“And you can stay right here. No one will see you.”
We sit in silence for a while.
Then Marco speaks again.
“What if we just drive past the house? I feel like I should try.”
“We could do that,” I nod.
My mind drifts to yesterday.
The roadside. Marco’s panic attack.
The stormy night in the shower.
I saw the fear in his eyes, long before I knew what it was about.
I know this isn’t easy for him.
“If we don’t try, I’ll always wonder,” he says.
And with that, he begins dampening the fire.
“I’ll pack up the tent,” I offer.
Bags loaded into the truck.
Bed deflated and folded.
Tent swept and collapsed, we roll it into the bag together.
“Want a photo before we go?” I ask.
We lean in, backs toward the river, our naughty tree framing us on one side.
Then I take eight or nine pictures, because my man likes options.
“I forgot to show you something.”
I thumb through my screen to find it.
The photo from yesterday.
Sunset and silhouetted trees.
Marco standing next to the river.
His kangaroo friends huddled on the other side.
A reunion of sorts.
“We could get it printed and framed?”
“This means more than you know. It’s beautiful, thank you.”
“Now you can carry the starsandthe river home with you.”
I trace a finger across his wrist.
