A Change To Bear (A BBW Shifter Romance) (Last of the Shapeshifters) (8 page)

She remembered her university years, and thinking at the time that it would be far better if she lived in a house full of girls. There was no way she was going to have a bloke in there with her, pissing all over the bathroom like a cat marking its territory, leaving sweat-soaked shorts on the sofa, and being a brutal font of body odor. It turned out that living in a house full of girls wasn’t actually any better. Piles of clothes, dirty dishes, and bathroom bins went unattended to, often for weeks at a time. Yeah, that had been a lesson learned. Living with people had the potential to be utter shit, and Terry didn’t care if she was jaded. She knew that from then on, she’d only be at home where the rules were clear and her space was, at least, hers, or on her own, where other people weren’t there to muck it all up.

Terry stopped dead on the street. Before her was a wide road by Hanoi standards, and absolutely teeming with mopeds. God, she thought. She was going to have to cross this. She looked around for someone to cross with, a local who knew how, but there was nobody around her. For a city so jam-packed with people on pseudo-motorcycles, it was annoying that there wasn’t one lone pedestrian on this road who also wanted to cross. She could have hid in his or her wake, clinging as close to them without actually touching them. But, instead, she was going to have to quash every one of her survival instincts, and simply step out into a road full of vehicles and walk, without dodging or changing direction, to the other side.

“Shit,” she murmured. Every instinct, honed by millions of years of evolution, was telling her not to do it. There, she might get hurt. It was all ‘DANGER! DANGER!’ announcements blaring in her mind, red lights flashing and bomb sirens wailing. It wasn’t like crossing at a red-man, either, where she waited for there to be a gap in the traffic before she darted across the road, hoping there wasn’t an overzealous police officer, new and looking to meet quota, walking that beat. Here, there would be no gap. She would simply step out, and let the traffic funnel around her.

“Okay.” Terry told herself to stop being a big baby about it, and to just do what she had done with Liam the day before. In front of her, on the other side of the road, she could see a lake, and in the middle of a lake was a small island with a building on it, perhaps a temple. On the edge of the lake was a restaurant that overlooked the lake, with yellow curtains hanging over the terrace handrail, drying in the sun. She saw a few people in the restaurant, sat at small tables, being served by waitresses in long, colorful dresses: purple, blue, red, yellow, and gold. That was where she was going. She’d made up her mind. It looked lovely. She focused on the restaurant, took a deep breath, and stepped out into the road.

And nothing happened. Standing still like a deer in headlights, she watched as the mopeds funneled around her, leaving her a small enclave of road and air. She stepped forward, and the funnel adjusted with her, and step by step, she walked across, wondering how it must look like from above as the gap of mopeds that went around her shifted laterally across the road, opening and closing to her sides in the shape of an ellipse, like an eye.

“Whew,” she whispered to herself, arriving at the other side. She looked after the train of people, and none of them were looking back. Her heart was racing, and she became aware of the shaky adrenaline that was coursing through her body. That had been…
fun
. Being a little afraid, a little uncertain, it had been exciting. She laughed, feeling stupid. God, people here crossed the roads like that every day, all the time, but to her, it was entirely something foreign, something so, so different.

It was definitely something she was going to remember, that was absolutely certain. She’d heard friends and colleagues talk about their traveling experiences, and they always came back with nuggets of memory, bits and pieces that stand out more than anything else, and those were always the stories they told. To the listener, it would seem like a disjointed account of the whole experience, lacking in narrative or structure. And yet, Terry was going to remember the first time she crossed a road in Vietnam alone. It wouldn’t be bookended with
why
she had been crossing it. She wouldn’t remember why she was crossing that particular road, or even where she was going. She would simply remember being out in what felt like no man’s land, and watching, trying to hold at bay the onset of instinctual panic, as people on mopeds had come rushing toward her before neatly dividing themselves into two temporary lanes around her, and then merging back together again.
That
would be what she remembered, and what she would tell people.

