Gus blinks and tears roll down his cheeks, drip off his chin. “Say it.”
“You have as big an ego as my dad.”
Gus’s eyes widen. “What?”
“Cass pushed Mack to fly late in the day, despite the weather. Mack agreed. When he wanted to turn back, Cougar prodded him to fly under the clouds. Maybe we wouldn’t have crashed if you’d been on time, but the storm was brewing before you got to the plane. No guarantee we wouldn’t have been caught in it earlier, maybe more of us killed. And that’s just taking into account what happened on the day of the crash, not the countless decisions before you or I ever got on a flight to Peru. Don’t get me wrong. It’d feel good to blame you, especially when you’re acting like such a self-important ass. Actually, it’d feel stupendous, but you’re just one small, and not very important, piece of this giant cluster fuck.”
Gus wipes his face with shaky fingers. “Thanks—”
“Don’t. I’m just being honest.”
Gus clears his throat. “Truth or dare.”
“Truth.”
“Have you ever been in love?”
“No. Truth or dare?”
“Truth.”
“Have you?”
“I thought so, but she traded me in for the lead singer of a band. Not even a great band. Truth or dare?”
“Truth.”
“How many people have you slept with?”
I consider lying. Trix has slept with seven guys and given me the details, so I could probably pull it off. The purple chameleon Jupiter pointed out flashes through my mind. Fly your freak flag. “None.” Gus’s eyes get big, like he can’t believe he’s sitting across from an actual living, breathing virgin. “You?”
“I don’t know.”
“Guess.”
“Fifteen, maybe?”
It’s my turn to be shocked. “I’m done playing.”
“One more.”
“Fine. Truth or dare?”
“Dare.”
What can I possibly dare Gus Price to do that he hasn’t done a million times already?
Gus says, “If you can’t come up with one, you lose your turn.”
“Fine. I lose my turn.”
“Truth or dare?”
“Dare.” This time Gus is the one who’s speechless. “If you can’t—”
“I dare you to go skinny-dipping.”
I shake my head. “It’s the crepuscular hour.”
“The what?”
“You really haven’t watched a single one of Cougar’s episodes, have you?”
He shakes his head, half smiles.
“It’s when predators feed.”
Gus licks his lower lip. “Okay, Miss Wikipedia. I dare you to kiss me.”
WWDD? I stand up, quickly peel off my clothes, slip on my hiking boots because I’m not a total idiot and run down the hill to the river. Halfway to the water, it starts to rain, hard, like someone turned on the faucet, full force.
“What the hell,” Gus yells after me.
But I don’t look back. I’m flying. My feet slip as the rain makes the ground slick. Twice I almost fall but manage to regain balance. When I get to the edge of the water, I kick off my boots and wade in, shuffling my feet in the desperate hope that whatever is hidden beneath the mud won’t sting, bite or constrict. The surface of the water pops as the rain comes down harder. I can see glowing yellow-green caiman eyes in the distance, as the creatures weigh in their walnut-size reptilian minds whether I’m worth the effort.
Taking a breath, I dunk under the water. The current weaves around my body. After so much time in the Amazon, it’s the silence that has the most impact. Despite everything, it’s beautiful, peaceful.
Hands reach beneath my arms and drag me out of the river, swing my body through the air in an arc, water spraying. I’m standing, totally naked, in the pouring rain, in front of Gus. He’s drenched, cheeks ruddy, eyes scanning, like he’s looking for blood, a wound.
“What the hell were you thinking?” Gus shouts.
“You dared me.”
“I didn’t mean it! I was trying to shock you, get a smile, a laugh, find a path to forgiveness, maybe steal a kiss—”
“Yeah, right.” I turn to find my boots, which are already full of water. “I’m slow to catch on, but not a total dolt.”
Gus grabs my arm, pulls me back. “Danny, you’re not my type because you’re better than my type. You’re mind-blowing! You’re fierce and fragile and perfect. Truth.”
