Page 19 of Secret Nights and Northern Lights
“Portable Wi-Fi. It’s so convenient when the rental places have these. Now we’ll be able to use it wherever we go, not just in the car.”
“Oh right,” I say, even though I’ve never seen a gadget like that in my life. While I should be grateful for Ben’s travel knowledge, I’m mostly just annoyed. Clearly I’m the only one woefully unprepared for this trip while expert Ben is fine and fucking dandy and on top of his game. I bet he even packed his own bags.
Ben starts the engine, and I scramble for the notebook I already tucked into the glove compartment to make a quick note of this Wi-Fi travel tip. Pulling out of the airport lot, the GPS directs us to our first stop, the Blue Lagoon.
Located twenty minutes from Keflavík International, the pools of glacial blue geothermal water are a popular stop for tourists as soon as they arrive. While I may have snoozed more than intended on the flight, I did read up on today’s excursion before losing consciousness, so I have some idea of what to expect. Patrons relax in the warm waters enriched with silica, algae, and minerals—said to promote healing—set among some of Iceland’s best scenery. From the pictures I saw online, this is one of ouractivities I’m most looking forward to. Minimal exertion. Hot, healing waters. Breathtaking views. Yes, please.
As I stare out the windshield, more of Iceland rises into view as we make our way farther from the airport. The paved road we follow cuts through fields of flat, muddy brown earth, broken up on occasion by piles of black volcanic rock, casually stacked in the fields or filling a trench next to the road. While I know volcanoes are kind of Iceland’s thing, I’m still filled with an overwhelming excitement at the wonder of it all. It doesn’t look real. It doesn’t feel real. I pinch my arm. It’s fucking real.
“Have you been here before?” I ask Ben, keeping my focus on the landscape in front of me, not wanting to miss a single detail. “To Iceland?”
“No. It’s my first time.”
I’m pleased this is a new experience for both of us; it makes it seem like we’re on more equal footing here.
“It’s incredible already. Look, that’s real lava!” I point out the windshield to another stack of hardened ash, as if Ben doesn’t already see the same landscape I do. “La-va!” Exhilaration pumping through my veins, I risk a quick look at him, and he quirks his lips at the unbridled enthusiasm in my voice.
The drive is far shorter than anticipated, and soon we’re pulling into a half-full parking lot as I jot down a few more notes, knowing I’m not doing the descriptions proper justice. Tucking my notebook away, I hop out of the SUV and make my way to the back of the vehicle to gather the needed items from my luggage. Once Ben has his personal items together, he opens the door to the back seat to retrieve the camera equipment he’ll need, leaving me to go through my suitcase in private. Which is a relief becauseI don’t know where any of my items are specifically, and that’d be hard to explain if Ben were watching.
I can envision it now.Oh, sorry, give me a minute here because, you see, I didn’t pack my own stuff because I was too busy being a goddamn headcase over you for the entire weekend!LOL, right?!
That truth wouldn’t leave my mouth if I were interrogated by the CIA.
After locating my toiletry bag and an extra set of clothing, I pull out a swimsuit and gasp.
Ben glances at me questioningly over the back seat. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”Everything. “It’s fine.”It’s not fine.
Earlier, I thought I loved Jacklyn, but now those feelings of fondness have quickly dried up. Evaporated. Vanished. Because the minuscule amount of material I grasp between my fingers is not my modest, professional, one-piece swimsuit. Instead, I’m clutching Jacklyn’s entirely immodest, completely unprofessional, two-piece black string bikini. I toss the stacks of clothing around, searching for another option, but discover the only other swimsuit she packed is a one-piece emerald green number with a deep V cut to the navel, which is somehow more provocative than the bikini.
I will have very,verystrong words for her when I get home.
For now, there’s nothing I can do except shove the bikini in my tote bag with the rest of my stuff, rezip my luggage, and slam the back of the SUV closed. Ben rounds the corner with a complicated, professional-looking camera strapped over his shoulder, and we cross the parking lot to a sidewalk that snakes its way between walls of volcanic rock and vibrant green moss.
While Ben takes several photos of the picturesque entrance, I follow suit with my iPhone, snapping some selfies to rub in Jacklyn’s face before delivering the sternly worded lecture I’m already outlining in my mind.
Ben lowers his camera as I pose in front of the lava rocks with my phone held high to give myself the best angle. “Do you want me to do it?”
“That’s okay,” I say. “I’ve got it.”
“Of course,” he deadpans. “Why would you want a world-renowned photographer to take your photo when you can take…selfies?” He says the word like it’s an insult to his entire profession.
Scowling, I slip my phone into my bag. “World-renowned?” I roll my eyes. “Don’t be cocky. And I happen to like my selfies.”
“Come on,” he says with a bemused shake of his head. “Let’s go inside.”
At the welcome counter, we’re provided electronic bracelets that keep track of any purchases made during our visit and directed to locker rooms where showering is a must before entering the pools. I wash off, pull my wet hair into a high, messy bun—while great for the skin, the silica in the geothermal waters is not so great for the hair—and dress in the trianglebikinithat shouldn’t classify as a swimsuit because no legitimate swimming could possibly be performed in these threads, not even doggie paddle. Then I make my way out of the locker room in lagoon-issued sandals toward the entrance to the pools with my arms folded across my middle, covering myself as much as possible. This place offers packages that include plush robes, but eitherCalvin didn’t opt for the added cost, or super fit Suki didn’t deem it necessary.
My insecurities quickly vanish from mind, however, when I reach the rectangular glass doors leading outside, and my breath leaves my lungs in a sudden burst.
If I thought the view on the drive here was unreal, or the photos on the website possibly misleading, well, the scenery stretching out before me is a goddamn masterpiece. Steam curls off seemingly endless stretches of placid, ice-blue water. Coal black lava rocks form varying-size stacks along the edges of the pools like sand dunes from another world. And in the far distance, moss-covered mountains stretch toward the silvery skies, demanding their own equal attention.
Drawn closer, I make my way through the sliding doors like an old-school cartoon character under the trance of a freshly baked pie, the spell I’m under broken only when I’m assaulted by the freezing air. And Ben’s voice.
“You coming in?” He waits inside the warm waters, his bare shoulders peeking above the surface.
“Um, it’s cold,” I say, and immediately regret it.
