Nowhere Girl by A. J. Paquette

We laughed and cried and sighed like any other people. There were bars on the windows, but there were no bars on the soul.
    Or were there? Inside, everything was routine, planned, predictable. On the outside, you have the sense that on any given day, anything might happen—wonderful or terrible, but quite often unexpected. Anything might happen to bring some change to what is up ahead.
    And now, suddenly, it does.
    His mouth half-full of fish, Kiet looks toward Yai and announces: “I have learned that the road out has been closed from all the rain. They have shut down the only way onto the highway. We will need to stay here a few more days, if you will allow us.”
    I look up from my rice bowl in time to see a glance pass across the table. I can imagine worse things than having to stay longer in this peaceful home. But what do our hosts think of it? I study their faces and try to decide.
    Khun Yai merely inclines her head. Pensri’s mother tightens her lips into a thin smile. Pensri’s father lifts his hand jovially. “Of course! As long as you need to. Our home is your home.”
    My throat feels tight. There is welcome in this offer, certainly, but something else, too. Something more shadow than afternoon sun. Some hesitation that will never be voiced but which I cannot keep from hearing.
    â€œHow long will the road stay closed?” I whisper.
    Kiet turns his eyes away from me. “It cannot be for long. And it will be good for you to stay here. See how glad they are to have you around!”
    Yai and the others are now flinging exclamations of delight around the room at the prospect of this unexpected stay. But my stomach feels knotted. Some part of me is grateful to have added time before I must face the big city. But what is this undercurrent I feel, so different from the words being spoken? I blush with shame at the forced hospitality that I have no way of refusing.
    Still, what must be must be. The sound of the rain on the high wooden roof rings out like hollow laughter. Is the sky mocking my predicament? I lift my head and, carefully, meet Yai’s gaze.
    â€œI am pleased to remain here longer,” I say. “You have made me feel so welcome. I would have been sorry to leave so soon.”
    Yai nods and I return to my meal.
    Then a thin voice pipes up. “I am glad you are staying longer, phee . I want you to stay forever!”
    And the room freezes. The adults stop, mouths half-open, spoons half-raised. All heads turn to look at Pensri, who breaks into a wide smile.
    â€œShe does not mind if I speak to her, Khun Mae ,” the little girl tells her mother. “We talked last night and she was very friendly. She said I could be her nong sao .”
    There’s a ripple in the air, then, and for a second the sunny warmth blinks out altogether. Pensri’s mother leans in and whispers in the girl’s ear, while the others exchange uncertain looks. Only Kiet acts as though nothing is wrong, tossing casual conversation out into the crowd until, slowly, the others also begin to smile and talk. And everything seems to return to normal.
    But it doesn’t, really. Because I can’t help but notice that Pensri is no longer smiling. Her eyes are fixed on the table.
    She does not say another word to me for the rest of the afternoon. And something tells me that yesterday’s breath of perfect contentment will not return to me anytime soon.

15
    The next days crawl by. With the rain still coming down in torrents, no one goes out to work in the rice fields. Instead, floors are scrubbed, stairways are repaired, clothes are patched and sewn.
    I help out where I can, but I seem to do everything wrong. No one says anything, but several times I catch Yai rescrubbing a floor I just finished, or quietly returning my washed dishes to the bottom of the tub. And still, the sugared kindness is heaped on me until I could scream.
    Why, for once, cannot someone tell me the truth, what