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Wesley drank in the surroundings in Calma. The runway was surrounded by trees with trunks that were slathered in vines. Smaller bushes with palm fronds sprouted from the ground. This wasn’t a large airport; rather, it was a smaller, personal landing strip with only a portion of ground that was actually paved. He wondered how Hazel had arranged the details of their trip, but she did have that personal assistant of hers who’d probably taken care of all their travel plans. Impressive, considering how quickly they’d jumped the gun on their venture.
Wesley fingered the ring now circling his left hand. He couldn’t believe Hazel was his wife now. She retrieved her matching cow suitcase and his ordinary black one from the pilot, gave the pilot a generous tip, and they spoke of the return plans. She jostled her suitcase handle in one hand, and juggled the dictionary in the other while trying to keep her bag in its place on her shoulder as she informed the pilot she would be in touch with him.
“Very good, ma’am,” the pilot said with a tip of his hat. He nodded to Wesley as well and then wheeled his own suitcase toward the end of the small base.
Though he wanted nothing more than to scoop her back into his arms, Wesley took their suitcases from Hazel. Their wheels racketed on the concrete. He glanced around, waiting for some kind of personal intuition to tell him he was standing on a different part of the earth than he ever had before. To tell him he was now a married man. Nothing really happened, though. He still felt like himself.
“So, does this feel any different to you?” he asked. “Being married? Walking in a foreign country?”
She tossed her hair, fumbling to maintain her hold on the little dictionary and the piece of paper she’d retrieved from her purse during their landing. “They’re both pretty different, but you know what? No. I feel like I was always meant to be with you. So that’s all the same.”
His heart burned in his chest. This was almost surreal. They’d had so many ups and downs in their relationship. It wasn’t that long ago she’d had him blocked on every social media channel there was. But two weeks ago she’d waltzed into his mom’s hat shop like a summer breeze and he’d seized his chance to be with her again.
“You don’t know how good it is to hear you say that,” he said.
She beamed. “What about you? Any regrets?”
Was she kidding? He would never regret her. He’d known Hazel for so many years, since before she’d started her successful marketing company, and one thing he loved about her was how tenacious she was to accomplish her goals. It was that tenacity that brought them back together only a few weeks ago. She was determined, smart, and genuine, and he loved those things so much about her.
“Only my lack of sleep,” he said. He wasn’t sure exactly how long he’d slept, but he knew it wasn’t long enough. “Where do we find this car your assistant booked for us? I’m ready to find our hotel.”
“I think it’s just up here.” She pointed. Sure enough, a black car with rust edging the doors and the hood pulled up to where they stood. The driver emerged, a short man with a kind, lined face. He was younger than Wesley expected, probably closer to his own age, and wore a blue t-shirt and shorts.
“Hello!” the driver said, approaching with a wave.
“Franco?” Hazel greeted.
The man gave a friendly smile and nodded his head. “Yes. And you must be Hazel and Wesley.” He offered a hand and Hazel shook it. His accent was heavy and unique. Wesley was glad he spoke English, but he made a mental note to learn a few more Portuguese phrases along with Hazel in case he needed them.
“Franco is also going to be our translator,” Hazel explained as Wesley took Franco’s hand.
“Yes,” Franco said in agreement. “You have come at a good time. Spring is arriving. This is warm and the dry season means less rain for your trip.”
“Awesome,” Wesley said, yet again impressed with Hazel’s thoughtfulness. Even though she’d thought to bring a Portuguese dictionary with her, she’d also arranged for the help they inevitably needed thanks to their language barrier. Wesley didn’t know any Portuguese, and it certainly would help having someone who knew the climate and the region. “Nice to meet you.”
“Are you ready to go?” Franco asked.
Wesley exchanged a look with Hazel and both nodded. “As ready as we’ll ever be,” he said, moving to help Franco secure their luggage in the trunk. Baggage in place, he paused and gave the new surroundings one last look. Brazil. They’d made it to Brazil. Now if they could only find what they’d come here for.
3
Hazel could barely sleep, though she was extremely tired. Her body seemed to sense how much in her life had changed in such a short time. She’d asked Wesley how he’d felt being a married man, and he seemed happier than she’d ever seen him. That was comforting.
She was happy too. But so, so nervous.
She’d married Wesley. She’d flown across the ocean to the place where she was born, and now she had so many questions. They were questions she’d thought of for years, questions she’d asked her adoptive parents, questions she’d been too scared to ask after she was reprimanded for being too nosy.
The questions had shifted now though. What if her family, the Silvas, didn’t remember her? What if they weren’t alive? What if she and Wesley came all this way and hit another dead end?
She gave up trying to sleep and sat up in bed, not wanting to wake Wesley. The truth was, the sudden life changes and questions weren’t the only things hounding her. She couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. Something was off. Try as she might, every time she attempted to think of what that something was, her mind went completely blank.
What was she missing?
Wesley was shirtless, and sleeping on his stomach as he was, she noticed a long scar down his shoulder blade. Hazel made a mental note to ask him about it later on. Though she’d known him for years, she also relished the fact that they now had a lifetime to find out everything there was to know about one another.
She wasn’t sure how heavy of a sleeper he was, so she tiptoed toward the closet. The hotel in Calma was more like a house. The woman who’d greeted them and given them their key lived here as well and rented out the rooms to what few tourists came to visit. Hazel didn’t mind; in fact, she liked the more comfortable setting.
Hazel had chosen to arrive in Calma for a few reasons. Though the receipt she’d found had been for a factory in Rio, that factory had long since closed. After the small amount of research she’d been able to do, when the factory closed, many found work in the neighboring village of Calma.