The rain slows to a drizzle, then fades away. Gus is out of breath, chest rising and falling fast. He hasn’t let go of my arm. We’re standing inches apart, the air between us electric. Everything he just said, everything that’s happened, what I’ve done in the rain forest, comes together. “Let go,” I say. Gus’s eyes momentarily close, like those two words were bullets. I study his smooth brow, golden hair, full lips and imperfect, perfect scar. The rain has washed away the Amazon’s grime and his skin shines. He is beautiful, talented, lonely, sometimes unsure and insecure, other times wise, and always compassionate. He’s watching me but I no longer wonder what he sees. What matters is what I see in myself.
I recall the promise made at a trendy LA hotel before this trip began: I will get to know my father on this trip and become the person I was meant to be. I now know John “Cougar” Warren. But there was never going to be a way for me to be totally fearless again. Life is made of deep wounds, different kinds of love, invisible scars, disappointment, surprises and hope. I’m the product of losing an eye; an intelligent, resentful, but loving mother; a selfish, charismatic, sometimes caring father; a friend who both elevates and demoralizes; people I couldn’t save; others I try my best to help; plus all the dreams and desires inside me.
No longer do I want to be who I was before the accident. That girl was seven years old and lived in the past. I’m seventeen and live in the present. Gus said Cougar is a bright light, and that’s true. I thought I wanted to live in his glow. But you can’t hitch a ride on someone else’s star. Cass tried that with my dad and it left her miserable. I tried, too, and all it did was make me feel flawed. You have to be your own star. If I survive, the world is filled with possibilities. There’s no limit to how bright I’ll shine.
A quote from The Phantom Tollbooth surfaces: “You can swim all day in the Sea of Knowledge and not get wet.” I set down my fears and responsibilities. They will still be there tomorrow morning, when I will do everything I can to save Jupiter and Cougar.
“Danny?”
I say, “I’m not perfect. But I’m kind, smart, determined, loyal, brave when I need to be, sometimes striking, and I have a really pretty singing voice. You have to know that I know that now.”
Gus’s expression is solemn. “I do.”
“Then kiss me.” And he does, our mouths tasting, testing, asking, then taking. My hands run down his back, skimming over each defined muscle. A mosquito buzzes past my ear. I wave it away. Gus slaps at a biting fly. We kiss again. He takes my hand, leads me to the raft and we lie down. My pulse takes off like a runner at the start of a race. “Just so you know? I have no idea if I’m about to make a total fool of myself. I’m afraid of what I don’t know, but more scared to miss this moment.” WWDD? I kiss Gus again.
He traces the line of my jaw with light fingers. “Just so you know? I’m afraid I’ll disappoint you. But I can’t let you go.”
He runs his lips along a bruise inside my forearm, sending ribbons of heat into my body. A tickle interrupts the sensation. “Ah, Gus?”
He looks up. “Yeah?”
“Something is crawling across my back.”
Gus peers over my shoulder. “Beetle. A red one.” He flicks it away, then rolls sideways, winces.
“You okay?”
“Yeah, one of the clive hitches tried to burrow into my kidne
y.”
I laugh. “Clove.”
We kiss again, our limbs twining together. I forget about the mosquitos, beetles and the hard bamboo beneath us as Gus’s lips travel across every cut, bruise and abrasion, tickling away the pain. He leaves a trail of kisses to my nipples, tracing, teasing. His tongue outlines the semicircle bruise my seat belt left behind, and my insides knot. I pull him back toward me and we kiss again, like we’re sharing a secret no one else will ever know.
“I’m breathing you in,” Gus whispers in my ear.
He weaves his fingers through my hair, his face above mine, eyes searching. I ask, “What do you want to know?”
“Why did you choose to have two different colored eyes?”
“I wanted to be more like Cougar. Now I understand that the decision made me more me.”
Gus wraps me in a hug, holds tight, his eyelashes brushing against my cheek. He says, “I don’t ever want to hurt you.”
