Wanderlost (23 page)

“I mean, you're definitely older, I'll give you that, but as for wiser . . . ,” I say. It's risky, inserting a joke here, but it pays off when his face relaxes into his famous (well, with me, anyway) smile.

“There's something else I need to know,” he asks, and he gets all serious again.

“Anything. I'm an open book.” I hold his stare and refuse to blink. I will do whatever it takes to convince this guy I'm trustworthy.

His lips twitch. “The stuffed hedgehog you sleep with? That you or Elizabeth?”

I groan. “Mr. Pricklepants? All me.”

Sam leans in close to my face and his eyes fall to my mouth. Just before his lips meet mine, he whispers, “Hoped so, Dimple.”

We're facing a
nice, long drive to Amsterdam. But I don't care. I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be.

At first, no one talks much, and the morning's camaraderie fades into the background as everyone is alone with their thoughts. Mary and Emma play a quiet game of gin rummy behind us and Hank and Maisy are, well . . .

Dolores hums under her breath as she knits.

“Toblerone?” Sam asks, slipping the triangle-shaped container into my palm. As gestures of forgiveness go, chocolate trumps all. The hand he tucks into mine isn't too shabby either. I snuggle against his arm and say a giant thank-you to the powers that be for letting Sam be here next to me. When I lift my face to his, he's waiting for me with a kiss, and my heart contracts. I honestly did not think it was possible to experience so many intense emotions in one thirty-hour period.

Lyon becomes Dijon and eventually I add another new country, Luxembourg, as we skirt its border before turning
into Belgium. We watch movies. We zip in and out of rest stops without any lingering in the gift shop sections. Even though we're still on the road, the trip is over, and everyone seems to acknowledge it.

Sam takes over for Bento, so our friendly Spaniard can take a nap in an empty seat. Night falls and the bus grows even quieter.

In the silence, Maisy's voice is soft. “Does anyone else think we should say a few words for Mr. Fenton? We sat together yesterday but we didn't really talk much.”

Speaking of a few words, this is practically the most Maisy has said this whole trip.

“I think that's a great idea,” calls Sam from the driver's seat. “Who wants to start?”

We all speak at once. Eventually we sort it out and each take a turn telling our favorite memory of Mr. Fenton from the trip. Dolores talks about the time he chased the pigeons around St. Mark's Square in Venice, and Emma has us laughing with a story of him correcting the tour guide at Marksburg Castle. Apparently, the poor man insisted the dates he was giving were right until Mr. Fenton marched off and returned with a book from the gift shop that conclusively proved otherwise.

When it's my turn, I tell everyone about the way he looked about five years old when he slid behind the wheel of the Lamborghini. I'm glad his last day was such a memorable one.

After we finish, we're all quiet for a minute, lost in trip memories and Mr. Fenton memories, when Dolores suddenly
says, “I'm sorry, but I just have to ask. WHAT is that smell?”

Out of habit, we all turn toward Hank. “Wasn't me!”

Then he grows quiet for a second and something passes over his face. Wordlessly he bends down and reaches under his seat. When he straightens he's holding something that, at some point, used to be a giant wheel of cheese.

“Y'all think it could be this?” he asks.

Amsterdam welcomes me back like an old friend. The bathtub at the Kras is just as Dutch-sized and the burgers just as good. I know exactly which way to turn at the penis statue to reach an actual coffee shop, and not one that's a euphemism for anything else.

“Told you there was a Starbucks.” I smirk, pointing it out for Sam.

“When did you tell me that?”

“On the phone. The first night we talked.”

Sam grins. “I know. I was just testing you. I wanted to know if you remembered our first conversation as well as I did.” He steers us away from the Starbucks and over to the canal edge instead.

“Know which first I'd rather remember?” he whispers, and I squirm in pleasure. I love being in his arms. He dips his head down and touches his lips to mine, briefly, before saying, “Our first kiss in Vienna. Also by a canal, I might add.” He nods his head at the waterway beside us.

I stroke my chin with two fingers. “Hmm . . . I don't recall
that. I might need more reminding.”

“Oh yeah?” Sam asks with a grin. Then he reminds me. He reminds me very well. When we come up for air, I say, “We seems to do a lot of kissing by waterways. Vienna, Venice . . .”

