sticky liquid into two glasses.
Bec had already seated herself on a low plastic chair under a large, shady tree. Tom put the glass down in front of her on a small table and sat down.
‘Thanks.’ She picked up the glass, sipping the refreshing drink.
Silence hung between them. They sat watching the usual bustle of cyclos and motorbikes weaving around the pedestrians. Street vendors carried rambutans and dragon fruit in baskets, which hung from long bamboo poles that rested on their shoulders.
Tom relaxed, letting the noise of the street drive away the disappointment of the day. Soaking up the place of his birth even though he was no closer to finding any answers about his mother.
Bec drained her glass and put it down on the plastic cloth. She glanced up at him, her face neutral, with no sign of her previous indignation. The lines around her eyes crinkled slightly as she spoke. ‘You’re an overseas adoptee, aren’t you?’
Her words barrelled into him with the force of a cannon, leaving a trail of emotional destruction in their wake. He’d dodged every question she’d ever asked him about his personal life. He hated the curiosity factor his story generated. But this time her question had hit with pinpoint accuracy and he had no place to hide.
Bec watched the colour drain from his face, emphasising his high cheekbones and the hint of black stubble around his mouth. Handsome and hurting.
She forced herself to stay silent and waited for him to speak.
He took in a deep breath. ‘I was born in Vietnam but I was part of Operation Babylift and was evacuated for overseas adoption at the end of the war.’
Surprise rocked her. ‘Oh, my God, you’re part of this country’s history, part of Australia’s history.’ She’d read all about the mass evacuation of children as Saigon fell.
He nodded, his brow creasing in amazement that she knew the story. ‘Thousands of orphans were bundled onto planes and taken out of the country. Most went to the US but about two hundred and fifty of us went to Australia.’
He sounded like he was reciting from a textbook.
Factual, completely unemotional.
Protecting himself. A shaft of pain gripped her heart. ‘How old were you?’ Her voice sounded unusually soft.
‘One month. I had a note pinned to me with my date of birth on it. I was pretty sick, malnourished and dehydrated. Mum—my adopted mother—says I was the scrawniest baby she’d ever seen.’ He smiled, his face alight with a memory.
She looked at the tall, healthy man across the table from her, marvelling at how he’d overcome such a tough start in life. ‘You’ve certainly made up for it. Must have been all that fresh country air in Victoria.’
‘That’s me. I’m a walking advertisement for Dad’s dairy products.’ He grinned at her, white teeth flashing against a tanned face.
A deep, familiar longing spread through her at his smile. She set it aside, concentrating on Tom. ‘Do you know anything about your biological parents?’
He shook his head. ‘The note said, “Father dead. I love you."’ His voice cracked. ‘There was no name, and the note wasn’t signed.’
She reached out without thinking, stroking his arm, needing to support him. Feeling his pain. ‘Do you think your dad was a foreign serviceman?’
He gave a wry grin. ‘With this nose, I think that’s a given. He could have been Australian, American, perhaps French. Who knows? But my birth mother was Vietnamese.’
‘You’ve got her expressive eyes.’ The words had slipped out before she knew it.
He picked up her hands, encasing them in his larger ones. ‘Thank you, that’s the loveliest thing you could have said. I would dearly love to know what she looked like.’ His hands stayed resting over hers.
Warm.
Soothing.
Connecting.
His heat travelled through her on a river of bliss. She struggled to think. ‘So you came to Vietnam to find your mother?’
‘I came to Vietnam to find me.’
His stark words tore at her heart. The adopted child with a vacant family tree.
His breath shuddered out on a sigh. ‘I grew up in rural Victoria, the only Eurasian kid within a hundred kilometres. Before I was thirteen I didn’t think much about how I had come to be with my family. I just got on with growing up. I was an Aussie just like my mates. I belonged to the footy club, the cricket club and I helped Dad with the milking.
‘There was the occasional comment about my eyes from the school bullies but I had good friends and most of that washed over me. Although I guess I did wonder why I was being singled out. I didn’t feel different but the kids had noticed.’
‘And then the hormones kicked in?’ She knew all about that. She vividly remembered starting to question everything about her own family.
The color of his brown eyes deepened as a shared understanding crept in. ‘That’s right. Suddenly I had so many more questions than I had answers. “Who am I? Why did she give me up?” I didn’t feel I belonged in Australia and I didn’t know anything about Vietnam, I couldn’t even speak the language.’
‘Halfway between East and West?’
‘Something like that.’ His fingers trailed across the backs of her hands, tracing each finger.
Mini-explosions of bone-melting desire whipped through her, zapping her concentration. She delved deep, needing to keep on track, needing to hear his story.
‘Mum’s a nurse and one day when I was being a right pain at sixteen she suggested I go back to Vietnam as an adult, and give something back to the country that had tried so hard to keep me but couldn’t.’
‘She’s a really wise woman.’ Bec pushed away the sadness about her own mother who hadn’t been able to find the wisdom or the help to save herself. To save her daughter. ‘So you’re here and you’re giving back. Is it helping?’
He dropped her hands and sat back, avoiding her gaze. ‘This is my country. My people.’ His voice emphasised the words but frustration crossed his face.
‘What about your Australian mum and dad? How do they feel now?’
‘They’ve only ever encouraged me. At the start they joined me in the search, but their life is in Australia.’ A muscle spasmed in his jaw, his shoulders stiff and defensive. ‘And my life is here. Vietnam is the missing bit of me.’
A niggling feeling pricked her. His body said one thing and his words another. Did the truth fall between?
‘You’re still searching for your mother?’
He nodded. ‘This orphanage visit is part of that diminishing search. We’ve no idea which orphanage I came from.’ He shrugged. ‘I do it in stages. You need to gear up for this sort of thing.’
A
