The Unimaginable Read online

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Text copyright © 2014 Dina Silver

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Lake Union Publishing, Seattle

  www.apub.com

  Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Lake Union Publishing are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.

  Cover design by Cyanotype Book Architects

  ISBN-13: 9781477824962

  ISBN-10: 1477824960

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2014905955

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Epilogue

  A Note from the Author

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Prologue

  I’ll never forget the smell. It was jarring in many ways, but memorable because I’d never been afraid of a scent before. I closed my eyes and breathed through my mouth as I waited my turn.

  They came for me third.

  I stood and was blindfolded—loosely and without much care—and then led upstairs. There was no waking up from the nightmare, but once the fresh air hit my face it gave me hope. I nearly cried with relief when the ocean breeze filtered through me. The dank, salty air was my freedom, and, I thought to myself, if I could just get into the water, everything would be okay. But there was no easy passage to safety. No crack in the system that was designed to keep me in place. I was there for one reason and one reason only. A bargaining chip.

  My legs were cramped and weak, and without my sight, my bearings were off. As soon as I was free of their grasp, I spun around, unaware of which way to go at first, and then got my footing and ran up the narrow path headed for the bow. The smell of the water got so strong that I could almost feel it on my skin. Just get to the edge and jump. Don’t hesitate, don’t look back, don’t think. The water would cover me and keep me safe.

  I had to reach my target. They were counting on me below, and I refused to go back down there. My feet were as determined as my mind, and eventually I knew exactly where I was. The blindfold slid down and restored my sight as soon as I rounded the corner, and I could see that I only had two more strides until the edge.

  I almost made it . . .

  Chapter 1

  Six months earlier

  The only reason I cried at my mother’s funeral was because I hated seeing my sister Caroline so upset. Yet there she was again, ripe with sorrow, only on account of me this time. The date was August 3, 2010, and it was two months after my mom died, forty-five days after I lost my teaching job, and fifteen years after I first dreamt of leaving Indiana. And I was boarding a flight to Thailand.

  It was the only airplane I’d ever been on.

  Caroline, who was twenty-two years older than me, had driven me to the airport in silence, wiping her tears most of the way. Leaving her would be the hardest thing for me to do.

  We stood for a moment at the curb.

  “Thank you for taking me,” I said.

  She crossed her arms and forced a nod.

  “I know you can’t understand why I’m doing this, but I appreciate you being here. I could never leave without saying good-bye to you.” I swallowed. “I only wish I had your blessing too.”

  She looked away. “I just think this is a little extreme. I could’ve helped you find another job here, Jessica.”

  “What would you know about extreme?” I snapped. “You’ve never done anything extreme, let alone considered it.”

  She glared at me.

  I took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, but look at me.” I paused and tugged at my thick blond hair. It’d been the same chin-length bob since I was twelve. My mother forbade long hair when I was young, and even as an independent adult I felt guilty every time it inched closer to my shoulders, so I’d lop it back off. “I’m twenty-eight years old, and I’m still wearing my hair like she wanted me to.”

  “I’m not going to speak ill of her. Not now.”

  Not ever, I thought to myself.

  “This is an opportunity for me to make a difference.” I paused to meet her eyes, but she looked away. “I don’t want another job here—you know that. I want a change of scenery, something different . . . I need something different. The only thing keeping me here is you. And I’m not saying that’s not enough—”

  She put her hand up to silence me. “I know it’s not enough for you, but I tried my best, I really did.”

  “I know you did,” I said, and we hugged.

  I always felt like I was born into the wrong family in the wrong town, and my mom did nothing to dispute those feelings. Following the status quo and the word of the Lord was all I was ever allowed to do. Go to school. Go to church. Get a job. Meet a good man. Learn to bake apple pie. Quit said job and start having children. Join the church auxiliary. Bake more pie. Cherry, maybe.

  Caroline was my rock. She sang me to sleep when I was little, she dried my tears when I suffered through a broken teenage heart, and as far as I understood, she was the only person who ever loved me. But a sister just isn’t a mother, no matter how hard she tries or how much she believes it to be.

  Caroline was a teacher, so I became a teacher. I attended the same community college as her and graduated with a job as a second grade teacher at Milford Elementary School in Wolcottville, Indiana. In my free time I could be found at the library, sifting through DVDs. I used to sit around for hours watching American films and foreign films made in exotic locations, all the while dreaming about the challenges of living without strip malls and sports bars. Photocopied images of white sand beaches and palapas and sailboats and grass-covered mountains littered the walls above my bed, so that every morning I’d wake up to pictures of everywhere I’d rather be.

  “You wouldn’t last a day,” Caroline used to say to me.

  “You’re right,” I’d tell her. “I’d last a lifetime.”

