Robbie clears his throat. “She did. She also mentioned the Jamaican boa, various species of deadly spiders, including the scorpion, and the most dangerous spider—one that sounds like a fruit.”
“The banana spider,” Othella chimes in.
“And don’t forget, the water isn’t without danger,” Robbie adds. “There are poisonous sea urchins and crocodiles.” He stares at the so-called beasts, his eyes slightly watery from the stench. “But I don’t remember these creatures.”
I study the mules, or “the beasts,” as Zinzi has called them, with their four short legs, oddly shaped heads, and long snouts.I am not as upset as the others seem to be. They provide me with a welcome distraction, keeping my mind off my father and his confession, though he didn’t sound sorry for the pain he and Maxi have caused. My head hurts. Too many emotions bouncing around inside it. Instead of thinking about my father, I will master riding Zinzi’s beasts.
“Do I have to sit on that?” Othella asks, scrunching her nose.
Zinzi rides over on her mule in the saddle, sitting tall and unfazed. “There’s one for each of you.”
“So we can’t refuse,” Robbie replies.
“Not unless you want to walk three miles to Accompong,” Zinzi says, “through the jungle, over rocks, cliffs, and limestone quarries. By the time you reach Accompong, if you survive the jungle in the pitch-blackness of night, covered in bugbites and with a snake’s fangs embedded in your flesh, then sure—you are welcome to try it.”
Katherine whispers in my ear, “Why is she so unpleasant?”
“It’s because we’re a handful,” Tully responds on my behalf.
I notice him watching me, anticipating my reaction and wanting to ask questions: How are you feeling? Are you okay? Do you want to talk?
But I’m not ready for any of that. What I want now is silence. I lift my gaze to the cloudless sky. The sun shines brightly over the Cockpit, casting patches of light mixed with impenetrable darkness. “I’ve been here before.”
A loud squawk erupts from the treetops. “What is that?” Othella asks. “It sounds like someone is screaming.”
“No,” Zinzi replies. “It’s a bird, not a person—a yellow-billed parrot.”
“Do they bite?” Othella glances from the trees to the beasts. “I’m not getting on that thing.” She slides behind Robbie,peeking over his shoulder at the mules. “They must bite,” she says. “Their teeth are huge.”
I watch her, hoping to find Othella’s anxiety amusing, but I can’t. I am reeling from what I’ve just learned about the two people whose love, affection, and opinions have shaped me from childhood to adulthood, through marriage and then marriage again, through sorrow, and heartbreak.
“I’d be more worried about falling off a cliff.” Tully moves close to me, staying within arm’s reach since we exited my father’s limo. I’m unsure how I feel about the gesture because I don’t want to feel anything. Not yet. Not now.
“They all have saddles,” Katherine notes.
“Yes,” Zinzi says, grasping her mule’s reins. “Let’s get going.”
The load bearers forge ahead of us, jogging barefoot and shirtless. Sweat cascades down their bodies as they balance towering stacks of luggage, steamer trunks, and crates atop their heads and on their backs. I wish I could run with them. It’s the only thought that matters to me at this moment: how desperately I want to run.
The Mule Trail, Cockpit Country
More than two hours have passed, and we are that much closer to Accompong. I should feel exuberant, the excitement rolling off my brow like raindrops on a spring day.
Instead, sitting in the saddle atop my beast, I am thrust back through time, thinking about what I took for granted over the past thirty years: the love and affection from Maxi that I always counted on, the absence of warmth from my mother that I accepted, and my father’s controlling nature that I tried to appease. I have missed so much: the signs of his brutishness and the anger my mother suppressed, which turned into tolerance and indifference when she looked at me.
What other signs did I miss?
Just the other evening, the night I returned to Hartfield House from Mr. Abbott’s, I rushed inside and hurried up the stairs, searching for Tully. I thought my father had left when I dashed down the grand staircase, still looking for my husband, but I caught sight of my father and Maxi from the corner of my eye. Standing in the doorway, Maxi had her arms crossed over her chest while my father held the door ajar. He stood close to her, speaking with a pleading urgency in his gaze, and then, over Maxi’s shoulder, he spotted me. Immediately, he stepped back and shut the door in Maxi’s face. I didn’t pause for more than a second. I was eager to find Tully and too upset with my father to let curiosity distract me. Tully needed to know that the major was at it again, interfering and mucking things up.
Now, as I picture him and Maxi in that doorway, I wonder how many other times I’ve seen them like that and brushed it off. How many times was the truth of their affair right in front of me, just an arm’s length away?
Each time—every time—I assumed they were talking about me, debating what Vivian Jean needed, how to do better for Vivian Jean, defending Vivian Jean. How often did I see them side by side, and the conversation was not about Vivian Jean? Were the affectionate glances I thought were meant for me, the sweet smiles I cherished and the embraces I longed for merely placeholders for what they were eager to share with each other?
All those times I saw them overflowing with love and joy had nothing to do with me.
“Another two miles.”
I blink. Who said that?
