Since readers seemed to enjoy my excerpt from last week’s Asian Adventure, I’m sharing a bit from another story in the series, Dragon Boat Blues. This MMF romance is set among the famed islands of Ha Long Bay, Viet Nam, and features a disabled heroine.
Hope you enjoy it!
Blurb
Take your chances as they come
My lost superhero Josh had jet black hair, movie star cheekbones, clever hands, the devil’s mouth, and an instinct for driving me crazy. Josh believed in his own myths. He was forty miles an hour over the speed limit that day, more powerful than a locomotive, when we smashed into the tractor trailer. He blew out like a candle. I sputtered in a sort of half life, year after year, marked forever by that brief dance with insanity.
I booked the dragon boat cruise on Ha Long Bay to use up a few free days at the end of my business trip, figuring my disability wouldn’t be a problem on the luxurious junk. I wasn’t looking for companionship, just a bit of peace. But when British honeymooners Stan and Phil welcomed me into their circle of love, I discovered how much healing I still needed.
The Hook
Lunch was undeniably festive. All twenty or so passengers sat around a single long table. Aside from the Chinese contingent, the Brits and me, there was an elderly Polish couple who didn’t seem to speak English, and two French teenagers who undoubtedly could, but didn’t.
I sat between Stan and Phil, eating fresh spring rolls and lemongrass pork, drinking some very presentable cabernet and laughing at their stories about their farm. It came out that Stan had been a Londoner too, a banker, before hooking up with Phil, but he’d always dreamed of living in the country.
“Now we’ve got the country life in spades,” said Phil. “It’s bloody hard work, I’ll tell you that. But it makes Stan happy.” He reached behind me to squeeze his lover’s hand. Their obvious delight in one another’s company made me ache with loneliness.
Still, the luscious food, the wine and the pleasant companionship had improved my mood by the time the meal concluded. The guide—Van Binh was his name, I recalled—rose to stand at the head of the table, clinking a spoon against a water glass.
“Good afternoon, everyone.” Like most of the Vietnamese I knew, he was slightly built and wiry. Despite the humidity, he wore a long-sleeved business shirt buttoned at the cuffs and collar. “I hope you enjoyed your lunch.” One of the Chinese translated for his friends, and they all applauded. “This afternoon, we will cruise through some of the two thousand islands on our way to visit Trinh Nu and Sung Sot caves. Trinh Nu, or Virgin Cave, is a famous place for lovers. And beautiful Sung Sot truly deserves its nickname of Amazing Cave. Both are on the same island. We will anchor in the bay, then take a smaller boat to the shore.”
“Oh, dear, Lydia.” Stan turned to me. “Are you going to have trouble with that?”
“We can carry you, if necessary,” added Phil with a chuckle.
“I’m sure it won’t be.” I couldn’t help grinning at their energy. “Thanks for the offer, but I’m used to doing things on my own.”
I was, too. I’d had more than seven years to learn.
The guide continued outlining our itinerary. After the caves, there’d be kayaking—definitely not for me—and swimming. The following morning we’d be taken on a trip through the mangroves to a third cave, Thien Long and in the afternoon, visit famous Cát Bà National Park. It all sounded pretty strenuous. Well, I could always stay onboard and read the thriller I’d picked up at the airport.
After Van finished his spiel, most of the passengers moved to the front of the boat to enjoy the view. I settled into a chair under a red and gold striped awning. From my shady seat, I had a fine view of the craggy limestone formations that erupted from the gleaming water on either side. Some were bare rock, but many were carpeted in vivid green. Lush growth clung to fissures in the gray stone—prickly shrubs, stunted trees, and tangled vines that hung over precipices like verdant lace curtains. Some islets were shaped like teeth of the dragon that gave this bay its name. Others recalled elephants, turtles, rabbits, even the symmetry of a woman’s breasts.
Truly, the scene was as magical as the tour agency had promised. Mellow from the wine, I relaxed and let the glorious landscape slide by. A cool breeze dried my sweat. When we passed one of the formations, close enough that I could see birds nesting in the hollows halfway up the green cliff, the spicy scent of some herb reached my nostrils.
We threaded our way among the dramatic outcrops, the still surface of the bay mirroring their irregular forms. Though other junks kept pace with ours on either side, there was little noise. A sense of peace and well-being enveloped me.
Phil and Stan sat side by side on a bench in the narrow angle at the very front, leaning against the base of the magnificent carved dragon that formed the ship’s prow. They didn’t touch. Nevertheless, even at a few yards distance, I sensed the magnetism drawing them together. I would not have called either of them handsome, but their aura of happiness made them appealing to watch.
Stan was probably in his mid-forties, I guessed. Phil looked at least ten years younger. There was nothing effeminate about either one.
Big without being fat, Stan moved with the solid confidence of a man who was comfortable in his own skin.
His lean, loose-limbed partner radiated a physicality that made me think of a tennis player or a runner. He gestured expansively and laughed often, never quite still. It was difficult for me to imagine Phil cooped up in an office.
Stan noticed I was watching. He smiled and pointed to an empty seat next to him. I grinned back, shaking my head. I was far too comfortable to move.
Before long, a much larger island loomed ahead. Two thickly forested capes reached out like arms to embrace us. Our ship slipped between them, into the sheltered lagoon they enclosed. The crew scuttled about, releasing the anchor, partially furling the scarlet sails and readying the dinghy at the stern. I was pleased to discover that the smaller boat could be raised and lowered by a pair of winches. That would make excursions much less of a problem for me.
Indeed, getting to the shore was a snap. With the help of a sturdy gangplank and a permanent dock, not to mention Phil’s strong hand, I clambered out of the dinghy without difficulty.
The guide led us up a narrow path through the forest toward the cave mouth. The way was steep but smooth. With my cane, I could manage. We gathered under a limestone overhang while Van related the tragic legend of the fisherman’s daughter who had given the cave its nickname. I half-listened, absorbed by the breathtaking view. The little harbor stretched perhaps a hundred feet below us, studded with red sails, framed by green foliage. Further in the distance, the dragon’s teeth rose out of the water, hazy in the mist.
The scene was timeless perfection. It might be worth the entire cost of the trip.
After his introduction, Van led the main group into the cave’s depths. I strolled after them, not even trying to keep up. My leg had begun to throb. In any case, I didn’t have much desire to stick with the crowd and learn the names of each stalactite and stalagmite. I’d seen caves before; a few months after we’d met, Josh had taken me on a trip to Carlsbad Caverns.
We’d borrowed a studio car and driven straight from LA, stopping only to eat and get gas— and once, when we couldn’t stand being apart a moment longer, to make frantic love under the blazing desert sun.
Memories of Josh brought a slow ache, instead of the usual stab of hopeless grief. Maybe, after all these years, I was finally healing. Or maybe the environment, with its unearthly peace, had blunted the edge of my pain.
You can find all the buy links here: https://www.lisabetsarai.com/dragonboatbluesbook.html
Be sure to visit the other authors participating in today's Book Hooks hop.
