Chapter 12
A S I STEP OUTSIDE, I SEE C AMILA IN THE FRONT PASSENGER SEAT of the black SUV. There’s someone else rummaging in the trunk.
I tug at my denim shorts as I walk across the parking lot, wishing I’d gotten more sleep. I woke up in the middle of the night and the world was eerily quiet. Every cricket and frog seemed to be asleep. Even the waves were still. For a moment, I forgot where I was. A few hours later, the bugs were wide awake and buzzing. And so was my brain, busily reliving my balcony fiasco with René.
This morning is my chance to turn things around. This hike is my opportunity to bond with him and get on everyone’s good side. Anything is more productive than watching security footage of René all day.
“ Buenos días .” Santiago steps out from behind the vehicle.
“ Buenos días . Can I help with anything?”
“No thanks, we’re ready,” he says, shutting the trunk.
“Hi,” I say to Camila as I get in the back seat. She turns ever so slightly, gives me a weak smile, and goes back to some sort of craft project on her lap.
“Ready?” Santiago turns on the car, and we pull onto the street. I was fully expecting René and possibly more of the crew to join us. With just the three of us, it feels an awful lot like I’m intruding.
We drive along the narrow roads for about thirty minutes, windows down, listening to a selection of low-key music. Santiago’s playlist is a broad mix of reggae, a cappella hip hop, and mellow flamenco. Most with salaciously sensual lyrics.
The entire time, Camila either grooves to the music or hunches over a large Chanel handbag. She’s sewing neon-colored thread along the seams at random, making a few of the squares pop and customizing her bag in the process.
“That looks really cool,” I say, tapping her shoulder. I admire her valor at defacing what looks like an original and then making it better.
“Thanks,” she says, lifting the bag to inspect her progress.
“I love it.” I lean back into the seat, feeling more self-assured. Let the bonding commence.
Maybe it’s a good thing René isn’t here. I can focus on making some headway with Camila. And even try, as Meri suggested, to disconnect from the issues back home for a few hours.
We stop at a fruit stand on the side of the road and Santiago hops out to get us some fresh mango juice. Camila’s absorbed in her sewing, so I take the opportunity to catch up on work emails.
There’s one from a coworker asking me for a copy of a recent press release. Maureen is copied, so I draft a response so cheery and upbeat, anyone who reads it will think I’m doing fantastic and everything is perfectly fine.
Absolutely!! Here it is! Don’t hesitate to ask for anything else!!
“A bowl of fresh-cut mango,” Santiago says as he gets back in the car and hands us our juices, “would be part of my last meal.” He pronounces it “man-go,” the way my dad did. My chest drops and my breathing slows.
To focus on work, I reread the email I’ve just sent. Crap. Too exclamation points. I sound like I’ve downed a crate of energy drinks.
“Mine too,” Camila says after a long sip. “Though I’m not sure it goes so well with the rest of my last meal. Mussels in Dijon and white wine, warm French bread to dunk into it, and a side of fried artichokes.” Santiago moans supportively and I smile at the thought, feeling grateful that she’s sharing. “René’s last meal,” she continues, “is mofongo and his mom’s fricasé de pollo .”
“Oh yeah,” Santiago says in agreement. “What’s yours, Dani?”
“I don’t know, I never thought about it. Would definitely include some Cuban bread slathered in butter and then dipped into coffee.”
“Nice!” Santiago says, and even Camila nods approvingly.
We pass an overlook with views of a deep blue lagoon surrounded by mountains. I think back to the meal I had last night and wonder if there’s a limit to how many courses you’re allowed for your last meal.
The road climbs up a hill and then winds down again, and we turn into a small parking lot. We park near the start of the trail, and even from the car, I can see it gets steep right away.
“The hike’s a little challenging, but it’s worth it,” Camila says as Santiago shuts the car off, his eyes watching me through the rearview mirror.
