A Walk Along the Beach(26)

Willa grew quiet, and soon it was dark and the sky came alive with fireworks, raining down wild bursts of light and color. Bandit rested between Willa and me and trembled at the sound of the explosions. At one point he buried his nose under my thigh. Resting my hand on his spine, I dug my fingers deep into his fur, knowing he needed the comfort and reassurance.

Following the fireworks display, we all worked together cleaning up the beach.

Because Logan was at the beach with his mother, he volunteered to take Bandit back to his house. Kneeling in front of my dog, I looked him in the eye. “I’ll be back.”

Holding on to the leash, Logan led him away. Logan had gone only a few feet when Bandit stopped and looked over his shoulder at me. “Go on,” I called out to him. “I’ll be back.”

“He’s going to miss you, too,” Willa said, wrapping her arm around my elbow.

We waited until Logan and Bandit were out of sight before I walked Willa to her apartment complex, which was only two blocks off the beach. We stood in the moonlight and I wrapped my arms around her, knotting my hands at the small of her back. I breathed in her lavender scent as I rested my chin on the top of her head. For a long time, all we did was hold on to each other. She didn’t speak and I didn’t, either. We’d basically said our goodbyes earlier.

    When we eased apart, I kissed her and promised to be in touch as soon as I landed in La Paz.



* * *



—

The heat is what hit me hardest when I set foot in the administrative capital of Bolivia. As soon as I was settled in my hotel room, I logged on to its Wi-Fi and sent Willa a text.

Here. Exhausted. Missing you. There was so much more I wanted to say, but I’d been up for nearly twenty-four hours. What I needed most was something to eat, a hot shower, and bed, in that order.

I slept for nearly ten hours. When I woke, the first thing I did was reach for my phone. Willa didn’t disappoint me. I read her message and frowned.

How come you never told me you played professional baseball?

I groaned. This wasn’t something I wanted to get into when I was nearly six thousand miles away.

Who told you?

I was surprised with her speedy response.

Lucas. When he heard we were dating, he checked you out.

You mad?

She didn’t answer, which I suspected was answer enough. I was tempted to call, prepared to pay whatever it cost me, when my phone dinged, indicating I had a text.

Not mad. I don’t know why you felt you couldn’t share this with me.

I wiped my hand down my face. She was right, I should have mentioned it long before now. For me, baseball was in the past; I’d moved on and put that part of my life behind closed doors. I wasn’t that man any longer, and I hoped I wouldn’t be again. Unsure how best to smooth this over, I went for the delay tactic. It wasn’t my finest moment, but it was the best I could do until I could look her in the eyes and explain.

    Can we talk about this when I get back?

I held on to my phone, staring at the screen, waiting for her reply, holding my breath the entire time. It took what felt like several minutes before she responded.

Okay.

I released a long, slow breath and felt like I’d dodged a bullet. Willa wasn’t the type to anger easily or make a fuss. By not telling her, I realized I’d hurt her feelings; that had shaken her trust in me. When I returned, I’d do my best to explain and make it up to her. The one thing I didn’t want to do was ruin what we had going. The relationship was fragile, still undeveloped, still taking shape. I’d hoped to build it on trust and realized I’d been the one who’d shaken that shallow foundation.



* * *



—

The following day, Reymundo and I met in the hotel lobby. I loaded my gear into his Range Rover. We traveled along the northern edge of Lake Titicaca to Charazani. The roads grew worse with every mile and the towns grew smaller. Earlier, I’d sent Willa and my parents an email detailing the next few days as best I could. I didn’t want either to worry if they didn’t hear from me for the next few weeks. I hoped I’d be able to connect at some point, but that remained doubtful.

At the end of the road, and I mean that literally, Reymundo and I were met by a man named Alfonso. We spoke in Spanish and he explained that he would take me to his house, which was just over the hill. Reymundo left and promised to return to collect me in twenty days’ time.

Alfonso and I walked for four hours before we arrived at his small home and I met his wife, Carmen. She showed me to the room she had prepared for me. It consisted of a narrow bed and a rickety table. There was no running water and no electricity.

    During the walk, I’d developed a killer headache. I knew it was due to the elevation. At this point we were almost ten thousand feet above sea level. I took two aspirin and hoped it would help.

Carmen served us a meal of quinoa soup and dried guinea pig. I welcomed the warmth of the soup and managed to eat the dried meat, which tasted even worse than anyone can imagine. Early on, I learned that being a photojournalist meant learning to eat anything placed in front of me and preferably not knowing or asking what it was.

That night and every night that followed, fog rolled in. Getting comfortable was impossible. I swear I could have frozen to death. I’d been to the Antarctic and not been this cold.