I understand what Gus means. But this isn’t about taking anything. This is about living, right now. “Tonight we both get to be the people we want to be,” I say. “No promises. No future. No sins or need for forgiveness. Just this.” I kiss him. “Who do you want to be, Gus Price?”
“The guy you love,” he says, voice catching. “Who do you want to be?”
“The girl you love.”
And we are those things and more somewhere in the Amazon, beneath a canopy of twinkling stars.
“Will you be sorry in the morning?” Gus asks when our heartbeats have finally slowed.
His arms hold me close, fingers trailing along bare skin. “For loving a guy who loved me?” I shake my head. We tumble into sleep, wake before dawn and love each other again.
DAY EIGHT
39
I slide onto the raft, a bamboo pole in hand while Gus pushes it off the bank. The moment of truth—it holds together, floats well. Gus hops on and we glide with the current. For the first time in a week I feel the steady heat of sun on my skin. Head tipped back like a flower, I take a few seconds to drink it in, then join Gus, paddling hard.
Gus and I haven’t talked much this morning. I’m not embarrassed—everything we did together was everything I wanted to do and we didn’t risk pregnancy. I’ve seen what an unwanted baby does to the parents and their child. A little smile plays across my lips. Last night was magic. Nothing can ever take that away, but at first light the weight of Jupiter’s and Cougar’s lives settled back onto our shoulders. We need to find help for them soon.
Gus points to a flash of pink in the water. “Look!”
I count five dolphins. They weave around our raft like they’re playing with us. I trail fingers along the water and the palest of the dolphins comes close, touches my palm with her nose. “Pink dolphins are actually a species of toothed whales,” I say. I’d planned to impress my dad with that fact. Gus leans over my shoulder, kisses my neck, a remnant of who we were last night.
The dolphins stay with us for almost an hour, putting on a show of spins and leaps as we relentlessly push through the river. Sweat stings my eyes, but I don’t stop to wipe it away. Time is running through Jupiter’s and Cougar’s hourglasses. As I paddle, I constantly scan the shores for any sign of the small indigenous population that lives in the rain forest, but either they don’t want to be seen, or they’re not near us.
Traveling in the river on a raft is entirely different than wading through the swamp. When a grass-green snake slithers by I don’t cringe. I count the orange lines across its back. We see capybaras and they look like guinea pigs with tiny ears, not big rats. Caimans dot the edge of the river. “Look,” I say, pointing to a black one that has to be twenty feet long. At one point I see a fin that doesn’t have the gentle curve of a dolphin. “Shark.”
“It’s fresh water,” Gus says, using his paddle to steer us clear anyway.
“There are bull sharks in the river.”
“Please tell me that you’re kidding.”
“Nope. They can swim in fresh water, too.”
Gus asks, “How does that work?”
“They have special kidneys that can adapt.” I don’t say that they’re considered some of the most dangerous sharks in the world because they frequently attack humans.
When the shark is hopefully an hour behind us, we take a paddling break, drink some water and dip our heads in the river to cool off. My skin is getting red so I pull on a sweatshirt even though I’m sweltering. Gus leaves his off and stays bare-chested, his hair pulled into a ponytail, still looking near perfect despite a week in the rain forest.
We paddle on, early morning turning to midday, arms aching, neither of us willing to take more than a few minutes’ rest. A hawk wings overhead, its auburn body tipped with black wings. It dives toward the water and skims the surface, then soars up, a massive blue-green fish wriggling in its talons. On the far shore are white birds with blue beaks. Coral-colored birds with bright yellow breasts peck by their feet. We push on, ignoring the blisters on our hands and the throbbing in our backs.
“What song do you hear?” I ask.
“‘The Chance.’”
“I don’t know it.”
He says, “‘Grab the chance of tomorrow. Choose the road you don’t know. Take a leap once you’ve fallen. Blood will still flow. Hold her too tight, like she might fade away, love like she’s gold and there’s no way to pay. Pray when you die it wasn’t a lie ’cause the flame is snuffed out in the blink of an eye...’”
