I get off the plane at six o’clock in the morning Costa Rica time, after a red-eye flight during which I slept less than twenty minutes total. All I’m thinking about is getting to a cab and getting a full day’s sleep before I start building my alibi. I’m not thinking about love or loss or beautiful girls with big blue eyes, but the moment I see the efficient sway of the woman’s hips, I know it’s Sam walking through the airport in front of me.
Her hair is bleached a dark shade of gold and hangs in a single braid down her back. She’s heavier than she was last summer, with powerful muscles evident beneath her black tank top and more strong, toned flesh emerging from her khaki shorts, but I know it’s her.
I know it like I know my own name and the constellations of freckles on her tanned arms.
* * *
They say great minds think alike, and as I tail Sam through customs, paying my cab driver extra to stay at the curb until her cab pulls out, and then to follow the other car through the busy streets, I wonder if it might be true.
Maybe Sam has come here for the same reason I have.
And maybe, just maybe, there’s a chance we’ll be heading into hell—and back out again—together.
* * *
To be continued…