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I don’t love the idea of her hiding in dense undergrowth for whatever horrifying reason, and I find myself feeling more protective than I should. If I fuck this up…if something happens to her…I would never forgive myself.
There’s that, and then the idea that I might lose her fills me with dread. I don’t want to live my life without Kala. By gods, I’m in love with this infuriating woman.
“I’ll always worry about you,” I say, tracking her roaming gaze.
“Sure,” she says, dabbing her eyes.
“Hey. Look at me.” She obeys and takes a deep breath.
“If the future is too scary to think about, then just think about right now. I’ve got you, and we’ll get out of here. And I’ll just say it now so we can get it out of the way: I really wish my brother Sig was here.”
She laughs. “You do? But the two of you can’t stand each other.”
I wince. I don’t hate my brother. We are pains in each other’s asses, but there’s no hate. “I’ll admit it chaps me that he’s much more suited for mountaineering than I am. But only a little.”
She nods and smiles bravely. “We’re in this together. Don’t think you must fight off jungle cats for my sake.”
Shit. I hadn’t thought about wild animals. We’re dead.
She covers her mouth and giggles. “You should see the look on your face. Relax, they’re probably more scared of us than we are of them. Same for the snakes.”
I shoot to my feet. “Oh fuck, no. We’ll come up with another plan.”
I may be a chicken shit regarding snakes, but I’m glad my distress has improved Kala’s mood. I stand and help her to her feet.
“You asked me to trust you, and now you have to trust me. I’ll get the supplies we need. I just need you to stay sober and play nice for the cameras, wherever they may be. Don’t let anyone suspect that we’re unhappily married.”
That stings more than it should. “Who says I’m unhappy?” I ask, taking her hand in mine as we return to the suite.
She says nothing as we walk but shyly tucks her hair behind her ear.
* * *
Over the next several days, we play it cool.
The housekeeping staff graciously lets us use their phones whenever they come to make up our suite. All they ask for in return are a few selfies. I don’t think these housekeepers know who we are, but no harm is done. In return, these brief moments of internet access allow us to plan our escape.
We decide not to reach out to my sister, agreeing that that would make her complicit in our scheme. If we reach out to the press for help, that would draw attention to the funeral. The less chaos we cause getting back home, the better.
To that end, Kala rents a car under a fake name to be dropped off for us at the ferry station. Through her UN job, one of Kala’s friends contacted the embassy, and someone will meet us at the airport with the paperwork we need to get out.
The tricky part is the ferry ride. It’s a tiny island, and on the one-hour trip, we could easily run into someone from the resort who will know who we are.
“We just have to hope they don’t care who we are or what we’re doing,” Kala says at dinner the night before our planned escape. The funeral is in 40 hours, and hook or by crook, I’m getting her off this rock.
She’s far too steady while I’m about to have a panic attack. The lack of alcohol tonight doesn’t help, but she’s right; I need to have my wits about me for this caper.
“How can you be so calm about the most complicated plan that could fall apart at any juncture? About trekking through the jungle?”
“It’s not like I haven’t done it before. I told you.”
“I’d love to hear that story once I’ve taken a Xanax.”
Kala shrugs and sips her sparkling water. “My team and I were secretly inspecting a meat packing plant for international labor violations in the US. We were found out and chased off by some nasty guys in masks. It was the middle of nowhere. No police, nothing around for miles. We dodged bullets, but I’m not sure they would have wanted to spark an international incident, so I don’t think they were shooting directly at us. We had to abandon our cars and walk, hide in the countryside until we found a way to get to a safe place…”
I hold up my hands in surrender. “Forget I asked, and never tell me that story again until I’ve had a lot more to drink.”
She eyes my glass of club soda. “But you’ve had nothing to drink.”
