Fifteen minutes later,I knock on Dr. Howard Lowenstein’s door, my heart beating a little too quickly for my liking. No matter what, I’ll still have a job come January. But the Smithsonian studies all kinds of plants, animals, and insects in danger of going extinct, and I could easily be assigned to work on endangered sea grass in Florida. While I’d do it without question—all endangered species need to be protected—I justknowmy work with the Blushing Note will make a real difference for so many people. If we can just get that grant…
Focus, Mik.
“Come in!” Howard calls, and I cradle my tablet to my chest, all the recent test data ready and waiting if I need to justify keeping all three of my grad students on this project. I’ve played thewhat ifgame time and time again, asking myself all the questions I think Howard—or anyone else on the board—will throw at me.
“Mikayla, it’s good to see you,” Howard says with a warm smile. “Put that tablet away. You won’t need it.”
Hope tugs at the corners of my lips as I shove the device into my messenger bag. “Does that mean we have our funding for the next year?”
My boss waits for me to sink into the chair across from him. “The budget decisions won’t be made for another week, but I think I can safely say yes. I cannot imagine any reason why you wouldn’t get full funding next year.“
“You’re killing me, Dr. Lowenstein. If the committee hasn’t finalized everything, why call me in?” My fingers are tingling, as are my cheeks—they always do when I’m excited or nervous—and I force a couple of deep breaths.
“Is your passport up to date, Mikayla?” His brown eyes twinkle, and he pulls a piece of paper from under a folder on his desk.
“Y-yes. Why—? Oh! The fellowship? Please tell me we got it!” I’m practically vibrating now, anticipation racing up and down my spine, but Howard just sits there, the paper clutched in his hand, a wide smile on his face.
I want to shake the man, because he’s letting me jump to all sorts of conclusions that might be totally wrong, except he’s my boss and that would be totally inappropriate. “Tell me!” I say, leaning forward and squinting to try to read the embossing on the letter.
Lowenstein laughs, a rich, deep belly laugh, and slides the paper across the desk. “The Mexican government just approved VISAs for you and your team, and the money from the World Horticultural Society was wired to the Smithsonian today. Congratulations, Mikayla. You and your grad students have three weeks to study the Blushing Note orchid in the Chiapas mountains. The grant will fund a full mobile lab unit, hotel rooms in San Crisóbal del las Casas, meals, and incidentals. All yours. You earned it.”
I jump up before he finishes his sentence, hugging the acceptance letter to my chest and beaming, tears pricking my eyes. “Oh my God. I can’t tell you what this means to me. I have to call Dr. Branch at Johns Hopkins. And tell my students.”
The long list of everything we have to do runs through my mind, and I start pacing the small office. “When do we leave? Whencanwe leave? Do I have to make the travel arrangements myself? What about the Mexican government? Have they detected any poaching activity lately? If so, will they authorize additional patrols? How do we send samples back here?”
Howard shakes his head and chuckles. “Slow down, Mikayla. We’ll talk about all of that on Monday. The final details are still being worked out with the authorities. For right now, go celebrate with your grad students. Oh, and make sure everyone has a valid passport. That’s the most important thing. Ideally, you’ll leave within the next three weeks, but the exact date is up to you.” Pushing to his feet with a groan, he offers me his hand. Despite the early-stage Parkinson’s he was diagnosed with last month, his grip is strong, and his eyes clear. “All of your hard work is paying off. I’m not naive enough to count on any sort of treatment from the Blushing Note to be available in time to help me, but because of you and your work, there’s hope for the next generation. You deserve this honor more than I can say.”
“I couldn’t have done any of it without you. Thank you for believing in me.”
“You made it easy. Now get out of here! Go celebrate.”
I float out of his office feeling like my entire life finally makes sense. The ten years I spent in college. All those hours writing my dissertations. Fighting my way into this job—beating out a dozen other applicants—all of them men—and finding a home here. Colleagues who support me. Students as zealous as I am—if not more. And then, my partnership with Brian. Branch and learning I had a chance to make arealdifference…
So many times, I was rejected or dismissed out of hand because of my last name—Salim—my boobs, the color of my skin, my parents’ refugee status.
Now, it’s all worth it. Practically skipping down the hall, I head for the greenhouse to tell Li and Isaiah. It’s too bad Corey’s across the country, because I’m taking the other two out to celebrate.
Chapter Four
September
Austin
The cool, damp air of theGrutas del Malmutcave system is a welcome change from the heat of Palenque. The cave floor is slippery and wet in spots, and I take my time, running my hand over the rough rocks that bear the shape of long-extinct beasts, and planting my feet carefully with each step.
There’s something visceral about this place. Something real.
For almost three weeks now, I’ve hiked my way along the Maya Trail. Old temples, ancient settlements…history. People who lived and loved and fought and died, were forgotten and rediscovered again. Yet, even here, I don’t feel like I’mreal.
My entire trip has been full ofrealexperiences. Ones that make me wonder if I ever want to go back to the United States. What the hell would I do? Work for the CIA? I can’t take another job that asks me to sacrifice so much. That puts other people in danger.
For the first time since Gil died, I feel something akin to peace. It’s not. Not truly. But it’s closer than I’ve been in five years. Maybe even longer.
What if I stay?
Losing myself in Mexico feels...right. My Air Force retirement pay is enough to make a good life here. I could find a job—something simple. Handyman. Though I don’t know much about construction. Gardener? I know even less about plants. But I could learn.
I spend hours in the cool, dimly lit caverns until I realize a life without responsibilities just isn’t me. I’d last a month. Maybe two. Hell, I already spend my days pushing my body to its physical limits and my nights drinking just enough to fall into bed and keep the nightmares away.
