CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
KATY
“How much longer to Conchilla, do you think?” Marcus asked Katy after they boarded the bus at Flores.
Marcus was trying to be friendly. Katy granted him that much. She could be equally civil too, even if her heart didn’t want to have anything to do with him.
“Another hour, probably,” she said.
“Explain something to me,” Marcus said. “Why is it that Conchilla was leveled by this earthquake while all these other places are intact?”
“Probably because they are on different tectonic plates.”
“How would you like that?” he said, shaking his head. “Just because of your zip code, you got the short end of the stick.”
“Yeah, that’s pretty much what happened.”
“How did you find out about Conchilla? It’s quite a trek to get here.”
“One of my parents’ friends is a doctor. He travels and donates his services all the time. He told us about Conchilla. He likes to find out-of-the-way places. He figures at least they get a check-up every five years.”
Outside, the relentless green of the jungle thickened even more. Their bus of chickens, goats, and people meandered along winding roads.
She heard a soft groan.
Beside her, Marcus was turning the same shade of green as his olive shorts.
“Did you take motion sickness pills?” she asked.
He shook his head and shut his eyes. In an instant, he opened them and barreled down the aisle to the front. The driver spoke little English, but he must have understood Marcus’s motions perfectly. The driver slammed on the brakes and opened it for Marcus. He ran down the steps and out of the bus.
He came back rumpled-looking but not as green as before. The bus bumped on as before.
“The joys of traveling,” Marcus said.
She smiled and nodded.
He studied her. “I was wondering this morning where else is on your bucket list.”
“Africa, probably. Thailand. More of South America.”
His heart thudded in his chest. “How about Europe?” He paused. “Italy.”
“I’ve already been there,” she said. “I wouldn’’t mind going back.”
“What did you think of Italy?”
“I think it’s one of the most romantic places in the world, but I don’t want to go back there alone.”
“Alone?” he echoed.
She nodded. “Without a boyfriend or a husband.”
“Why,” he teased, “they have a thing against single people?”
“Well, everything is so romantic there: the Roman Steps, Tuscany, the vineyards, Venice at night, a gondola ride.” Her voice had deepened at the memory, and he felt transported by it.
”I’ve been to Italy,” he said, “but I haven’’t gone on a gondola ride. Even so, I did think it was romantic.”
“It is, and don’t get me wrong. I would love to go back, single or not, but it’s hard on a diet, all that pasta.”
Their eyes met as they smiled, and something warm leaped between them. Katy wondered if this was the start of her road to forgiving him.
“I go there all the time,” he said. “I have a partnership with a Principality off the coast of Spain. Italy is a favorite stopping point.”
“Did you take Amanda there?” she asked.
“No. She wanted to go, though. We should have, while she was alive.”
“You didn’t take her there for your honeymoon?”
“No. We went to Turks and Caicos.”
“Oh. Makes sense.”
“Have you been?”
She shook her head. “No.”
“We’re lucky, aren’t we,” she said, “to be able to travel freely?”
“Have visa, will travel,” he quipped.
“Which kind, the credit card kind?” she asked.
“Yeah,” he chuckled. “That too, but, yes, agreed. It’s great, when you have time to sightsee.” He massaged his temples. “That’s the rub, eh? Having money doesn’t mean squat if you can’t enjoy it.”
“That’s why I just travel for service nowadays.”
“You can help the Italians make pasta. That’s a worthwhile charity.”
She just blinked at him.
“Just kidding. It was a joke.”
She gave him a wry smile.
“I think you’re cool,” he said. There, he said it. “Serving people all the time. You put the rest of us to shame.”
She shrugged. She didn’t like the spotlight on her for service, but her cheeks warmed.
***
MARCUS
“We’re here,” Katy said, as the bus slowed down.
“Where will we stay here?” Marcus asked as they gathered their things.
“Like everyone else.” Katy gazed at him innocently. “Under the stars.”
He wasn’t a wuss, but the thought of sleeping under the stars made him think of all sorts of possibilities under the Guatemalan night sky.
A volcanic eruption, landslide, downpour…
There was still some light left, a glorious sunset, in fact, casting an orange, eerie glow on Conchilla.
The city looked like one large rubble heap with a tent city all over stone blocks. It was an undulating city, pulsating with life. No sense of sorrow or misery. Several of the makeshift shelters had a stove going, with their flames visible and a delicious aroma filling the air.
“Come,” Katy said. “Let me introduce you to some people.”
He was glad she was talking to him again, even though he wasn’t under any illusion she’d forgiven him.
Marcus hefted his backpack on his shoulder and grabbed his suitcase before following her. She picked her way through a cleared trail to a settlement with wood poles and a tarp. It was kind of funny to see Katy wheeling her suitcase on such an uneven mess.
Someone was playing an Indian flute and stopped at their approach.
“Mi amiga!” An old man stepped out of the tent and kissed Katy on the cheeks. He embraced Marcus too.
“This is Sammy,” Katy told Marcus. “He’s Conchilla’’s mayor.”
“Pleased to meet you,” Sammy said. “Would you like some dinner?”
Marcus suddenly realized they would be at the mercy of these people. He couldn’t exactly see any restaurants around to provide them with food.
“That would be so wonderful,” Katy said. “A little money for your troubles.” She pressed quetzal bills into his hand.
Sammy pushed her hand away. “None of that, now.”
When Sammy turned, she passed it to a woman whom Katy introduced as his wife.
There were no chairs. Marcus and Katy improvised by sitting on what used to be the foundation of a house.
“My home, before,” Sammy said, his eyes twinkling. He handed Marcus a steaming bowl of stew. It was slightly burned with a kick. Delicious.
Over his adult life, Marcus had sat at meals al fresco, overlooking the sunset, but this was the first time he’d done it at an earthquake-leveled city overlooking a peaceful lake.
Despite the troubles of the people here, the world still seemed like a beautiful place.
Katy nudged his leg with hers. “What are you thinking?”
“That this stew is delicious.” He looked at her intently as her face burnished with the sunset.
That you’re beautiful. The words crossed his mind, but he didn’t dare say them.
Her coloring deepened, and she turned her attention to her bowl. She ate a few more bites of stew and started a conversation with Sammy, taking pains to involve Marcus.
With dinner done, there wasn’t any clearing up to speak of. Someone went down to a common washing space—huge bottles of water and basins—to wash dishes.
Katy excused Marcus and herself and told Marcus they would see others. They made rounds among families with little children, a blind woman with her grown daughter, and people who opened their arms to Katy and Marcus and invited them to eat of their meager meals.
At their last stop, a boy about eight years old ran toward his family’s rubble and grabbed a soccer ball that was partially deflated. He gestured at Marcus and kicked the ball down the hill.
Marcus glanced at Katy, and they both followed the boy down to where it was somewhat level. The boy spoke no English, but his smile said volumes. They kicked the ball around, with Katy playing goalie.
Marcus ruffled the boy’s hair before the kid took off and returned to his family.
Katy walked over to where Marcus was standing, and her eyes shone as she smiled at him.
They turned toward the lake over which the moon rose, leaving a swath of light on the surface. The peaceful image imprinted itself on Marcus’s heart.