Page 34 of Never Bound

Ironically, I had the same model of hammock by my own pool at home. ButthatI’d never shared with anyone, since there’d never been anyone with whom I’d both wanted to and been allowed to. Of course this pool was about one-sixteenth the size and unheated, meaning it was already too frigid to use, according to Milagros. But still, I liked it better. It seemed wilder, in a way, draped in palm fronds and liana vines and surrounded by agave plants, and a turquoise light that shimmered up from somewhere below like the glow from the underside of an iceberg. Also, when we’d arrived outside and I’d remarked that I’d forgotten my bathing suit, he’d said that he failed to see the problem, and I’d replied that I’d really walked right into that one, hadn’t I?

But the conversation had quickly taken a more serious turn, since the question about what to do about Maeve and who would do it still lay unresolved.

“Almost by definition, this isn’t the kind of situation thathassafe choices,” said Milagros now, her bare feet tucked up beneath her in a wooden deck chair identical to the one in which Erica was sitting.

Although Milagros had now had three glasses of wine and Erica had had none, I sensed that they spent many nights here just like this, smoking, drinking, being couple goals, and thanking whoever that things were no longer shit.

“But it might not always be that way as I’ve sort of spent all afternoon not-so-subtly hinting to you,” Milagros continued. “If you stay, at least you have a chance. Running away all but eliminates it. I know nobody asked me, but I say, why not at least give yourself the chance? And give Erica’s people time to do what they do. If they aren’t making progress or you don’t like the way things are going, you can always regroup.” Her freckled face and blue-green hair were lit only by the torches and the light from the joint she had rolled immediately after she’d served us all a platter of tacos dorados, filled with pork carnitas—mushrooms for Erica—that she had spent all morning slow cooking.

I had thought he and Milagros had been joking, but it was true: he seemed far more familiar with weed than he did with tacos, despite having eaten about a dozen of them.

“What? University towns aren’t always about studying as you well know,” he’d said earlier in response to my surprise.

“Right, but you’re not supposed to—”

I cut myself off because he was holding the joint away from his face and laughing. “I’m not supposed to do a lot of things I do. Or hadn’t you noticed?”

And then I was laughing, too.

Now, with my head on his chest, nestled in the hollow of his neck, I not only saw everything as he saw it but felt every slight movement his body made—the deft click of his finger on the lighter, the soft orange glow that resulted, the inhale, the motion of his arm as he held it away from his body, and the slow exhale, the fragrant herbal smoke swirling around both our faces. The mention of studying had jogged something in my memory, but it had slipped away just as fast.

“You know what going back means for me,” he said to me. “It’s not just you in that house, you know. If only it were.”

“Yes. And going back to the status quo is not what any of us wants,” I whispered, my hand moving soothingly up and down his torso. “But at least we’ll know that the wheels are in motion. I think it’s Maeve’s best chance. And yours. And yes, it also means I don’t have to say goodbye to you yet. But you know that’s not why I’m saying it.”

“I know,” he said, dropping the lighter in the netting and inhaling again. “But even if you are, it’s okay.” He turned his face toward the stars. “Still, do you know how much easier this would have been back when nobody cared what I did?”

“I sure do,” I said. “But those days are over. Sorry.”

“Erica, how soon did you say you can have someone looking for her?” he asked.

“Tomorrow,” Erica replied. “Early. I’ve already made the calls.”

As he stared up through the smoke, a shadow crossed over his eyes, just for a second. But it was gone before my brain had enough time to register it was there, and now it was just his familiar clear gaze staring back at me.

“You know that if it gets to the point where only I can help my sister, I’ll go,” he said. “And I won’t think twice about it.”

“I know,” I said.

“But for now?” he said, giving me a slow, hopeful smile. “I’ll stay.”

I closed my eyes, relief flooding my body. There would be more time, which was all I was asking for, anyway. All Icouldask for. Sure, we didn’t know howmuchtime, but when had we ever?

“If you go, I want to come with you.”

He recoiled. “Over my dead body would Ieverlet you do that. And it’s not because I don’t want you with me because you know I do.”

“I know,” I said. “And I never expected you to agree. But I still want to. And I thought you should know that. In case it, you know, helps.”

“It helps. It doesn’t change anything, but it helps.”

“You know, Louisa,” Erica spoke up. “If you want to help the cause, I can find other things for you to do. I already have some student volunteers working with me on various initiatives. Even a few from the medical school. We meet here every Wednesday afternoon.”

“Really?” I raised my head. “I’ll do anything. Well, I mean—” I backtracked, recalling some of Erica’s previous “initiatives.”

“Don’t worry,” my professor said drily. “We’re not recruiting suicide bombers at the moment. These are all above-board, university-approved projects.”

“I’ll be there,” I said to Erica, motioning to him. He placed the still-lit joint gently between my lips. The more I smoked, the more I found it soothed my anxiety, though I knew I had to be careful. My family didn’t exactly have a good track record with this kind of thing.

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