  I loved Caroline more than anyone in the world and, sadly, more than she loved herself. She got married very young, right out of college, and when her husband learned that she was unable to bear children, he divorced her soon after.

  I was all she had.

  She desperately wanted me to share the same dreams as her, and for a while I tried really hard to appease her. But deep down I envied those who’d broken free from the monotony of LaGrange County. And with my mother gone, now it was my turn.

  We stood for a final moment, before Caroline broke the awkward silence.

  “I want to show y
ou something.” She reached into a brown paper bag that she’d brought with her and pulled out a photo album bound with a long, thin leather cord. “Take a look at this.”

  I took the book and unwound the cord. Inside, the pages were worn and filled with photographs—some color, some black and white—of a beautiful young woman posing all over the streets of New York City and sporting the biggest, brightest smile I’d ever seen. I barely recognized her, but she looked just like me. Petite in stature, with a slim figure, blue eyes, and blond hair—only hers was long. There were pictures of her wearing miniskirts and go-go boots in front of the Statue of Liberty, bell-bottoms and tight sweaters atop the Empire State Building, and blue jeans on the Brooklyn Bridge.

  “It’s Mom,” Caroline told me as I turned the pages. “On her honeymoon. Back when she was a bit of a dreamer, just like you.”

  I brought my hand to my mouth.

  “I found it when I was cleaning out her closet,” she said with a small shrug. “Looks like you may have been more like her than you think.”

  I closed the book and held it close to my chest. “Thank you,” I whispered.

  It was with a heavy heart and high hopes that I turned and walked away.

  Chapter 2

  Twenty-four hours later I was a mess when I landed at Phuket International Airport. Mostly because I’d spilled an entire can of tomato juice down the front of my white shirt thirty minutes into the daylong flight. I didn’t sleep very well, and my hair looked like I had brushed it with a whisk. Mrs. Smythe from the local travel agency in Wolcottville had helped me locate a place to live near Tall Trees Academy, where I’d been assigned to work, so once I made it safely through customs and had my passport stamped for the first time, I went to hail a taxi that would deliver me to my new home.

  It was late Saturday afternoon, and the taxi line, like the customs line, was complete pandemonium. People pushing and waving their arms and yelling commands to each other in a language I couldn’t understand. I kept checking my passport and my belongings, certain I was forgetting to do something, but there was so much activity that it was hard to focus. As soon as I thought I was next in line, no less than five people would walk in front of me and grab the next cab with no regard for the fact that I’d been waiting. I had so many bags—three large duffels, one small rolling bag, my backpack, laptop case, and a small purse—that I was afraid to step away from them for even a second.

  “You go, witch!” a man said, startling me. He stood disturbingly close.

  I gasped. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

  The heat was stifling, yet he was wearing a red velvet tracksuit, five gold chains, and enough cologne to sedate a horse. He carried a small leather portfolio in his right hand and cigarette in the other, and had we met anywhere else in the world I would have run. But something about his face, and the fact that he recognized it was I who looked painfully out of place, not him, made me want to trust him. At least long enough to get my bags off that curb and into a cab.

  “You go which way?” He waved at the line of taxis.

  “Oh, yes! I’m going . . .” I paused and fumbled through my backpack for the piece of paper with my new address on it and showed it to him.

  He nodded and then yelled to a man at the front of the line. I didn’t understand a word of what he said, but the man came and grabbed my bags and threw them into the trunk of a car.

  “Um . . . thank you.” I extended my hand.

  “I am Niran. I am born in Phuket,” he said as we shook hands. “Maybe you know me?”

  I shook my head.

  “Everybody know me. You coming to Phuket before?”

  “No, this is my first time.”

  “First time!” he rejoiced, and shouted something else to the driver before reaching in his pocket and handing me his card. “You coming to see me. This is my place. You coming there. You like vodka?”

  I glanced down at the card. It read, “Niran [no last name], Owner, The Islander Bar & Grill.” Underneath the address it said, “Come up and see me sometime.” I could not contain my smile.

  “Thank you, Niran. I promise to come see you sometime.”

  He took a puff of his cigarette, tilted his head while checking me out head to toe, then blew the smoke toward the sky. “You on vacation or you need job?”

  “I’m moving here to work at one of the local schools. I’m a teacher. An English teacher.”

  “So you need job.” He took another puff and then stamped the butt out on the sidewalk. “I see you,” he said, and walked away.

  “Thank you!” I shouted after him, and then darted over to my cab.

  About twenty minutes later we arrived in the town of Koh Kaew. The streets were crowded and narrow, and my driver swerved around an overturned bus like it was an orange traffic cone. People stood on the side of the road having conversations with little or no concern for the vehicles speeding past them.

