Chapter Nine
Nine
Lulu could not fall asleep. She stared at the pinpricked sky, sang the lyrics in her head to four songs that usually lulled her to oblivion, walked to the cave to see if the others were asleep, came back, stared down at a deeply slumbering Tyler.
She felt jealous of him for sleeping while her brain churned.
Sometime later, she must have drifted off, but before first light, Alejandro woke the group.
He gave each of them a granola bar and informed them it was morning. Both Lulu and the sky disagreed.
They hiked down the mountain just as the sun tipped its nose into the world.
Still drowsy, Lulu stumbled, and Gwendy, right behind her, caught her by the elbow with reflexes so quick she suspected the woman had experience winning knife fights.
In the van, Lulu fell instantly asleep until who-knew-how-long-later, when a bump in the road startled her awake. The landscape had entirely changed.
Outside the van window, a turquoise shoreline flashed by through the trees.
During the winding drive through country roads to the Caribbean side of Costa Rica, the air had grown more humid.
The hot wind blew the salty scent into her nostrils and flecks of sand onto the road.
Coconut palms grew in long, straight lines, and banana trees were dotted with the blue bags the planters used to protect their crop from the elements and pests.
Her eyelids began to droop again as she listened to the sound of Tyler’s voice, regaling the group with a tale of a pickleball bet that ended with Tyler shaving only the left side of his beard for a month.
Even half asleep she managed to roll her eyes.
He probably got a lot of press out of that look.
How was it that his voice could instigate such intense reactions?
One minute, his encouragement could press her to give the tour a second chance.
In another instant, her limbs felt like spaghetti with the effect of his flirting.
And now? Now she couldn’t match up her feelings for the guy who could empathize with how tough it was to be away from Zoe with the guy who shaved off half of his beard for the publicity.
Especially because it probably looked good on him, dammit.
Enough, she told herself. Let Tyler do Tyler.
Her brain tried to screech to a hard stop. But it was too late. She had already imagined Tyler doing Tyler.
Gwendy nudged Lulu and nodded her chin toward Alejandro, who was describing today’s adventure itinerary.
With some difficulty, Lulu shook off the vision of Tyler and concentrated on absorbing Alejandro’s promise of a beach day: A buffet breakfast. A guided morning nature hike.
And a tropical safari in Cahuita National Park, followed by some time at the beach.
There would be no 150-foot drop-offs on the docket for today. Yay! Lulu’s shoulders loosened.
At breakfast in the sleepy town of Cahuita, Lulu devoured every scrap of her coconut rice, beans, and sliced papaya seasoned with salt and lime.
Refreshed by the scrumptious breakfast, she propelled herself along the quiet village road lined with souvenir shops and outdoor restaurants.
It was a new day, and today, she promised to steep herself in the culture of letting someone else be in charge.
Outside the entrance to the Cahuita National Park, Gwendy skidded to a stop at a food stand, and the crew bought steaming paper bags stuffed with flaky, savory pastries.
As Lulu bit into the still-warm-from-the-oven treat—number two of hopefully several breakfasts—Alejandro explained that this deliciousness was not born in Costa Rica.
In the late 1800s, Jamaican immigrants came to Costa Rica to work on the Atlantic railroad, a project that ended near Cahuita in Limon.
Among the descendants of those immigrants, Jamaican culture still thrived in the country through influences in food, reggae music, festivals… and patty.
Licking the last of the crumbs from her fingers, Lulu waited while Alejandro checked them into the park.
She peeked past the raised wooden boardwalk to where the jungle met the beach.
Her gaze settled on the ocean, and she watched as the sun broke like shards of glass on the low waves.
Gwendy and Ariana chatted, buzzing with anticipation for the promise of monkey sightings along the jungle path that paralleled the shoreline.
Alejandro left the travelers in the hands of a round-cheeked, twentysomething park ranger.
Despite her youth, the ranger’s no-nonsense expression had Lulu straightening with attention.
Introducing herself as Karina, the ranger flashed a businesslike smile and told the group she would be checking their backpacks for outside food that might attract unwanted monkey feasts or plastic bags that might end up polluting the pristine reef.
