Hena’s stomach turned, the memory flooding back.
“All those cookies and chips bobbing in Ziploc bags in the marsh.” Haris laughed. “Your mom’s hot mix broke open. The fish were all over it.”
“I remember,” she said.
How had she ever forgotten?
“Your dad saved the day.” Haris gave her a queasy smile. “He had diced Pakistani mangoes stashed in a cooler, and he shared them with all of us. Everyone forgot about the fallen snacks after that.”
No, Haris. Not everyone.
Haris didn’t know the rest of the story. The silent car ride home. And later, once Lulu was out of earshot and her mother was taking a call with Khala, her father cornered Hena in her bedroom. Slapped her open-palmed across the face so hard she’d stumbled back, her head cracking against the bedpost. He let her know what he thought of her: Careless. Ungrateful. An embarrassment.
Hena’s head hurt. Earlier, she’d told Reza she’d never ridden an airboat. But she had. Just as she’d erased the memory of the python her mother had rescued her from, she’d erased this too. When it came to her childhood, all she had to do was tap below the surface to find a painful bruise.
“I’m not going to make it,” Haris groaned.
“You’ve got this.” She took his hand and gave it a squeeze. His palms were clammy. “Close your eyes and breathe through your nose. Like in yoga.”
He closed his eyes and murmured, “Do I strike you as a yoga guy?”
“You strike me as someone who doesn’t want to vomit all over my shoes.”
He cracked a smile at this. “No, definitely not.”
“Just do it,” she insisted. “You’ll feel better. I promise.”
He did as she suggested. She dug through her purse and pulled out a ginger candy that had been buried in there, handing it to him.
He chewed, and a few minutes later he opened his eyes and exhaled.
“There we go,” he said. “I actually feel—”
“Hold on to your seats!” the guide called out.
The boat lurched forward. Hena shot her hand out to keep from crashing into Mansur and the other guests seated in front of her. Murky water splashed onto the boat.
“Hey! Watch it,” Haris shouted. He wiped his face.
“Sorry ’bout that,” Bob said. “Had to get around old Suzy—she’s big enough to topple this boat right over.”
As if on cue, they floated past the alligator, deep green and ridged. Only her unblinking eyes were visible above the water, watching them as they passed.
Haris groaned, wiping at his soaked shirt. “This was my brunch outfit.”
“It’s not too wet,” Hena said, brushing his sleeve. “Besides, the resort has dry cleaning, and you can always do a run home if you need. Do you still live in Brickell?”
“Yep. Chloe tried to get the house in the divorce, but that wasnotgoing to happen. Sometimes I wondered if she married me purely for the real estate.”
“Glad you were able to keep it,” she said. “Your house is gorgeous.”
Gorgeous was an understatement. His beachside estate was worthy of a feature inArchitectural Digest. Hena remembered it warmly for all the memories it contained. The barbecues and New Year’s parties she’d attended with Nasir. It had been along the shoreline of Haris’s home that Nasir had taken her hand one balmy evening, gotten down on one knee, and asked her to marry him.
“She said yes!” he’d shouted to their friends peering down from the balcony above, who promptly erupted into cheers.
She smiled at the memory. Although what followed had been painful, this moment remained special. She looked over at Haris and noticed him watching her with an amused expression.
“What is it?” she asked.