I raise my paintbrush and step up to my latest canvas—a woman’s figure, more realistic than I’ve done before. Still sexual and, yes, maybe confrontational. But more emotive, too. It’s a new direction for a new me, one that feels exactly right. This part I did not need to leave behind.
Before I can touch the paintbrush to the canvas, I hear a loudping. I pull the phone out of my back pocket. I forgot to silence it like I usually do before starting to work.
The text is from that same 508 number.Attachment: 1 photo.
I could just delete the message, pretend it never happened. That it was just a wrong number. Because until I look at the photo, there’s still a chance it is. Sure, the Senator is running for governor, and yes, his opponent is known for digging up dirt, so the timing of his reaching out to me—a big chunk of dirt—makes some sense. Still, it could be a coincidence, and I could be worrying for no reason.
My heart is a jackhammer.
What do you want?I text without opening the image.
For you to know.The reply comes back quickly.
For me to know what?
That I know you haven’t changed. You should be more careful. Or other people could find out.
What does that mean?My hands shake as I type.
That I know where you are.
I can’t help it. I tap on the attachment.
It’s a photo of me and Richard from the day before.
***
I woke to the sun rising outside the small, square tent windows. It took me a minute to remember where I was—Tanzania, the jungle, alone. But in a fancy tent—ten-foot ceiling, proper double bed, patterned rug on the floor. The luxury base camp lived up to its description in the brochure. There was even a private bathroom attached. Rudimentary, of course. The shower produced tepid water, and the toilet was a chemical one. Still, these were extraordinary conveniences. Ones I was trying to accept that I would not see again for many days.
I’d done my share of camping in Colorado in the years after my dad left. Not with my mom; she couldn’t imagine making herself deliberately uncomfortable when her life was already so difficult. But all my friends’ parents slept in tents every chance they got, and I went along. Personally, I’d always preferred the hiking part to the actual camping, and I was pretty sure that would still be the case. But I was willing to suck up tent life for that summit,which had come to feel like the righting of every wrong turn I’d ever taken. The Senator, yes. But even the ones that weren’t my fault, like my dad leaving.
It was chilly and dark inside the tent, the thought of getting out of bed inconceivable. I vaguely remembered that temperatures plummeted at night in the jungle, information that had been buried somewhere in the extensive packet of materials the company had sent. I’d skimmed it all but had focused only on the need-to-knows: travel logistics, equipment list, training recommendations. Digging too deeply into any of the other details could have made me doubt myself. This mountain was nearly eight thousand feet taller than any mountain I’d ever been on, much less hiked to the top of. There was no saying I’d be able to do this, no matter how many marathons I’d run or how much climbing I’d done as a kid. Sometimes a little ignorance was bliss.
The jungle was packed with wildlife, something that shouldn’t have surprised me. All night unidentifiable creatures had been calling out from beyond every side of the tent—birds, monkeys, something else mating, maybe, or planning a frontal attack. Were they close or far? Sound here traveled in unexpected ways. The nighttime jungle, it turned out, was a living, breathing thing—foreign and terrifying. But also hauntingly beautiful.
I mean, not all of it was beautiful. When I’d arrived at the tent the night before, there’d been a huge black spider the size of a salad plate near the entry. Kito, the very sweet junior guide who had walked with me—as an actual guard, I was slow to realize—brushed it aside with expert tenderness. The spider landed in the grass and skittered away into the darkness.
“Was that poisonous?” I asked.
“No, no.” Kito laughed. “The poisonous insects are very small. You cannot see them coming!”
“Oh, great.” I had laughed nervously.
That was precisely why I deliberately hadn’t researched certain things before the trip. No point in facing things you couldn’t change.
“Good morning!” An unfamiliar voice outside my tent. “Coffee out here!” I heard the rattle of a spoon as someone set down a tray on the small table outside my tent. “When you are ready.”
“Thank you very much!” I called back as the footsteps retreated.
I grabbed my clothes off the floor, shaking them out in search of my spider friend before pulling them on. I was as ready as I’d ever be.
—
A small carafe of coffee was set out on a silver tray alongside a china cup, cream, sugar, and a single purple flower in a small bud vase. I sat in one of the two camp chairs and took a sip. The early-morning sun flickered pink between the dense, verdant trees. The only sound was the chirping of birds. This I could do. Drink delicious coffee in a stunningly peaceful jungle. I could sit in that chair.
It was all very fancy. Way fancier than I usually lived. There were certainly cheaper ways to climb the mountain, but if I was going to spend the last of the blood money, I might as well enjoy a few weeks in the world the Senator belonged to. Besides, after the trip, there was a good chance I’d never be able to afford something like this again.
I jumped at motion in my peripheral vision.
