Stalked: The Boy Who Said No Read Online Free Page A

complaint.
    Their hospitality had meant more to Frank than a roof over his head—it had meant his life. Rosa had washed his clothes, slaked his thirst, and fed his body. What’s more, she had put her life and the lives of her two daughters at risk. For a mother, this was remarkable. No wonder she’d been a bundle of nerves.
    Although his uncle was unemployed and strapped for cash, Frank was surprised when he asked to go to America with him. Luis had been a truck driver for Coca-Cola and had lost his job when Fidel nationalized the company. Coke absconded with its secret formula, and the company that replaced it produced a product that few people wanted to drink.
    Now, Frank watched Luis effusively recount their experience as if he were a major player in their success. Frank looked at him askance. This was a real eye-opener for him. For the first time in his life he got the impression that his uncle was not the man he thought him to be.
    Amid the commotion and babble, Frank’s thoughts turned to Magda. In the six months since he’d seen her, he missed her like an amputee misses a leg. His longing had reached a fever pitch. He wanted the comfort of her familiarity, the sureness of her unbidden support, the normalcy of being with her and doing something as simple as taking a walk. He planned to call her at the first possible moment to reassure her that he had escaped Cuba alive and to hear the excitement in her voice when she heard the news.
    He needed her touch like he needed water. He needed her laughter like he needed air. He had survived a dangerous and circuitous path to reach her, and he was on the cusp of realizing his dream. What more could a man want?
    When the group arrived at Freedom House, they were welcomedas heroes, congratulated on their success, and praised for their courage.
    Once the excitement subsided, they were issued clean clothes, soap, shampoo, a toothbrush, a razor, and a fine-toothed comb. Frank grabbed his toiletries and hastened to the men’s room.
    He glanced in the mirror and studied his face, surprised at his reflection. His skin was blistered from the sun and caked with brine. His hair was askew, matted and curled with oceanic debris. Bits of seaweed clung to his beard, and fine red lines netted the whites of his eyes like ivy crossing a wall. He ran his tongue over his lips and tasted salt, the essence of the sea that was so much a part of him.
    His hands gripped the sink, as tremulous as wind chimes. He lowered his head, hoping the tide of adrenaline would stop flooding his bloodstream. He wondered what toll it had taken on his body during five months of running from the authorities, five months of crushing fear, five months of knowing he’d put his own life and the lives of his loved ones in mortal danger.
    But he was young and strong. At nineteen he considered himself almost invincible. He nudged the thought from his mind. This was not a time for morbid musings, but rather a time for celebration.
    A cruciform of sunlight bounced off the mirror, prompting Frank to shield his eyes with his fingers. It splintered in a brilliant flash—here for a moment and gone forever. Frank smiled, thinking it was a good omen.
    Frank slathered his skin with shaving cream and dipped his razor into warm water. He drew the blade across his cheeks, enjoying the familiar rasp as the razor cleared a path through his beard. It was a simple thing. He was beginning to feel better already.
    He brushed his teeth and ran the bristles of his toothbrush over his tongue, hoping to refresh his mouth and to obliterate the taste of the sea. He removed his clothes, knowing he could never bring himself to wear them again, and stepped into the shower. He twisted the valve and closed his eyes as a warm stream of liquid washed over him like baptismal waters. A shower had never felt so good.
    He reached for the bar of hard-milled soap that sat in its dish like a jewel in a Tiffany box. It felt like polished granite. He admired