The Summer We Came to Life

Chapter

62





KENDRA WAKES ME EARLIER THAN MY TEQUILA-laden brain would have preferred.

“What exactly is it that you have in mind?” I grumble.

“A hike. Sightseeing. You tell me. My plane doesn’t leave till afternoon.”

That is how I find myself hiking through a cloud forest.

Kendra is a bundle of glee. She hikes ahead of me, briskly, in awe of the landscape. “It is so green. It’s like the world is trying to make up, in one day, for eight years of New York’s infinity of concrete.”

She stops to caress a tree trunk completely covered in green moss, decorated with twisting vines sprouting big, fat, moist leaves of green.

She’s right. It’s greener than pea soup, greener than Ireland. Actually, green is the only color. There isn’t even much brown to speak of. The whole forest is like a unicorn fantasy movie, done up to perfection by a Hollywood set designer with a bucket of glittery green paint.

Kendra spins around. “God, I’ve really been missing the point, haven’t I?”

I rub my throbbing head. At least there’s no sun. The tops of the trees disappear into mist. “Of what?”

Kendra laughs. “Of everything!” From the ground, she picks up a palm frond larger than my head. “Maybe I should just quit my job and live your life.”

I groan, remembering Isabel’s similar statement. But the groan is a reflex. I’m swelling with some other feeling at Kendra’s words. What is it? Pride? Trust is the closest thing I can think of. The feeling of calm that comes from simple trust in oneself. It feels like making the right decision, choosing the right path, returning to a remote location without a map. I take a deep breath, my headache burning off like fog at the beach.

Kendra tickles me with the palm frond. “You’re fearless, girl. Teach me.”

Poof, the calm is gone. “I’m not fearless.”

Kendra drops the frond but continues to smile. “Oh yeah? What are you afraid of, Sam?”



We pushed it with the hike. I made the cab wait out front while we dashed inside to grab Kendra’s suitcases and pack her muddy sneakers into plastic bags.

Now I’m watching her pay her exit taxes at the airport. It’s hard to see Kendra go—disappear into customs with one last wave—forcing me into alone time with my thoughts.

Kendra was a perfect sieve, helping me filter and sort through my decision. But now—whew!—thoughts bounce around in my head like roiling soup molecules. It’s like I spilled a puzzle on the floor, some pieces joined, some aching to combine, but my eyes can only flit over them, no clue where to start. And there’s a timer ticking away. I’m sure I’ll speak to Remy soon, presumably eager to spend the rest of my life with him.

Now my stomach’s the one that’s churning. What did Lynette tell me once? The right decision makes your heart race, but leaves your stomach out of it. Whatever. It’s probably the hangover. And my heart is racing.

I turn finally to exit the airport, leaving the cool, clean building for the muck and the heat. I start sweating immediately but with the crawling sensation of a cold sweat, a fever.

In the cab I take out Mina’s journal, tucked securely into my backpack. I flip through the pages, desperate for solace. At the end I notice all the blank pages. I can’t help but find this sad—the missing pages of Mina’s life with us—as I run my fingers over her final entries.



…a long and happy life, Samantha Wheland…if it’s the last thing I do.



I put my fingers to my lips, chew on a fingernail, then sigh and fish a pen out of my backpack. “Forced me to see my choices as my own,” Kendra said. “Apart from anyone else in the world.”

I make a list.



Pros

Successful

Wealthy

Handsome

Instant life



Cons

Controlling

Arrogant

Flirt

Makes me insecure



I bite my lip until it stings, considering the list. Every positive has its negative counterpart. A flip side of every coin. It’s true of all people, I suppose. Boyfriends have always admired my conviction and bemoaned my stubbornness. “You don’t get one without the other, m’dear,” I’ve always told them. With passion comes rage; with intensity comes anxiety; with fire comes chaos. One particularly fiery relationship ended with me laundry-listing my complaints: his infidelity, gambling, temper. He looked up at me and grinned. “You’re no walk in the park, baby.”

I look at the list again. Do these sound like good husband qualities to you? Isabel’s voice rings out, the sound of the ocean behind it. I remember something else Kendra said. Lazy and in a hurry. A dangerous combination.

The cab screeches to a stop, knocking the journal to the dirty floor. I pay the cabbie three times what he asks for, and rescue the journal. I tuck it in my backpack and drag my other suitcase out the door as the guard opens the gate.

Oh my God!

Remy steps out from the shadows of my doorway. Remy in the middle of dusty hot Honduran concrete, in a tailored linen suit and shiny shoes.

“Finally,” he says.

My suitcase smacks the concrete. It isn’t a daydream. He’s real! The list evaporates from my mind. I run and tackle him, jump into his arms and wrap my legs around his waist.

“How did you—” I want to ask, but he buries me in a hot scratchy kiss.

“I get what I want,” he says, and squeezes my waist. He sets me down and puts a hand on my lower back to steer me toward the door.

I open the door with trembling fingers and Remy follows with my suitcase. The instant the door closes, he peels off my shirt. He takes my face in both his hands and brings my eyes to his. “You are impossible, Samantha Wheland. Making me follow you to this ridiculous place.” He kisses me angrily. “I love you.”

I inhale sharply.

Remy falls to his knees and buries his face in my navel. He kisses my belly button and either side of my hips. He runs his tongue down the middle of my stomach. He unzips my jeans and plants a kiss just above the rim of my panties. I’m melting to the floor as Remy undoes my bra. He positions me on his lap and I squeeze my legs around his hips again as Remy stands up and carries me into the bedroom. He flings me onto the bed, rips off my jeans and panties in one fell swoop, then steps back to study me.

“God, look at you, how you turn me on. You make me feel young.”

And then he pounces on me, working his tongue over every inch of my skin, sucking in some places so hard there will be marks. The linen suit is sweaty and rough against my inflamed skin. I almost squeal when he bites down on my nipple, but in the same instant he cups his hand between my legs. He lowers his head to kiss each of my hipbones. And then my inner thighs. As his hot breath and soft lips take the place of his fingers on my pulsing skin, I hug my thighs around his head and hear myself groan, “I love you, I love you, I love you….”