“All right, but why don’t you take a few minutes to yourself once we get the last of them on the line,” she says. “I’m going to take the group up to the waterfall for a rest and posing for pictures. You can rejoin us on the trail on the way down. That will spare you a mile of hiking.”
“Thanks,” I say, knowing I need the time to pull myself together, but hating to leave Paola alone with this crew. “Don’t take any shit from the jocks, okay? And radio if you need help. I can be there in five minutes.”
Her dark eyes flash as she smiles. “Don’t worry about me, hero. I can handle myself.”
She pats me affectionately on the back and starts toward the platform, having no idea she’s out in the middle of nowhere with three men who would be in prison right now if justice had been served.
I mop the sweat from my face with the bottom of my shirt, force a smile, and somehow manage to get all twenty-five people sent down the zip line without tossing any of the SBE brothers off the edge of the platform.
If an “accident” happens, it’s going to have to be when Todd and I are alone, and we haven’t reached the highest lines yet. This platform is only a hundred feet off the ground. That’s potentially survivable, and if I send the guy flying, I want to make sure he’s never going to be getting up after he hits the ground.
Once I’m alone, I sit down in the shade and close my eyes, centering myself, pushing away all the emotions tying my body in knots.
There is a time and a place for passion, but this isn’t it. I need to be calm, calculating, in control. If Sam can hold it together while she’s in the same space with these guys, I can, too. They’ve ripped my world apart, but they’ve never laid hands on me, and if they did, I’m strong enough to take on all three of them and come out on top. No matter how far women have come in the past century, it’s still far safer to be a man.
It makes me hope Sam and I have boys just so I don’t have to feel so damned scared for my kids all the time.
Just a few days ago, I was sure the dream of a family with Sam was dead and buried. But now, I can see a glimmer of hope in the future. Someday, when all this is over and Sam and I have both had time to heal, we’ll be settled and happy together. And eventually that happiness will get so big we’ll be ready to share it with someone else, someone who’s half her and half me and who we’ll love enough to make up for all the horrible things in the world.
We just have to make it to Wednesday morning and get on that plane and all things will be possible.
Focusing on the future, on that not-too-distant time when Todd will cease to exist for me and Sam, helps me ground myself. It doesn’t matter if he’s dead or just somewhere far, far away, he’ll only be a problem for three more days and I can do anything for three days. If I made it an entire year without knowing if I’d ever see Sam again—or if she were even alive—I can do this with one eye closed and my arms tied behind my back.
I pound a handful of almonds from my backpack, willing my stomach to settle, and wash them down with another swig of water.
By the time I hitch myself to the zip line, I’m nearly back to normal.
I take the ride, managing to enjoy the rush of the wind cooling my skin and the vibrant, wild, alive smell of the jungle rising up around me. At the end of the line, I trot down the steps and start up the trail toward the waterfall, knowing I’ll have time to catch them before they leave. I don’t feel like I need a rest anymore. I want to keep moving, keep my blood pumping and my body ready to respond at a moment’s notice. I’m not going to think, I’m going to act and trust that my gut will lead me in the right direction.
Halfway up the trail, I hear soft voices coming from off the trail ahead and slow down. It’s a male voice and a female voice, but too quiet for me to place who’s speaking. I’m guessing that maybe it’s the husband and wife from the group, taking a private moment, but when I get a visual through the leaves, I see Todd and the blond girl.
I freeze, my boots making a scratching noise in the underbrush as I stop, but neither of them seems to notice.