Page 92 of How to Hide in Plain Sight
“Cuídate, amor,” he said, edging the throttle forward. “This boat is about to fly.”
A thrill of nerves shot through my chest. I gripped the glass barrier that shields passengers from the wind. Then Manuel shoved the throttle all the way to the dashboard, and the boat took off at full tilt, bow aimed for the wide channel between the two nearest islands. I craned my neck to look at the speedometer: twenty-five miles per hour, thirty-five, forty, fifty…
“Whoa, there, killer,” I yelled over the roaring engine. “If you were sick of my family, you could have just told me. No need for the high-speed getaway.”
Manuel laughed, a sound I couldn’t hear but desperately wished I could. “I could never get sick of your family, Beck.”
“Say that again after Clarence and Caleb have had enough whiskey to start fighting over who has the more expansive wine collection.”
“It wouldn’t be a Beck family event without a few relationship-ending fights, would it?”
I grinned. “No, I suppose it wouldn’t.”
Manuel smiled. The wind whipped through his hair, pushing his wild curls flat to his head, revealing the full breadth of his handsome face—the tan forehead, the sloped nose, the long sculpted jawline. The sight made it feel as if there weren’t enough air in the world to ever fill my lungs all the way to the top.
The ski boat sped across the glassy water, straight down the middle of the channel. There was no land for a hundred feet to either side, no rocks or hidden shoals. We could just fly.
I spun around on the spotter’s seat, squatting on my knees. I rested my hands on the console. Then I pushed myself up until my head and shoulders were above the windshield. My hair whipped backward, flapping behind me like a proud flag.
“What are you doing?” Manuel yelled.
“I want to feel the wind!”
Manuel laughed. He didn’t ease up on the throttle, just kept speeding forward. I lifted my hands and thrust them out to either side. My fingers spread wide, air rushing past every knuckle and nail, every delicate inch of skin. I was light as a feather. I could take off and fly. I opened my mouth and yelled as loud as I could.
—
AT THE END OF OURjoyride, we drifted back into the boathouse. We chattered to each other, laughing about things from our past, happy things, things I’d almost forgotten. It had been so long since I’d allowed myself to think about the past at all, but being back here, being with him…it was different. It had opened up a door that I forgot existed.
“Do you have any trips to Bogotá planned for this year?” I asked as Manuel tossed me the stern line to tie up.
“I do. This winter.” His eyebrows raised as he grabbed the bowline and hopped up onto the dock. “Why? You looking for an invitation?”
“No, no,” I said quickly. “Just curious.”
“Oh, come on, Beck.” He grinned, caramel eyes glinting. “That’s the second time you’ve brought it up this morning. Clearly you want to go.”
“I didn’t—”
“Besides.” He bent over, looping the rope around the silver cleat. “We’ve been friends for over a decade. I think you’re long overdue for a visit to the homeland.”
I stayed quiet as I worked on the stern line. This should have been the point at which I deflected or made up an excuse or changed the subject altogether. I waited for the impulse to arrive. To drag me back to reality.
Only—
Only,wasthat the reality? My guilt, my fear, my need to stay away from him—for so long, I thought I was doing the right thing. That I was protecting him from the horrible truth of me. But as I stood there, bent over the cleat, I realized something: I had gone two full hours without any of that. My head was clear. As if being around him was not only okay, it wasright.
I blinked.
The rope fell limp in my hands.
“The moths,” I whispered. “I can’t hear their wings.”
Manuel finished tying the bowline and looked up. “What was that?”
I lifted my head. “Nothing,” I said, smiling. “Nothing at all.”
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