“Or the Kapuas mud snake.”
“Absolutely.” Jean reached up to slide both hands into his hair, gently massaging as though working shampoo into a lather. “In what sense?”
“Changing color to camouflage yourself from predators.”
Jean smoothed his hair away from his face before taking a step back. “I could get into that.”
“If you had the right kind of scales.”
“Would you still like me if I did?”
“Of course.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “Would you like memoreif I had scales?”
“I don’t see how I could.” His little shrug, like it was too obvious to be worth thinking about, hit Jean right in the feels.
It was tempting to go full Dr. Seuss on him:Would you like me in a house? Would you like me in a blouse? Would you like me here or there? Would you like me anywhere?
“Let’s go,” she growled instead, frustrated with the mushification of her brain.
Charlie’s face fell. “I guess you must be sick of staying in.”
“This is aboutyou,not me.”
“You’re tired of me?” His sigh was resigned, like he’d known it was a matter of time.
“No, I just don’t want you coming down with scurvy or rickets or whatever from not going outside. You need vitamin D.”
“It’s nighttime.”
“So we’ll go buy some chewable vitamins. Come on, Charlie.” She handed him the treasure map. “The sooner you find the treasure, the sooner we can go back to playing our favorite game.”
“Which one is that?”
“X-rated Swiss Family Robinson. Duh.”
He found the next prize at the base of a palm tree, helpfully marked by another arrow. Jean followed at a distance, peeling off the tape after he passed and making helpful shooing gestures when he looked back.
Not much farther now, and then Charlie could relax. And set down the picnic hamper Jeanmighthave overpacked, judging by the way he was listing to one side.
The good news was that they had yet to test Jean’s theory about the effectiveness of a uniform shirt as camouflage. There was a tense moment when a flash startled Charlie into ducking behind a tree trunk, until Jean convinced him it was a random tourist taking a picture of the waxing moon, even though it would inevitably wind up looking like a watery tennis ball. Despite the near miss, Charlie was like a little kid hunting Easter eggs, breaking into a run when he spotted the final arrow pointing him toward a winding trail through the brush.
Jean ripped off the tape and wadded it up, shoving it in her pocket as she jogged around behind him to the main path, which was wide, direct, and well lit. By the time Charlie made it through the trees, she was waiting for him on the secluded beach, arms stretched wide.
“Ta-da!” she said, trying not to sound winded.
His face lit up. “I was hoping the treasure would be you.”
“What? No. Look at your map.”
“A river of silver,” he read, eyes moving from the page to the ribbon of moonlight shimmering on the dark surface of the water. “I like that. It’s very poetic.”
She sketched a bow. “Thanks. But the actual prize is the picnic. Although I should have brought a blanket. Or one of your many towels.”
“It’s perfect like this.” He set the basket at her feet, folding his long legs as he dropped to the ground.
During the day this spot would be full of snorkelers and sunbathers in tropical print swimwear purchased for the occasion, sucking in their stomachs as they posed for photographic proof of how much fun they were having. Jean liked that Charlie didn’t act as if he were starring in his own reality TV show, beamingcrucial updates to the world. And also that he had a little padding around the midsection, in contrast to his skinny limbs. It gave her something to hold on to.
