In an open-air market, I devour arroz con leche and a potato and sweet corn tamale. Will finds some ceviche, and we eat while we stand, marveling at the fabrics and spices and pottery and artwork for sale. I buy seven garments, unable to stop raving about the craftsmanship, and every time I catch Will’s eye, he’s smirking.
We explore more churches. Eat again when we get hungry. This time, it’s spicy stuffed peppers at a restaurant with a bright yellow ceiling and open windows. Our waiter brings out two complimentary rounds of pisco for each of us—the Peruvian national liquor. We drink it all eagerly before practically skipping to an archaeological museum.
Followed by a café for an afternoon espresso to sober us up.
Then we stumble upon a row of stores I get lost in for an hour. Will disappears about halfway through my shopping expedition. I emerge several hundred dollars lighter to find him waiting patiently for me on a street corner. He’s leaning against a brick wall, scrolling on his phone with his baseball cap drawn low over his eyes. The late afternoon sun is painting his skin bronze.
“How long was I out?” I joke.
He glances up at me and smiles, but something about it seems strained. His dimple doesn’t even appear. “I was about ten minutes from sending a search party.”
“Is everything okay?”
Will pockets his phone. “All good. I think the sun might be getting to me. Are you ready to head back to the hotel?”
My lips pinch. “Sure.”
We walk side by side along the warm streets. Will—who’s been pointing little things out to me as we pass them all day long—keeps his head down, his eyes focused on the pavement or the crosswalk.
“We haven’t had much water today,” I note. “Hydrating when we get back will probably make you feel better.”
Will nods and offers a gruff noise of agreement. He stays monotone all the way back to our floor, and when we reach our set of doors, he doesn’t linger by mine like he did this morning before passing it for his own.
“See you tomorrow,” he says, offering me one more pinched smile.
I haven’t even said the words back to him before he disappears.
That night, I dream I’m back on the beach getting the phone call from my mother—Oma passed away. She had a bad fall. Oh, darling, have you been drinking? At least you’re coming home tomorrow. I need you, darling, I need you by my side.There’s a fifth of Smirnoff in my left hand. Zoe’s talking to her crush, Forrest, the firelight decorating each of their faces. Out of the corner of my eye, I spot Will Grant down the beach.
I tumble through space and time until I’m alone with Omain her house. I’m fourteen years old. My first boyfriend, a senior, dumped me last month because I didn’t want to have sex with him. My fingers hold down the sides of a garment as the machine hums out a line of stitches.Golden Girlsis playing in the background, and I laugh a real laugh for the first time in weeks. Oma seems relieved at the sound of it.
The stitches are skipping,I tell her.
She reaches down and pulls the fabric out of the machine and spends thirty minutes removing every stitch. She replaces the needle, replaces the thread. Then she hands the garment back to me and says,Start over, darling. Try again.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
In the morning, I get ready for the day, turning to glare every thirty seconds at the silent adjoining door that bars me from Will. Just when I’m finished getting dressed, starting to panic that I haven’t heard a peep from him since his frosty exit yesterday, there’s a knock.
When I open the door that connects our rooms, I’m greeted by a clammy, pale face and brown hair that looks almost matted. Dark-purple rings beneath his glassy eyes. Will is dressed in gray sweatpants and the same T-shirt from yesterday. He leans a hand against the side of the doorframe.
“I believe,” he croaks, his voice working its way out of him with what sounds like quite a bit of effort, “that I have food poisoning.”
“Has this been happening all night?” I ask. “Why didn’t you wake me up?”
He huffs out a single, charged laugh. “The last thing I wanted was you witnessingthat.”
“Oh, Will.” I move to hug him, but he steps backward, eyes flashing with fear. “I haven’t showered yet, Josie. I just knocked to tell you I can’t make it to today’s site visit, but our driver is already waiting for you downstairs. Will you be able to handle it alone?”
I nod slowly. “Of course.”
“I should be better by tomorrow, for the next supplier,” he says.
“It doesn’t matter. What do you need?”
“Probably some more ceviche.” Will’s dimple flashes.
“How about crackers and ginger ale, if I can find it? I can look around for a grocery store on my way back.”