  I craned my neck out the open rear window and let the sun warm my face as I spied the ocean off to my left. The water was mostly calm with the occasional whitecap and flanked by enormous moss-covered rocks the size of small buildings. It was the most glorious and intimidating sight I’d ever seen. A moment later the cab made a sharp turn, and we pulled down a street filled with houses that all looked the same—boxy two-story homes, each with a small patio—until we stopped in front of a gray one. There was a waist-high metal gate surrounding the property, and a small square yard with freshly trimmed grass in the front. I hesitated before exiting the car.

  The driver unloaded my things onto the sidewalk and lit a cigarette as he waited for me to get out and pay him. It was then I realized I’d forgotten to convert my dollars to baht at the airport, but thankfully he accepted American money.

  The first thing I noticed when I emerged from the cab was the scent in the air. A wild combination of cumin, ginger, and hibiscus, infused with diesel fumes from the motorbikes and tuk-tuks whizzing by on the busy cross streets.

  “Thank you,” I said to him, and heard the front door of the house open behind me. A woman nicely dressed in white Capri pants and sandals came running out. Her grayish-brown hair was in a pixie cut, and her smile made me relax for the first time in two days.

  “You must be Jessica,” she said.

  “Yes, hello. Mrs. Knight?” I extended my hand.

  “Lovely to meet you. Now, bring your things inside, and I will show you to your room and introduce you to my husband,” she said, and walked back into the house.

  Soon after I’d lost my job in Indiana, I signed up for a teacher exchange program that matches qualified educators with needy schools around the world. Once I was accepted, I’d been paired up with Mr. and Mrs. Knight through Tall Trees Academy. Certain families—Thai, British, and American—took part in the program and offered rooms for rent to people like me. The Knights were a retired American couple in their early seventies who split their time between Phuket and their native city of Houston, Texas. That was all I knew about them at that point.

  The house was very nice-looking from the outside, and I was pleased with the neighborhood as well. Many of the houses in Phuket are stilt houses, built elevated back in the day to prevent flooding and keep out unwanted animals. With most of the stilt houses, the terrace is the largest part of the home, and there is often no indoor plumbing. Luckily for me, I was able to find residence in a more modernized area of the city only about twenty minutes by bicycle, my only means of transport, from the school. Bottom line, it was a far cry from the farm I grew up on.

  Once inside, I placed all of my bags in the front foyer and nearly fell asleep waiting for Mrs. Knight to return. My body was reeling from culture shock, jet lag, sleep deprivation, and living my dream.

  “In here, dear!”

  I followed her voice to a small family room with a covered terrace. Her husband was outside reading a book and struggled to get out of his chair. He was a heavyset man with wire-rimmed glasses who smiled and waved enthusiastically when I r
ounded the corner.

  “Why, hello there,” he said. “Aren’t you a lovely young thing?”

  I hurried to him. “Thank you, I’m such a mess. I’m Jessica Gregory. It’s wonderful to meet you. I really appreciate you both so much for having me.”

  “Bob Knight. Please have a seat.” He gestured to one of the chairs.

  “Thank you.”

  “I’ll fetch us some tea,” Mrs. Knight said.

  Bob slowly sat back down and glanced at the red stain on my shirt. “So, Jessica, tell me about yourself. Agnes mentioned you’re from Indiana.”

  I thought of my life up until that moment and struggled to come up with what to say. The most interesting thing I’d ever done in my twenty-eight years was getting on that plane to Phuket. I folded my hands in my lap.

  “Yes, I’m from Wolcottville. It’s about an hour east of South Bend. I went to college near there and graduated with a degree in education, and then I moved back home, where I worked as a second grade teacher,” I told him. But what I wanted to say was, “Despite the fact that I’m from a zero-stoplight town, covered in dried tomato juice, forgot to convert my money at the airport, and can’t see straight because I couldn’t sleep on a plane—having never flown on one before—I promise I’m not a complete fool!”

  “Is this your first time in Thailand?”

  “It is.”

  “And your parents, are they still in Indiana?”

  “My mom passed away a couple months ago, but yes, my father and some of my siblings are still there.” I paused and thought how little I spoke to any of them besides Caroline. My entire family could be standing at a bus stop together and would have almost nothing to say except for pleasantries.

  “I’m sorry to hear that about your mother. Was she ill?”

  I shook my head. “She had a heart attack.”

  He made a tsk sound. “Well, isn’t that a terrible thing? I’m very sorry.”

  “Thank you,” I said. I’d talked to people more about my mother in the past two months than I had in my lifetime. As the youngest of nine kids, I suffered the greatest distance from my mom, both in years and in emotional attachment. She was a strict, unemotional woman, a firm disciplinarian and a stringent Catholic who kept a ruler within reach at all times. She’d had too much sex to be a nun, so she ruled our home like a monastery instead. I glanced down at my hands and thought how much she would’ve hated the bright blue nail polish I was wearing.