His Princess (A Royal Romance)(4)

On the sixth ring there’s a harsh click and a voice. My mom sounds like she’s talking through a diving helmet.

“Penny?”

“Hi, Mom. It’s me. We’ve got ten minutes.”

“Oh, honey, we miss you so much. When are you coming home?”

“I’m signed up for nine months. I think I’m going to re-up when I’m done. We’re doing a lot of good here.”

She sighs and coughs. “That’s good, Penny. You can at least take like a month off, though, right? Come home for a while?”

“Yeah, I should be able to. It’s not like they’re swimming in volunteers out here.”

There’s an urgent edge to her voice I don’t like, but the thought of returning home sickens me. I drum my fingernails on the folding metal table that holds the phone, and listen.

Mom keeps me updated on the goings-on at home. My sister will graduate from high school this year, and she’s crestfallen that I’m going to miss the ceremony. My cousin is getting married, my other cousin is pregnant.

After five minutes of news from the home front, Dad gets on. I listen to him talk about work. The company he works for is in trouble, and he sounds beaten down and broken.

“When are you coming home?”

“Not sure. I can do a visit when my contract is up, but I’m planning to stay out here. I might move to the city for the next go around, though. They need teachers there, too.”

“They need teachers here. I talked to Frank Filichikia. He says there will be an opening for an English teacher at George Washington next year.”

Ah yes, George Washington High School. No, not that George Washington High School, the other one. The one where I went to school, where my sister Demeter goes to school (it’s my mother. My mother is insane for Greek mythology), and the one where my parents met, and their parents met. (Well, mostly. My mom’s father was from Indiana.)

I glance back through the flaps. The sun is beginning its slow descent and painting the world out there red and gold. When I’m not thinking about what could have been and how far I want to get from my life, I could see myself here. At least for a while.

Mom took the phone back while I wasn’t paying attention.

“Have you met any boys?”

I sigh. It stings me every time she asks. No, I haven’t met any boys. I didn’t sign up for this to get laid. After what I dealt with last year, I don’t really want to worry about that for a good long while, if ever again. Mom is Mom, though. I feel a little sick with myself at how I seize up, shaking with anger at her question.

She only wants me to be happy, I know.

“There’s a guy here that’s interested in me but I’m iffy on him. His name’s Brad. I think my roommate or tent-mate or whatever likes him more. I think they should get together.”

“Why don’t you ask him out?”

“Mom, we’re in the middle of nowhere. There is no ‘out’ to ask him to. Besides, I’d be screwing over my friend. She really likes him. That’s like a no-no. I can’t do that to her.”

My mother sighs. “Honey, I think you need to move on.”

“I did move on, Mom. I moved six thousand miles on.”

“Penny, I had to sow my wild oats, too, but you’re almost twenty-six years old. It’s time to start really building a future. You can’t minister to the heathens in a dust bowl forever.”

I wonder, why not? There are some volunteers who have been out in places like this for decades. The camp doctor has been with the group for forty years, and served in Africa, India, a dozen places in Southeast Asia.

All the things I could see and do. The world is so huge and open.

“I know, Mom. I’ll think about it.”

We say our good-byes. Dad gets back on. We chat until my timer dings, and then he grunts and says he’ll talk to me next week.

Then I hang up and walk back to our tent.

It’s getting dark.

It gets really dark out here at night. The camp and the construction zones are well lit, but that only makes it worse. It’s like walking on the bottom of the ocean. I feel floaty, like the current is trying to pull me up. I could float up and up and drown.

When divers spend too long under the surface, too far, they have to decompress to come back out. If they don’t, the nitrogen in their blood bubbles out under the lowered pressure. They call it the bends, but it’s more like bursting from the inside, like a soda bottle someone shook up until it’s ready to pop.

I’d be like that if I went home. Too much of a shock. I don’t know if I could cope with Philadelphia again, or even the suburb where I grew up. Maybe I should just stay out here, or go farther east. When my term is up I’ll be able to sign on again and go somewhere else. Some of the options are a little dangerous.

When I look out into that great, deep darkness that surrounds this tiny island of light, it feels pretty dangerous here.

I duck into the tent and grab my bag, head to the shower stall, and scour the dirt off my skin. The dust is everywhere when the wind picks up. It gets in everything. I keep my hair short for ease of maintenance and just run my fingers through it to dry it out after I’m done.

I grab an MRE from the supply tent and head back to join Melissa. Every meal pack has a cooker in it. You pour water in the pouch; the food is all sealed up so it doesn’t get wet. The cooker reacts with the water and gets hot, and heats up the food.