And that brought her back around to Liam. He was also something she would remember, if only for their chance meeting on the train, or his guarded and odd behavior. No, she thought to herself, knowing that she wouldn’t fool anyone with that. She would remember him because, truthfully, he was just really hot, and she kind of liked him.

Where was he now? What was he up to? She took in the sight of the large lake as she slowly rounded it. She took off her day bag, a ratty rucksack, duck shit green that looked like it might disintegrate into tatters of frayed fabric at any moment. She reached in for her guidebook. The spine was already peeling off its binding glue. If it was any other book, she’d care.

“Lake Hoan Kiem,” she read aloud. Translated into Lake of the Returned Sword, it was situated in the historic center of Hanoi. The city had no doubt expanded asymmetrically over time. She saw a narrow red bridge that connected to a small island in the lake, and decided that she was going to go there after breakfast. But food came first, before sightseeing, and she made her way to the restaurant with colorfully-dressed waitresses. She’d had Vietnamese noodles before in Chinatown back home, but she was eager to try the real thing.

And she was keen on returning her thoughts to Liam, and to speculate as to his secret, hidden past. She knew that his story would likely turn out to be far less interesting than anything she was about to imagine. She also knew that she probably wouldn’t see him again. It would not be surprising in the least bit if she returned back to the guest house at the end of the day to find her neighboring room vacant.

“Table for one,” she said, and the pretty young waitress in a bright blue and unadorned long-sleeved and slim summer dress showered her to a table on the balcony, overlooking the lake. She sat down, could see an old couple, maybe in their eighties, jogging around the perimeter of the body of water.

“Can I get you anything?” the waitress asked, her English fluent. Terry was a little surprised, but this was, after all, the capital of Vietnam, and probably the biggest tourist spot.

“Pho Bo?” she asked, using the Vietnamese name for rice noodles with beef.

“Of course. Any coffee?”

“Yes, drip coffee?”

“Of course,” the waitress replied. She smiled, bowed a little, and then walked off.

Terry returned her gaze to the old couple exercising, wondering how many years – or decades – they had done that together for.

After several hours of exploring the city, poking around the shops and stalls, circumnavigating the potato-shaped lake, and looking at tour packages she could take out to various nearby attractions, Terry was pretty much ready to call it a day. But it wasn’t even dinner time yet, and she wasn’t about to waste what was certain to be a buzzing night life. So far her travel guide had been accurate, and there was no reason to doubt it now.

With the heat been baked into her, she decided that nothing would be more soothing than a cold gin and tonic, and so she set off back toward the district around Hoan Kiem. There was a small lane where all the hippest bars were supposed to be, and she figured why not? It was a major tourist hotspot, and she was bound to see something interesting there.

Weaving her way through mopeds and alleys alike, she found herself in a narrow street lined with small hole-in-the-walls that sat beneath low-rise blocks of guest houses. Already, at sunset, the place was heaving with what she guessed were tourists. There looked to be a number of local expatriates, too, judging by the number of mopeds that were lined up outside each bar. Most of them didn’t look like the rented sort, which were often branded with bright logos that stood out, so that tourists couldn’t easily steal them, or if there was an accident, they could be easily identified.

She walked up and down the street, wondering if she’d chance upon Liam. Did he seem like the drinking type? She couldn’t really gauge that one. At least, he didn’t seem like the fun-loving type, not on the surface, at any rate. Maybe having a drink or two loosened him up a bit. She wondered what he was so tightly wound, or why he was the way that he was. She figured that it was rare that someone as well traveled as he claimed to be would be so socially closed off. Chronic travelers were usually the outgoing sort, and Liam was completely against type.

Choosing a bar without a name, but with a big yellow banana as its logo, she sat at one of the tables directly below a ceiling fan, happy for the cooling breeze and shade. She’d chosen the place because it was quite empty, save for some people at the bar and one or two nestled snugly at a back table. She asked the waitress for a gin and tonic, using her finger and thumb, spaced about an inch apart, to signal a half-half mix. The waitress told her that it would cost more, but that was fine with Terry.