“Oh, okay. I’m excited,” I say, masking my concern.
I didn’t pack for adventurous trails. I mainly stuck to items that coordinated with my blazers. So, while Santiago and Camila are both looking fashionable and rugged, I look like I just crawled out of bed. Santiago’s wearing a bright blue shimmery windbreaker over a bare chest, swim trunks covered in a floral print, and black hiking boots. Camila’s in a low-cut, golden one-piece swimsuit, flowy violet shorts, and a pair of dark brown hiking boots. Meanwhile, I’m in a washed-out brown T-shirt I use to sleep in, the white denim shorts Meri packed for me, and my teal running sneakers.
A few steps into the trail, we’re enveloped by the forest. It feels a few degrees cooler, and everywhere you look, there are different shades of green. Towering trees covered in dark green moss and then wrapped in light green vines.
Santiago leads the way, and I walk behind Camila, trying to avoid the thicker sections of mud on the path. Camila seems preoccupied. From time to time, she pulls her phone out of her back pocket, checks for something, and then puts it away.
“Ah.” I’ve stepped into a deep patch of mud.
Camila turns around. “Try to keep to the sides.”
“Yeah, good idea, thanks.” I yank my leg and pull up a bare foot. The mud has kept my sneaker. And the sneaker has kept my sock. I drop my head back and let out a deep sigh. I bend over, balancing on one foot, and pluck the shoe free. “So how did both of you guys meet René?” I ask. I already know the answers, but I just want to make conversation.
“We met at college. René was studying music, I was in the fashion program.” Camila hops between two stones, avoiding a muddy patch. “And he met Santi through a mutual friend last year.”
“Well, that was lucky.”
“Oh, there was no luck involved. It was totally planned. I get full credit for bringing them together.” She pulls her phone out again, checks it, and puts it back. “No signal out here.”
I groan a little to let her know I commiserate. “So how did it go yesterday in the studio?”
“It was good.” The concise response sounds slightly irritated.
“And what’s on the agenda for today, when we get back?”
She pulls her phone out of her pocket again as she walks. “I guess we’ll know when René gets back to me.”
It starts to rain, but most of it gets absorbed by the treetops before reaching us. We walk for a while, enveloped by its hollow tapping on the leaves.
A half hour later, Camila and I are standing alone in front of an enormous waterfall. Santiago has snuck off to pee in the woods. I’m in awe of this waterfall. It’s more of a waterwall because it clings to the surface of a massive dark stone wall. It’s a beautiful, clear-moving curtain, and it’s so tall, the thunderous sound of the water continuously falling is hypnotic.
Did my father know about this place? I wonder if he ever came here? I look around and feel my chest tighten.
“René and I came here a few years ago.” Camila pulls me out of my thoughts. “It feels like a long time ago.” She sounds melancholic and it makes me speculate if they do, in fact, have a romantic history they’ve kept private.
“That makes sense. A lot’s happened since then,” I offer, taking a stab at comforting her.
She blinks in agreement, then steps around a tree to get closer to the river. There’s a giant, translucent leaf near her face, and once again, I wish I brought my camera.
“Do you mind if I take your picture?” I ask her.
“Not at all!”
I pull out my cell and position myself so I can capture the silhouette of her face through the leaf. The lighting is perfect, her gold bikini shimmers, and everything is filtered by a canopy of trees. I feel as excited as I did last night on the balcony, exploring the best angles and playing around with the composition.
Camila loves the photos. And so do I. Her petite profile through the leaf looks like an olde-time fairy portrait.
“That’s beautiful. Send them all to me!” It’s clear I’ve chosen the right way to Camila’s heart. “Whenever we have a signal,” she adds with a sigh.
Santiago returns and we continue with the hike until we reach a fork in the road. The route to the left is overgrown bushes and an unruly climb, while the one on the right has steps made of logs carved into the dirt to help hikers.
“It’s this way.” Camila points to the trail on the left. “You’re going to love this.”