I close my eyes and let his voice lap against me like the small waves hitting our raft.
And then I hear it, lower than the chatter of monkeys, deeper than the bass of bullfrogs, sharper than the snap of a thousand crickets.
It’s a motor.
Neither Gus nor I wave. Not at first. We watch the canoe round a bend in the river. After the plane crash, Sean’s, Mack’s and Cass’s deaths, Jupiter’s leg, and Cougar’s grave injury, this moment is still a shock. But in a way, it’s not. The real world was always out there waiting for us to find it.
“Jupiter and your dad have a chance now,” Gus says.
My tears fall. But there’s an emotion waiting beyond relief. Surprise. This rescue doesn’t elicit the sense that I’ve been saved. Maybe it’s because I no longer feel lost.
Gus’s arms tighten around me, like he’s trying to keep us for a moment more. He breathes three words into my ear. I say them back, then wave at the canoe with one hand, the fingers of my other still woven with his. Two men and a woman come into focus as the canoe nears. When they reach us, I let go of Gus’s hand.
40
The man driving the large motorized canoe, dressed in a T-shirt, shorts and hiking boots, his brown skin deeply tanned, is a Peruvian guide named Carlos. He immediately gives us a thermos of water, then offers us sandwiches. I drink but decline the food. In this moment, my hunger has faded away. Names are shared. The two passengers, wearing worn khakis, long-sleeved shirts and sun hats to protect age-spotted white skin, are French botanists on a three-week trip to study native plants. Anthony has serious dark eyes behind round, gold-wire glasses. Paulette has a sweet smile. The red scarf wound around her neck gives her a strangely stylish look in this environment. We quickly learn that they’ve heard about our crash. Given Cougar and Gus’s celebrity, it’s all over the news. We’re still in Peru, not Brazil, but Carlos tells us that the search is going on much farther south, along what would’ve been our route if Mack hadn’t diverted.
“How many survivors?” Anthony asks.
Gus says, “Four. Our cameraman, Sean, died on impact. The pilot, Mack, and Cass, Cougar’s personal assistant, soon after.”
“Of course Cougar Warren is still alive,” Paulette says in heavily accented English.
Deal. “Yes,” I say. “He stayed behind to help one of his crew who was badly injured.”
We explain that there�
�s a bright yellow T-shirt hanging from a tree near our camp as a marker and that we’ve been roughly following the river. Carlos uses his satellite phone to call for help. I don’t understand Spanish, but after he hangs up, he explains, “Your families will be alerted that you’re safe. A team in Iquitos is being pulled together and a helicopter with medics will be sent out as quickly as possible. In the meantime, I can take you back to our base camp. From there, rescue workers will transport you to safety.”
“We need to get back to my dad and Jupiter,” I say. “Please.”
“How long have you been traveling since you left them?” Carlos asks.
“We bushwacked for about twelve hours. It was slow going. As soon as the river calmed we made a raft.” I turn to Gus. “How long have we been on the water?”
“Four or five hours,” he says.
Carlos looks at the botanists. “By motor-canoe it might take half a day if the river stays relatively calm. If it doesn’t, we’ll need to bushwhack our way in. You two okay with that?” Anthony and Paulette nod their agreement.
It’s hard to grasp. All the effort we put into fighting our way through the Amazon, the time it took to build a raft and paddle, collapse into a compact, direct, motorized trip back up the river. But still, Jupiter and Cougar may be dead when we arrive.
Conversation fades after a few more minutes. The drone of the motor, the sound of waves slapping against the fiberglass canoe, is a welcome respite to answering their questions. Without the rain, the river has receded from the banks and is no longer tearing trees and boulders free. While it’s still moving quickly in places, the motorized canoe manages to push through the current and we need to portage around obstacles only a few times. Now and then I glance at Gus. What will happen to the guy who loves constellations, sings ’70s music off-key, laughs like his entire body is in on the joke? Will he ever become the person he wants to be, not just the guy he thinks he needs to be for everyone else?
The Speed of Falling Objects Page 22