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I perused the faces, hoping one would offer their large bankroll they had stashed away that I didn’t know anything about. But they simply nodded.
Finally, Christian chimed in. “We won’t need much—fifteen K.”
“And fifteen K isn’t much?” said Ken.
Christian was alone in thinking fifteen thousand dollars was a small sum, so we tabled the topic and ordered another round, then another, then another.
“Always bet on black”’ That’s what Will had said to me before he beat Ben at arm wrestling. I should have bet on him then, and I should have bet on him when he suggested Sasha Snow would respond to my invitation the following day.
That time, I didn’t know it was coming. I didn’t do any yoga or any dishes to prepare my mindset. I saw I had a message in my inbox—didn’t think it would be from her so soon—and opened it.
I read the greeting, “Hello Bonita,” before glancing up at the address. When I saw that the message had been sent from Sasha Snow, I gasped and clutched my chest. I felt dizzy until I remembered to exhale then I dove in.
Hello Bonita,
I was touched by your letter, and it was with great interest that I watched your documentary.
To put it simply: I was blown away.
Your story moved me and opened my eyes in ways they haven’t been opened in years. You demonstrate a sensitivity, an openness, and a curiosity that I find stimulating. And I do love to be stimulated.
I am a very private woman. I am not sure I can grant you an interview. But I would love to meet you. You and I have much in common, for one: the fear of flying, though for different reasons. It will not be possible for me to fly to the United States, and I understand that for you, it is not possible to take a plane.
It is for this reason that I would like to invite you to take my yacht and come see me in Iceland. You will be my guest here in my home, and I can assure you that I will look after you. My yacht will dock in Boston Harbor, Friday the 14th of the month and will leave early the following morning. I apologize for the short notice, but sometimes it does us good to be impulsive.
On the yacht will be a captain and his mate. They are good men, professional and loyal to me. But the yacht can hold as many as fourteen people, so feel free to bring a friend.
I hope you will be able to accept my invitation. I have many things I would like to show you.
Please accept the warm expression of my sincere sentiments,
Sasha
6
Noah
It all came together faster than any of us had anticipated. One night we were all gathered at Squid’s Tavern, drinking, and dreaming; a few nights later, we were driving to Boston to board a yacht that would take us to Iceland.
Ken could only fit four in his car, so I drove mine, too. Bonita rode with me, upfront in the passenger seat, Will and Ben in the back. It was a four-hour drive to Boston, and we’d made arrangements with the crew to arrive at five in the morning, which, surprisingly, they were perfectly fine with. We couldn’t arrive earlier since Bonita needed to sneak out without her parents noticing, and we couldn’t be driving when the sun was out. And we couldn’t arrive much later since the yacht was meant to sail at six in the morning.
When Bonita arrived at my car, I put her suitcase in the trunk; we got in and drove off, all without exchanging a word. I didn’t know why Bonita chose to stay quiet. Perhaps, it was the still of the night that wanted to impose silence. For me, I was afraid that if I opened my mouth, I’d say the wrong thing, and Bonita would realize how crazy it was what we were doing, and she’d get cold feet.
It was only after I’d driven down the street, turned left, and our houses disappeared from view that Bonita let out a big breath and said, “We’re really doing this.” She was smiling wide when she said it, and her eyes sparkled with excitement. It was contagious.
I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding and smiled back. “Of course, we’re really doing this. Why wouldn’t we?”
“We’re young,” said Will.
“And free,” said Ben.
Bonita added, “Only one life to live.”
“Might as well live it,” I said.
We met up with the others at a gas station off the highway then we trailed them all the way to Boston Harbor.
I kept my eyes on the road, of course, but I’d also, now and then, get close enough to Ken’s car to make out the back of their heads: Ken driving, Trevor in the passenger seat; Christian and Landon in the back. It was comforting seeing them there in front of us. I had the impression that I was riding in a carriage with Bonita, and our team of horses was faithfully pulling us along. I shared that impression with Bonita.
