Page 57 of The Angel and the Agent

“Monkeys? Ah, no, they’re pesky little beasties,” Jones announced. “And the diseases they carry. I once saw a bloke…”

Ethan reached over and pressed his palms to Amelia’s ears for the duration of the story. “Thank you,” she mouthed.

The drive to their first stop seemed unusually long, mostly because Amelia spent much of it with her hands pressed to her ears. “There should probably be a store in this town, if you need anything,” Ethan said, removing her palm from her ear as they approached the town.

“Really?” Amelia asked excitedly. She needed everything.

“Ah, no, mate, those stores are for the tourists,” Jones interjected.

“Jones, we are tourists,” Ethan reminded him.

“Yeah, but I’ll show you where the good stuff is, all the animal skulls and monkey paws, yeah? We have to go into the bush a bit, but as long as you’ve got your gun, you’ll probably come out all right,” Jones said, giving them an eager glance in the rearview mirror.

“Thank you, Jones, but I’d rather have a comb and toothbrush and not have to use the gun to get them,” Amelia said. “Unless of course there’s only one left and I have to fight someone for them.”

“Ah, you Americans are never up for any adventure,” Jones groused.

“We do all right,” Ethan said, squeezing Amelia’s knee.

“Where’d you lovebirds meet?” Jones asked.

“My sister’s house,” Amelia supplied.

“I used to have a sister, but then one day she…”

Amelia never learned what happened to the sister because she slipped her fingers in her ears, surreptitiously this time. She didn’t want to be rude to Jones, but she was glad she hadn’t listened when Ethan turned to her, shell shocked, and whispered, “Remind me to call my sister when this is over.”

When they reached the town, Ethan walked Amelia to the tiny little store and deposited her in front of the section that was clearly supposed to appeal to western tourists. There was an oversized plastic comb that looked as if it had been made during the Carter administration along with some lip balm, something with a German title she guessed to be deodorant, a small display of pink lip gloss, perfume from France, and, miraculously, one container of Maybelline mascara. She picked up the tube of mascara and cradled it in her palm. Perhaps it was shallow, but she missed her makeup. She knew she was blessed to have a good complexion and pleasant features, and she didn’t take that for granted. But she still enjoyed employing the full power ofmakeup. The application process always made her feel like an artist at work on a canvas, except the canvas was her face. And she had a modest YouTube following for her tutorials. Nothing that would make her rich or famous, but enough to keep her interested in the hobby.

Despite using expensive, boutique makeup at home, Amelia had always stuck with the same ubiquitous drug store Maybelline mascara. Seeing it now halfway across the world was a pleasant reminder of home. She bought one of nearly everything, minus the perfume that smelled like a lilac bush died and gave its essence to fill the bottle. As she was at the counter to pay, she felt a tiny tap on her leg.

When she looked down, a little boy of about four stood staring up at her. “Can I touch your hair?” he asked in French.

“Of course you can,” Amelia said. She knelt on the floor and untied her hair from the hasty braid she’d made to keep it from blowing haphazardly around the car.

“I’ve never seen yellow hair before,” the boy said, smoothing his hand gently over her corn silk tresses. After a few minutes, he lost interest in her hair and his eyes rested on the candy display behind her.

“Would you like a sweet?” she asked. When he nodded, she handed it to him, making eye contact with the storeowner so she would add it to her tab. The boy took the candy but didn’t eat it right away. Instead he cradled it lovingly to his chest like an injured baby bird. He might have been older than four, she realized. His head was overly large, as if he had suffered malnourishment in his short lifetime. She made further conversation with him, asking about his home and family.

Ethan returned to the store a few minutes later and saw Amelia still on the floor, the boy beside her. She had her arm around him and they were laughing over something she’d said. He stopped short, almost stumbling back a step, staggered byher beauty and the unexpected impact it had on him. It wasn’t that she was pretty, although she was. She had a fresh sort of natural loveliness, a girl-next-door aura. What captivated him at the moment was the glimpse of her inner beauty, on full display as she spoke with the boy. She shimmered with it, radiating kindness and love from every pore.

She caught him looking at her and tilted her head in question, the smile still on her lips.

“Ready?” he said, then cleared his throat and repeated himself when it came out as a halfhearted croak.

She nodded and, standing, gave the boy a little hug goodbye. “Thanks for the store suggestion,” she said to Ethan. “I found what I was looking for.”

He nodded then rounded the corner with her, herding her into the alley, where he pressed her against the wall and kissed her with all the pent up, confused emotion he’d just been feeling.

“Ready?” he said when the kiss was finished. His forehead was touching hers, his eyes closed.

“For what, exactly?” she asked.

“Phase two,” he said, opening his eyes. “I secured us a better car. I think you’re going to like this one. Come on.” He took her hand and led her to their new car. It wasn’t quite a limo, but almost. The windows were tinted black and there was a long, spacious back seat. The wheels had been modified to handle the rough roads, looking more like they belonged on a tractor than a car.

“Sweet,” Amelia exclaimed. “This is awesome, it’s like going to prom except everyone outside the car seemingly wants to kidnap or kill me.”

“That didn’t happen at your prom? You must have gone to a posh school,” he said, opening the door for her.

---