Chapter 7
Seven
Victor
I finish leading my daughter, her fiancée, their friend, and Jason—whatever the hell he is to me—through a flow sequence, then round out our practice with some forward bends, a couple rounds of bridge pose, and some gentle twists.
In this first session, I’m trying to get a sense of everyone’s familiarity with yoga and physical ability to get into the poses.
Kelsey and Silas have the magical flexibility of youth and Adrienne seems to know her way around the mat. Jason, on the other hand…
Poor dude. He’s so clearly out of his element here. Stiff and self-conscious, even though absolutely no one is judging him. When he stretches out on his back for shavasana, I can see his eyes twitching and rolling beneath his closed lids.
I walk softly to Jason’s head, crouch down and place my thumbs in between his brows, then press all ten fingers firmly into the pressure points on his skull. Jason sighs and his eyes stop twitching. I drag my thumbs from his eyebrows to his hairline, then across the width of his forehead.
I repeat this massage twice more, then rub his temples and release him. His lips twitch into a small smile and his hands relax a bit more at his sides.
I do the same massage on Adrienne, Kelsey, and Silas, then return to the front of the room, settle cross-legged on my mat, and gently call the group out of shavasana. Jason blinks blearily at me when he sits up. His eyes are soft in a way I don't know what to do with.
Kelsey chatters quietly with Silas as they roll their mats up and put their props away.
Jason looks away, stands and rolls his mat up too, replacing it in the cubbyhole next to where Adrienne placed hers.
The girls and Silas head off to their rooms to change for dinner and I catch up with Jason after making sure the pavilion is restored to the condition it was in when we arrived.
The setting sun turns the rainforest canopy copper as we walk along the torch-lit path that winds between lush foliage. I can see a slight stiffness in Jason’s gait that tells me he pushed himself in the vinyasa flow I led.
“Your alignment improved with some adjustment,” I remark. “You’re not as bad at yoga as you think.”
Jason shrugs, looking uncomfortable with the compliment. “I’ve watched the occasional YouTube video.”
I wonder if they're my videos. The thought sends an unexpected thrill through me, the idea of Jason watching me, following my cues in the privacy of his home. I push the thought away.
Jason stops walking, grabs my arm, and forces me to a halt. “Holy shit,” he whispers. ”Look.”
He points ahead of us, off the path, into the trees. It takes me a few seconds, but then I see it. On a low branch of a gnarled tree perches a large bird with its back to us and its head in profile.
“Bright blue crown, black eye mask,” Jason murmurs more to himself than to me. The bird’s body color shades from greenish around its shoulder to turquoise near its rump and its long tail feathers end with bright blue spade-shaped tips.
“What is it?” I ask.
“A Lesson’s Motmot,” he says. “I was hoping to see one, but I didn’t think I’d get to so soon.”
“It’s beautiful,” I say.
“Damn it, I wish I had my binoculars,” Jason says.
We’re close enough that I can see the bird perfectly well and it’s just sitting there on its branch like it’s not bothered by two middle-aged humans staring at it. Jason digs his phone out of his pocket and taps at it, glancing between the phone and the bird.
“What are you doing?”
“Adding it as an incidental sighting in eBird,” he says. “If it lives here on the grounds, I’ll probably see it again when I’m actually birding but I might as well put it in now, since it’s a life bird.”
“Planning to do much birding while you’re here?” He looks at me like I’ve lost my mind.
“Absolutely. Costa Rica is a major birding destination. There are over eight hundred species here. I want to see as many as I can.“
He looks so excited, it kind of hurts my heart. I look from him to the bird, still hanging out on its branch like it’s posing just for us.
“Well, I hope they’re all as pretty as this one.
” Jason aims his phone at the bird and snaps some photos of it.
Amazingly, the bird stays still and lets him.
He steps quietly forward and to either side to get different shots.
Finally, the bird gives a series of hollow clucking sounds, spreads its wings, and lifts off to fly deeper into the trees.
Jason stares after it for a moment, then shakes his head like he’s returning to the present. “Guess we should go to dinner.”
“Want to shower first?” I’m resolutely not thinking about Jason, naked and wet, water cascading over his head, down his shoulders and chest, trickling along his abs to… “Not together, of course.”
His head swings around to me and I curse my mouth that always yaps before my brain catches up.
Of course we wouldn’t be showering together.
Not tonight, not ever. Not even that night.
Jason was so appalled by what we’d done that he disappeared into the bathroom and I crept out of his house, still sticky with come and sweat under the funeral suit I’d hastily redressed in.
“Obviously, not together, I don’t even know why I said that.
” And now I’m babbling. Jesus, Hendricks, shut your fucking stupid mouth.
He doesn’t need to know how often I’ve replayed that night in my mind.
Over and over, wondering whether I should have said something afterwards.
Immediately afterwards or any time in the last fifteen years.
I shade my eyes with my hand and look off in the direction the motmot flew. Better than looking Jason in the eye.
“Um, yeah,” he says. “A shower before dinner is probably a good idea.”
“I don’t know if you’ve seen the shower yet. Wouldn’t fit both of us anyway.” I’m trying to recover here. Make it into a joke. Not a fantasy that I’ve jerked off to more times than I’ll ever admit.
Jason makes a noncommittal mmph sound in his throat and I am left to stew in my embarrassment the rest of the walk back to our casita.