When dinner ends and we all stand to leave, the close quarters around the table force me to step nearer to Victor than I intend. Victor’s hand comes to rest briefly on my lower back, a steadying gesture that I feel all the way down my spine. His touch lingers a moment before falling away.
Outside the restaurant, the night air is thick with tropical scents and the sounds of nocturnal creatures coming to life in the surrounding rainforest. The pathway is lit with soft lanterns casting golden pools of light among the foliage.
“Anyone up for a nightcap?” Adrienne suggests. “I’ve got a great bottle of Scotch from a grateful client and our balcony has a fantastic view of the rainforest valley.”
I’m tempted but suddenly exhausted by the emotional weight of the evening. “I think I’ll turn in. Still adjusting to the time difference.”
“I should probably go to bed too,” Victor says. “I’m leading the sunrise yoga session for anyone who’s interested.”
Logan and Silas agree to the nightcap and head off with Adrienne in the direction of their casita. Kelsey hangs back a moment, looking between me and Victor with her eyes narrowed.
“Everything okay, sweetie?” I ask.
She hesitates, then steps forward to hug me, then Victor. “I’m glad you’re both here,” she says, then adds quietly, “Mom would be, too.”
Nine
Victor
Jason looks after Kelsey for a moment, then shakes his head and turns up the lantern-lit path toward our casita. I fall into step beside him. We walk in silence for a while, the sounds of the rainforest filling the space between us. Having a romantic dinner with two other couples—one about to get married and the other obviously in the full flush of new relationship energy—makes it harder to pretend I don't want what they have.
“Jason,” I finally say. “It’s been fifteen years.”
“I know.” His voice is curt, but at least he’s not pretending he doesn’t know what I’m talking about.
“We’ve never talked about it.”
“What is there to say?” He quickens his steps and pushes ahead of me on the path.
“You can’t avoid me all week, Jason.”
The set of his shoulders says otherwise, but before the distance between us grows even greater, a staff member appears on the path, carrying a bucket of cleaning supplies in each hand. The path is narrow enough that we have to step to the side to allow him to pass and I take advantage of that fact to step closer to Jason.
“Buenos noches, señores,” he says. “Pura vida.”
“Buenos noches,” I reply. Jason nods at him.
He waits until the staff member has disappeared around a bend in the path before hissing at me, “I’m not avoiding you, damn it. I was grieving. You were grieving. We made a mistake.”
His words cut deep. “Is that what you think it was?” I ask, stepping closer, crowding into his space. I will make him face me. Face this. “A mistake?”
“It was the night of my wife’s funeral,” he says through clenched teeth. “Your supposed best friend.”
“You think Leah would have judged us for finding comfort in each other?” It’s a question I’ve asked myself countless times.
“Of course she would have! It was a sin!”
“Or is it you who’ve judged us?” I challenge him. “You, who care more about right and wrong than—” I stop, because what the hell am I doing? Opening myself up to more hurt?
Jason had turned away from me that night even as the sweat and come dried on our bodies. I dragged my clothes on while he was in the bathroom and left his house as soon as I zipped up. We’ve never spoken of it since.
To know that he’s thought of it as a sin ever since fills me with shame and agony. But also frustration. It was one time. We’re not allowed grace for giving in to feelings that were so overwhelming? Was what we did so wrong that we can’t be forgiven?
“Have you confessed this sin?” I demand. I know he’s a devout Catholic. Leah wasn’t, though she attended Mass every Sunday and holy day of obligation, if mostly to support his music ministry.
His lips thin but he doesn’t answer me. He doesn’t look at me, either, and I’m struck by his silence. “You haven’t? Not in all these years?”
He shakes his head, but offers no explanation. I drag up my own distant Catholic education. “There are four requirements for a valid confession,” I say slowly, out loud, channeling Sister Mary Michael, preparing me and my second grade classmates for our first Sacrament of Reconciliation. I tick them off on my fingers. “Contrition, the intention to avoid future sin, the confession itself, and penance.”