“Prague,” he adds.

“Not so many waterways in our part of Ohio, huh? What will we do?” I pretend to pout.

Sam playfully pokes my side until I smile instead. “Something tells me we'll figure it out,” he says very earnestly. “In fact, I can promise we most definitely will figure it out. I'm planning on a lot of this in our future, Dimple, and I don't care if we have nothing but a McDonald's for a backdrop.”

“Mmm . . . McDonald's. Hey, did you know their fries are gluten-free?” I tilt my head and blink wide eyes, the picture of innocence.

Sam rolls his. “You are one of a kind, you know that?”

“I'm going to pretend you meant that as a compliment.”

“Good,” whispers Sam before stealing a kiss.

A riverboat cruises beside us and the passengers chatter as they take in the sights. But all I have eyes for is the guy in front of me. He opens his stance and I step between his legs. He places one hand at the small of my back and I reach up to twirl one of his curls around my finger.

I can't keep a happy sigh from escaping. “Remind me to thank my sister for getting arrested.”

Sam's laugh is shocked, then amused. I stand on tiptoes to kiss him again and his laugh becomes a small groan as he pulls
me tight against him.

I may have to revise all previous statements. I'm pretty sure my old favorite, Amsterdam, is claiming new favorite status too.

At seven the next morning we wave good-bye from the sidewalk of our last hotel of the trip, as Hank and Maisy interrupt their groping session to toss a quick “safe travels” our way before claiming the back of the bus one last time on their ride to the airport.

Emma and Mary are on the noon flight and they're harder to say good-bye to. We spend what must be twenty minutes hugging in the lobby before Bento points at his watch.

“You take care of you, Aubree,” Emma finally says.

I pull her into another hug. “I'm not going to forget you
ever
. At the very least you'll be on my mind each and every Halloween.” She laughs and swats at me with her Austrian woodsman's hat, which she's decided to wear on her return journey.

Mary tugs her away and wraps me in her arms.

“You're a lovely girl. And thank you again for my necklace. That's quite a talent you have.”

I laugh and snuggle against her shoulder. Being hugged by her is exactly as I imagined, like getting wrapping up in a load of towels fresh from the dryer. Sam and I follow them outside and they step onto the bus as Bento loads their bags.

We all jump when Emma honks the bus's horn.

She giggles when we spin to face her. “Oh, I've wanted to do that this whole trip. Anyway, move it, Bento. We have a flight to catch.”

A few hours later, Bento is back for Dolores, Sam, and me. When we reach the terminal, he helps us with our bags, then stands awkwardly beside his bus. I throw my arms around him too. No one who made it through this trip with me is leaving without a hug.

“
Adiós
, Bento.”

“Good-bye, Aubree,” he says, in halting and heavily accented English. “You are,” he continues, pausing to search for the word, “adorable.”

He looks to Sam for confirmation. Sam grins and loops an arm over my shoulder. “I taught him that one.”

I duck out from under Sam's arm and throw my own around Bento again. “Bento, you are even better than adorable, you are priceless.”

He shrugs to make it clear he has no idea what I'm saying, but he hugs me back just as hard.

We get Dolores settled in a comfy chair inside the terminal with her knitting and a lemonade and I follow Sam to the ticket counter for AirEuro Airlines.

“Hey, do you mind if we take a quick detour?” I ask as we head for the end of the line. “There's someone who helped me a ton when I first landed and I kind of want to tell her how much that meant to me.”

He looks at me, curious, but lets me tug him down the escalator to the counter where I met Marieke a few short weeks and a lifetime ago.

I figure, what are the odds she'll be on duty today, but when I round the corner, there she is, helping an older, freakishly tall (must be Dutch) man who is waving his arms over his head as he tries to explain something. We hang back until he finally steps away from the counter; then I move forward into her line of vision.

“Elizabeth!” Marieke lights up when she sees me. And here I thought she'd never remember me in the mix of all the passengers she deals with all day, every day.

“Hi, Marieke.” I smile at her. Her eyes widen a bit as she spots Sam just behind me. But she doesn't comment, just says, “The hotel left word for you, then. Hang on, let me grab your things.”

Left word? What?

She disappears into a door behind her counter and returns seconds later with a brown paper bag, passing it across the counter. I open it to find the binder and my cell phone, safe and sound, exactly as I'd left them. I look up at Marieke in shock.