One drink turned into three, and the music started, the televisions were changed to European football matches, and everything started to fill up even more. People wandered down the street, a variety of sorts, some dressed well in suits, others more casually in typical backpacker attire. She watched from her two-stool table as groups of youngsters, no more than nineteen years old she guessed, flocked from bar to bar, drawing attention to themselves. School wasn’t out yet, and so it couldn’t be a post-graduation trip.

She was content to watch them, examine the crowded night life, and otherwise while away her own evening doing not much of anything at all.

“Hello, darlin’.” Terry looked to her side. Three men seated at the bar were looking at her. Bomb signals were already going off in her mind, but she ignored them.

“Hi,” she said, before clearing her throat. She offered them a brief smile before returning her gaze to the street scene outside.

“Traveler?”

“Sorry?”

“Are you a traveler?” The man who was talking to her looked to be maybe in his fifties, and he definitely looked like an unsavory character. She glanced at her watch, saw that it was already quarter to midnight. The hours had just evaporated.

“Yes,” she replied without looking at him. “What’s it to you?”

“Well, it’s my bar,” he said, and she turned to him again. He was wearing a slimy smirk, and was rising off his stool. “And mostly, the tourists know to stay outta here.”

“So what, this is a locals-only bar?”

“Something like that.” He walked over to her, the swagger in his step a little wobbly, no doubt the result of a few too many drinks. The man pulled the other stool out from under her table and sat down opposite her, grinning. She saw three gold teeth in between thick rubber-ring lips.

“Is this really your bar?”

“Yes,” he said, touching his chest and laughing. “I’m the owner. Name’s Paul. What’s yours, darling?”

She ignored the question. “So why don’t the tourists come in here?”

“’Cause we don’t want ‘em in here, that’s why.” He looked at his two friends, shared a laugh.

“Why not?” The bomb sirens in her head now were wailing louder than ever. She didn’t fancy herself a girl who was easily frightened, but a quick survey of the bar told her it was only them three and her. And that was enough to arouse her sense of caution and danger.

The guy looked like he had a real mean streak to him, someone nasty. She wouldn’t be surprised if he had a gun tucked beneath the counter of the bar. She had skipped the chapters of her guidebook over things to watch out for, and was regretting it now. Was there something she had missed? She hadn’t even given an ounce of thought to the fact that the bar had remained empty while the others had filled up. After a long and tiring day, Terry had simply been happy to find a quiet place to sit and sip on a drink.

“Why not?” He looked at his mates and repeated it. “Why not? It’s not hard to figure that one out.”

“Well, okay, I get the message,” Terry said. “I’ve paid, just let me finish my drink, and I’ll leave.” She looked from the man talking to her to the other two still seated at the bar, hoping to at least appeal to them. But it was clear when she looked in either of their eyes that they were going to be playing follow-the-leader tonight.

“Oh, no, it’s nothing like that, love.
You’re
fine, you’re not like the rest of ’em.”

“Oh yeah?” She looked at the gold-toothed man. “How’s that?”

“Well, you’re alone, for starters. You’re not with a pack of hooligans puking and pissing everywhere. You don’t look the hippy type, either, with filthy matted locks and a pong that could down a donkey.”

Terry might have smiled if the tension level hadn’t become suffocating. “Is that what they’re all like?”

“I’ve been living here thirty five years,” he said, tapping the table with his index finger to punctuate his statement. “And I’m telling you, that’s what they’re all like.”

“Well, that’s a shame. Anyway, I need to go.” She started to get up off her stool.

“Aw, no, don’t leave. I was beginning to enjoy our little chat.” He spread his arms, nodded at her with raised eyebrows. “Come on, love.”

“It’s late.”

“It’s not even twelve! We don’t close until three, you know. And even then, we stay open longer if there’s good times to be had.”

“I’m afraid that’s way past my bedtime,” she said, forcing a smile. “Sorry, but I really should go.”

“Stay, for just one more drink,” the man said. He got up too, and stood in between her and the exit. “On the house.”

“I really don’t want another drink. It might get me started on the puking and the pissing, right?”