“I am so lucky,” I correct. I grab both sides of his face and press my lips to his. I show him that this is what I want, what I’ve always wanted. I consume him, to convince myself.
I steal his breath for safekeeping.
Since we aren’t supposed to have visitors and Finn has bribed his way in with donuts for the staff, I get to spend only an hour with him in the courtyard. By then, it’s getting colder, and I’m getting tired. He helps me hook my mask over my ears again, wheels me back to my room, and tucks me into bed. “I wish I could stay with you,” he murmurs.
“I wish I could go with you,” I tell him.
He kisses my forehead. “Soon,” he promises.
He leaves me with a reusable grocery bag full of books—books that I asked him to bring to the front desk for me, before I knew he would be able to deliver them in person. They are the guidebooks on Ecuador and the Galápagos that I had used to plan our trip.
Obviously, they are not in a missing suitcase somewhere. They’ve been on the kitchen counter all along, with our passports and our e-ticket confirmations, ready to pack.
I take a deep breath and open one.
Isabela is the largest island in the Galápagos and much of it is unreachable, due to lava flows and thorny brush and rocky, inhospitable shores.
Puerto Villamil remains relatively untouched by visitors; it’s a tiny hamlet of sandy roads and homes bordered by cacti on one side and a gorgeous beach on the other.
I’ve highlighted some of the sights that I wanted to make sure Finn and I saw:
The path to Concha de Perla leads to a protected bay with good snorkeling.
After passing several small lagoons with flamingos, the turnoff to the Tortoise Breeding Center is marked.
A two-hour walk from Playa de Amor will take you to El Muro de las Lágrimas—the Wall of Tears.
Around the half-submerged lava tunnels at Los Túneles, the water is sparkling and clear and home to a variety of marine species.
One after another, I read about the places I visited while I was unconscious and watch them blossom into fully dimensional memories full of sound and color and scent.
I put the book on the nightstand and pull Finn front and center in my mind. I think about how his hair felt, sifting through my fingers. How he smelled of pine and carbolic soap, like he always does. How his kiss wasn’t a discovery, but the reassurance that I had been on this journey before and knew where to go, what to do, what felt right.
That night, I don’t let myself fall asleep.
Rodney is angry at me because we are supposed to be watching reruns of Survivor together on our phones and live-texting our predictions about who will be voted off the island, but I keep drifting off, trying to catch up on the rest I’m not getting.
Hello? he texts. Are you dead?
…
Too soon?
The last ding wakes me up, and I read his messages. Very funny, I type.
Imma find a new bff in NOLA.
Rodney is moving to his sister’s house in Louisiana, because he can’t afford his rent in the city. That sobers me. We are in lockdown, I know, and I’m likely the last person anyone wants to be in close contact with, but the thought of not seeing Rodney again before he moves makes something shift in my chest.
Sorry. I won’t fall asleep again. I swear.
On my tiny phone screen I watch a contestant who is a preschool teacher climb into a barrel to be maneuvered through an obstacle course to win some peanut butter.
#claustrophobia, Rodney types. Remember when you got locked in that vault at work and lost it?
I take this to mean I’ve been forgiven for napping.
I didn’t lose it, I just freaked out a little, I lie. Plus I’ve crawled down a tunnel that was as wide as my hips.
Like hell you did. Proof?
I hesitate. On Isabela, I write.
For a moment I watch those three dots appear and disappear while Rodney figures out what to say.
Suddenly the Survivor screen freezes and a FaceTime call pops up. I answer it and Rodney’s face swims into view. “I don’t know if it counts as conquering your fears when you do it unconscious,” he says.
“Definitely a blurry line.”
He regards me for a long moment. “You wanna talk about it?”
“It’s a place called the trillizos. They’re like these gopher holes into the middle of the earth. I guess tourists rappel down them.”
He shudders. “Give me a beach and a frozen marg.”
“Beatriz brought me there the first time, and the second time, she ran away and I crawled down to try to save her.”
“How come she needed saving?”