“The hotel didn't send you?” she asks. “We found them a few days after you left and the Krasnapolsky was able to track your next few locations, but your trail went cold in Austria. I didn't want to risk these things bouncing around a slew of hotels, so I thought they might be safer with me until you
called for them. You really didn't know they were here?”

“No idea. I was just coming by to thank you.”

“Thank me? For what?”

“For being so kind on my first day away from home ever. For taking the time to help me so much.”

“Oh, please, I barely did anything. Just gave you a little encouragement and sent you on your way,” she says. She glances at Sam. “You claimed that day that your whole life was in the seat back of that plane, but it looks like you did an okay job finding a new one to replace it.”

I reach back and squeeze his hand. “It hasn't been
too
terrible.”

“I'm glad,
meid
. I could tell when I met you, you'd be just fine.”

She could?

I walk around the side of the counter and give her a quick hug. “Thanks, Marieke. I'm so happy I got to meet you.”

“Safe travels, Elizabeth.”

I smile. “It's Aubree now, actually. But thank you.”

Sam tugs the brown bag off the counter and pretends to fall over at the waist from the weight of it.

“Geez, what's in this thing?”

I steer us to a bench and drop my luggage. When Sam sits next to me, I take the bag from him and slide the binder out.

“Sam, meet the real Elizabeth.” I smile as I say it, picturing my sister bent earnestly over this binder, affixing reinforcements to every hole on every page she punched. I drop the full
weight of it onto his lap, and he begins flipping through the pages. He lets out a low whistle.

“Wow. She put all this together?”

“Oh yeah. And this was a rush job.”

“Wow,” he says again. Then his eyes get all bright. “Do you think it would be okay for me to take this home to show my mom? It would be completely amazing to have something like this to give all of our tour guides. And maybe even a mini version for our guests that they could page through during the drives or something. Do you think your sister might be up for putting something like that together?”

“I suspect Elizabeth would be grateful for any chance to get back in your mom's good graces. And she has a sister who would really like the chance to do right by her,” I say.

“I don't think you have to worry about Elizabeth. My mom was crazy impressed that your sister took the time to drive down and explain everything to her in person. I'm guessing Mom'll find all good things to say when she talks to the congressman.”

Oh thank God. I wrap my arms around his waist and squeeze. “Thanks, Sam. Can you tell Elizabeth that I miss her when you meet her at the airport for the suitcase trade-off?”

“You got it. Although, have I told you how much I wish I was staying with you instead?” he says for the millionth time since plans came together yesterday.

Oh yeah. Here's the twist. I didn't change my flight. I'm staying through the end of the trip. I wasn't going to, but at
some point when everyone was making return plans and talking about the things they couldn't wait to get back to at home, I realized something. I'm not done with Europe yet. Or maybe Europe isn't done with me. Either way, I'm gonna find out.

I came on this trip not even believing I could get myself across the ocean in one piece, but all that changed. And I can't really imagine being right here, with all these other countries I haven't explored yet just a short train ride away, and not taking advantage of that. Somewhere along the line, the crazy youth hostelers I kept seeing everywhere stopped looking so crazy. I sure hope they're not, anyway, since they're gonna be my new friends.

I squeeze Sam's hand. “I know you want to stay, but if you did, you wouldn't be Perfect Sam. Perfect Sam would never leave his still-recovering grandmother to navigate international flights and airport connections all by herself.” I'm quiet when I add, “Besides, I think this is something I might need to do on my own.”

Sam nods, then kisses me, and I almost take back everything I just said and beg him to stay and see what canals there are to find in Paris and Barcelona.

Then Mom could stop all her Scarlett O'Hara, hand-on-the-forehead swooning, insisting that I'm now taking things to a whole new level she never agreed to, and Elizabeth wouldn't have to spend all her free time bringing her back from the edge. I'm actually one thousand percent, completely amazed my parents are going for this plan at all, but never underestimate
my sister's persuasive skills.

She promised to school me in her manipulative ways when I get back. And I'm gonna make it my goal for the second half of the summer to find something I can teach her too. Just to remind her I don't
always
need her telling me what to do, even if I sort of suspect she might be starting to realize that already.