Lulu unzipped her pack and set it on the ground for inspection when an explosive grunting erupted overhead. Lulu froze, her eyes searching for the source of the noise that sounded somewhere between a leaf blower and a gargling walrus.
She tilted her face to the treetops. There, perched on a bough, a howler monkey was making the thunderous racket. The guttural groans bounced off the tree trunks and amplified as they reverberated through the humid air.
Lifting her voice over the noise, Karina explained, “We have three types of monkeys in the park, but these mono congos are the loudest.”
Lulu released the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. One thing was clear: She wasn’t in Seattle anymore.
With her head still tipped toward the treetops, Lulu smelled the change before she turned her head. Tyler stood so close that she picked up the scent of sunscreen, soap, and bug spray. If that combo were a cologne, she would douse herself in it and roll around on her bed for hours.
She gave him a nod and muttered, “Morning.”
In true Tyler fashion, he returned her wary greeting with a smile that put a twinkle in his eyes.
“Good morning, you,” he said. And even though a warning showed up like a faded Polaroid in her brain, she let it whitewash into nothingness.
Truth was, in this wild and surprising country, there was comfort in the familiarity of his presence.
I can do this, Lulu thought. She was in a beautiful place with an old friend who simply wanted to hang out and enjoy an adventure. Friends. She could sign up for that.
The howler monkey had ceased its racket, and Karina waved the group through the entrance, all the while offering a host of suggestions: Don’t touch the plants.
Pack it in, pack it out. Stay on the path.
Don’t get too close to the snakes. That last one, Lulu thought, was kind of a no-brainer.
But she sure hoped she didn’t have to make any split-second decisions.
Karina led the way, speaking in her clipped tone and pointing out leafcutter ants trailblazing like trickling streams along the path.
Bullet ants: “Don’t touch. They’re called bullet ants for a reason.
” She drew their attention to a downed coconut sprouting into a sapling.
A walking palm, the tree that grows extra roots with the purpose of pulling itself in the direction of the sunshine.
Every few paces, they paused to admire another wild marvel.
Along the trail, even the bugs were exotic—fluorescent carapaces on the backs of the beetles, and on the trees, leaves so flat and clingy they looked painted onto the bark.
The jungle was full of creatures—spiders guarding their gossamer webs and a fan-crested reptile sunning itself on a log near the creek.
The latter Karina called the Jesus lizard “because it can walk on water.” The group stared at the unmoving lizard for several minutes, hoping it would give them a show.
When it refused to perform on cue, they moved on.
Farther down the path, they spied a huge termite’s nest, large as an economy car, clinging to the bark of a tree and swarming with the tiny insects. Karina explained that the bugs were edible and a good source of protein.
“What do they taste like?” Tyler asked, and Lulu slit her eyes at him, just daring him.
“Carrots,” Karina said.
Tyler raised a brow, dubious.
“Or dirt,” the ranger added. “Depends on who you ask.”
It was agreed that the pastries had satisfied everybody’s hunger, so the group continued on the path.
Without warning, Karina held out a hand and stopped their steps.
She pointed upward. Lulu followed the ranger’s finger and squinted, her eyes traveling up the tree trunk to the overhanging branches.
There, in the nook of a bough, she noticed a trace of movement.
An arm reached out from a grayish-brown creature.
With determined intent, the animal began to climb carefully down the trunk.
“What is it?” Lulu whispered.
“It’s a sloth!” Karina enthused, her dry delivery shifting for the first time.
Lulu’s pulse picked up. Fondly, her brain flashed to one of her students, who listened to Lulu’s lectures while doodling cartoon sloths in her notebook, which Lulu had thought looked a bit like monkey-koalas.
But here was Central America’s signature creature, the shy and gentle sloth.
Right here. In front of her. And frankly, the real thing looked a lot like the drawings.
Tyler kept his voice low, and she was hyperaware of his lips very near her ear. “Where is it? I don’t see it.”
Pointing, Lulu directed Tyler’s line of sight. “See where the branches split? Just to the left—”
Beside her, Tyler sucked in his breath. “Lu! Look! She’s got a baby.” And as the sloth turned, Lulu could see it, too—a tiny sloth, no bigger than Lulu’s fist, nuzzled against its momma’s tummy fur.