Maybe.
* * *
It's dark by the time we eat, which I don't think is necessarily a bad thing. Dinner is wild yam tubulars and bony white fish. We’re using banana leaves as plates and our table is the tops of our knees. The outside flesh of the yams are charred black and they smell of coals, but at least they’re warm and soft enough to scoop with our sporks. There’s plenty for both of us, and with every bite, I feel more like myself again. Instead of feeling angry, I feel grateful for this simple meal. There’s a shift in the feeling between us. It’s no longer a tension-filled hatefest, but a calm, tentative truce, which feels infinitely better.
“Will, I want you to know I’m sorry about all the awful things I said earlier. It was uncalled for.”
“Me too,” Will answers, glancing up at me. “I was being a judgmental prick, and I didn’t mean any of it. Especially not the bit about leaving you here to get eaten by leopards. I’d never do that to anyone.”
“Thank you. That means a lot,” I say. “And you’renotmore smug than Kanye.” I grin a little, hoping he’ll know I’m joking.
He offers me a half-smile in return. “Thanks, that’s very kind of you.”
I give him a teasing look. “It’s close, but he really is more arrogant than you. By a narrow margin, but still…”
We both laugh, and it feels like we’re starting over. Relief fills my body as we sit in a comfortable silence watching the fire.
Adding another piece of wood, Will says, “I cried the first time I spent the night out in the wilderness.”
“Really?” I ask.
He clearly wants to make me feel better about my meltdown earlier. Huh, that’s sort of nice of him. “That surprises me.”
“Well, it's true.” He gives a little half grin. “Mind you, I was seven at the time.”
I roll my eyes and chuckle a little. “Of course you were.”
“My parents had died a few months earlier and our uncle took us in. He moved us all the way from Valcourt to the Caribbean—talk about culture shock. He was a real outdoorsman—I think he assumed everybody lived that way—snorkeling, scuba diving, surfing, sailing.”
I stare at him, my heart tugging a little at the image of him as a young boy with no parents. I say nothing because I know from experience, there’s really nothing to say.
Will continues, shifting his gaze to the fire. “There was this little uninhabited island that we went to one night, not that long after we moved there. He thought it would be a great adventure for us kids, but I was terrified. I’d never slept out under the stars before, and I kept thinking I was going to get eaten by a crocodile, even though he kept telling me there were no crocodiles there. Only iguanas and birds.”
He pauses and smiles, seeming to be far away in his mind. “Every little noise woke me for the first part of the night, but then I must have gotten so exhausted, I finally fell asleep, tucked in between my sister and brother, with our uncle sitting by the fire, keeping an eye out for crocs for me. The next morning, we hiked all the way to an amazing waterfall with a lagoon that was like something out of a movie.” Will grins at the memory. “We had the greatest time swinging into the pool from vines and splashing around. As an adult, I understood what he was trying to do for us. He wanted to help us return to our roots. Our long-forgotten, cave-person roots. Humans are animals and we’re meant to be outside—even the royal ones.”
14
Eighties Popstars, Soothing Tree Sap, and the Night Sky
Will
“Even the royal ones?”she asks. “I find that hard to believe.”
She smiles at me and even though her face is only lit by the light of the campfire, it's like the whole jungle has suddenly become brighter. Oh, that thought has no business in my mind. Not with her. Not here. And certainly not now. I clear my throat, then say the least romantic thing I can think of. “We should check your feet for infection.”
Her head snaps back and her nose wrinkles up in disgust. “Is that a possibility? I've been wearing my boots all day, and believe me, my personal hygiene is generally quite excellent.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to insult you,” I say. “What I meant was, we need to let our feet dry and check them over.”
I dig around in the backpack and grab the headlamps, then slide one on, and hand the other one to Arabella. I unlace my boots and take them off, then remove my damp socks. Switching the lamp on, I then set up one of the cameras to point at my feet. “When you're in an extremely humid climate like this one, you need to make sure you allow ample time for the insides of your boots to dry, but also your feet as well. You should carefully check for blisters or sores, and, as gross as this sounds, ensure your skin isn't starting to peel off, because if it is, you’re in a lot more trouble than you might think.”
“With moves like these, it's a wonder you're single,” Arabella says.
I chuckle a little, then watch her remove her boots. Uh-oh. She winced. Once her socks are off, my eyes land on open sores on either side of her ankles. “Shit. Did that just happen today?”
“It's nothing.” She gives a quick shake of her head. “You know, breaking in new footwear.”
I dig around in my bag and grab out the sap I collected earlier. Pointing the GoPro at my face, I say, “Princess Arabella has got open sores on her ankles from wearing new boots—and in her case, it’s not her fault. Her wardrobe was provided by the network, but normally before embarking on a trek like the one we’re on, you'll want to break in whatever footwear you have, to avoid these types of blisters. I'm going to pop down to the river, wash this pot out, then boil some water and this bag of sap so I can make the perfect soothing balm to heal those sores in no time.”
