Page 75 of Double Exposure

Something about being with the Westons and Ross, watching all those people being so physical with each other, has rubbed off. My pelvis suddenly feels heavy with the thought of Carter. Three more days. Focus. Be present for your parents.

I cross into the kitchen and out the back door, and dive into the pool.

Remember the power of longing.

After about twenty minutes of laps, I slow down and tread water, trying to figure out the rest of the day. I don’t want to have to make a decision about the compound and Nat Geo until I speak with Carter face to face.

I’m worried about him and sent a text to Brock, his morning. When I texted Carter at seven my time, he was groggy, still in bed, his voice heavy with sleep. He was disoriented too—very sweet, but just not himself. It was eight there—normally he would have been up hours ago.

I swim to the edge of the pool to check my phone. Nothing yet from Brock. It’s ten now, eleven, Colorado time.

I dip down into the water, lift my face to the sky, and start to surface. From the blurriness of pool water, I see a figure sitting at the edge of one of the old chaises, arms on knees, watching me.

The heaviness in my pelvis churns.

I blink again and wipe my eyes. A gull cries overhead.

It’s Carter.

He looks amazing. Despite the joke about sexting, we haven’t. I haven’t seen his body in seven weeks. He’s added muscle and he’s wearing swimming trunks. His left leg is left with small thready pink scars and one small wedge of missing muscle.

My gasp is audible. My heart pounds and then I’m swimming to him as he lowers himself into the pool.

I throw myself around him, his skin, hot to the touch, is soft, the muscles underneath flex and his arms hold me as tightly as I’ve dreamed. When we pull apart, before I can even speak, his wet fingers trace my eyebrows, my lips, then across my chest. With his back to the house, he strokes a nipple with his thumb.

“Oh my God,” is about all I can muster before throwing my arms around him once more.

“This,” he says softly in my ear, “this is my favorite story.”

΅

That evening, after a walk on the beach and an Indian curry my father made, Carter and my parents come clean.

Apparently, this conspiracy began just days after my parents left. Carter helped write two grants for the business and devoted himself to physical therapy for the entire stretch of time, and with only one minor setback, he’s made great progress. He hardly walks with a limp and that will evaporate soon as well.

The house next door is an Air Bnb now so when I called this morning . . .

“You were still asleep?” I point to the roof of the ranch peeking over the top of our fence. “Right there.”

“Hey,” he says, rubbing my bare knee. “I took a red-eye.”

“I’m just so glad you’re here.”

“He knows about your other opportunity,” offers my mother, clearing plates and bowls.

Her tidiness all makes sense now. Whenever we have anyone over, she turns into a neat freak.

I turn to him. “I have to go,” I start. “This is an amazing opportunity,” I say, using my father’s words. Before Carter can say anything, I rush on, “You can never predict what’s going to happen. In fact, whatever you predict, it won’t happen, it will be the thing you didn’t see that comes, so worrying won’t help. Please don’t worry about me. And then when I come back, I’m taking a month off and—"

Carter slips an arm around me. Just the look in his face, the way his mouth is almost a grin, is proof he’s not really listening. He has something to tell me.

“What?”

“Why don’t you take your wine out by the pool,” Mom says and then adds, “plastic cups.”

We sit on the edge of the pool, our legs in the water, stars just beginning to blink into view. Toward the west, a ribbon of crimson and orange sits on the horizon—the sun is about to set. The pungent scent of a good Syrah wafts between us.

I try again to reassure him, but he puts an index finger to my lips, and shakes his head.