Page 51 of Plus One

Mr. Turner brought his bride to his side and kissed her temple. They melted into each other against the purple and gold of the darkening horizon.

Monique brought her camera to her eye and snapped a picture. One that she would share with them later.

Generational love was what her aunts and the Turners had. A love that was so steady, so constant that nobody thought to write books about them because it was simply always there. There had never been a moment in all of time when their love didn’t exist. That was the kind of love her mom’s folks had too. She’d watched it sustain them, even after illness and death tried to keep them apart. Their love was bigger, stronger than time.

Monique drew in a shuddering breath and rubbed at her hip.

“Are you cold?” Maurice asked, stepping even closer and radiating warmth and sincerity.

“No. Just thinking.”

“About?”

“About if I should be pissed at you or not.”

Realization spread across his face and was quickly replaced with shame. “I’m sorry.”

She grabbed his hand and squeezed tight. “Sorry for what?” Monique glanced around. The old folks were making their way back to the van. “Everybody’s got their own shit to work through. You’re a weird dude, Mo, and apparently, I’m into that,” she said, giving his hand another squeeze before climbing back into the van.

“You didn’t have to do that to the man,” Auntie Deb said, chuckling as Monique buckled her seat belt.

“What did I do?” she asked, looking out the window at Maurice who stood with his face lifted toward the rising stars.

“That boy is so out of his depth,” Aunt Don said, more to her partner than to Monique.

“Monie, you broke him.” Oh, Mrs. Turner had jokes too?

The dock was a constellation of hanging lanterns. An oasis of light in the enveloping darkness of mountains and sea.

Monique adjusted the iris and frame rate on her camera, reluctant to use a flash and disrupt the little big-eyed frog she spotted on a thick leaf. The trees sang with rhythmic high-pitched tones and buzzes. She’d heard it in the city, but in the rainforest, it was in full surround sound.

“That is the coquí,” a tour guide said, coming up beside her. “They sing the song of Puerto Rico.”

“Little frogs like that make all this noise?” Maurice said, the frog leaping away as he approached. “I thought those were crickets.”

She sucked her teeth. “And here I thought you’d done your research.” Monique followed the guide toward the landing with Maurice on her heels.

“I did!” He flailed his arms for a split second before raking a hand through his beard. “Books and articles don’t do any of this justice.”

She turned to face him. “You know I’m messing with you, right?” She pulled his hand from his face. “Right?”

“Nothing on this trip is going like I expected.”

His words weren’t something to brush over. After last night, Monique was learning to listen to what he didn’t say.

The family filed past, loudly discussing whether the bioluminescence was God or evolution. Tommie said something about ooze and mutant shrimp that nobody laughed at except Monique, who wasn’t even in the conversation.

“Y’all coming?” Sunny said to them, bringing up the rear and hustling to catch up to the rest of the group.

Monique turned to follow, wanting a good spot on the boat for the best view.

“Hold up,” Maurice said, catching her hand in his. His touch was gentle, shy, exploratory. He pulled out his phone and held it up. “Can I?”

Did he want to take a picture with her? She shrugged and smiled, angling herself near him.

“I mean, I want to take a picture of you.” Even in the dim lighting, she could see the color spread over his face.

She smiled softly and tipped her head to the left. “Sure. Where do you want me?”