My interest piqued, I push on until we reach a clearing. Ahead of us is a large sloping rock surrounded by lush trees with a waterfall in the center that feeds a small clear blue pool.
“This waterslide is so much fun,” Santiago says.
I check out the waterfall again and frown. Sure, the face of the rock does sort of have a natural curve to it, but I wouldn’t call it a waterslide.
I stop at the foot of an enormous tree and take a seat on top of one of its aboveground roots. “I didn’t bring a swimsuit.” I wish I had. We’ve been walking for a while and my skin is sticky with sweat and rain. The idea of a cool, refreshing swim sounds amazing.
“Just swim in that,” she says, waving at my outfit. “We’ve got towels in the car.”
I stare at the waterfall. It’s pretty grand. And steep . Still, I feel I should do it. This place is so ridiculously special. The late morning sun is a welcoming spotlight on the waterfall and the pool. It’s, like, who would come all the way out here and not do this? I imagine us all after the plunge, bonding in the pool.
Santiago and Camila start climbing the face of the rock, their bodies bent over, using their hands to keep them steady. I take a deep breath and start to follow them, my mud-encrusted shoes struggling to get a grip on the slippery rock.
We reach the top and I peer over the sliding path, trying to map out how our bodies would handle all the rocky twists. We’re about thirty feet above the ground. The fact that this is at the end of an unofficial trail has me questioning whether it’s safe.
Camila takes off her shoes and then slips off her shorts. “You just do it like this.” She sits down on the top of the waterfall, folds her arms over her chest, and scooches herself off the edge, gliding down the natural curves of the rock and into the pool below. The way I imagine an oyster looks slipping around our intestines.
“You want me to go first?” Santi can tell I’m nervous. He takes off his windbreaker and shoes.
“Come on! The water feels amazing,” Camila calls up to us.
Santiago doesn’t give it another thought. He sits, crosses his arms in front of him, and sets off. It’s like he’s made of rubber. He glides gently down and over the bumps, twisting along the turns, and splashes into the pool.
Alone on the top of the rock, I feel my heartbeat pick up. The bumpy, rocky path the water has carved over centuries into the stone doesn’t get any smoother the longer I stare. Maybe if there were some sort of protection to go between me and these rocks? Like a sled, or a boogie board. We’re just so far from a doctor.
“Just go for it,” Camila yells. “You’ll be fine!”
I wave and sit down, smiling.
I scooch an inch forward and then another, cool water splashing hard against my back and rushing down all around me. Camila and Santiago have swum farther away but they’re still egging me on.
Fortune favors the bold. Even the nutty ones, I hope.
I try again but then stop mid-scooch. The feel of cool stone and water pulsing beneath me sparks a memory. I can hear my father singing the song he wrote for me. The song he’d sing at parties and sometimes like a lullaby to put us to sleep.
feel the heartbeat of a hidden waterfall
give up fear for flying
There’s a verse about this place in the song. He was here.
In a bit of a haze, I scooch again and I’m off. My whole body tenses up like it’s physically trying to stop the memory, while also stopping my body from plummeting down the steep incline of this non-waterslide. I’m supposed to slither down smoothly, but instead I stiffen and take each corner like I’m in a pinball machine.
I scream as I hit the water. My knee throbs and my lower back is on fire. The force of the fall from such a height pushes me deep down below the surface.
When I resurface, and I’m done coughing, I assure Camila and Santiago I’m okay. Convinced it’s safe to leave me alone, they swim to shore and slide down the rock wall a few more times. The water is cool and refreshing and slowly numbs the sting on my knee.
I dunk my head beneath the water, then look up. I’m quickly stilled by the contrast of the brisk water from the neck down and the hot sun on my face. Thick vines connect the trees that tower around the lagoon, and bright red wildflowers freckle the green on the ground. I feel completely enveloped, as though inside a tropical snow globe.