Ezra and Joe acted as both tour guides and Spanish dictionaries for us on our way to the river. “How do you say…” and “I wouldn’t stand in the jungle grass if I were you.” Read the rest of this entry
“I’ll do it!” Joe pinched my food expertly and twisted the offending body party loose. The remains, cloudy and moist, jiggled in my palm.
I steeled myself. “Camera ready, Ezra?” He nodded, hoisting my equipment into position. The lens blinked at me. I produced a smile. The shutter fired, and I bit down.
Beka had entrusted Rachel, Evie, and me to her sons’ care for the morning. Read the rest of this entry
The boys share a room. The girls share a room. The baby sleeps in the shower. All in all, seven people live in a wooden house built by Kevin himself. Dusky red-leaved plants line the yard; a frilly tree from Florida sprouts medicinal properties in the back. A wall painted sky blue encloses this patch of jungle. About a year ago, the family admitted the need for more space. Now a two-apartment guest house reclines, across the yard. Our first night there, its tin roof sheltered us from the downpour outside. The rain pounded as if from a shower nozzle, forcing Rachel and me to shout to each other over the noise. Read the rest of this entry