Read Online Beneath Wandering Stars by Ashlee; Cowles - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Ashlee; Cowles
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not only be sleeping in a dank and drafty monastery, but there will be
no
privacy.
Not to mention the place smells like feet. Hundreds of pairs of filthy, stinking feet.
“Wow, this is one step below the Ritz.” I unbuckle my backpack and toss it onto a bare mattress with more stains on it than I care to count. “I call top bunk.”
The bunk beds are pushed together in pairs, so there are two twin beds on top and two on the bottom. Talk about awkward. Thankfully, no one has claimed the bed next to mine yet. I hope to whatever saint is responsible for such matters that it stays that way.
While we’re getting settled in, two Spanish women in the next bunk cluster mention a special pilgrim’s Mass about to take place in a nearby chapel. I don’t think Seth can understand what they’re saying, but he starts following them out the door.
“Don’t tell me you’re headed to confession?” I call after him. The thought that Seth may be more willing to pray for my brother’s healing than I am is not only a shocker, it makes me feel a tad guilty.
Seth tenses up at the word
confession
like I’ve hit him upside the head with it.
“I’m the product of a lapsed Baptist and a secular Jew,” he replies, adding a silent
so
what do you think?
“I’m off to find a drink.”
Good riddance. If the prickly tension between us is an indication of how this trek is going to be, I doubt we make it to the next town before our fragile alliance is severed permanently.
Okay, shower time. I dig through my backpack for flip-flops and clean clothes, but everything I packed is tainted by that damp travel smell that never goes away once it settles in. Still, a hot, steamy shower is the
one thing that can salvage this letdown of a first day. I grab my toiletry bag and make my way to the bathroom, but the line is already a mile long. Naturally. So far this
camino
has been nothing but a rush through beautiful scenery and a lot of wasted time standing in queues. As the British would say.
“All yours.” A woman emerges from stall number three. She saunters out buck naked—I kid you not—strutting around like she owns the place. I try to keep my eyes to myself, but a quick scan of the locker room assures me Europeans have no issues hanging out in the buff with strangers in super confined spaces. Overweight and eighty years old? Not a problem.
Finally, it’s my turn. Fully clothed, I hurry into the stall before the suspicious woman behind me—the one with the crafty look of a professional line cutter—makes a break for it.
“
Scheize!
” The lukewarm water that erupts from the showerhead stings my bleeding feet, turning the water around the drain a rusty brown. Gross. The stall already has a collection of hair from twenty different people, along with used razors and a disgusting Band-Aid some courteous individual left stuck to the wall. But the harsh spray feels good on my sore back, so I stand there, selfishly using up the remaining warm water. A new thought washes over me.
If you had been there, Gabi.
That’s what Seth said when he mentioned the insurgents responsible for Lucas’s injuries. It’s a statement that suggests Seth
was
there, which means he lied to me at the hospital when he said he didn’t know how Lucas got hurt. I
knew
it. The guilty puppy look in Seth’s eyes proves he knows every detail and isn’t willing to share. Fine. If he wants to turn this trek into a power struggle, he has no idea what he’s up against. Seth may break my body, but I won’t relent until he gives me answers. Until he tells me the truth about Lucas.
“
Hola, chica
. Time’s up!” booms a voice beyond my shower stall.
“Oh, come on,” I groan. A
minimum
of ten minutes is required for a proper shower. I still have conditioner in my hair, but when I step out of the stall—wrapped in a towel like a normal person—I’m greeted by a wall of irritated faces.
There’s another
line for the mirrors in front of the sink, which is
no
privacy.
Not to mention the place smells like feet. Hundreds of pairs of filthy, stinking feet.
“Wow, this is one step below the Ritz.” I unbuckle my backpack and toss it onto a bare mattress with more stains on it than I care to count. “I call top bunk.”
The bunk beds are pushed together in pairs, so there are two twin beds on top and two on the bottom. Talk about awkward. Thankfully, no one has claimed the bed next to mine yet. I hope to whatever saint is responsible for such matters that it stays that way.
While we’re getting settled in, two Spanish women in the next bunk cluster mention a special pilgrim’s Mass about to take place in a nearby chapel. I don’t think Seth can understand what they’re saying, but he starts following them out the door.
“Don’t tell me you’re headed to confession?” I call after him. The thought that Seth may be more willing to pray for my brother’s healing than I am is not only a shocker, it makes me feel a tad guilty.
Seth tenses up at the word
confession
like I’ve hit him upside the head with it.
“I’m the product of a lapsed Baptist and a secular Jew,” he replies, adding a silent
so
what do you think?
“I’m off to find a drink.”
Good riddance. If the prickly tension between us is an indication of how this trek is going to be, I doubt we make it to the next town before our fragile alliance is severed permanently.
Okay, shower time. I dig through my backpack for flip-flops and clean clothes, but everything I packed is tainted by that damp travel smell that never goes away once it settles in. Still, a hot, steamy shower is the
one thing that can salvage this letdown of a first day. I grab my toiletry bag and make my way to the bathroom, but the line is already a mile long. Naturally. So far this
camino
has been nothing but a rush through beautiful scenery and a lot of wasted time standing in queues. As the British would say.
“All yours.” A woman emerges from stall number three. She saunters out buck naked—I kid you not—strutting around like she owns the place. I try to keep my eyes to myself, but a quick scan of the locker room assures me Europeans have no issues hanging out in the buff with strangers in super confined spaces. Overweight and eighty years old? Not a problem.
Finally, it’s my turn. Fully clothed, I hurry into the stall before the suspicious woman behind me—the one with the crafty look of a professional line cutter—makes a break for it.
“
Scheize!
” The lukewarm water that erupts from the showerhead stings my bleeding feet, turning the water around the drain a rusty brown. Gross. The stall already has a collection of hair from twenty different people, along with used razors and a disgusting Band-Aid some courteous individual left stuck to the wall. But the harsh spray feels good on my sore back, so I stand there, selfishly using up the remaining warm water. A new thought washes over me.
If you had been there, Gabi.
That’s what Seth said when he mentioned the insurgents responsible for Lucas’s injuries. It’s a statement that suggests Seth
was
there, which means he lied to me at the hospital when he said he didn’t know how Lucas got hurt. I
knew
it. The guilty puppy look in Seth’s eyes proves he knows every detail and isn’t willing to share. Fine. If he wants to turn this trek into a power struggle, he has no idea what he’s up against. Seth may break my body, but I won’t relent until he gives me answers. Until he tells me the truth about Lucas.
“
Hola, chica
. Time’s up!” booms a voice beyond my shower stall.
“Oh, come on,” I groan. A
minimum
of ten minutes is required for a proper shower. I still have conditioner in my hair, but when I step out of the stall—wrapped in a towel like a normal person—I’m greeted by a wall of irritated faces.
There’s another
line for the mirrors in front of the sink, which is
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