Page 45 of That Birthday in Barbados
Something short and sarcastic rises to the tip of my tongue, but I press my lips together, and turn my head, not at all sure what to make of that assertion. I think of Connor and the last few years of our marriage. Of how I gradually became more and more aware of his lack of interest in me, in who I was as a person. The thought ignites a pain in my chest, and I realize yet again how quickly I can see myself through the lens of a husband no longer in love with his wife.
“Hey.” Anders presses his hand on top of mine. “Come back. Be here for now. No before. No after. Just here. Now.”
I swing my gaze to his, wondering how it’s possible to feel this connection with someone I’ve known for mere days. How is it possible for him to all but read my mind?
But I want to do exactly what he’s just asked me to do. I don’t want to see myself as rejected wife, betrayed sister. I want to be a blank canvas. Figure out which colors paint a new me, a me I can see with new eyes.
I catch a glimpse of a parasail on the horizon ahead of us. Anders points, and I nod once. “I can’t wait,” I say. And I actually mean it.
*
LESS THAN AN hour later, we hang high in the sky, at least four hundred feet above the slightly choppy deep blue ocean. I don’t even know how I managed to hook myself into the harness, sit calmly on the back of the boat as the attendant double-checked to make sure everything was secure. Just as the boat started to move, and the parasail began slowly lifting us into the air, I let out a little scream, and Anders reached over to take my hand, clasping his fingers through mine.
His touch was like a release valve though which all my anxiety just flowed out into nothingness. Now, I am simply here in this moment, suspended in the warm Caribbean sky with a man who’s making me see the world from a different point of view.
He leans in now and says, “High enough?”
I nod. “Plenty high.”
He raises his voice so I can hear him. “Did you know there’s a type of vulture that’s been recorded at 37,000 feet? Commercial airliners fly around 35,000.”
“How?” I ask. “What about oxygen?”
“They have a kind of hemoglobin that makes them much more efficient at oxygen intake.”
“That’s impressive, but I’m good right here,” I say. I lean back, give him an assessing look. “You know a lot.”
He tips his head, shrugs. “I like to read. I’ve never bought a TV because I don’t want to give up my book time at night.”
I smile at this. “You really are one surprise after another.”
“I’m not sure that’s a compliment.”
“It is, actually,” I say. “It is.”
We make our way along the coast, far enough out to avoid snorkelers and fishing boats, but still with an incredible view of the mansions lining the beachfront. I spot the pink chairs and umbrellas of the Sandy Lane beach and marvel again at what a beautiful place it is.
Another few minutes, and the driver swings the boat in a wide arc, and we head back the way we came. Something I’ve never felt before sweeps over me, and I suddenly have a glimpse of the life I’ve been living as if I’m looking at it from high above my actual existence. It looks small and questionable, as if its pieces are constructed of toothpicks instead of timbers, capable of toppling at the first strong wind.
Was that the life I meant to build?
I close my eyes for a moment against the undeniable truth. No. I’d meant to do the opposite, actually.
And yet here I am, aware as I have never been before, that I am living a life I am not sure I want to go back to.
Chapter Eighteen
“Sometimes it just feels really really wonderful to be alive.”
?Doug Coupland
Catherine
WE LAND ON the parasail boat’s platform.
As my feet touch the rubberized surface, I feel as if I’ve just climbed Mount Everest. “Let’s do it again.”
Anders laughs. “Thrill junkie. I knew you had it in you.”
