Page 17 of My Stepbrother's Wedding
“Your English is good,” I lied.
Irena smiled bashfully. “Oh, thanks you.”
I stood in uncomfortable silence with the bride-to-be, taking her in again. On second glance, her purse had a logo that readMikel Koors, clearly a pleather imitation, and the roots of her blond hair revealed she was actually a brunette. I surveyed her curvy areas, wondering if anything else was fake.
Elizabeth and Will shuffled off the elevator with our luggage and made for the door. I followed outside to a beat-up van with a yellow taxi sign on the roof. Will’s friends waited next to it, smiling as we approached. Kyle looked like a pale beanstalk in a polo shirt and Cubs hat. Mark’s dark hair covered his face, and his faded Metallica T-shirt could’ve doubled as a circus tent.
We exchanged friendly handshakes, and they explained they’d just arrived from Greece. The driver slid out and introduced himself. He had the same hawkish look I’d seen on the face of every other cab driver in the country. He spoke enough English to communicate freely though, and I wished we’d met someone like him on our arrival. We crammed into the back of the van and started away in the growing darkness.
“How was trip?” the driver asked.
Dad, Elizabeth, and I chuckled at the same time.
“When we arrived in Pelagonia, our flight was canceled,” Dad said.
“And then someone tried to kidnap Wini,” Elizabeth added.
The driver laughed. “No one try kidnap. I send friend to meet you. Why you no go with him?”
My jaw dropped open. Dad and Elizabeth had shocked looks on their faces.
“When we realized the airport was closed,” Will explained, “the driver called someone to pick you up after your flight. Your kidnapper was just trying to give you a ride.”
I breathed a sigh of relief mixed with embarrassment, suddenly making sense of the strange man who’d tried to pull me from the bus at the airport. Too bad we hadn’t understood him.
We drove up a winding mountain road through the darkness. Will shared how he’d been searching for us the entire day until he heard about a family of Americans staying at the overpriced hotel. As tired and irritated as I felt, I couldn’t help but laugh. Elizabeth doted over Irena, who made small talk in her broken English. Twenty minutes later we came to a line ofcars piled behind a decrepit booth occupied by men in police uniforms. Our driver pulled over.
“This border,” he said. “You get off here. I no document for Malegonia.”
Will smiled reassuringly. “Don’t worry. I have a ride waiting for us on the other side. We just need to walk through customs.”
I followed the others as they exited the van onto the pothole-ridden concrete. Lines of cars streaked back from the customs checkpoint, like traffic at a rush-hour accident. I popped open the trunk and pulled out my suitcase. The driver approached Dad.
“So total cost is only two hundred eighty euro for everything.”
Dad’s eyes bulged like a man being strangled. “Two hundred eighty euros for a twenty-minute taxi ride?”
“No, no,” the driver said. “Trip to border only twenty euro. You also need pay for taxi from airport.”
I could see Dad’s blood pressure rising. “You want me to pay for a taxi we didn’t even take?”
“Driver’s timecost money. You need pay him.”
Dad’s hands trembled. Elizabeth touched his arm gently. “It’s been such a long day, Ralphy Bear. Just pay the man, and let’s get out of here.”
Dad grumbled but counted out all the foreign money he’d exchanged. They weren’t euros, but the driver didn’t mind. He counted the money and said it wasn’t enough. I kept the wad of cash in my bra hidden while Will and his friends went through their pockets and pulled out more money in various currencies. The driver seemed to have a sixth sense about how much they had left in their pockets. Once there wasn’t a loose dime between them, the driver nodded.
“Okay, this good enough. Have nice time.” He left us at the curbside next to the customs checkpoint and drove back toward the lights of Achris City.
Dad watched the van depart, a cringe etched on his face. “Why do I get the feeling we’ve just been robbed?”
“Come on, honey,” Elizabeth said. “We’re almost there.”
Chapter 7
After passport control, we marched by a bullet-hole-ridden sign that readWelcome to Malegonia. I wasn’t sure if I should be afraid or stop to take a picture. Will led us to a white van with a giant yellow cross painted on its side. Under normal circumstances, I would’ve snickered at the overtly religious imagery on a Volkswagen, but we were being rescued from a nightmare in a foreign land. Thank Jesus for that.
“Pastor Ludwig is going to drive us to the beach house,” my stepbrother said.
