The Ship Beyond Time (The Girl from Everywhere #2)

 

 

Politely, she took another sip, waiting for me to collect myself. Then her eyes flicked toward the full cup in my hands. “You don’t drink tea.”

 

“I like coffee.”

 

“Your father does too.” She leaned back and sighed. “But tea reminds me of home.”

 

“Of Hawaii?”

 

“Of the shop.”

 

“You mean the opium den.”

 

“Yes.” No matter how I tried, she was unruffled; it was disconcerting—so different from the captain. “Joss always said tea tasted like truth. Bitter comfort. We would shape the tar and drink tea, always tea.” She smiled at the memory. “Sometimes the patrons would ask me to read the leaves. and I would have to make something up. Only good fortunes for our customers.”

 

A flicker of hope popped to life like a struck match. “Did Joss invent fortunes too?”

 

Her smile fell, and the spark guttered out. She sighed again, and the steam over her tea wavered. “On the rare occasions she told fortunes, it was always the truth. I never let her tell mine.”

 

I nodded; I knew. Joss had told me that much. “Would you have done things differently? If you’d known what would happen?”

 

“Done what differently? Not fallen in love?” She laughed, a low, round sound. “Some people think life lasts longer when lived without joy, but I think it only feels that way. I have always tried to make the most of the time I have. Joss told me that, when I was very young.”

 

I squinted, trying to imagine it. “That doesn’t sound like her.”

 

“She was a cautious person herself. But perhaps she wanted me to have a better life than she did. She hated everything about your father, except how he made me feel.” She took another sip and sighed. “Love is a beautiful drug. Very addictive.”

 

I nearly smiled. “Are you going to tell me to just say no?”

 

“Too late for that, don’t you think? It’s interesting.” She inspected the bottom of her cup, then scraped the wet leaves out onto the tray. “The moment a new patron walked into the shop, I could always tell whether or not they’d be able to leave. I was never wrong. That’s how I knew I could love your father.”

 

I couldn’t help it: my mouth twisted. “Because you knew he wouldn’t leave?”

 

She looked up, surprised. “Because I knew he could—if he chose to.”

 

“But he never did.”

 

“When a captain goes down with his ship, it isn’t because he doesn’t know how to swim.”

 

I made a face. “That’s heartening.”

 

“I think so. Because it’s never up to you what happens. Your only choice is what to do when it does. What kind of person will you decide to be?”

 

“You saw the tattoo.”

 

“Yes.” She poured a fresh cup, her dark hair falling over one shoulder. We were quiet for a while. Coals glowed in the ashes as the fire died. I tried the tea. It was warm and mellow. “It must have been a hard life for you,” she said then. “He kept a place for me. All these years.”

 

An understatement. “He did.”

 

“Maybe he shouldn’t have.”

 

“What? No.” The response was immediate, and very different from what it might have been yesterday. Was Kashmir right? Had I ever wished Slate hadn’t loved her? “No,” I said again, more strongly. “Why would you say that?”

 

“I see on his face what these years did to him. I see in your eyes what they did to you. How different would your life have been if John had forgotten me?”

 

Tears threatened again at the thought; my throat closed, trying to shut them off. Different . . . yes, but not better, not now that I knew what he and I had missed. I couldn’t say so, so I tried to laugh. “John?” The word was strange in my mouth: short, chipped. “I’ve never heard anyone call the captain that.”

 

“Is that what you call him? Captain? Not Father?”

 

“Sometimes I call him Slate.”

 

She hooked a finger behind the long fall of dark hair and tucked it behind her ear. “And what will you call me?”

 

In her black eyes, a guardedness like a bird with its head cocked, peering through the branches. I tried out the words in my head. . . . Mother. Mama. Mom. “I’d like to call you Lin. For now.”

 

She nodded—on her face, relief mingled with disappointment. “Now is what we have,” she said, and I blinked at her, surprised to hear my own words echoed in her voice. “Then again,” she added, giving me a small smile. “Perhaps now is all we need.”

 

Was it true? It felt that way. Something in my chest eased, and I dared to smile back. Then I downed my tea and stood.

 

“Where are you going?” she said to me as I went to the door.

 

“Back to my ship.”

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

 

 

KASHMIR