[13]

Wading And Skipping Stones

Golden sunlight bathed the outdoor dining area where Wade busily stuffed his face with authentic Mexican cuisine. Across from him, Skipper leaned back in her seat, staring off into space. Her food lay half finished on the plate before her and through her peripheral vision she observed him eyeing the remains hungrily.

   In all truth, she didn't have much of an appetite. The food tasted as amazing as it looked and smelled, but she couldn't get more than a few bites down. Her eyes greedily drank in the beautiful landscape; a tiny thrill of excitement brought color to her pallid face as she realized they had access to some of the most beautiful beaches. 

   "How come your mom never made it to Mexico?" Wade queried, swallowing as he spoke. Skipper flicked her eyes toward him and shrugged.

   "I dunno."

   "I was just wondering if there was any particular reason, is all..." He trailed off, noticing that her attention had waned. She continued to stare into seemingly nowhere. Straightening his posture for a moment, Wade leaned forward and set his arms on the table, an inquisitive expression on his face. He didn't speak, however; instead, he merely observed her. She didn't quite seem sad, but there was definitely something off. Maybe she was just feeling sick again. That would explain why she wasn't really eating. He didn't know her that well, but he did know she once had a voracious appetite, and he knew that every day it seemed to dissipate more and more. Despite all this, and her apparent medical history, he still wondered: was she really dying? Or was her body just pretending again? Sure, the doctors had only given her so long to live, but people proved those kinds of things wrong all the time. Surely, she was no exception?

   "Do you want to go to the beach before it gets dark?" The words left his mouth before he could properly think about them; his internal monologue still louder to him than the external. Skipper turned her face toward him, her eyes looking a little less glazed as her vision seemed to come into focus. She picked up some of her food and took a slow bite, halfway through deciding she truly didn't want it anymore. 

   Wade patiently awaited her answer. Having satisfied his stomach's pleas, he no longer felt a need to be a thorn in the side and thus had the capacity for benevolence. 

   Wiping her mouth and setting down the fork, Skipper nodded. "Sure."

   "If you're too tired, there's always tomorrow," he informed her. 

   At these words, she looked at him with all seriousness and shook her head. "No. Tomorrow is never promised. We can go tonight. It's probably best, anyway–there won't be so much sun."

   Feeling the weight of her statement, he nodded and waved down their waitress to pack up Skipper's leftovers. With these in their possession, they went back to the resort to retrieve Charles. Once they had the anteater, Wade drove toward the nearest beach. The windows were down and Skipper leaned out, eyes closed, feeling the soft breeze as it whipped her hair around. The evening air smelled good, and had an invigorating element to it. 

   When they arrived at the beach, Skipper left her crocs in the car and made for the shore. Wade followed more slowly, coaxing Charles along and carrying his camera. Sunset was painting the sand in beautiful colors, enhancing the halo-like glow of Skipper's hair brought about by the falling darkness. 

   Wade snapped pictures and hunted for rocks at the same time. Charles had sniffed out some ants and was ingesting them like a very good boy. Skipper stepped into the water and it lapped at her ankles. Grinning, she turned and shouted, "Look at me! I'm 'Wade-ing'!"

   "Ew," he shook his head at her and sent a stone skimming past, barely missing her legs. "Seems I found your twin, though."

   "Hardy har har, so funny," she rolled her eyes, then kicked water at him. 

   "Stop! You'll break my camera!"

   "Hmm, not a bad idea. Then you won't be able to take useless pictures of me." Her tone was cold, but her eyes were teasing. Wade kicked off his sandals and aimed the camera at her.

  "Useless, you say? How do you know I'm even taking pictures of you? Maybe I'm strategically avoiding you..."

   "Lies," she gently shoved him so he lost his footing and nearly toppled over, holding the camera in a death grip above his head to avoid splashing it. She snatched it from him and snapped a shot. There he was, miserable because wet sand was creeping into his cargos.

   "So aesthetic," she mocked, making a terrible impression of his voice. Leaping from the water, he lunged for the precious device. 

   "Give that back!"

   "Nope." Snickering, she grabbed another shot of him and ran higher up the beach to get away. Tripping over the sand, he chased her. Tied to a tree trunk, Charles was oblivious to their antics and blissfuly preoccupied by depleting an ant colony of its members. 

   "Chubs, c'mon, gimme my camera. If you don't, I'll find the nosiest music in my library and blast it in your ears all night. Or I'll abandon you here and take all your money."

   "You couldn't do that even if you tried," she cackled, stuffing polaroids into the pocket of her hoodie. A couple of them slipped out and fell at Wade's feet, just inches away from the water in which Skipper was now standing. Wade picked them up and brandished them as if outraged. 

   "You're wasting my film! Hand it over." Thrusting his hand out, he demanded she return the camera. A sly smile contorted her pallid face, made all the more unsettling by the ghastly illumination of her stupid glow-in-the-dark hair. 

   "Come and get it, then." She took a few sliding steps back, wagging the camera tauntingly. "Come wading, Wade. The water's fine."

   Not liking her tone, he took careful steps toward her. She continued to back up, moving into the deeper recess of the lagoon and snapping more pictures of him as she did so. Eventually he caught up to her and took the camera, plucking it from her hands and causing her to slip. Knowing she had polaroids in her pocket, he caught her before she could fall. She shoved him away and sprinted through the liquid toward the shore again, but he caught up to her. Pulled the polaroids out of her hoodie. Left them and the camera on a conveniently located stump. Grabbed her by the arms and legs and threw her into the water.

   "If I'm wading, I'll need a skipping stone!" he shouted as her body broke the water's surface. She was too busy screaming to really hear him. 

   It was quite dark by the time they'd tired of almost drowning each other. Exhausted, Wade picked up his camera and the polaroids and relieved Charles of his bondage to the tree. Poor creature had grown bored and nearly fell asleep on the ground over there, but he got up the minute Wade gave him a nudge. 

   No snarky remarks were made as the skin-soaked pair climbed into the SUV and headed back to the resort. Skipper was half asleep and could barely walk to her room, so Wade assisted her after dropping off Charles. He left her to change into some dry clothes, then returned with the polaroids when she was ready. She was cold, and since her sweatshirt had been soaked, Wade let her borrow one of his.

They sat on the floor looking through the photos, marking the map, and making notes in the travel journal. They even made up a game with the photos, which had Skipper laughing deliriously. Sometime in the wee hours of the night, she fell asleep. Wade left her with a pillow and a blanket, hovering cautiously near the door to make sure she was still alive before retreating to his own room for some shuteye.