He rears back as if I’ve struck him.
I wince. “Manuel. I only meant—”
“We’re losing light,” he says, moving away, as if an emotional distance isn’t enough. I trudge after him, lonely and hurt and unsure of how to make things less awkward between us. Confusion filters into my mind, and I try to parse through our conversation. He never answered my question. I still consider him a friend, but maybe he doesn’t feel the same way.
We pack up our meager belongings and double back to the river as thunder rumbles from above. The clouds are heavy with rain, and I prepare myself for another wet day. What I wouldn’t give to bathe with gardenia-scented soap and put on fresh, clean clothing. My fingers are caked with mud, and all over my body are red welts from the mosquitos ravaging my skin. Manuel pushes the raft into the water and easily hops on. He turns, his hand reaching for mine.
But I stay put on the sandbank.
“Condesa,” he says. “Come on.”
“Am I your friend?”
His brow darkens. “You can’t be serious.” The raft moves slowly away from the edge and he uses one of the oars to keep it still. “Condesa.”
I fold my arms across my chest. “Catalina.”
“We don’t have time for this.”
“Then say my name, and stop calling me by my title.”
“¿Por qué?”
Because I’ve loved you all of my life, and if I can’t have you that way, then at least be my friend.I want to scream. I’m so tired of keeping this secret. I never told anyone, not even Ximena. “It’s important to me. Por favor. Say my name.”
“Catalina,” he growls.
My name on his mouth is like hissing coals, smoke curling and twisting high into the air. I jump onto the raft, arms windmilling. He glares at me, and I can’t help the laugh that bubbles up to the surface.
I grab the other oar and help him maneuver away from the bank. The water runs swiftly and carries us out and away, until both sides of the thirty-foot-wide river transform into dense walls of vegetation: mosses and vines, bushes and enormous palms. There’s no sight of the Illari, only intuition’s insistence whispering in my ear that they’ll be back.
My paddling needs work and Manuel calls out instructions. When I finally get the rhythm right, I’m ready for more conversation. “Tell me about your time here.”
“What do you want to know?” His voice is wary, as if not trusting I’ll keep to subjects that won’t end in an argument.
“Well, you’ve been in this jungle for eight months.” I pause. “Did you make any friends?”
He lets out a crack of laughter. “No one. The Illari were suspicious of me from the day I stepped foot in here. Not too long ago, I saw a man in a purple robe walking through, but I didn’t like the look of him so I didn’t attempt to make my presence known. I’m sure it was for the best. I never saw him again, so he must have died.”
I shudder. “And before you arrived to the jungle?”
Manuel sinks the paddle deep into the water, navigating us away from the bank. “Yes, I made friends. But I was constantly moving from place to place. Hard to stay in touch with anyone.”
There’s a subtle note of bitterness that seasons his words.
“Sounds lonely.”
“I had a job to do.”
I swivel around on the bamboo and study him. He permits himself to lower his eyes for half a second before returning his attention to our surroundings. “You look older. Tougher.”
This time, he lets his eyes linger on my face. Assesses every curve, every line. “So do you.”
His scrutiny warms the blood in my cheeks. Part of me wants to sink into the moment, but I’m worried he’ll pull back. So I draw away first. “Do you know where we’re going?”
Manuel considers the area. “Somewhat. I wouldn’t have gone by river; it’s too easy to veer far away from where we need to stop the raft.” He points to a large hill with a dip in the middle. “We need to walk toward the hill. On the other side there’s a large grove of mahogany trees.”
“And beyond?”
