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“I think every animal in a mile radius heard. You stunned the jungle into silence for a brief second.”
I stand and cover my face with my hands even though Samuel can’t see me. “I tried to hang on as long as I could waiting for you to come home.”
“I’m sorry.” His silhouette is before me. “The ceremony took longer than the shaman expected.”
“Did he find the answers he’s searching for?”
“Yes and no. He’s not sharing much at the moment, so I fear it’s not all good news.” He places an arm around my waist and leads me back to his hut. “The shaman mentioned more rain is on the horizon.”
“More?” I moan.
“He said the Mawarí’s cooking pots on the tepui are full and will overflow.”
“Are you concerned about the village flooding?” We reach his hut, and I kick off my sneakers and slide into the hammock. Samuel secures the netting around us.
“Yes. Tomorrow we continue to build more huts in the trees. The crops will be harvested, so we have plenty of food for now. The canoes are for getting around in the upcoming wet season. He believes it will be the most rainfall in decades. What concerns me is if it begins early and while you’re still here, there’s a risk of disease to you and the baby, and returning to Canaima will not be as easy.”
It never was.
* * *
The following morning, Samuel lifts my arm and inspects the skin. His fingers trail lightly over it, and I moan, savoring his touch even though I want to scratch. He lifts my hair and touches my neck, and I shiver. He plants a kiss on my shoulder.
“I hope you don’t do this to all your patients?” I ask.
He chuckles lightly.
“We have three weeks to decide how we’re going to celebrate Christmas,” I say to lighten his mood. “My creative skills will be tested, but I can decorate the room with acai berries and use flowers like monkey brush, orchids, passionflower, and heliconias,” I say dreamily. “The ferns are no mistletoe, but… well, there’s an abundance of ivy.” I smile at him, hoping he’s the least bit excited, but he’s distracted by something on the side of my abdomen.
With a gentle touch, he runs his fingertips over the skin to the side of my ribs. “How long have you had these?”
“Ouch.” I scratch where he touches. “I’m not sure what it is, but it’s itchy and a little tender.”
“It’s some sort of bite. There’s no inflammation, but I’ll monitor it.” He grabs the stethoscope and listens to my heart. “Take some deep breaths.”
I do so and scratch an itch near my eye. His gaze follows where I scratch. He stops listening and pushes strands of hair out of my eyes.
His brow pinches together. “And how long has this been itchy?”
For a few seconds, I scrutinize his tight expression. “I’m not sure. I have a rash almost all over me and thought it was just a heat rash, but now you’re touching it, I want to squint because it’s tender.”
“I only hope it’s not triatomine bugs, known as kissing bugs.”
“So, you did hear me when I mentioned mistletoe.” I chuckle. “Or maybe you bit me?”
“Eden, it’s serious.” He stretches my skin, studying the bite. “Kissing bugs cause Chagas disease.”
“And that can do what?”
He leans back and meets my gaze. He hesitates, and I assume he screens his response. “Do you have any fatigue, headaches, a fever, or body aches?”
“Really? Of course, I do. I’m carrying a baby, and I’m living in the damn jungle.” I ignore his frown. “My back hurts because of obvious reasons, my hips ache because things are expanding around there, and I’m permanently bloody hot, so I wouldn’t know if it’s a mild fever. And tick the headaches as well, as I think I kinked my neck sleeping in the hammock. What were the other symptoms? Oh yes, fatigue… what do you think?”
His expression is unreadable.
“What?” I snap.
“I understand how you’re feeling, but there are hundreds of symptoms I’m looking out for. I hope none lead to serious disease.”
