Page 29 of The Risks of Reuniting

There doesn't seem to be anything else to say after this revelation.

"Truce?" I ask, standing. That was, after all, the entire point of this conversation.

He stands and turns to face me, so I do the same. "Truce," he agrees, holding out his work-calloused hand.

I take it and one side of my mouth tugs up as the familiar warmth of his palm envelops mine. I nod, he does the same, and when I feel the urge to hug him, I pull away. We still have a ways to go before I'll trust myself to be in his arms again – if ever.

Chapter 11

Chloe

Sat,May17

Dear family,

Grandma Sue – Yes, I'm aware that Kaden is attending Harvard, which would make a trip to Europe very difficult. I simply thought your prince would be best suited to find a princess, but I apologize for the oversight. Gavin could possibly infiltrate a small country on the pretext of fixing their outdated plumbing in their castle. Perhaps you can discuss this at a Sunday dinner soon?

I pause to giggle to myself at the thought of Grandma Sue trying to wrangle Gavin into any sort of matchmaking. He'll make me pay for this, but I don't delete the lines.

Mom – see if you can find goldenberries at the grocery store. The staff at the Center eat them a lot and say they're kind of sour and sweet. I'd like to try them when I get home. A little while ago we treated a boy who'd crashed a grocery cart that he and a group of friends were riding down a hill. He knocked out most of his front teeth. Made me think of that time we were sledding as a family and Gavin accidentally knocked out one of my teeth when we crashed. That must have given you quite a fright to see me running down the hill with blood running from my mouth. Sorry about that –but once again, it was Gavin's fault. We're grateful you stuck around and kept being our mom.

Dad – what's your experience with rat poison? I can't Google things here easily, and I'm in a sort of need-to-know situation. The people working at the Center don't find this as concerning as I do. Rachelle and I are not looking for a third roommate and would appreciate your tips. For now we have a towel stuffed in a hole in our wall, but I don't feel confident that will keep out a determined rodent. We have begun sleeping with butterknives under our pillows, but again, doesn't feel super helpful. We're attractive ladies, and this rat knows a good thing when he sees it.

Gavin – no, I do not find the rat situation funny, and even though as my older brother this will make you weep with joy, I would ask that you switch off your annoying brother hat for your protective brother hat and pray for me. Thanks. No, I don't know of any pipes I can shove him in, and I'm not aware of any dens of lady rats to use as a distraction. Any luck on the dating scene? We're all waiting . . .

Today we're doing a bus tour of Lima and going into some catacombs. I will see if there's any suitable burial spots open where our family could be laid to rest together. Not you, Grandma Sue, I know you want to be with Grandpa in Salt Lake, and that you don't really love being underground. It makes it so much harder to erect a monument. I hesitate to share that there will be a palace on the tour, and firmly remind you that I'm not husband hunting in South America. I am, however, excited to see a real-life palace and hope that I'm not too disappointed with America when I return.

Much love,

Chloe

Lima, Peru is a madhouse and I love it. It's fascinating and colorful, and busy, and nothing at all like the orderliness of Salt Lake's blocks and well-ordered traffic patterns. It's every man for himself. From the top level of the double-decker bus we're riding on I can take it all in. Normally traffic is my nemesis. Nothing gets me in a temper faster than bad driving, yet somehow here I find it almost charming. I have no idea how this bus is making its way amid the small streets stuffed with cars. I think it might be a magical wizard bus, the way it glides in and out of spaces I wouldn't dare take my tiny car into.

"This is nuts," I laugh, tugging my windbreaker jacket around me as I watch a car cut off our bus and zip a left from the far right lane.

Rachelle squeals and laughs, pointing at it. "I'm getting some great ideas from these drivers. Georgians better watch out."

We all laugh, and the people behind us on the bus look our way. It's fine, they've looked at us a lot.

"You know, people sometimes say that drivers from Lima are the worst drivers in the world, but I disagree," Holt chuckles. "To do this without anyone getting in an accident shows a lot of skill."

"I have to agree," Rachelle says as we watch more cars dart and zip through streets that zig and zag without reason.

The bus stops at a light and the crosswalk is immediately filled with what seems like hundreds of people crossing. The top level of the bus is open on the sides, with only a large window at the front, which leavesit open to the sounds of horns, and beeping lights, and the shouts of people hawking goods everywhere. I lean forward against the huge front window of the bus, eager to take it all in. A local young man with a satchel strapped across his chest makes eye contact with me and suddenly breaks into dancing. His moves are hysterical as he bops his way in front of traffic, and eventually waves at me before stepping back on the sidewalk.

I glance to my side and see that Holt saw it too. We share a friendly smile and I look away quickly because we may be in a truce but I still have a heart to protect and he's devastating like this. His time working outdoors has added a glow to his naturally tan skin and the stress of pharmacy school doesn't seem to have faded that optimistically playful gleam he's always had in his eyes. He's dressed well as usual, in clothes that come off the rack but somehow look like they were fitted for him specially. I shake my head and refocus on the bus tour.

The man who has been narrating in both English and Spanish announces that this is as far as the bus goes, and I watch with clenched fists as the driver manages to squeeze the big, red, double-decker bus into a small side street and park along the curb. He's a magician, and I shake my hands as I relax. It's time for the walking portion of the tour, and I'm excited to see it all close up.

Holt gestures for Rachelle and me to go first, and we slide out of our seats and make our way down the teeny curving staircase to the lower deck, and then off onto the sidewalk. The tour guide holds up a pole with a flag attached and tells us to keep up. I do as ordered, hustling along and trying not to lose sight of the flag when a light changes and we're stuck behind. I go up on tiptoes, neck stretched, and watch that little red and gold flag bop along. At least they haven't turned any corners yet.

"Don't worry, I've been to the Plaza a few times. I have a pretty good idea of where they're going," Holt announces from behind me.

I nod, but don't turn around. I believe him, but it doesn't mean I'm going to stop watching.

"There are so many people," Rachelle states, in awe. "Like, I don't think all of Georgia has this many people in the entire state."

Cesar says something to Holt in Spanish, which surprises me because Cesar is trying to only speak in English around us, and the two of them converse for a minute. I catch a few words here and there, but nothing that helps me understand the conversation. I keep my eyes locked on that flag as it gets smaller and smaller. At last the light changes and I burst forward, determined to stay with the group. Another block and the street turns to cobblestone, and opens up. No cars are allowed here, which means we can blaze past the slower people. I push along, still fighting to track the flag, and only slow when Rachelle grabs for my arm.

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