As we cut across the parking lot to the trailhead, a woman in a high ponytail and pink stilettos better suited for a beach resort picked her way between potholes and rocks back to the hotel, the only one sited next to the ruins. Her loud complaints to her husband echoed over to us: “There were nothing but rocks. For this, we’re spending five hundred bucks a night at an overrated Holiday Inn?”
Dad scrutinized that woman and her dissatisfaction the way he would an especially nasty pest. For the first time since the mudslide, he reached for Mom’s hand and told her, “At least we got to see Machu Picchu in person.”
“You really think so?” Mom’s smile was so brilliant, it made up for the sun’s disappearing act.
“Yeah,” Dad said, reminding me of who my father really was—not the bitter man who had grumbled through the past few weeks but the one who appreciated even the second-best things in life.
Our choices were to follow the longer asphalt road with steep switchbacks or to take our chances on the trail, which cut a sheer vertical path down the mountain to the town. Naturally, what remained of our group chose the mud chute of a trail, especially when Quattro reconfirmed that what he had seen looked fine. But where there weren’t stairs, there was mud. Every gloppy footstep through the thick jungle felt like a prelude to a fall. My quads trembled on the steep, slick path.
“Be. Careful. Be. Careful,” I chanted to myself, then gasped when my right foot slipped on a slick rock step. I fell hard on my tailbone.
In front of me, Dad’s shoulders hunched in defeat as he grasped an overhead branch for balance. He yanked off the headlamp Quattro had given him earlier that morning. “I’ve got to walk on the road. It’s so dark here, I can’t see where I’m stepping.”
That rare admission about his failing eyesight shocked me. Mom edged around me on the narrow trail and asked him softly, “Is it getting worse?”
Dad flushed, shrugged, then conceded, “I don’t know. Probably, yes.” Finally, he admitted, “There’s a black dot in my good eye now.”
I wanted to scream at the unjustness. The ophthalmologist had warned us that Dad could begin to lose vision in his good eye during our trip, but the reality of Dad going blind was still hard to accept, especially when he was so stubbornly mobile.
“I’ll walk with you,” I told him.
“No, I’ll just meet you guys down in town.” He started rifling through his pockets.
“What’re you doing?” Mom asked, annoyed.
“Getting the cash. You two might need it.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Mom said at the same time that I protested, “We’re sticking together, remember?”
By now, the rest of the group had stopped to check what was causing the delay. Dad explained, “I’m walking on the road.”
“Shana’s right,” said Christopher firmly. “We’ll stick together. I’m pretty sure this trail intersects with the road up ahead, and it might be faster and safer if we continue instead of backtracking. Quattro, take the lead.”
While Quattro cast an annoyed look at his father, he did what he was told. Dad’s jaw was equally tight, but he didn’t protest either. In fact, no one spoke. A few more minutes of tough downhill, and we made it to the slick asphalt on the narrow, zigzagging road, just as Christopher had predicted. I couldn’t imagine how two buses heading in opposite directions could pass each other safely. Backing up would be suicidal; the road was so steep and without any guardrails that I could see.
Almost two hours later, the road leveled out. The entire walk had been devoid of conversation. Our silence only accentuated the thunder of the whitecapped and muddy river running alongside the road now.
The river.
I’d never told anybody about the dream I had the night Dom broke up with me. I was inside a log cabin that smelled like the forest and wild growing things. Standing in front of a mirror, I stared, horrified, as sheets of skin peeled from my forehead, my cheeks, my lips. The roar of a river drew me away from my reflection and out to the ironwood deck. Water rose around the cabin, turning it into a houseboat. Or an island. All I knew was that I had to cross the churning waters. Had to reach Dom on the opposite shore. Scared, I started wading. The river was waist deep, unforgiving and cold. Thousands of silvery fish darted around me. I was convinced I was going to drown. And just as I finally, finally staggered onto the shore, Dom climbed into a pickup truck and drove off without me.
Nobody could survive this violent river, churning wild and angry, if they fell in. But I wasn’t trapped in a dream, stranded and alone at a riverbank. Quattro stood next to me. Over the river’s raging, he said loud enough so I could hear: “You were practically running back there. You okay?”
“I was just remembering a stupid nightmare.”
“What about?”
“I thought I was going to drown in a river.” Sheepishly, I admitted, “I’m a little freaked out.”