I don’t think this is your best idea, Andie.”

“Oh,
pshaw!
” Aunt Weeby’s eyes sparkle with excitement. “I think Andie’s plan is great. We just do like in the movies— get in, get out. Oh, and we have to have faith.”

Faith I have, but I also have a dangerously adventuresome aunt. My resolve wavers, but then I realize there won’t be any point to a show on Kashmir sapphires if we don’t even show the mines. And I do have faith.

“I think Glory and I can carry this off, but only if we go lean and mean.” When Aunt Weeby’s frown ruffles her brow, I give her my unperfected version of the evil eye. “That means only Glory and I go. The fewer of us, the less likely we are to catch the tribal folks’ attention.”

“Like I said before,” Allison murmurs, “you can count me out. I’ll stay here and spend time with the kids.”

Max shakes his head. “Count me out. The kids are more my speed.”

The Dunns ally themselves with Allison and Max, and in the end, everyone comes down like a ton of bricks on Aunt Weeby to keep her from going. Let me tell you. Persuading Aunt Weeby isn’t for the faint of heart.

Glory and I take off, minus my shadow. Who knows where Xheng Xhi is now? But I don’t complain. Without his zillion questions to deal with, we might get enough good material to call it a wrap. Then I can get back to what I really want to do: help at the orphanage.

We do get the job done, and only as we’re about to head back do Glory and I spot the armed tribesmen again, but this time there are fewer members of their posse, and they stay farther away. Doesn’t matter; we break speed records hustling to the farmhouse anyway.

About fifty feet from the large building, Glory pulls up short. “Hang on! I need to breathe . . . This camera weighs a ton . . . We’ve practically run . . . the whole time.”

I stop too. “Your bag of goodies . . . is no lightweight either.”

As we gulp in air, and I think calm, peaceful thoughts to try and slow my racing heart, Glory pokes me in the shoulder.

“Look.”

When I do, a familiar Kashmiri figure dodges around the corner of the farmhouse, away from us. “What a kook! What do you think Xheng Xhi’s up to?”

She laughs in breathless chuckles. “Don’t ask me. I’m not the one he’s got a crush on.”

“Huh?”

“Come on. You have to have noticed. The guy’s nuts about you.”

“No way! He just wants to know all about America. You know, McDonald’s, football, golf, and Wal-Mart. He’s got a list of questions longer than the run of the average daytime soap. I’m just the one he figured would let him chatter on and on and on.”

Her look carries a truckload of pity. “You can’t even tell when a guy’s interested, can you? You’re all about your rocks and God.”

“I’m not that bad.” I think. “Sure, I love God, and I’m a serious gemologist, but I’m not . . .”

I let my words dry up. She might be right. I might have a tiny problem with tunnel vision. Is there such a thing as tunnel life?

“Mm-hm,” Glory says. “You’re clueless. Totally clueless. In every way.” She whirls and stalks off away from the farmhouse.

“Gee, thanks, Glory. So nice to know how you feel.” I hoist her sack of gear back up on my shoulder and march toward our lodgings. I’m irritated—okay, I’m mad, but who’s counting?

Just what am I clueless about? But since she’s not around to ask, I stomp up to our room, dump Glory’s junk on her bed, and go look for the rest of our group. Turns out they’re still at the orphanage, and since I’m running out of afternoon, it doesn’t make much sense for me to go meet up with them. I stop in the main living room, grab a drink of water, then head back outside. I don’t see Glory on my way, nor do I want to right now.

I pull my green fleece jacket closer and head toward Soom-jam. I may as well visit the town, do the tourist thing, while I’m here. I wouldn’t want to be accused of cluelessness about that too.

But I don’t get too far. I find Max and his golf club and balls behind a row of neighboring homes. As I approach, the now-familiar CRAAAACK! of club hitting ball rings out.

“I thought you were all still at the orphanage. Did you quit working early?” I ask.

“Xheng Xhi and Pastor Rick needed help carting Oxfam supplies to a little town about five miles west of us after lunch.” “How’d that go?”

He takes a deep breath. “Humbling. I remembered what you said yesterday when I saw the people’s faces. Rice and protein meal really mean something around here. There’s so much hunger, so much need in this country. It felt great to do something about it.”

I cross my arms and lean back, pretend to study him, analyze his words. With a wink, I say, “You’re not just a pretty face, then.”

He rolls his baby blues. “Give me a break.”

“Can’t you take a joke?”

“Not when you’ve spent months telling me what a washout I am.”

I hold my hands up, palms outward. “Okay, okay. We’re supposed to have a truce going. I didn’t mean to insult you.

That was just my lame stab at a joke.”

“Ooookay.” He returns to his golf.

His response is less than encouraging. But in all honesty, I can’t blame him. I’ve been less than welcoming—hah! I’ve been a total pain to him. And even now that I know how rotten I’ve been, my frustration with his lack of gemological knowledge, combined with my unwanted but very real attraction, can still get the better of me.

Yeah, I can’t blame him for turning away. I’ve done far worse to him.

Forgive me, Father.

I realize I have to ask Max’s forgiveness too.
Gulp.

“Umm . . . Max?”

He looks over his shoulder. “Yeah?”

“I . . . ah . . . really owe you an apology. I’ve been rotten to you since you came to work for the S.T.U.D., and it’s wrong of me.”

He turns slowly to face me, a bemused look on his face. But he doesn’t say a thing, so I’m still on the hot plate here.

“I may mess up again—actually, I’m sure I will, out of bad habit—but I ask you to forgive me, for my past nastiness, and for future failures too.”

With his club in one fist, he crosses his arms, his eyes narrowed. “What’s brought about this epiphany?”

My blush almost hurts—like my conscience. “I’m not stupid, just stubborn and sometimes blind. You’ve made more efforts than I have, and you haven’t laid into me, no matter how nasty my comments got. And—” I hesitate, weighing my next words “—you’ve smashed a bunch of my assumptions about you.”

The more I say, the narrower his eyes get, and the tighter his lips clamp. In desperation, I point at his mouth. “See? That’s what I need to learn to do—what I’m trying to learn to do. Shut my mouth before I blurt out dumb stuff.”

At that, the corner of his mouth gives a twitch, as if he’s trying to keep from smiling.

“I’m serious! I do want to change, and I really am sorry I’ve been a pill.”

As his mouth curves into a real smile, he nods slowly. “That you have been, Andi-ana Jones. A pain, a pill, and nasty-mouthed. I have forgiven you—it hasn’t been easy, since you’ve never really seemed to repent of your—” he waves toward me “—your attitude. But maybe you do mean it. And since we’re going to be working together indefinitely, I’d rather move forward than stay stuck in the nasty past.” My eyes burn; tears well up. All this time I’ve been so hard on him, he’s been quietly living what I have been talking. How humbling is that?